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ijustwannabecool · 3 days ago

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Left On Read

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary… A barista leaves little motivational quotes on coffee cups. A quiet regular starts replying on the back of the cups.

A/N: As always I hope you guys enjoy this little story. Feedback is always welcomed. Happy reading and have a beautiful day today!!

Request are open (:

Like, reblog, comment, enjoy!

——

You don’t know his name. Just that he always orders the same thing: café con leche, no sugar, extra hot. And that he tips with coins—heavy, clinking, deliberate. And that he always, always, looks a little tired. A little too quietly handsome for your peace of mind.

You start leaving motivational quotes on the coffee cups in early October, mostly out of boredom. Your boss thinks it's cute and tells you to keep it up. Customers start noticing, smiling, even snapping photos.

But he—the guy with the jawline carved by the gods and the hoodie pulled over his face like he’s hiding from the world—he doesn’t say a word. Just picks up his cup, nods once, and disappears into the Madrid morning like fog.

Until one day, you see something new.

The back of the cup.

“You always write them for everyone else. Thought you deserved one too.”

‘The world is better because you’re in it.’ – C.S.

Your heart does a weird little flip.

You glance up, but he’s already gone.

——

After that, it becomes a silent ritual.

You write something soft, hopeful, maybe a little poetic. He responds.

Sometimes seriously:

‘Hope is the thing with feathers.’ I like that one. Reminds me of my mom.

Sometimes playfully:

“If the coffee doesn’t wake you up, your handwriting will.” – C.S.

And once:

‘I needed this today. Thank you.’

That one sticks with you.

——

You don’t know that Carlos Sainz is a famous athlete. That he’s a driver.

You just know he’s always got a cap pulled low, a hoodie even lower, and those dark eyes that feel like thunderclouds and honey all at once.

He’s never brought up racing. Never rushed. Never dropped a single hint.

Just a man who likes his coffee and, apparently, your quotes.

——

One particularly rainy Thursday, you take a risk. You write:

“Sometimes I think we leave pieces of ourselves behind in places we love.”

And on the back, his reply:

Maybe that’s why I keep coming here. – C.S.

You stare at the cup longer than you should, wondering what kind of person says things like that with so much quiet weight.

——

Two weeks later, he doesn’t show up.

Or the next day. Or the next.

You don’t want to admit you notice, but your hand hovers longer over the cups now. The quotes feel a little more hollow without a reply. You try to brush it off. People have lives. Coffee isn't a commitment.

But the silence is deafening.

——

He shows up again on a Monday. Hair damp from the rain. Hoodie soaked. Eyes tired but warm.

You don’t even think. You just say, “Rough day?” as you hand him the cup.

His eyes lift to yours—sharp, searching, like you just caught him in a lie he didn’t mean to tell.

Then he smiles, slow and sheepish. “You could say that.”

On the cup, you’ve written:

“You’re not behind. You’re right on time.”

And this time, when he turns the cup around, he doesn’t write anything. He just says it. Out loud.

“Gracias. I needed that.”

Your heart trips. You smile, a little breathless. “Anytime.”

——

That weekend, your friend drags you to watch Formula 1 for the first time. You're halfway through the broadcast when the camera zooms in on one of the drivers.

Brown eyes. Familiar jawline. That same curve of a smile that lives rent-free in your mind.

You nearly spill your drink.

“Wait. WAIT. IS THAT—” You scramble for your phone, googling him so fast your fingers fumble the letters.

Carlos. Freaking. Sainz.

Your quiet regular is literally a world-famous F1 driver.

——

The next day, he comes in late. Hoodie, cap, sunglasses—a whole disguise. You try not to smile as you write on his cup.

“Thought I’d seen you somewhere before. Nice helmet.”

When he sees it, his mouth twitches. He lifts his eyes to yours, mock-serious. “You found out?”

You nod, biting back a grin. “Let’s just say you left me on read long enough to google you.”

And finally—finally—he laughs. A warm, chest-deep sound. “Guess I’ll have to start leaving you real notes then.”

You hand him a pen. “Back of the cup’s yours.”

He doesn’t write anything this time either. Just sips his coffee.

And then—softly, without looking— “Dinner sometime?”

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr

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andcars · 5 days ago

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🍒 ✦ FUCK YOU LOVED

﹙ 55 ﹚ ─────── how can only you taste the world?

PREMISE " it's not the most conventional way. people who court don't often fuck the object of their affection. carlos was always the exception

RELATIONSHIP(S) " carlos sainz/you TAGS " porn with extreme feelings, non-traditional courting, sweet talking, light dom carlos sainz, bathtub sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, open-ending WC " 2.3k

౿ MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE

Love—the burning feeling that’s feasible only when your mouth has dried in the harsh desert. Except, the dessert is actually just beside a McDonald’s this day and age. It doesn’t have to make sense, you think. Love is just… love. People can’t choose who to love, same goes for how. It’s simply a feeling that is passed down from generation to generation.

The flowers sit at your desk, untouched. It’s not real flowers. The touch is plastic and faux, yet it smells just the same as any rose. Low effort love. Love that only shows it exists, doesn’t matter how. You think it’s sweet. Carlos must have just gotten it to you to spice up your grey desk.

When you come home, you know who to expect. It’s like the world revolves around seeing Carlos in your kitchen, cooking you a meal you never asked for. Knowingly, you open the door and greet him. His voice echoes from the kitchen.

“How do you feel about Japanese?” he asks, your bag carelessly thrown on top of the kitchen bar. “I thought that we should try something new.”

Every day with Carlos feels like something new.

“I don’t mind.” You play off your feelings and the looming voice that tells you—You’re only playing with Carlos Sainz’s fucking feelings! Say yes or no, god damn it! To that, you crack open a beer with a nasty sound. Carlos let out a laugh that sounded more like a huff of air.

He asks you, “Rough day?”

“Been rough. I don’t think I can catch a break in my own house.”

Carlos finished cooking—or, you think he has. He turns off the stove and approaches you who sits lonely at a stool. He closes in on you the same way a predator opens its mouth to a bunny. You think his uvulva is shaped like a heart.

The seat beside you doesn’t go occupied, “Should I leave?” asks the predator with the heart-shaped uvulva. “It’s okay if I leave.”

For a second, you think what it would be like if Carlos does leave. You will sit alone in the dining room, eating a meal that isn’t prepared by you, and smelling distinctly of fake flowers you brought home.

And you brought it home because it’s too beautiful to be left alone in such a dull space. It doesn’t deserve to be the only light—it deserves to be complementary to a beautiful room.

“Stay,” you smile at him, unknowing if it was forced. “I think I’m just tired. I don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

Carlos Sainz is a man who will never leave you alone. He’ll love you for the rest of his days, you think. So he takes the meal—Kakuni, accompanied with an egg sliced in half—and places it in front of you. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask. He tells you that he ate beforehand, and you’re not sure how much you believe it. He eats at your place after a few insisting arguments.

What would life be with Carlos? It would involve a lot of yearning. Yearning in a way that he needs to leave, go back to his own life, and then you have to see him through the lens of people who don’t know him. Yet, when he comes home, the spell breaks and the sun rises again. You’re enveloped in sunshine and—Jeez, the food tastes so good.

“You like it?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer already.

You joke, because you test the waters, “I could marry you for this dish alone.”

He appreciates it. “If it were only that easy.”

If it were only.

Carlos is not allowed to clean the dishes and the counter. He sits prettily, watching you like he’s your husband. Anyone could walk in right now and think the same. It’s the thought that you two are dating, but you aren’t saying you are, that haunts you. A glass is almost broken at the thought of leading Carlos on.

Still, it doesn’t break. You invite Carlos to your bed, and he knows what you want. No other man would do this for anyone. Carlos is an angel because he does everything for you, and you’re still debating if cariño is a stereotypical nickname to give to a potential Spanish boyfriend. If, if you’re dating, he’d enjoy being called Chili Pepper more because Pepper is a metaphor for dick.

Both of you lie on your sides. He’s kissing your face because he thinks it’s pretty. He’s devouring your mouth because he thinks every word that comes out of it is pretty. Moans slip between you interchangeably. Two of you melt against each other’s skin as his hands are careful to worship you, skin-to-skin.

“Carlos,” his name sounds distant from your ears. “Carlos—fuck,” his hands made its way to the smooth of your skin. If the two of you don’t stop, you’d think that he will hate the taste of your work-mudded skin. “Hold on, actually,” you pause, he follows, “I’m… a bit dirty. I think I should shower first.”

He smiles. Carlos wraps his arms around your waist and bares his teeth, “I don’t mind. If you think that I wouldn’t like it if I ate you out also, I really wouldn’t mind—”

“Woah there,” you laugh, pushing his chest. “Let’s not get all freaky that quick, okay? I feel sticky, and you should take a bath too. You smell like soy sauce.”

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss on your mouth, “just say I smell delicious enough to eat.”

A light push to his head gets him to snap out of it. Sort of. He’s laughing all the way to the bathroom, and he sets the water just right. Boldly, he watches you undress. Like the Mona Lisa, you are framed in his eyes.

