#sorry Carlos but my Glance glasses are on for this one

[va1entinesg4l]

you’re my fucking star

pairing: charles leclerc x model!reader

summary: what happens when Charles meets his celebrity crush?

warning: tiny bit of fluff, f! receiving, slight breeding kink

Charles always had his eye on you. Even during his teenage years, watching you grow up to be a model. In interviews, he’s mentioned having a crush on you, how he’d wish to meet you. He’s been to a few shows to watch you, you were absolutely stunning. He’s even bought a few magazines that has you on the cover.

He was staring again, a Nova Cora crêpe satin dress made by Vivienne Westwood hugging your curves perfectly, your hair flowing down your shoulders, your smile lighting the room up. He takes notice of every single detail about you.

The party was at the Mclaren driver’s house and you were invited. Lando and you had been childhood best friends and he always invited you to watch his races which to everyone’s surprise, they figured you were both dating which made Charles’s blood boil.

“You alright, mate?” Charles snaps out of his trance when he heard Carlos’s voice, turning around to see him handing a glass of champagne.

“M’ fine.” Charles grumps as he downs his champagne, keeping his sharp gaze on you when Lando comes from behind, placing a palm on your back.

Carlos shrugs at his grumpiness before heading off for another glass of champagne. Charles was left in his thoughts, wondering if he should make a move.

You could feel Charles’s gaze burning a hole through you, little did he know. Lando knew that he had a thing for you but he never says anything about it. You excuse yourself from the conversation as you head to the restroom and Charles took that opportunity to follow you.

Your heart slightly jumps when you see Charles leaning against the wall, straightening his back when he sees you come out of the bathroom.

He clears his throat, “Sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you. I was just-”

“Following me?”

Charles’s cheek burn with embarrassment, quickly denying the fact that he was following and watching you. You smile at his expression, ‘cute’ you thought.

“I just need to use to restroom as well.” What a shit lie, Charles. He mentally curses in French, making you giggle. “At the women’s bathroom?”

“N-No, I um. I wanted to ask if you’d join me for dinner tomorrow night.” Charles was nervous, it might seem a little rushed, considering he followed you to the bathroom just to ask you out, he could’ve waited till the night ended but he didn’t.

Your heart flutters in surprise and so did your answer.

“I’d love to, Charles.” Charles couldn’t help but let out a sheepish smile, his heart feeling giddy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” He smiles before you give him a nod, walking back to the crowd as he watches the way your body moves.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It was the night you were having dinner with Charles. You liked Charles, more than you expected. Those sneaky glances he gave when he thought you wouldn’t notice, those nice gestures he made whenever he tried to impress you.

You felt the same way he did, ever since he made his debut in formula 2. The first time you actually met him was when Lando won his first podium, everyone was rushing to take pictures of him, bumping into each other when you bumped into Charles, a digital camera of yours that you dearly loved slipping from your hands.

It broke and Charles couldn’t help but feel bad. You shrugged it off saying it was fine but Charles insisted on buying a new one for you, which he did.

He left it for you in the Mclaren garage, a small apology note that wrote,

‘sorry for breaking your camera, hope this one fills new memories, C.L.’

Reading that note instantly made you fell for him. You never told anyone, not even Lando.

You arrive at the restaurant Charles insisted on going, walking inside as you glance around to look for him. There he was.

The sight of him wearing a suit with those glasses made your clit throb, you kept a straight face before walking over to him. He sees you and his smile beams, he gets up from his seat, pulling your chair out for you to sit.

You smile, giving him a small thanks as he sits down as well.

“tu es magnifique..” you look beautiful. He mutters, his gaze taking every inch of you, his heart pounding in his chest.

“tu es beau toi-même.” you look handsome yourself. Charles stops, looking at you in surprise. He didn’t expect you to speak French. “You speak French?” He grins.

You laugh softly with a nod, shrugging. “You could say that.”

Charles lets out another grin, the love of his life a gorgeous woman who spoke French as well, you have him on a tight leash.

This is going to be a long night.

You were glad dinner went well with Charles tonight. You both spoke about your dreams, your hobbies, your careers, anything to know about each other. You listened to him explain about his love for driving, how it’s because of his late father.

You were both on the way back to his apartment, the ride silent as the soft music plays through the radio.

Charles sneaks a glance when he notices the way you bit your lip, the way your thighs were clenched. Blood rushing straight to his cock. He keeps his attention to the road, his mind filled with the thoughts of fucking you.

He parked his car in the driveway, opening the car door for you as he leads you inside his apartment. It was comfy, there were pictures of him hung up on the wall. His trophies arranged nicely on the cabinet.