He follows you only after you eye his clothed body. In silence, he understands you (like a lover does). His tanned skin gave a bronze highlight to the pale room. It reflects through the tiles, and your body feels like it's glowing from his beauty. The sun to your moon. The faux rose on a grey desk.

After pouring water on your face—ow, it did catch you off guard—he’s kissing you again. The water bubbles gleefully around you as his kisses turn almost feral. His chest compresses against yours, large hands trapping you on the edge of the tub. He’s kissing you like he hasn’t done so in aeons. He’s kissing you like he has done it for aeons.

His kiss comes to a halt as he moves underneath the shallow water. Carefully, he places you on his lap as your feet go above water. Carlos is proud to have you pressed up against him, only able to keep your eyes fixated on the way water droplets drip down from his hair.

“See something you like?” he asks, a bit cheesy. You splash him with water and he can’t fucking stop smiling.

“I’d like a Carlos who’s doing their job properly,” you tell him. It’s a commander’s prompt and he’s methodically obliging.

A hand comes down to cup your mound. It’s a bit wet and lightly soapy but it circles your clit in gentle strokes. The motion catches you lightly off guard, clenching onto nothing but the water. It’s a bit uncomfortable. So, you reach beneath you to pull the plug.

The sound of the water draining doesn’t drown your moans. He’s pulling you up against the bathtub until your head hits the tiled walls. Firmly, he pushes his thumb on your clit and rubs it in circular motions. Your head lolls to the side, and you accidentally turn the shower head on when you attempt to find grip on something.

His head is drenched. The perfect hair he’s curated sticks to his forehead, and somehow that’s even hotter than anything you’ve seen from it. Carlos has an expression on his face that mirrors yours, in some way. He’s acting like he’s the one being pleasured.

That being said, you can’t leave him alone. Reaching down, you find his cock—hard, ready to go—standing in salute. It thrives in new attention as you stroke it. Carlos adjusts the position so your cunt faces his cock and you reach in front of you to touch him.

“Feels good, mi amor.” You ache, hating that he calls you his love already. “Making me feel so good. I’m going to fuck you so good that you won’t need anything else but me.”

In a better world, that would be true.

A finger pushes inside of you, then another, and another. Carlos is fucking you earnestly in goal to stretch you out. You feel your insides opening to him quite nicely. It’s a nice, familiar feeling now. Carlos being inside you feels just right. It feels almost perfect (and that’s terrifying).

“Do you think you’re ready?” he asks, slow and steady. Consent is fucking hot. “I’m not sure if you can take me yet.”

“Fucking hell, Carlos,” you groan out, finding lewdity in his casual tone. “You… My God—yea, yeah. Just push in. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

Another finger is pushed in, defiantly. You arch your back as he won’t stop rubbing your G-spot in quick flickers. “Sorry, just want to make sure.” He’s not sorry at all. He’s drinking up the way you bite your lips, your eyes stay hard to focus, and pussy quivering around his fingers like it’s a cock.

You don’t want to cum yet and you trash in his arms. He gets the point and pulls away softly, leaving your throbbing, edged pussy behind. It’s practically crying with the lack of his presence.

Thankfully, you don’t need to wait that long. Carlos has you by the hips as he guides you onto his awaiting cock. The stretch is so fucking thick each time. Carlos may seem average in length—from what you can eyeball, anyway—but he’s so fucking thick that it hurts almost everytime he pushes it in. Your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re wet because you want it inside you so fucking bad.

“Open up for me,” he whispers, your name loose on his tongue and yet so loved, “gonna do so well for me. Just relax your pretty body, amor.”

Trying your best, you lean forward as you cling to his neck. You bury yourself in his shoulders as the new angle makes you push in deeper. The stretch is almost painful but you want it to fucking hurt. You want it to hurt because Carlos Sainz loves you and he’s fucking you right open because he doesn’t want you to be sad. Meanwhile, you enjoy his cock without telling him an ounce of affection.

“There we go,” he murmurs, sweetly and gently into your ear. “So good for me. Pussy so tight, hm? Just want to hold on to me. It’s okay. I have you.”

He really does.

After moments of trying, you take his cock to the hilt. You’re shaking and moaning and he’s fucking you up and down like a toy. Carlos overpowers you in so many ways and you want nothing else but to be on the other end. It’s rewarding. It’s punishing. It’s dizzying because Carlos Sainz is punching into you and splitting you in half.

“Fuck, fuck, Carlos—” you whine, a moan so gutteral vibrating through your body—”so good. Ohmago—... so f- fucking good. Just like that, baby.”

He groans. Your sounds spur him on as his hips meet yours harshly. The lewd melody of your skin slapping echoes through the bathroom tiles, and it jumps back at you at full speed. Your pussy is throbbing to the beat of his thrusts and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. His back is scratched up with your mark,s and his shoulder slobbered over with drool. You think, loudly, that this is so fucking amazing that you feel like you’re going to die.

Carlos lets out a throaty laugh. “You won’t die, amor,” he breathes out, pausing just to catch you from slipping, “I’m not going to let you.”

You will, still. His cock is deep and you’re trying hard to accomodate the girth. He’s fucking you like a whore and kissing you like a lover. Not one part of you isn’t getting overstimulated with the contrast of his actions. Carlos grasps your hair as your nails dig in sharply to the shape of his back.

It’s not long until you feel it. The coiling in your stomach, the sharp feeling in your core. You need to release unintelligible words from your mouth quicker than you could think. “Yes, yes, yes, yes! Carlos, please. ‘m going to cum. ‘m gonna. Like that—like that—oh God—!”

A little scream dies in your throat as your body convulses. You feel yourself pulse as you cum all over his cock. His thrusts slow down to ease your orgasm. The feeling of it is a guide to the harsh waves flowing through your body.

Carlos pauses, slowly pulling out. His cock is covered in your juices and you’re sat on the edge of his tub, watching him as he strokes himself to completion. His eyes don’t leave you. You’re breathing heavily, watching him pleasure himself only at the sight of you.

It doesn’t take long until he points to the drain beneath you and cums there. Panting leaves his chest moving up and down. Both of you attempt to situate yourselves in the scene you two just made.

“We’re not clean again,” he jokes, a snort leaving you. “How about a proper shower, cariño?”Soon enough, the world is going to be perfect. It’s a few ‘yes’ at a time. Starting from now, is a yes to a proper fucking shower.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

FOOTNOTE ────── yessir, andi has changed theme once again. keeping the classic red tone but soon rebranding how the entire acc looks. i'm just too busy with my stuff to fully handle it all at once. hope this one was a good read cuz i def found a good playlist to write with this one

#🔖 . CS55 #: 🔗 above 2k #: 🔗 fic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula one imagine

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babygirlewis · 2 days ago

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꣑ৎ sending them sabrina carpenter lyrics ꣑ৎ

warnings: suggestive! it’s sabrina ofc

drivers: f!reader x lewis hamilton, lando norris, charles leclerc, max verstappen, oscar piastri, carlos sainz

note: this one was fun lol ive had her album playing on repeatttt i love short n sweet so much

edit/disclaimer: i do not allow my work to be copied/reposted/translated in any capacity

@justaf1girl @sltwins @c8lap1nto @copper-boom

#f1 #f1 fics #f1 texts #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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no-144444 · 3 days ago

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꩜ summary: he doesn't listen...

꩜ pairing: carlos sainz x fem! reader

Can’t wait to get you home tonight. You look fucking gorgeous preciosa.

You couldn’t help the goosebumps jumping up on your skin. You didn't even know he was here but, of course he was. He was here, like always, and you would run back to him, like always. Your eyes lifted to the dance floor in front of you. You scanned the faces, searching for him, hoping you’d spot him before he found you. You couldn’t find those familiar brown eyes, at least, not with the lack of light and amount of people in there.

Carlos was great, he was nice when he needed to be, a good fuck, and a guy who was into a bit of aftercare. He was… yeah. It was fine. You were looking for a relationship and had landed yourself into a fuck-buddies situation, which was fine. It just wasn’t what you wanted. And he didn’t want anything else. He just wanted someone to fuck casually, and you wanted a boyfriend who would listen to you, who would hold you, who would care. That wasn’t Carlos. Men like him didn’t settle for a girlfriend, much less you. He didn’t listen at the best of times, he only put the effort in when he was getting something from you, and it made you feel like shit. So, you kept planning on breaking it off, but then it kept going. You both kept going. You kept running back. You just wanted it to be over and bile rose in your throat every time you realised you’d actually have to try and speak to him about it, that you couldn’t just ghost him and have him leave you alone. He wouldn’t go so easily.

The music in Jimmy’s was loud. Too loud. It always was. The lights were strobe, Lando was probably on the dj deck, and you really just wanted to go home. You stared down at his message again, and typed your own out, despite the bodies pushing up against you.

Not feeling well. Raincheck?

He didn’t respond right away. You didn’t expect him to. It was usually him cancelling or calling, and you just followed. But tonight was different. You felt it. It was over, for real. You couldn’t take not being listened to. You were nearly at the door when he texted.

Have something that could make you feel better. Wait for me.