He watches the way your hips move and he swallows hard, trying his best not to bend you over the couch and fuck you.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asks and you shake your head, “I’m alright, thanks.”

Your breathing becomes shaky when you face Charles, his body moving towards yours as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you swore you felt his hard cock pressed against your clothed pussy.

“Charles..” you whisper, your breath hitting his.

“Hm?” his eyes find yours, his fingers sliding down your back, goosebumps starting to form on your skin. He’s wanted this for years, to touch you, to taste you.

“Fuck me, Charles.”

That’s all he wanted to hear. He lifts you up, your legs wrapped around his waist before he lays you down on the couch, pulling your legs apart before he starts kissing the insides of your thighs.

His nose nudges your clothed pussy before he rips your panties off, sucking on your clit.

You throw your head back, letting out pornographic moans as he continues to lick your pussy.

“So fucking sweet.” He murmurs, sucking harder which makes you clamp your thighs around his head but his hands keeps a firm grip on them to hold you down.

You were a whimpering mess, so close to coming. Charles then slides in two fingers and you moan, gripping his hair tighter before he groans. He could feel you clenching around his fingers and it only takes five seconds for you to cum when he whispers.

“Come for me, jolie fille.” pretty girl. And you do, your cum dripping down his fingers and he licks them clean, groaning at how sweet you taste. “So sweet, baby.”

Charles then undos his pants, letting it drop to the floor. His cock hard, the tip red and swollen before he slides inside of your slick, wet pussy. “Charles!” you gasp, shutting your eyes as he starts to fucks you.

“You’re so fucking tight, mon ange.” my angel. He pants out, his glasses fogging up made him look hotter and you lean in, smashing your lips against his, his tongue slipping in to taste you.

You both were close to coming, the sound of your skins slapping filled the room. Charles couldn’t take it anymore as he whimpers out.

“Cum for me, baby.” You let out a cry of pleasure, arching your back as you finally cum. His cum shooting inside of you, loading your pussy up.

He kisses your forehead gently before holding you in his arms, both your breaths heavy when he whispers.

“I think I’m in love.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

hope you guys enjoyed it!!

[pucksandpower]

Never Have I Ever

Charles Leclerc x Sainz!Reader

Summary: a game of Never Have I Ever leads to revelations your brother wishes he could forget (and half the grid running for their lives)

“Alright Y/N, it’s your turn!” Lando says, turning to you with an impish grin. “Give us a good one!”

You bite your lip, looking around the circle of F1 drivers sitting cross-legged on the floor of Charles’ palatial hotel suite. It’s a rare night off for everyone during the season, and Charles had suggested a casual get-together for some bonding time. That, of course, led to drinking games, and now here you all are, a few rounds into Never Have I Ever.

“Hmm...” you say slowly, tapping your chin as you think. Your brother, sitting to your left, playfully shoves your shoulder.

“Come on, hermanita! Don’t go easy on us,” he says with a laugh. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

“Okay, okay! Never have I ever … raced in Formula 1,” you declare. A chorus of groans goes up around the circle as everyone except you drinks.

“That was just mean, Y/N!” Lance protests, though his eyes are twinkling with amusement. You grin and give a nonchalant shrug.

“All’s fair in Never Have I Ever!”

The game continues, the questions getting more and more outrageous and personal. Though you’re the only non-driver here, you feel completely comfortable around these guys. You’ve known most of them for years now through your brother, and they welcomed you into the F1 family immediately. It’s fun to sit back and observe their antics and camaraderie.

“Alright, I’ve got one,” Daniel says, leaning forward with an devilish smirk. “Never have I ever … slept with someone on the grid.”

You feel your eyes widen slightly at the implication, but force yourself not to react. Still, you can’t help but notice Fernando slyly taking a sip of his drink out of the corner of your eye. The rest of the drivers turn to look at him in surprise.

“What?” Fernando says with an innocent look. “Have you seen Mark Webber?”

The others burst into laughter at this excuse, the tension effectively diffused. As all eyes stay focused on Fernando, you slowly lift your own glass to your lips and take a subtle sip.

Just as you’re lowering it though, you feel Carlos stiffen next to you. Uh oh. You chance a glance at your brother and immediately regret it at the sight of the shock and anger flashing in his eyes. Before you can say anything, Carlos is on his feet.

“Alright, which one of you was stupid enough to touch my sister?” He demands heatedly.

Instantly, almost comically, Charles, Max, Lando, Pierre, Alex, Oscar, and Logan scramble to their feet and take off running in different directions.

Carlos’ eyes nearly bug out of his head before he takes off after them, yelling Spanish profanities. You sit there stunned for a second before dissolving into laughter. Only Fernando and Daniel remain seated beside you, chuckling and shaking their heads.