And you did. Stupidly, you waited a full twenty minutes for him to come out of the club, walking with you back to his apartment as your stomach twisted with regret. You didn’t hold hands. You didn’t smile at each other. You looked every bit the strangers you really were.

You knew what he wanted by the looks he was giving you, by the way your ‘catch-up’ (he’d asked about your day) went in one ear and out the other. You could’ve screamed and he still wouldn’t have heard you, and it only broke your heart more, because you cared. You were there for him when Ferrari dropped him, you sat there with him for a whole weekend and held him close, listening to every late-night rant and early-morning sob session. You did it for him, and he didn’t want to do it for you. You were nothing to him. You were just a body. Something to be used.

Carlos’s apartment was cosy. He had a big kitchen (which he never used), a big couch, and he was allergic to switching on the big light, so the small lamps placed around the rooms only added to the ambience. You liked it there. It smelt clean and he kept it tidy, though you wished you were coming for a date night, rather than a booty call.

He surged forward and kissed your lips as you pulled your jacket off. His hands immediately ran to grope and grab at anything he could. He pulled down the front of your dress, revealing your purple lace bra. His favourite. Your favourite too, but he never seemed to care. He smirked against your lips. “Missed you,” he hissed. “It’s been shit without you. Want you to come to Miami-”

“Carlos,” you breathed out, pushing him back, hard. He stumbled into the counter with a surprised look. “I don’t want this.”

Both of you were quiet. He just stared at you as you fixed yourself up, feeling every bit the idiot you thought you were. You had let it go on too long. You had no idea what you were going to say, but you knew you needed to say it.

“What’s wrong, preciosa?” he asked, taking a tentative step towards you. You took one step back. He stilled.

“This is what’s wrong. Us! I don’t want this anymore,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I’m fucking sick and tired of you just using me for what you want, without ever thinking about what I want!” you took a deep breath. “And I feel so fucking stupid because I keep running back! And I don’t know why! I guess I think that if I show you that I could love you like I want to, that maybe you’ll care too? Which is so fucking stupid, because you don’t love me. You’ll never fucking love me unless I’m on my knees.”

And the air sucked out of the room, replaced with a thick atmosphere. You’d said it. He had to respond.

He cleared his throat. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, his eyes wide and surprised, he took another step towards you slowly. You didn’t step back this time. “You’ve never said this before?”

“I have,” you shook your head, a sad smile on your lips. Of course he didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t care. “I have asked you a thousand times to be my actual boyfriend, and every single time you just say that we’re ‘just having fun’. Carlos, I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me, and you don’t want me.”

“I want you,” he shook his head. “Of course I want you, preciosa-”

“What does that even mean?” you scoffed. “You want me, you call me ‘precious’ , and yet you’d rather die than let me meet your friends or family, you won’t call me your girlfriend, and all we do is fuck.”

He looked down. “It’s complicated-”

“Is it though? Charles does it. Oscar does it. Esteban does it. Max does it. Liam does it. Kimi does it, for fuck’s sake Carlos. You don’t love me, just say it-!”

“I love you!” he shouted and you flinched. Suddenly his hands were gripping your waist, and hugging you. His chest was heaving “I love you,” he whispered again, his voice small. “I love you, of course I love you.”

You shook your head. “You don’t love me.”

“I love you,” he shook his head. “I love you so much.”

“You don’t listen to me,” you cried, choking up against his chest, but making no effort to move him away. “You refuse to be seen with me in public. You don’t hold me. You don’t love me unless I’m warming your cock.”

He shook his head again, his grip tightening again. “I don’t- I love you. All the time. I love how when you smile, your nose creases a little bit. I love how you look in the mornings when the sun is coming through the windows. I love how smart you are. I love hearing you speak-”

“Tell me what happened in my day,” you demanded, a test to see if he listened. To see if he cared. You pulled back to look at his face.

“You woke up late,” he started, you were already pleasantly surprised. “You went for a walk down at the marina, you went grocery shopping because you wanted to make cookies. You got some work done and got a call from one of your friends, and you met her for lunch. Her name is Freida. You had lunch at Café de Paris Monté-Carlo. She paid even though you tried to. You went home and got some more work done. Then Lotti, your friend, invited you out to Jimmy’s for a mid-week pick-up. And now you’re here, with me,” his eyes were wild as he answered your demand with perfect execution. Your mouth dropped open.

You were quiet for a moment and he reached up and wiped away every tear that fell. “So why don’t you ever make me feel like you’re listening?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I love you and I’m sorry. I’ll change. I’ll do anything, I just… I cannot lose you.”

“I just…” you pushed back, his hands dropping from your figure. His face hardened. “I need time to think.”

And you left, because what else were you meant to do?

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

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bahrtofane · 4 days ago

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yearner

in which carlos cant escape his nature after his move to williams, but its not too bad with you

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - angst but with a positive ending. carlos is a yearner

first actual carlos x reader woho!!

Carlos is a sore loser. He supposes it was born out of competition, the drive and desire to be the best. The pit in his stomach when he realizes his position, the bile that claws at his throat when he rewatches his crashes and stupid mistakes. Knowing he can be better, settling for what he has and battling the past.

He’s a sore loser the way he takes it out on himself.

He bites his tongue, accepts the points on days when he gets them, does his interviews. He smiles at the cameras, tossing his hair back in the way he knows will get the attention off the far look in his eyes. Something to distract.

He sighs when he closes the last door, the last barrier between him and the cameras. Sighing as he finally reaches his motorhome.

His eyes sag, lips pressed in a thing line, mind racing. He chooses to scrub the thoughts away with a shower, impossibly hot and turning him red but he doesn't care. Tomorrow he will be forced to relive his poor performance and smile while everyone looks at him with pity.

Sleep comes to him much later than it should, and he can only promise to do better.

—--

Carlos is a sore loser, but even more so he is doomed to circumstance, his own mind. Mulling things over on his own, brushed with a shade of blue that's one shade too sad.

You know this well, as well as you can with a man like him. He is hard to figure out and hard to remove yourself from. You have become in a way transfixed into understanding more. The way a dog follows a line of treats. You just hope the big bag of treats at the end is getting close.

He has these big beautiful eyes, but the only things they see to capture is his own suffering. You asked him why he keeps doing it, why does he keep suffering in something that has a way out. “Its all I know how to do,” was all he could say.

It's true you suppose. But this sport will never love him the way he loves it. You see the way people treat him, the way his words fall into silence when every word he speaks is sincere. He gives so much, carving chunks out of himself just in an effort to remind those that he is alive. As if saying, look at me, I'm still here. And it still doesn't seem like enough.

You met him on a whim, completely by chance rushing as the may sun blasted against your skin. Miami has its perks but the weather in the summer is not one of them.

You were in Miami for a new job, working for a team and sport you were unaware of. But a job is a job and you booked the flight to Miami the second the email came in. You were late for your first official day, rushing into the hotel the meeting was set to be at. Begging for the elevator to stay open. A single man was inside, back turned, so you spirited. Heel slipping just as you made it inside, crashing right into his back, a slew of what you assumed to be spanish curses followed.

The rest is history.

Carlos liked that you were new to his world. That you had no expectations of him, nothing to hold over his head, no promises you forced him to make. You knew only the man in the moment. Not the man in all the races before this. And he adored this.

—-

Carlos calls you the following day, as he’s gathering his things to head to the airport.

“Morning.” you mumble out, voice cracking through the speakers.

He snorts, “good morning. Did you see what I sent?”

You make a garbled noise, the sound of sheets coming from the other end as you battle your phone to dig through the notifications.

“What am I looking at?”

“Tickets to the next race.” Carlos says, half like a question unsure of his own words.

“For me?” you say clearly now. Fully awake.

“Yes. if you want. No pressure.” he adds the last part quickly.

“No, I want to. Thank you.”

You don't bring up the race from yesterday. You rarely bring up racing on your own. Carlos hopes you stick around, for his sake, his sanity.

—-

You come, dressed in blue for williams. Carlos can't help the smile that spans his face. You blush, taking his hand gingerly. He shows you around, introducing you to people while you give timid waves and quiet hellos.

And then the time comes for him to leave your side and be back in the belly of the beast. God why did he pick such a ridiculous job.

—-

He doesn’t place, no points, no podium. He can't face you and the disappointment he knows will be impossible to hide. So he hides. Doing what is needed, showing his face where he must and escaping. He doesn't pick up your calls, jumping into the boiling shower once more and scrubbing like a ritual that will purify him. It wont. But he still does it.

When he sits on the all too clean bed of the motorhome he looks at his phone. Please call me when you can, I care about you. From you, an hour ago. Hm.

He settles for a text.

Hey, sorry I just got busy. Sorry for having you come out here for nothing.

You reply immediately.

You have nothing to be sorry for.

I came for you, not for anything else.

He looks at the text for much too long before sending his location and asking you to spend the night with him, if you want. Ditch the hotel and bring your things.

—-

Security gives you a hard time, so he goes to collect you himself. You stand, brows furrowed, in a much more casual outfit. Glasses on your head while you try to plead to be let in.

You make it through when Carlos waves his hand, taking your suitcase and bags, leading the way.

It's much quieter when you get inside. The space is almost unnaturally clean. Whites and creams everywhere. You notice the drop in his shoulders, a stark comparison to the way he held his head high earlier.

He goes into the bathroom, peeling off the casual clothes for pajamas. Giving you a weak smile as you get your things up.

“Would you still see me if i quit?” he mumbles out, words fraying at the seams.

You give him a look, “Carlos, I'm not interested in you for any other reason but the fact that it's you. You could take up crab fishing for all I care.”

He doesnt look up, “they gave me an out, if I want. Anytime I can stop. There's always a replacement.”

You pad over to where he slouches on the bed, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder. “You're too in your head. It's late. Someone once told me never to trust how you feel about yourself past 9 pm.”

“I always feel like this.” he whispers, eyes glassy as he looks up at you.

You now understand at the root of it all, Carlos remains just a little boy who wants somewhere to belong. To feel wanted. A place to do something he cares about and do it well. Where he can be given the chance by people that genuinely believe in him.

Carlos is more than just a sore loser, a sore loser. He’s a yearner.

—--

You don't talk about that night. But you do stick around. He asks to be official a few weeks later, over dinner at a restaurant you can’t even pronounce. You tell him what you think and he mulls it over.

He has an out, but doesnt take it. Not yet. He still has a hunger to prove himself. Even if he doubts he can do it. You know he can, you’ve seen the way he works, the passion that fuels him the hunger. He still chases like a wounded dog.

For Carlos never really knows when to call it quits does he.

—-

It takes almost half way through the season but he makes a podium. P3 in a williams. He wants to cry, shout from the rooftops that he can do it. He is worth it. He belongs here in f1.

Charles is on the podium, of course he is. A step above in p2. Carlos tries not to tell the red blind him. A reminder of the past and what once was. He says his wonders of thanks to the team, gives Charles a hug and tries not to fall into the routine they used to have.

He instead goes to you, smiling wide while you mouth the words ‘i believed’.

Carlos is a yearner, and it strings him along endlessly. Tugging at his heart and wrapped around his mind. But he hasn't stopped just yet. Your soft kisses and the way your eyes twinkle at him under the lights make it that much easier. Who knows maybe he can win driving this thing.

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz jr x y/n #bahr f1 #cs55 x reader #cs55 x you #cs55 fic #cs55 imagine #cs55 #cs55 x y/n

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jungwnies · 2 days ago

Text

f1 grid | who wears the pants... and who doesn't

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid (ft. seb & kimi as requested) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @sonichkkaaascreams) : who on the grid wears the pants in the relationship, and who doesn't >.>

୨ৎ : genre : mature & romance ୨ৎ : tws : def suggestive for some ୨ৎ : word count : 2145

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : another rare monday grid post AND a double post >.<

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

pretends to be in charge until you say something like “on your knees” and he obeys like it’s instinct.

constantly teases you in public, but it’s all bark behind closed doors, he folds under your tone.

you tell him when, where, how. he lives for being told exactly what to do.

rarely talks back, but when he does, it’s 100% to rile you up so you’ll put him in his place.

after? he’s extra clingy. won’t stop stroking your thigh and calling you “babe” like you didn’t just ruin him 10 minutes ago.

subby max. bratty when bored. melts when you’re in control.

yuki tsunoda

fights it for about 0.2 seconds before giving in with a flushed face and a quiet “okay…”

melts the second you use a firm tone. especially if you call him out — “yuki. focus.” he’s instantly obedient.

loves being praised more than anything. you say “good boy” and he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard.

whiny, needy, and eager to please. he’ll ask “am i doing okay?” with wide eyes and desperation in his voice.

clings to you after, burying his face in your chest while you play with his hair and let him come down slow.

subby yuki. zero resistance. just wants to be told what to do and loved after.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

you try to boss him around once and he just raises an eyebrow like, “you done?”

he doesn’t tell you what to do — he instructs you, and somehow you always end up listening.

real composed until it matters, and then it’s all “hands where i want them. now.”

praise kink? yes. but for you. he’ll have you whimpering “yes, sir” and he’ll smile like it’s his life’s mission.

absolutely ruins you with that quiet authority voice and the way he looks at you like he owns every inch of you.

dommy george. calculated, commanding, never raises his voice — he doesn’t need to.

kimi antonelli

tries to act cool and composed, but the second you touch his jaw and say “sit. be good,” he’s gone.

wants to be the one in control, but gets flustered when you take over — and honestly? he kind of likes it.

gets so soft when you’re gentle but firm with him. your praise sticks in his head for days.

will try to return the favor and be dommy sometimes, but ends up red in the face and overly polite about it.

“can i… uhm… maybe touch you now?” yes baby. yes you can.

soft dom in theory. submissive in practice. let him be your sweet, eager-to-please rookie.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

always looks like he’s in control — clean-cut, charming, arm around your waist in public like he owns the place.

but in private? he’s a soft dom who lives to please you. will let you lead anytime if he sees that glint in your eye.

“you want to be in charge tonight?” he asks, smiling against your neck. “good. i like watching you work.”

still guides you gently when he’s domming — whispers in your ear, hands on your hips, praise always dripping from his lips.

you switch off control easily. for him, it’s never a power trip — it’s about intimacy. trust. making sure you both fall apart in the best way.

switchy charles. publicly confident, privately obsessed with your pleasure. gives and takes control like it’s an art.

lewis hamilton

you try to tell him what to do and he just chuckles low in your ear like, “you’re cute, baby.”

always puts you first — mentally, emotionally, physically — but he’s the one setting the pace.

hands around your throat with the softest voice in your ear: “you take what i give you. nothing more.”

doesn’t need to raise his voice — his presence alone is enough to have you falling apart.

aftercare king. whispering affirmations, kissing your skin, running you a bath while you’re still breathless.

dommy lewis. slow, smooth, and absolutely devastating — in the best way.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

tries to be all dominant and cocky until you pin him down and say

“is this what you wanted?” — instant blushing, stuttering.

loves the playful power struggle — but secretly lives for you winning it.

in public, it’s balanced — you both tease each other, both have control… until he accidentally calls you “ma’am” under his breath.

absolutely loses it when you give him commands — especially if you use that soft, deadly tone.

post-mess: clings to you, giggles into your chest, and says, “you’re actually evil. i’m obsessed.”

switchy but flustered sub when you take charge. tries to fight it. fails. loves every second.

oscar piastri

lets you run the show right up until he doesn’t — and when he flips it? you feel it.

quiet dom. doesn’t say much, but his hands know exactly where to be, and his eyes never leave yours.

doesn’t need to ask what you want — he already figured it out five steps ago.

you try to take charge and he’ll raise a brow, lean in close, and whisper, “you really think i’m going to let you?”

after? total softie. pulls you in, murmurs, “did i give you what you needed?” like it wasn’t the best night of your life.

quiet dom oscar. subtle, intense, and always one step ahead — no games, just precision.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

always in control. always. you try to take over and he just smirks, leans in, and says, “you can try, cariño.”

knows exactly how to tease you — slow touches, low voice, making you beg without ever raising his own tone.

smug as hell but gentle with it. “you’re doing so well for me. look at you.”

physically overwhelming when he wants to be — hand around your throat, body pressed to yours, but still murmuring “beautiful” like a prayer.

after? genuinely cuddly. loves holding you close, tracing circles on your back, pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder.

lance stroll

calm, cool, and confident in public — hand on your waist, guiding you through a room like he owns it.

but in private? one firm order and he’s already pulling his shirt off, flushed and eager.

gets so quiet when you take over. just wide eyes and breathy little “okay…”

melts when you praise him, but he’ll never admit how much he craves it.

still tries to act cool after, all like “that was good, huh?” while clinging to you like a needy puppy.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

teases you constantly — “oh, you’re in charge tonight? should i be scared?” (he’s not. he’s excited.)

loves when you take control, but every now and then he flips it just to see you squirm — and he loves that power struggle.

whispers filthy things with the softest voice and the most angelic smile.

in sub-mode? whiny, clingy, desperate for your praise. in dom-mode? smug, cheeky, and way too good with his hands.

always laughs after — pulls you close and says, “we’re so good at this. we should win medals or something.”

true switch. playful, sweet, and dangerous when he’s in control — but melts beautifully when you are.

carlos sainz

commands the room in public — hand on your back, eye contact like a promise, speaks for the both of you sometimes.

dominant in bed, yes, but not controlling — passionate, intentional, all heart.

still lets you take over when you want, especially if you whisper in spanish. immediate obedience.

mutters soft, sweet things while you’re in charge — “tan guapa… mi amor, look at you…”

always cuddles after. always. loves tracing your spine and mumbling how good you made him feel.

passionate dom in public. sweet, lowkey switch in private — soft for you, always.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

always talks big — “i’ve got this. i’m in charge tonight.” …sure, babe.

immediately flustered when you call his bluff. “wait, you’re serious? you’re—oh. okay. yes ma’am.”

lowkey loves being bossed around, but he’ll never admit it unless you’re teasing it out of him.

will try to brat his way into more attention. it works. every time.