“Carlos! Hermano, calm down!” You call after your brother fruitlessly. Still giggling, you turn to Fernando. “I should probably go deal with him before he actually hurts someone, huh?”

“Probably wise,” Fernando says with an amused smile. “Good luck, chica.”

You give him a grateful smile before jumping to your feet and hurrying after Carlos. You find him in the next room, gripping a cowering Lando by the front of his shirt.

“Please don’t kill me!” Lando squeaks out. “It was one time!”

“Carlos, stop!” You cry, rushing over and grabbing your brother’s arm. “Let him go!”

Carlos drops Lando immediately, who scurries away like a frightened mouse. Your brother whirls on you, face still red with anger.

“Y/N, what the hell? You never told me you’ve been with these pendejos!”

You hold up your hands in a calming gesture. “I know, I’m sorry! It just sort of … happened. With everything going on in the paddock, it’s hard to avoid getting close to people. A girl has needs!”

Carlos drags a hand down his face, looking positively murderous. You place a gentle hand on his arm.

“Carlos, listen to me. I’m a grown woman, I can make my own choices. I know you want to protect me, but I’m okay, I promise.”

Your brother’s expression softens slightly as he looks down at you. He pulls you into a tight hug.

“Lo siento, hermanita. I just worry about you, that’s all. The grid is like a family, but still ...”

You hug him back reassuringly. “I know. But you don’t need to go all Spanish Inquisition on them, okay? I can handle myself.”

Carlos sighs but finally relents with a small smile. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to restrain myself from beating them all senseless.”

You laugh. “Much appreciated. Now come on, let’s get back out there and pretend this never happened, yeah?”

Carlos winces slightly but agrees, allowing you to lead him back out to the others. Most have returned to the circle now, shooting your brother wary glances. You give them a reassuring smile as you sit back down, Carlos settling tensely beside you.

“Right!” You say brightly. “Whose turn was it?”

There’s a beat of uncertain silence before Logan clears his throat.

“Uh, I believe it was mine,” he says. “Never have I ever … had a podium finish.”

There’s a communal exhale of relief as the game gets back underway. You catch Carlos’ eye and give him a pointed look, reminding him of his promise. He sighs but gives you a subtle nod and an apologetic smile.

The questions continue on, ranging from silly to risqué, though nothing quite as explosive as before. You’re relieved to see your brother laughing and back to his normal self.

As the night winds down, you’re struck by a feeling of gratitude and affection for this group. Despite the drama and tensions of the season, at the end of the day, you’re all a family.

These guys welcomed you with open arms, and you know Carlos is just looking out for you. You lean against your brother with a contented sigh, smiling around at the drivers joking and chatting happily. No matter what happens on and off the track, you know you’ll always have each other.

***

“Alright everyone, glasses up! We’re doing this again!”

You grin around at the drivers gathered once more, this time to celebrate the one year anniversary of your first Never Have I Ever night together.

“Who’s starting us off this time?” Lando asks, bouncing excitedly in his seat.

“Ooh me, me!” Alex volunteers, raising his hand eagerly. Everyone chuckles.

“Alright Albon, give us a good one,” Lewis encourages.

Alex strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, never have I ever … raced in F1 before 2019.”

A majority of the group drinks at that one. “Trying to knock out us old farts, eh?” Fernando jokes, elbowing Alex.

The questions continue on, each one prompting laughs and cheers among the group. You’re filled with the same warm contentment as last year, smiling around at your dear friends.

About halfway through, you clear your throat. “I’ve got one! Never have I ever … been an uncle.”

Most of the drivers take a drink between smiles and coos about nieces and nephews. You notice Carlos doesn’t drink and turn to him with a playful grin.

“Uh, hermano, I think you forgot to drink for that one,” you say pointedly.

Carlos looks at you in confusion. “What? None of my sisters have kids.”

You simply keep staring at him meaningfully until realization dawns on his face. His eyes go wide, flicking down to your still-full glass of untouched alcohol.

“Y/N … are you ...” he breathes in disbelief.

You nod again. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment Carlos just stares at you in shock. Then his face starts turning red, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeats through gritted teeth. The other drivers fall silent, exchanging uneasy glances.

“Who did this to you? Who’s the cabrón who touched my sister again?” Carlos demands, voice rising.

You shrink back slightly, smile fading. Maybe you should have told him privately.

“I … Carlos, please, just calm down,” you say weakly.

But your brother is beyond calming down now. He whips his head around the circle, glaring daggers at each driver.

“Who was it? Who permanently defiled my innocent baby sister?”

You open your mouth uncertainly, not quite sure how to answer. Before you can though, Charles abruptly jumps to his feet.

“WellwouldyalookatthetimeIgottagonowbye!” He blurts out hurriedly before turning and sprinting from the room.