whiny, dramatic, and totally obsessed with you taking over — grumbles about it after, but melts into your touch like a puppy.

bratty sub ollie. loud, chaotic, and completely soft when you take control.

esteban ocon

always tries to be polite and in control — you take over and he immediately forgets how to function.

quietly submissive. doesn’t say much, but the second you tell him what to do? he listens. every time.

loves structure and order, which makes him thrive under your rules — “yes,” “no,” “stay still.” it calms his brain.

eye contact turns him to mush. especially when you praise him in a low voice.

gets so soft after — arms wrapped around you, forehead to your chest, whispering “thank you” like you gave him peace.

subby esteban. quiet, obedient, and so soft when he’s in your hands.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

lets you play bossy for fun, but always with that knowing smirk — “you done pretending yet?”

dominant without being intense — guides you with a firm hand and a wicked sense of humor.

teases you relentlessly mid-moment, just to make you blush. “a little bossy today, huh? you’re cute when you try.”

loves taking care of you in a subtle way — holding your jaw, whispering in your ear, making you fall apart calmly.

afterward? pulls you into his lap like it’s second nature and says “told you i’d handle it.” (he did. you’re still shaking.)

confident dom liam. playful, relaxed, and always in control — without ever needing to raise his voice.

isack hadjar

walks around like he’s got it together but absolutely folds the second you give him a direct order.

chaotic energy, yes — but he lives for the structure you give him when things get heated.

will absolutely talk himself in circles trying to flirt until you shut him up with a hand around his throat.

gets so flustered when you praise him — covers his face, mutters “stopppp” while blushing like hell.

comes completely undone for you. every. single. time.

subby isack. chaos in the streets, soft and obedient in the sheets. you say jump — he asks how high.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

all charm and teasing in public — “she’s the boss. i just look pretty.” (he’s not wrong.)

tries to act in control but gives in the second you tell him to sit down and shut up.

total flirt when you take over — “you’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

lowkey loves being overwhelmed by you. handsy, needy, and completely obsessed with how you handle him.

posts after with a smug grin like he did something — while still recovering from the way you wrecked him.

subby pierre. flirty, dramatic, and totally yours to control. he lives for it.

jack doohan

calm and obedient in daily life — does what you ask without question, super sweet, totally reliable.

but in the bedroom? switches fast. grabs your waist, leans in close, and says “let me take care of you tonight.”

doesn’t raise his voice — just gives one sharp look and you’re listening.

will let you lead sometimes, but only when he lets you — and even then, he takes back control when you least expect it.

soft hands, firm grip, and the kind of focus that ruins you slow.

quiet dom jack. sweet and obedient in life, deadly in bed. respectful menace.

ʚ・special feature

sebastian vettel

kind, warm, and always listening — until he shuts the door and says “take your clothes off. now.”

patient dom. watches you try to boss him around, smiles, then flips it on you with one sentence and a hand on your throat.

he doesn't need to overpower you — he just knows what you want before you ask.

utterly obsessed with making you feel good. whispering praise in your ear while taking you apart piece by piece.

aftercare is religion to him. warm towel, water, kisses to every part of you he touched. “you were perfect. every second.”

soft but commanding dom seb. gentle hands, sharp control, and worship-level devotion.

kimi raikkonen

lets you make all the plans, pick the restaurant, organize the flights — he’s chilling.

says “okay” to everything you want, barely looks up from his phone… until you're in bed. then it’s “lie down.”

silent dom. barely says a word — just grabs your hips, flips you over, and ruins your entire attitude.

loves when you’re mouthy, though. just watches you with that cold stare and mutters “you done?” before making sure you are.

after? goes right back to letting you do everything while he steals your blanket.

silent dom kimi. doesn't run the relationship, but absolutely runs the bedroom — no discussion.

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bonbonly · 5 days ago

Text

carlos sainz in that suit keeps making me wanna be his clumsy secretary that cant get shit right so he has to fuck me dumb in order for me to get my job right for once 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 so down bad for him omg

#bon yaps #ig this would count as boss!carlos right?#hes so fucking fine and for what?!??#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x reader smut #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x female reader smut #cs55 x female reader #cs55 x reader smut #cs55 x reader

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norristrii · 22 hours ago

Note

Text idea:

Reader has cravings so her very sweet boyfriend drives out to get snacks for her…

YOU ASK, I DELIVER — texting.

You have cravings, hopefully you have the sweetest and kindest boyfriend.

featuring. Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton.

warnings. none. Thank you for this req! Sorry for making it this late.

Max, Lando, Oscar

Charles, Carlos, Lewis

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dannyriccsystem · 3 days ago

Note

so random but could you do one where the reader flashes the driver 😭 during a podium, at home, wherever you feel like lol xx

TAKE A LOOK AT ME!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: You flash the drivers

WARNINGS: Mature, nudity, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, YT22, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

No Kimi or Ollie just because I feel a bit awkward writing them in this scenario 😇

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

Max was a busy guy. As your boyfriend, he always tried to make sure you were a part of his schedule one way or another. He didn’t want the two of you to grow distant, especially considering you were an anchor of sanity for him. Without you, he’d be a madman by now.

You always tried to reward him, whether it be with a gift or your undying love. He didn’t need these prizes, but Max certainly wouldn’t be complaining when he came home to a warm body to worship, or a good meal to keep himself full and happy. You took care of him just as much.

Today, he wanted to surprise you. It was a week off, and he woke up extra early to cook you breakfast. It was simple, nothing that required lots of skill or practice, but he knew you’d be happy nonetheless.

Indeed you were. You came waddling out into the kitchen, still partially asleep. One hand slid up your shirt to scratch your own stomach as you snatched a piece of bacon, humming in delight. “Max, baby,” You pointed to your half eaten bacon. “Cooked to perfection.”

He laughed and shook his head lightly, but you weren’t done. You held the piece between your teeth, using both hands to pull your pajama top up, letting your breasts spill free. His gaze dropped instantly, and he stared silently for what felt like hours.

He finally reached out to lift you, hoisting you up onto the counter. Max gently tugged your shirt back down. “That’s certainly one way to say thanks.” He kissed your lips, and then went back to cooking, leaving you to sit there. “Quit distracting me.” You both laughed.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

Danny always went all out for you. He pulled out all the stops, and that included date night. You were at the highest rated restaurant in all of Monaco currently— The waitlist was months long, but Danny managed to weasel his way into an earlier reservation. You didn’t know how to show your thanks.

When he left to quickly use the restroom, you got to scheming. You couldn’t just repay him with sex, because you did that anyway. It had to be something new— Something that surprised him. He had all the money in the world, so gifts were a lost cause. What did you get for someone who had nearly everything?

When he returned, you had an idea in the back of your mind. You were both securely tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, with your back to the rest of the room. He sat down, giving you a quick smile before picking up his menu again. There was lots to look at, but the menu wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Danny,” His head snapped up at your voice, and his jaw dropped. You had quickly pulled down the neckline of your dress, and your boobs popped out. He leaped over the table, careful to not knock anything over, and pulled your dress back up to cover your chest.

“Woah!” He settled back down, eyes still wide. “In public? Baby you know I love your tits, and it was a great surprise, but maybe we should keep those for my eyes only.” You laughed, straightening your dress out.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to surprise you.” You winked, and he huffed a dramatic sigh, his hand over his heart.

“You certainly surprised me.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Even if it was meant to be silly, and he’d never admit it, the nickname ‘Lando Nowins’ had weighed heavily on your boyfriend’s performance. He really loathed it, and was practically seething every time someone dared to call him the mean name. It started way back when you guys first began dating, meaning that throughout his Lando Nowins era, you were still there to support him.

Years ago you made a promise with him that once he made it to P1, you’d flash him while he was up there. Now, in 2024, you were certain he had forgotten that silly little deal, which would make it all the more fun considering he’s just finished first in the Miami Grand Prix. He was already ecstatic with his win, unable to completely process the glory.

You waited until he made it to the top step, holding up his trophy with a victorious stance. Then, as his eyes locked with yours, you made the move. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, only for a split second, but he for sure got a view of your breasts.

He suddenly fell silent, a look of disbelief on his face as Charles and Max sprayed him with champagne. Nobody but him noticed, including the thousands of people watching from the stands. That was a moment for just him, displayed to the public.

He snapped out of it and joined the others in his celebration, but he couldn’t seem to get the image of your topless body out of his mind.

He found you in his drivers room afterwards, and immediately pushed you back up against the door, pulling your shirt up just enough to slide his head underneath, followed by your giggles.

“Did you forget about that promise?” You asked, holding back your laughter as he buried his face between your boobs.

“I did, and I’m glad I did.” He hummed, breathing you in. “A pleasant surprise.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles was in one of his slumps lately. Ferrari had not been performing to his liking, and it was taking a toll on his mental state. It was obvious with the way he moped around the house, usually cuddling with Leo in silence.

You tried various things to cheer him up. You offered to go on a walk with him and Leo, made his favorite food, put on his favorite movie— Everything. You even tried terrible jokes, which usually just made him pity laugh. You finally decided to pull out your trump card— Something you had been saving for dire situations. You planned on using it to get out of an argument, or persuade him into doing you a favor, but this was more important.