“LECLERC!” Carlos bellows, tearing off after him. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you at the sight. Some things never change.

The other drivers are cracking up too. “Think we should go make sure Carlos doesn’t actually kill him?” Lando asks with a grin.

You wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, let them work it out. Charles will tire him out eventually.”

Still chuckling, you lean back against the couch next to Fernando, who has an arm draped casually around your shoulders.

“Those two, I swear. Will Carlos ever stop seeing me as his baby sister?” You muse with a smile.

Fernando grins and shakes his head. “Doubtful, chica. But that’s how brothers are. He’s just watching out for you.”

From the other room, you hear a crash followed by yelling in multiple languages. You and Fernando share an amused look.

“At least he didn’t try to fight the whole grid again,” you point out. Fernando barks out a laugh at the memory.

“Give him time. The night is still young,” he says with a playful wink.

You laugh again, cuddling into Fernando’s side. Even with your brother’s antics, you truly feel so lucky to have this group in your life. Friends turned family.

As you hear Carlos’ angry shouts getting closer, followed by Charles’ panicked apologizing, you think to yourself that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[mywritersmind]

MESSY - LN4

pt.2

summary : Lando will not quit in attempts to keep seeing y/n piastri. The Azerbaijan Grand Prix ends triumphantly for the piastri family, followed by a flirty dinner, and paper being thrown at her in the early morning.

OG SUMMARY (After a steamy night together, neither Y/n or Lando expected to see eachother soon. Well, when they find eachother in the paddock and come to the realization that Y/n is a Piastri and Lando is Oscar’s teammate… things get interesting.)

listen up : piastri!reader. nothing major!! mentions of sex.

word count : 1453

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m fucking extatic.

My mom and I came to Baku on a whim and now I'm hugging my champagne soaked brother after a pole position with my sisters on facetime.

The race was genuinely insane and my mom cried the whole time. Turns out all the F1 I watched at home is a million times better in person.

Especially when this time I can see everybody’s faces.

An hour later I'm waiting for Oscar to change while my mom is on a call. I look up when someone enters the room, he’s dark haired with huge brown eyes. “Oh- Hi.” His accent hits me and I'm star struck at my third favorite driver, Carlos Sainz.

“Hi.” I smile and look back at my phone, sort of freaking out on the inside.

He doesn’t move though, “Uh… I'm looking for Lando, have you seen him?” At the mention of the McLaren driver's name I feel my stomach twist.

“No sorry.” He nods and looks around the orange room.

“You’re not here with him?”

Here with him?

“No… I’m Oscar’s sister, Y/n.” His face makes an ‘o’ expression before shaking off and smiling.

“Shit! Your brother did well today. I’m Carlos.” I laugh a bit and am about to respond before Lando enters the room in black jeans, a mclaren shirt, and socks only. He looks at Carlos and I back and forth before raising a brow. Carlos turns to see him and says something in a hushed tone.

“Right…” Lando glances at me but rips his eyes away quickly.

“I didn’t know Piastri had a sister.” Carlos crosses his arms as I stand.

“Four, actually.” I laugh a bit, “Norris have you seen Oscar? We’ve got reservations.” I want to talk about his race but it feels wrong. P15 to P4 is pretty wild though. And sort of hot.

He basically laughs in my face, “He’s gonna be a while… No chance you’re making those reservations.”

I give him an annoyed look, “Great.”

“Don’t hate the messenger, love.” He doesn’t even flinch, but Carlos does.

He looks at Carlos horrified like he did something scandalous. As if he feels bad, he looks at me, “Look- your family can join us if you want.” Lando is the one to give him a look this time.

“So your guys’ reservations will work, but mine won’t?” I cross my arms at the men.

“You used your own name to make them?” Lando asks, I nod and as he tries to hide his smile he says, “Yeah you can come with us.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Oscar is confused at the invite but goes along with it. My mom decides to stay at the hotel for some work calls which makes me more nervous. I’m now alone with my brother, my hookup, Carlos’ clueless ass, Alex Albon, and Max Verstappen.

I almost cry when Alex’s girlfriend joins us. Lily and I follow eachother and have DM’d a few times but meeting in person is like me being saved.

“So, Y/n! Enjoy the race today?” Alex asks me cheerily, pouring more water into his glass with an arm around Lily.

“No race talk!” Lando and Max say in unison. I don’t really know how they do it. They race each other for two hours, are always pissy after, then just switch to being friendly so quick.

I look at Carlos who’s talking merrily with Alex, surprising considering he was a lap away from a podium before his dreams were crushed by a RedBull and a prayer.

The table we’re at is large and oddly enough, round. The restaurant is beautiful and mostly deserted except for our table. I’m next to Lily and Oscar, Lando across from me.

I’m acutely aware that he’s across from me because he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I watch his hands move his Monza pole ring around his finger. God his hands. His hands that were all over me-

“Y/n, What are you ordering?” Lily asks which shakes me from my imagination.

After ordering we fall into comfortable conversation which eventually ends in me making fun of Oscar with photos from our childhood. “Right then! That’s enough.” Oscar eyes me when my phone swipes to a photo of Osc dressed up as a car.

“We know Oscar’s kink now.” Max jokes and I cringe, “What? They always stem from childhood!”

“So who you calling daddy then, Verstappen?” Lando doesn’t miss a beat, Max side eyes him. “No need to be ashamed, Osc.”

“Not in front of my baby sister, please.” He looks around the group who are all laughing.

“Come on, you're a year older than me!” I sigh, “You don’t know what I get up to.”

He makes a disgusted face.

“Or who.” I add simply, sipping my drink as Lando chokes on his. His face is red after Max slaps him on the back.

Oscar ends up changing the conversation around to old karting days and how I was dragged along. I eventually excuse myself to the bathroom, checking my hair and washing my hands, as I leave I run into Lando.

“Hi pretty.” He smirks as I roll my eyes.

“Would you stop staring at me? Oscar isn’t blind.”

He shrugs, “No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s kinda difficult when you look like that.” I’m going to pretend that didn't do something to me and move on.

“Nice race today. Sort of impressive.” I match his cool demeanor which he loses after my words.

“A compliment?” He grins, god his smile is ridiculous and when it’s directed at me I want to faint, “Thanks love. Wanna celebrate with me later?”

“Careful with the nickname, Norris. I’ll be celebrating with the man who actually won.”

Speaking of, Oscar joins us in the hall, his face dropping when he sees us, “Please tell me you aren’t friends already.” I stand up straighter, “I can’t have you two combine forces against me.”

This makes me laugh, “Don’t worry, Osci.” I squeeze his shoulder before stepping away.

Lando follows, “Yeah I don’t think we’re the friends type.” I eye him behind me, he just winks.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m pretty sure the world is working against me. Or maybe for me?

We’ve got an extra day in Baku to spend with Oscar. I woke up early, getting hot chocolate and settling on my balcony with my book and pajamas.

I’m happy in the early light, breathing in the fresh air when I hear a whistle. My eyes are drawn down to the man running shirtless, shading his eyes from the sun while looking up at me.

“Good morning!” Lando sings, that smile already planted onto his face. He looks way too tan, sweaty, and fit for five in the morning.

“Morning.” I say back.

“Watcha reading?” I raise a brow, confused because no guy ever cares about that.

“Um. Little women.” I close the book and flash him the cover. He nods.

“I have something for you!” He reaches into his pocket and I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a boom box.

He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, “Are you sending me a nude by hand?”

He laughs out loud, “No! It’s my number!” He throws it up but the wind pushes it right back down, landing at his feet.

He frowns and tries again, “You’re quite bold for a one night stand.” The paper falls again and I try not to laugh. He grabs it, looking up at me once again. I can see the blueness of his eyes even from stories up.

“Who said it was just a one night stand?” He squeezes the paper tighter. When he throws it once more, it finally lands on my balcony but Lando’s eyes jet to the balcony next to mine.

“The hell are you doing?” My brother's voice makes my eyes go wide. I had forgotten he’s right next door.

“Coming to see you, of course!” Lando opens his arms wide.

I can practically hear Oscar shaking his head, “Go away.” Lando nods and starts to jog backwards, his eyes meet mine once last time, making my breath stop short.

He smiles wider, turning around and following his route.

I shake my head, smiling to myself and opening the crinkled ball of paper. It reads his number and a small note.

Give me a chance, Y/n. You won’t regret it.

[monzamash]

to be loved — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist

The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.

You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.

The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.

“That smells incredible.”

Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.

“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”

A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.

“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”

Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.

Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”

Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.

“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.

“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”

You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.

So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.

“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.” 

For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.

No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.

a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!

[sebscore]

Hello I hope you are well. Can you write reader who has night terrors with Charles Leclerc? Thank you very much

KICK UP A STORM | CHARLES L.

pairing: charles leclerc x sister!reader 

warnings: thunderstorm. crying. 

author's note: sooo, i just realised it said 'reader’ and not 'sister!reader' lol so i hope you still like it and you're not mad that I made a little leclerc fic. I also totally misunderstood the night terrors and you probs meant nightmares, but oh well 😚

masterlist 

• • • • • • •

''Y/N?'' 