You approached him during one of his moping sessions. He was sitting on the couch watching TV, that same frown that’s been haunting him the past week ever so present. You stood right in front of him, blocking his view. As he looked up, you pulled your shirt up, effectively flashing your tits.

He couldn’t help but smile, a laugh leaving his lips as he covered his eyes with one hand. “Mon ange, what are you doing?!”

“Cheering you up,” You replied before putting the hem of your shirt between your teeth, and climbing on his lap. He lowered his hands to your hips, staring down at your chest without shame.

“It worked. It definitely worked.” Yeah, you could feel that it worked.

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

Yuki was not a morning person. It took forever to get that man out of bed, and then for the following thirty minutes he’d just complain about how he wanted to go back to sleep. Eventually he’d shut up and carry on with his day, but the whole ordeal was no fun for either of you.

“Yuuuukkki, wake up.” You were sat on your knees hunched over him, shaking his side. He groaned, grabbing his pillow and putting it over his ears— Acting like a drama queen, that’s for sure. “Yuki, it’s time to wake up! Quick, there’s a fire in the house!” No response. This guy had zero survival instincts.

You tried for probably another five minutes, using various tactics to wake him up. You even tried wafting the smell of his favorite food in front of his nose, but it didn’t work. You were finally starting to give up, deciding he could just sleep some more, when you suddenly remembered his greatest weakness: Your boobs.

“Yuki, my tits are out-” You were gonna finish your sentence by saying ‘you have to wake up to see’ but he immediately sat up, staring directly at you. You sat on your knees on the bed, your pajama top lifted to reveal your chest.

“I’m up.”

“I can’t believe that worked…”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis was a guy who loved nature. He was always dragging you along on hikes, despite the fact they weren’t your favorite thing. He wanted to share his passions with you, and since racing wasn’t something you could quickly join in on, he figured hiking would be just as good.

You complained half the time, but then would be super ecstatic when you came back, like it was the best hike of your life. He didn’t really get your weird way of showing enthusiasm, but he found it entertaining nonetheless.

Today, you were extremely tired, but Lewis just kept pushing the limit. Every time you’d stop to catch your breath, he’d tell you “just a bit further.” Every. Single. Time.

You finally got sick of his nonsensical behavior, and decided to give him a reason to turn around. You stopped, taking a moment to catch your breath before calling out to him. He turned around to face you, and then you quickly lifted your shirt, leaving him speechless.

“Can we turn back now?” You asked as you lowered your shirt, leaning over to continue with your deep breathing.

You could hear him swallow, loud as hell. “Yes. Yes we can.” Good use of free will.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You actually had a good reason for this. Ever since the move to Williams, Carlos hadn’t been feeling quite like himself. He was struggling with the major downgrade, even with the immense amount of support he was receiving. From you, from his new co-workers, from the fans. It certainly made the blow less harsh.

He just kept getting in his head about things. He wasn’t the smooth operator anymore— He was just your average racer, trying to drag a less than perfect car to the finish line. You could tell he wasn’t suffering on the track, so you chose to surprise him.

One day you came home a little later than normal, and he greeted you with a confused expression, along with his normal forehead kiss. “Where were you?” Coming home late typically meant you were running errands, but your hands were empty.

You didn’t give a proper reply. Instead, you lifted your shirt. Your breasts spilled free, but that’s not what he was focused on. Nestled between them was the number 55– His number. He melted on the spot, grabbing your hips.

“Do you like it?” He nodded, unable to say anything. He leaned down, but you gently pushed his head back. “I just got it done, so no kisses there.”

“Fine,” He grumbled begrudgingly, instead opting to kiss both breasts tenderly. “Your support means everything to me…”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

Your boyfriend was always without his damn shirt. At home, after races, on his instagram— The world got to see his abs. At first you were always startled when he paraded around your home without a top on, but eventually it became part of the norm.

You could only wonder how he’d react if the roles were reversed. What if one day you just started to walk around with a shirt or bra? The curiosity got to be too much, so one day when you excused yourself to the bathroom, you stripped down to just your pants, letting everything up top hang loose.

You came back, flaunting yourself as if it were nothing abnormal. George noticed immediately, his eyes shamefully staring at your assets as your strutted by. He kept his firm gaze, jaw clenched and all, trained on you. Finally, he couldn’t keep silent anymore and addressed the elephant in the room.

“What are you doing?” You bit back a laugh, turning around to face him. He didn’t seem to mind, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

“You walk around shirtless all the time. I just wanted to join.” He nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t even seem that fazed by your behavior.

George shrugged, “You got me there.”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was a gentleman at heart. He knew you were a capable person, but he always held doors open for you, pulled your seat out, offered you his jacket— Everything. He wasn’t stuck up about it, though. If the roles happened to be reversed, he’d politely accept your kind behavior.

Oscar is the type of guy to ask you if you want to come back to his house at the end of the date because he sincerely just wants to continue being around you, not because he’s looking for a quick fuck. He was the perfect guy— You, on the other hand, were his more devious match that paired with his gentlemanly demeanor perfectly.

He could tell you had something up your sleeve all night, because you were abnormally giggly. He just didn’t expect it to quite literally be up the sleeve of your jean jacket, which topped the nice dress you wore to the date nicely.

“A gift for you,” You held out a small photo, face down for him. He raised a brow, and hesitantly took the polaroid picture from you. His cheeks flared up in a bright red cover and he quickly laid it back down on the table, covering it with his hand.

“Why do you have that?!” It was a photo of you, wearing only a pair of heels and his racing helmet. You laughed at his dramatic reaction, sliding the photo back into your own grasp.

“Did you not like it?” You asked, faking a pout as you tucked it back into your bra.

“Well- Obviously I did, but why-?!” He shook his head, laughing at your antics.

“Why not?” Evil laughter ensued.

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dreamauri · 6 hours ago

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♪ — 𝗖𝗢𝗪 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 bigger! carlos sainz jr. x smaller! fem! reader ( smut ) fic summary . . . bigger carlos likes having you on top, it's not necessarily a bad thing (429 words)

( general master list | more of carlos sainz ) ( requests )

Carlos loved having you on top.

It wasn’t just about the view—though, God, was it a sight to behold. The way you sat on his lap, legs spread over his thighs, body trembling, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. The way your hands pressed against his chest like you were trying to steady yourself, even though he knew there was no steadying against the way he filled you.

But more than that, it was the way he could see it—see the way your stomach stretched, the faint bulge pressing against your skin, evidence of just how deep he was inside you.

His dark eyes followed the sight, mesmerized, his large hand reaching out. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your lower belly, a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. “Look at that,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “You’re so small, cariño. I can see myself inside you.”

You whimpered, your fingers clenching against his chest. You hated this position—it made you take all of him, gravity pulling you down so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat. Every little movement sent sharp waves of pleasure through you, leaving you trembling, helpless against the way he filled you so completely.

Your legs were shaking, struggling to keep yourself up, but Carlos just smirked. “Tired already?” His voice was teasing, but there was something smug beneath it—something proud.

“Carlos,” you whined, your body squirming, trying to find relief from the overwhelming stretch. But that only made things worse. The way you shifted, clenched around him—it drove him crazy. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still.

“You’re not running from it,” he murmured, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. “Not when you feel this good.”

Before you could protest, he thrust up into you slowly, a deep, deliberate roll of his hips.

You cried out, your body jolting, your hands flying to grip his wrists—but he caught them easily, pinning them down, stopping you from squirming away. Your head fell back, a broken whimper slipping from your lips.

Carlos groaned, watching the way you trembled for him, your body so small compared to his, so completely at his mercy. He leaned up, lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and teasing.

“Be good for me, mi amor,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around your wrists. “Let me feel you.”

And with another slow, devastating thrust, he did—dragging you deeper into the pleasure until you had no choice but to give in, to take everything he gave you.

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lvrclerc · 3 days ago

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𝒮VY'S POETRY DEPARTMENT! ✷ a 500 followers celebration

thank you so much for the milestone! i'm so happy that you all like my writing enough to stick around.

✉ here are some prompts taken from different poems/books/song lyrics/etc: just send a number + a driver + other specifics if you feel like it, and i'll write a small drabble/fic inspired by it! careful because once the line has been requested, you can't request it a second time no matter the driver. i'll take requests from 27/04/25 to 11/05/25.

DRIVERS I WRITE FOR ... charles leclerc, max verstappen, lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, oliver bearman, pierre gasly, alex albon, isack hadjar, carlos sainz.