The sudden appearance of Charles made her flinch, almost dropping her glass of water in the process. ''What the fuck.'' She tried not to yell, it was late at night and she didn't want to wake up her family. 

''What are you doing? It's like-'' he glanced at the time of his phone, ''super late.'' Finding his sister on the couch at 4AM was not a sight he was expecting. 

She shrugged her shoulders, placing her glass back on the coffee table in front of her. ''I just can't sleep.'' Y/N answered him, staring at her bare feet. 

''Why?'' 

The young girl shrugged her shoulders, too embarrassed to explain her reason for being awake at this hour. ''Don't know,'' she whispered, ''I'm sorry if I woke you up.'' Y/N apologised, her wavering voice a little louder now. 

''Non, non,'' Charles brushed her apology off, ''my throat is dry, I just wanted some water.'' He grew concerned at her answer. The driver couldn't take a good look at her face due to the darkness of the living room, but he had a small suspicion she had been crying. ''You okay?'' 

''Yes, I'm fine-'' 

Right as she was about to lie and assure her brother she was alright, a flash of lighting lit up the large room. The crashing thunder boomed through the city of Monte-Carlo, and by default through the Leclerc household. 

''Hey- it's okay!'' Charles didn't hesitate and ran to his sister's side, sitting next to her and pulling her closer to him. The tears in her eyes glistened with each struck of lightning that was produced. Y/N hid her head in his neck, staining his shirt with her wet cheeks. 

''You're okay, I'm here. I got you, chérie.'' The man kept a strong hold on her, using his body as a form of shield. ''You're fine! We're inside, nothing can happen.'' He tried comforting her with his words, her obvious distress breaking his heart. 

Her fear of lightning and thunderstorms had been a primary one ever since she was a young child. She and her family had never been able to pinpoint the exact moment her phobia started or what situation had been the catalyst, but it was there and it hadn't gone away with the years that had passed. 

It had begun with rain tapping on her window, which quickly turned into the sky rudely interrupting her sleep and scaring her with a large strike of thunder. As the storm went on, her room felt like it was becoming smaller and smaller by the minute. Y/N moved to the larger living room on shaky limbs and tried to be as quiet as possible so she wouldn't wake anyone up. 

Charles felt like an idiot as he continued comforting his baby sister, guilt filling his mind over not realising sooner why she couldn't sleep. ''Don't worry, it's okay now.'' He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. ''You know you can always wake me up, right?'' 

The young girl moved her head from his neck and rested it on her older brother's shoulder. ''I know, but you've been working so much. I just wanted to let you sleep.'' She sniffled, explaining herself. 

''Oh, bébé~'' He cooed, touched by her consideration of his sleep schedule. 

''If this happens again, just wake me up. I don't want you to be scared on your own like this. If it's you, I don't mind.'' Charles clarified, wanting her to know she could pull him from his sleep in situations like this. 

Y/N nodded, a tired smile on her face. ''Okay, Cha.'' She promised him, her fingers fiddling with his hand. 

An unexpected chuckle from her has Charles turning his head towards her. ''What?'' 

The youngest Leclerc shakes her head. ''No, it's just… you said you won't mind if I wake you up from your sleep.''

''Yeah?'' 

''So who would you mind waking you up?'' 

Her question has him laughing now as well, glad her cheeky personality had gotten back to the surface. ''Well, I think we both know the answer.'' 

''Yeah,'' she mumbled, ''I know.'' 

''Arthur.'' 

taglist :: @missskid @maxiel-jpg @glitterquadricorn @stillbreathin @obsessed-fan-alert @booknerd2004-blog @kageyamama-hinatatata @reblog-princess-blog @maezenin12 @gly-exe @lighttsoutlewis @topguncultleader @jaydensluv @nora_moon @erinisrightheree @7leb-kakaw @theamazingsimp @lovelyxlily @princessmiaelicia @mehrmonga @champomiel @rowansshit @mbappebby @maemaesthoughts @g4ns3y @im_mi @gracesferrari @67-angelofthelordme-67 @harrysdimple05 @ijustwantavacation @livinglifebeingme @Judgemental-Raven

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[bellewintersroe]

Hiiii I was listening to music with my dad the other day and the song caballero by Alejando Fernandez came up and all I could do was think about carlos being in love with the gf (reader) of another driver. The song is about respecting the other guy in a way but what if he didn’t and that’s when I thought of secreto de amor by Joan Sebastian it literally says “Delante de la gente no me mires. No suspires no me llames. Aunque me ames. Delante de la gente soy tu amigo. Hoy te digo, que castigo” and i love the idea of carlos trying to be a gentleman like with the first song and then snapping bc he knows reader loves him too and having an affair with her and it being their secret like the second song

You don’t have to write anything I just wanted to get the idea out of my head and I thought I’d share

No I LOVE this, this is so creative honestly thank you for the inbox I appreciate it sm!! I’ve tried to use some Google translate and I got a bit confused (I’m so sorry) but I’ve attempted to write something along the lines of your scenario because I absolutely love it and how angsty it is. I’m not aware of the songs so I apologise if it’s not exactly what you were imagining. Feel free to inbox me again if this is all completely wrong HAHA.