1. « will you love me in december as you do in may? » - they might be giants ( OLIVER BEARMAN, FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL - SOON )

2. « although i may not be yours, i could never be another's. » - mary shelley ( CARLOS SAINZ, SOON )

3. « who wouldn't want you? whose most demonic apetite would you fail to satisfy? » - louise glück ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

4. « in a dream i don't tell anyone, you put your head on my lap. » - richard siken ( CHARLES LECLERC, SOON )

5. « i have built a you around me, or you have. i wonder what of me there is in you. » - amal el-mohtar ( ALEX ALBON, SOON )

6. « seventeen is an inconvenient time to be in love. » - gayle forman ( ISACK HADJAR, POSTCARD FROM NOWHERE - SOON )

7. « charm me. furiously. torment me. in detail. » - hermann hesse ( CARLOS SAINZ, SOON )

8. « angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, i turned away. » - scott f. fitzgerald ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

9. « a kiss can destroy a philosophy. » - anaïs nin

10. « i have not broken your heart─ you have broken it. and in breaking it, you have broken mine. » - emily brontë ( MAX VERSTAPPEN, SOON )

11. « i am too young and i've loved you too much. » - fyodor dostoyevsky ( ISACK HADJAR, SOON )

12. « in his arms, i slowly unfolded like a love note read in secrets. » - jill s. alexander ( MAX VERSTAPPEN, SOON )

13. « i have never loved before as i love you─ with tenderness, to the point of tears. » - vladimir nabokov ( OSCAR PIASTRI, SOON )

14. « perhaps we may meet each other in a dream. » - marina tsvetaeva ( CHARLES LECLERC, DREAM SEQUENCE - SOON )

15. « you have no idea what a charming memory you are to me. » - friedrich nietzche

16. « there’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned. » - shakespeare

17. « if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. but you know what i am. » - jane austen ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

18. « i find a parallel to us in every romance. » - agnes von kurowsky ( OSCAR PIASTRI, EVERY VERSION OF LOVE )

19. « come live with me and be my love. » - christopher marlowe

20. « battered and wrecked, i come to you first─ » - homer

#ᯓ events.ᐟ #ᯓ ivy's poetry department.ᐟ #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #alex albon x reader #pierre gasly x reader #isack hadjar x reader #kimi antonelli x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oliver bearman x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you

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imagine-it-was-us · 23 hours ago

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love me not pt.3 || Carlos Sainz

Inspiration: Ravyn Lenae x Rex Orange County "Love me not"

Author's note: And here it ends. Wel, I loved writing this one! I will sound like an absolute idiot, but it makes me crave the chaotic relationship I never had, if it means you're getting your happy ending. Please, share your thoughts, the feedback is everything 🥺

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x female reader

Warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of pregnancy, time jumps.

Summary: They started as a spark – fast, reckless, impossible to ignore. One night turned into something more. But when love feels like a push and pull, when you only know how to leave before you're left… how do you stay?

Word count: 3.5k+

part1 part2

The best thing that could’ve happened to their relationship was the winter break.

Even with Carlos in the midst of switching teams – juggling meetings and a never-ending string of training sessions and briefings – there was still room for her. And he took his time with it, without hesitation, like he’d already learned the hard way what happens when you don’t make time for the things that matter.

They say that in the beginning, love is all pink glasses and soft focus, where even the flaws look charming and the fights feel like flirtation. Maybe that was true for them, too. Or maybe, after all the turbulence, the thing they needed most was stillness. A kind of gentle recalibration. Whatever it was, the chaos slowed. And in its place came something that looked a lot like peace.

There were quiet mornings that turned into rituals – her brushing her teeth in nothing but one of his hoodies, sleeves too long and neckline stretched from wear. He’d already be in the kitchen, brewing coffee the way she liked it: milk, just a splash, and a swirl of honey. No need to ask, he just knew.

Sometimes they moved around the flat without speaking, music humming low in the background, caught in their own thoughts but still orbiting each other. He’d pass her a mug without a word, and she’d curl her hand around it like it was his hand she was holding. Other days, they cooked dinner together, him stirring pasta, her dancing barefoot around the kitchen to some old R&B track, occasionally dropping a kiss to his shoulder just because she could. It wasn’t loud love. It wasn’t performative. But it allowed them to be their true authentic selves without any reservations.

One time, Carlos came home late (again). The weeks leading up to the Bahrain testing had been relentless, every day packed with meetings, sim sessions, and adjusting to the new rhythm with Williams. He was used to returning to a quiet, dim apartment after long days like this. But not anymore. Now, home smelled like grilled vegetables and sounded like whatever low-stakes show she had playing on the TV. Warmth clung to the air like something he could wrap himself in.

She was curled up on the couch, wearing her pajamas, legs tucked beneath her and a blanket thrown haphazardly across her lap.

“There are freshly made burgers in the oven,” she called out without even looking away from the screen. “I tried to set the oven timer so they’d still be warm.”

That one simple sentence nearly knocked the air out of him. It wasn’t just thoughtfulness. It was the casual way she did things like that. As if it was second nature to care for him. As if she belonged here, with him. A grin stretched across his face before he even realized it.

When he finally dropped down beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions and his exhaustion fade just a little, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“God, I love you.”

The silence that followed hit him like a slap. He froze, realizing what he’d said. Too fast? Too soon? A couple of months had passed since Monte Carlo, since they’d finally put a name on what they were. Things had been good, but he hadn’t planned to say it. Not yet. Maybe not like this.

For a split second, fear bubbled up in his chest. Then she turned to him, smiling lazy and eyes full of that impossible softness that always seemed to undo him.

“I don’t know if you’re being religious or calling me God,” she said, head tilting just a little, “but either way, I love you more.”

His heart stuttered, just once. Relief flooding in, knocking the wind out of him all over again. There were still ghosts haunting the edges of what they were building, but right now, the feelings were growing fonder. And for the first time in a long time, Carlos believed it would last.

But sometimes, she’d linger in the bathroom longer than she meant to, just to shake off the overthinking about some words he said. Sometimes, he’d watch her while she slept and wonder how someone could look so calm next to him when he was still learning how not to self-destruct. There were those moments. Fleeting, barely-there pauses in their routine. Glances that didn’t land. Words half-said, then swallowed. Not arguments, just tension, subtle but present, like a crack forming in a foundation no one wanted to acknowledge.

They laughed a lot. They kissed even more. But every now and then, one of them would say something too sharply. He’d shut down without meaning to. She’d withdraw with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

As the time passed and their relationship grew and deepened, disagreements were no longer a question of if, but when. It was natural – a sign that they were both real, both human, both still learning how to love and be loved the right way. What mattered wasn’t the presence of conflict, but how they navigated it. How they circled back to each other after the storm. But the truth was, no matter how far they’d come, every fight still stung just as badly as the first. Maybe even more. Because now, there was more to lose. Now, the silences hit harder. The words, when they came, cut deeper.

And the worst part? Carlos still hadn’t learned how to stay. He didn’t know how to sit with discomfort, to hold space for pain without retreating from it. In the heat of the moment, his instinct never wavered: he walked away. Not because he didn’t care – but because he cared so much he didn’t know what to do with all the emotions.

She’d wait, every time. But even the strongest hearts can only take so much waiting.

As summer edged closer, the calendar finally loosened its chokehold – at least on paper. The races came a little slower now, the travel days stretched out with just enough space to pretend things were easier. But breathing room didn’t mean peace.

Not for them.

The cracks they’d carefully papered over all winter were starting to split wider under the weight of everything unsaid. Carlos was still carrying the bruises from his rough start with Williams, frustrated, tense, never really able to leave the pressure at the track. And her moods, usually so even, had been swinging unpredictably for weeks now, leaving both of them confused and defensive.

It didn’t take much to spark a fire anymore. The argument that night started, ironically, with nothing more than a photo.She was scrolling through her phone, mindless, half-watching the muted TV, when the image popped up: Carlos, earlier at an event, arm slung around a girl whose smile was a little too wide, whose body leaned a little too close.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t anything new. Fans adored him, he adored them back in that polite, easy way that made him Carlos. But tonight, it hit differently. Maybe because she already felt like she was losing pieces of him, one laugh and one late night at a time. Or maybe because for weeks she hadn't been able to look in the mirror without seeing someone unrecognizable and because hormones made everything a little more raw, a little more breakable.

When she heard his footsteps approaching from their bedroom, she didn’t even think before she spoke.

“Did you have fun today?”, voice light but slicing. Carlos immediately caught the off tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?’ he sat next to her on the sofa, visible confusion on his face.

“Nothing,” she shrugged, tossing the phone to him. “Just… nice to see you enjoying yourself, that’s all.”

It didn’t take him more than a glance to see what had set her off.

“It was a fan. Jesus, you’re making something out of nothing again.”

Again. The word landed like a slap.

“Maybe if you still looked at me the way you looked at her, I wouldn’t have to,” she said, voice dripping with envy, her eyes never meeting his gaze.

Carlos’s mouth twisted. Frustration boiled up the way it always did when he didn’t have the words to fix it.

“This is what you do,” he bit out. “Pick a fight because you’re in a bad mood. Blame me for it.”

“Yeah, because I’m the problem. And God forbid I dare to voice my feelings out,” she threw back, folding her arms tight across her chest like armor.

Carlos’s jaw tensed; his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and stood up, realizing that whatever he said now would only make her spiral further.

“You know what?” he said, voice sharp. “I’m not doing this tonight. I’m going to Charles’.”

He turned around, already heading to grab his keys. Maybe if she wasn’t so tired, so worn down, she would’ve let him go. But not tonight.