Carlos Sainz x AlonsoGirlfriend! Reader..

warnings: smut, mentions of affair (I’m sorry) hurting feelings, secrecy, jealousy… reader is Spanish but I won’t try butcher the translations.

Desde el día en que te miré Ibas bien acompañada Ibas con él de la mano De repente te reías De reojo me mirabas The champagne Carlos had consumed all night began to weigh heavy on his eyelids, wandering around the room as though he was in a subdued trance. His intoxication was, of course, due to the expensive alcohol he’d drunk excessive amounts of, but deep down Carlos knew there was something else weighing heavily on his sobriety. Her. The dark, olive skin exposed between the risky slit in her black dress, the valley between her breasts, the almost jet black hair that cascaded down her spine- she had him in a trance.

Carlos’ heart tightened, jaw falling a little slack at the sight of you once again. It was movie like. The beautiful girl, gently batting her eyelids at her prince-like boyfriend, and the depressed, drunk man watching from the corner. Alone. Her hands smoothed up over the other man’s creased shirt, flattening the material crisp over the bicep as his hand reached out to curl at the curve of her hip. His finger tips tightened into the flash of her behind. The corners of her red lips turned and she offered him a simple kiss, once on the cheek. Fernando caught her again, this time catching the plump of her lips. Carlos grimaced. That was enough. Carlos had enough of seeing the scene and turned back down to the alcohol in his glass. Simultaneously, she spared a singular glance in Carlos’ direction, one he assumed he was imagining, a deluded sight he could only dream of. No es mi gran amigo él Pero claro lo conozco Y no suelo ser aquel  Que no le importa con quién Trato de ser respetuoso The man that Carlos so desperately wanted to trade places with? Fernando Alonso. His childhood idol, his fellow Spaniard on the grid and good friend, mentor- he was everything Carlos respected and more. Carlos knew better than to sought after a taken lady, especially one of his friends. Fernando was a lucky man, a lucky, lucky man… as soon as they were embracing, did she begin her journey towards Carlos. He felt the tips of his fingers unconsciously dig into his jeans and the swell of his heart speed. Carlos’ eyes fell down her body, her beautiful curves, the sleek of her dress clung to all the right places, hair bouncing with each stride she took. Ay, pero ven tantito Es la única vez que te voy a contar mi secreto Si no tuvieras compromiso, te perdería el respeto

With a sparing glimpse back to an occupied Fernando, busy talking to another young, beautiful woman, Carlos fell to the temptation of the beautiful woman, who was now inching closer to him. She was unearthly, a goddess, and when she offered him a smirk, he had to double take that it was actually aimed towards him. He would risk it all, he knew he would, the brush of her arm against his caused a deep breath to catch in his throat. She offered him a sympathetic smile at the strange noise it created.

“I’m sorry… I’m Carlos.” He cleared his throat, the sound of his voice almost startling him. Her dark eyes fell to the outstretched hand in front of her. In that moment Carlos didn’t know if she wanted to laugh in his face or punch him. He was puzzled by her confused expression.

Slowly, she raised her left hand, the cold metal of a ring touching his own almost making him feel physically sick. “I’m sorry. Im not used to shaking with my left.” She laughed, a soft, gentle kind, one that had Carlos already grinning to himself. She then offered her name, soft hand still embraced within his own. Carlos swore he’d never felt skin as soft as hers. She offered her name, a beautiful one, one in which Carlos repeated.

When their hands retrieved, he noticed the diamond cladded on her ring finger. His teeth ground against one another as they shared a glance at the ring, then back to Fernando.

“I’m Fernando’s-” the woman’s face winced as her eyes gazed over what Carlos now recognised to be her fiancé, with the hand on the waist of another woman. He recognised the the heaviness in her voice, the sigh which escaped her lips sounding almost painful. “-I’m getting another drink. Would you like to join?” Y si no fuera un caballero, te lo juro Te arrancaba de sus brazos sin pensarlo ni un segundo Eres la mujer que más me gusta en el mundo Pero tengo un respeto por ese suertudo