“Sure,” she snapped, her voice cracking despite her best efforts, “go ahead. Leave. Like you always do. Leave us.”

The word hung there, thick and heavy, an earthquake in a single syllable.

Carlos froze. And she kept going.

“It’s the only way you know how to deal with situations like this, isn’t it? Always leaving. Always making me deal with my feelings alone, wondering if this is the time you're done with me for good.”

Her voice shook, but she pushed through it. “I can’t do this. This–”

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he interrupted, voice low and shaky, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

Her throat burned. She didn’t want to say it like this. She didn’t want this to be the moment. But she couldn’t un-say it now.

“I’m pregnant, Carlos,” she whispered, voice breaking. “And I can’t– I can’t do this with someone who’s always halfway out the door. I can’t raise a kid wondering if you’re going to leave the second it gets hard.”

Carlos didn’t move for a second. Then, slowly, he came back, sinking down onto the edge of the bed like his legs didn’t know how to hold him up anymore.

His hands ran down his face, breathing shaky, but not because he was doubting it, not because he didn’t want it.

Family. With her. Not something he ever thought he’d deserve. But now that it was real, sitting between them like a live wire… There wasn’t a single part of him that regretted it.

“How long have you known?” he asked, voice hoarse, almost afraid to break whatever fragile thread was holding them together.

She twisted the hem of her sweatshirt around her fingers, not meeting his eyes.

“A month,” she said quietly. ”I’m... eleven weeks now.”

Something clicked sharply into place in Carlos’s mind. The flashes he hadn’t pieced together before.

The night she refused to come to the drivers’ dinner, claiming she was sick. How he got frustrated with her, accused her of blowing him off. Left her to deal with it alone. The way her moods had swung wildly some days, and instead of asking, he’d pulled back, snapping instead of supporting. The fights. The cracks. All the moments he could have held her closer, but didn’t. His chest tightened with regret so fierce it nearly knocked him over.

Meanwhile, she kept talking, voice trembling slightly like she couldn’t stop herself even if she tried.

“It’s been rough. The first trimester has been…” she shook her head, searching for the right word. “Hard. And with all the tension between us, I–” she swallowed, the confession threatening to strangle her, “I thought about leaving. About raising it alone.”

Carlos looked at her then, staring deep into her soul. The anger from earlier, the fear clouding everything between them – it was all gone. He only saw her – raw and scared and still so fiercely strong. Carrying not just his child, but the weight of every unspoken thing between them.

He slid across the couch until he was close enough to touch her, but didn’t, not yet. Not until she wanted him to.

“I don’t want you to do this alone,” he said quietly, fiercely. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to.”

Her eyes finally met his, guarded, shining with unshed tears.

“I mean it,” Carlos whispered, like a vow. “We can do this. We’re going to be better for them.”

She hesitated for a heartbeat. Two. Then, like a dam breaking, she leaned into him. He caught her instantly, pulling her into his arms, cradling the back of her head, anchoring her against him like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

She knew things weren’t magically fixed, that the doubt would still curl around the edges of her mind, whispering that maybe he was staying because of the baby, not because of her.

But here he was. Still here. Holding her like he meant it. And for now, that was enough.

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into his shirt where her face was pressed against him. Carlos felt the dampness, the shudder of her breath against his chest, and somehow he knew – he just knew – what was running through her head.

His hand found the back of her neck, thumb brushing soothingly over her skin, grounding her.

“Cariño,” he murmured against her hair, voice low and steady. “When things get hard... when your mind starts telling you all the wrong things... don’t shut me out, okay? Don’t let me walk out on you. I know that I’m not the easiest person to be with, but you are the only one who can hold me down. So please, talk to me.”

He pulled her tighter against him, feeling the damp warmth of her tears soak through his shirt. His own chest ached with the weight of it – the mistakes he’d made, the fear she still carried, the trust she was still fighting to give him.

“I chose you before,” he whispered, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “And I’m choosing you now. Every day. No matter what.”

Her fingers clutched his hoodie, the smallest broken sound escaping her, but this time it wasn’t fear – it was something closer to hope, fragile and real.

They still had a lot to learn. A lot to fix. But they would.

Together.

“No, you’re not carrying that,” Carlos commented, rising halfway from the floor where he was crouched in front of an almost-finished crib. His eyes narrowed at the box in her hands like it personally offended him.

She raised a brow and shushed him with a dramatic flick of her wrist.

“Relax, Carlitos. It’s just a changing pad. It barely weighs a thing.”

With a roll of her eyes and a small grunt, she set the cardboard box down on top of the assembled changing table. The nursery had taken shape quickly in the past few weeks – muted tones, soft lighting, tiny clothes already folded into drawers that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and baby powder. Books lined the small shelf. Plush toys peeked out of the corner.

Carlos took a step back to look around, wiping his palms on his sweatpants.

“We actually pulled it off,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “This is starting to look like... a real home.”

And for once, it really did.

Things were looking up.

The past six months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been transformative. After the storm came something close to peace.. Therapy became a grounding point, not just for the baby’s sake, but for theirs. A shared promise: to give their child the kind of love they hadn’t always known growing up. To unlearn the damage, brick by brick. It was their way to show up for each other in a way that no one else did. Carlos had surprised them both with how open he became. Somewhere along the way, the sessions stopped feeling like obligation and started feeling like oxygen. His dread, the constant, clawing fear of not being enough, slowly faded into something quieter. Manageable.

She stayed at work as long as her body allowed it, balancing spreadsheets and mood swings like a pro, until her doctor insisted she step back and take her pregnancy leave. The downtime hadn’t come easily to her, but it gave her space to breathe. Nest. Heal. She was fighting demons of her own, not only fearing the mistake her impulsiveness can cause to their relationship, but also how it could damage their child in the long run.

But healing didn’t come neatly packaged with a bow. Therapy didn’t wave a magic wand over their problems – it just handed them the tools. And some days, they still fumbled. They still argued, got stubborn, said the wrong thing at the wrong time. But now, there was something different at the heart of it all – intention. Instead of walking away, they leaned in. Instead of shutting down, they reached out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. They weren’t just learning how to love each other better – they were learning how to stay, even when it got hard.

And the baby? Oh, the baby was already the most loved fetus on the grid. When they’d shared the news – “Sainz Jr. Jr. arriving 2026” scrawled across a grainy ultrasound on Instagram – the internet had exploded. Aunties and uncles lined up in their DMs, a different driver claiming dibs on godparent status every week. The group chats were chaotic. Pure, hilarious chaos.

And now, the calm. The nursery light dimmed to a warm gold as the sun dipped lower. She was curled on the sofa, a hand on her stomach, the other balancing a cup of chamomile tea he’d just handed her.

He joined her a moment later, sitting down slowly, one hand resting lightly on her belly as if it grounded him there. They didn’t need many words. But tonight, something buzzed in the air, sweet and slow.

They talked about the future. About tiny shoes and first birthdays and whether the baby would inherit Carlos’ curls or her sarcasm. The laughter died down to a quiet hum as he shifted beside her, suddenly more serious, more certain. And then he reached into his pocket.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking about how to do this. I had about fifty different ideas. I threw out forty-nine of them last night. And I’m probably still going to mess it up–”

Carlos took a steady breath as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box with hands that had never felt so unsure. She watched him, confused at first, then still – eyes fixed on his face as he began to speak.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you,” he said quietly, voice steadier than he expected. “You pulled me in like you had a gravity of your own. And in that moment, I just knew I needed you.”

She sat up slowly, one hand braced against her belly, the other covering her mouth as emotion washed over her.

“We started with a spark... and then we were on fire. It was too much, too fast, and I kept telling myself we needed to slow down. Be cool. And I guess... we got our slowdown. We both slipped into our old, toxic ways. But somehow, I think we had to fall apart to learn how to come back together. Even when I was with someone else, before we figured this out... I knew. You were it for me. My endgame. There’s never been anyone else.”

She blinked, tears pooling in her lashes.

“Our love started like one of those old children’s games – pulling petals, wondering ‘she loves me... she loves me not.’ But once you really had me, truly had me, I never doubted your love or wanted to be anywhere else. I still don’t.”

He paused, eyes locked with hers as he dropped down to one knee, gently taking her free hand in his.

“I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. And the fact that I’m standing here, still getting to love you, is nothing short of a miracle. But know this – I would’ve never let you go without a fight. Never.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I know I’ll mess up again. We both will. But if we keep showing up, keep fighting for this... there’s no doubt in my heart. No place I’d rather be than right here. With you. Always.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then her lips parted, and her face crumpled into something between awe and disbelief. But instead of answering him, she winced. A soft gasp escaped.

Carlos immediately froze.

“What? What is it?” he asked, already shifting closer, hand still wrapped around the little velvet box.

She blinked again, wider this time, and let out a shaky laugh.

“I think my waters just broke.”

Carlos stared at her.

“You’re joking,” he said.

She wasn’t.

And suddenly, the calm was gone. The rush of it all descended – nerves, adrenaline, panic wrapped in joy. But somehow, amid all the flurry of half-packed hospital bags and reaching for his phone with trembling hands, Carlos was still grinning.

Because this? This was everything.

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