The minutes spent together turned into hours. Hours of uninterrupted conversation and laughter. Carlos felt as though she had captured his heart in a way no woman had before, she was sensual, even in the way she talked, Carlos thought he was imagining things when her gaze fell up and down his front on numerous occasions. She was swift, but flirtatious. Her eyelids were becoming heavier as the night and alcohol effected her. When a hand rested on Carlos’ forearm he had an overwhelming desire to pull her in his arms and spend the whole night with her. Although he recognised his feelings to be beyond lust (which was frightening for Carlos to happen so quickly) he still felt the twitch of his manhood whenever she would hold eye contact, or touch him. Occasionally she would bend forwards, exposing the further curve of her breasts. Carlos pretended not to realise. Y si no fuera un caballero Te robaba, y no un beso, sino toda la semana Para hacerte el amor hasta que te cansaras Pero soy un caballero y mejor Mejor no te digo nada When the night was nearing its end he felt almost desperate to express his feelings, he was almost certain she felt the same. It was bad, he knew it was. He still felt like there was too much respect for Fernando to pull any kind of move on the beautiful lady. God, he was so lucky. So, so lucky.

But it seemed her luckiness had run out, something that broke Carlos’ heart to see her eyes wide and scanning the room for her missing fiancé. “Where has he gone?” Carlos cleared his throat, the first mention of Alonso all night. “Um..” she glanced down to her phone, no notifications, nothing. She recognised the same sickness she felt every time something like this happened with Alonso.

“I think… he’s gone home.” Carlos watched her gulp, sliding her phone back into her clutch, the slight tremble of her fingers causing his brows to furrow. It was as though on instinct that he reached out, steadying her tremor. “I should go.” Her voice barely reached above a whisper, focusing on the gentle hand Carlos had placed on hers. She intended the words to come across more inviting than what they did, fear grasped her too much to speak up. It was now or never.

“I will walk you…” finally, a smile grew on her face. One that Carlos reciprocated as they shared a moment of silence, eyes meeting, speaking a thousand different things that words could not.

Delante de la gente no me mires. No suspires no me llames. Aunque me ames. Delante de la gente soy tu amigo. Hoy te digo, que castigo…

“I need you.” Her soft pants had Carlos writhing up against her body, hips bucking harder into hers. “I needed you all night… Carlos.” All he could do was moan in response, teeth grind in together in pleasure as he pressed his lips onto her cheek bone.

Every breath, every sound, every movement had Carlos feeling like he was driven crazy. And when he watched her slide the ring off her finger, dropping it to the floor below he felt all respect for the other man go out of the window. The sex felt too good, it was lustful, dirty, anything and more that Carlos could have dreamt of. He felt selfish, but at the same time he didn’t care. He wanted her, he needed her, and now he had her.

Her body below his moved in time with his, the bounce of her breasts sending Carlos into a pleasure filled trance. “I needed you.” He managed to tell her back. She was tight around him, wet, it was pure bliss. Carlos could feel his orgasm creeping up on him quicker than anything. He wanted to finish inside her, make her his, claim her as his own and vice versa.

His release was beyond earthly. He almost couldn’t compute the level of pleasure as he collapsed on top body, still squeezing, caressing, stroking her skin and hair. His hips still milked his orgasm as he unloaded his seed deep inside her, arm wrapping under the warmth of her body and holding closer and tighter than before, sealing a promise that he would never let her go, and keep her as his own…

[emsprovisions]

Tagged by @carlos-in-glasses and @ironheartwriter 💕

This one’s from my Carlos’s guilty pleasure fic I teased in that writing emoji game the other day

“Babe,” TK sighs. “This is getting ridiculous.” 

It’s the fourth night this week TK has been rejected after putting out. He’s pulled out every stop, every trick in the book. He’s kissed Carlos filthy, palmed him up over his sweats, he even strutted around the loft naked while dusting–which cleaning and TK’s naked body are usually two of Carlos’s favorite things–and Carlos barely spared him a second glance as he chopped veggies at the kitchen island. 

“I’m sorry!” Carlos sighs, sounding equally as frustrated as he rolls over on his side, facing away from TK, his hands tucked between his thighs as he tries to make himself smaller in his shame. 

TK crawls over to him on the mattress, draping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss behind his ear. “Baby, it’s…it’s okay. I mean I didn’t expect us to face this issue for years. You’re a little young for erect–”

“I don’t need the technical term, TK,” Carlos huffs, cutting him off.

TK stares up at the ceiling for a moment, searching for the right words before he settles in against his husband again, wincing as his own still-stiff cock slots into the curve of Carlos’s ass. 

“Will you please just talk to me? It’s not embarrassing, baby.”

Carlos throws a glare over his shoulder in TK’s direction. “Babe. This is humiliating.”

Tagging @strandnreyes @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @eclectic-sassycoweyes @lightningboltreader @butchreyes @tellmegoodbye @whatsintheboxmh @decafdino

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 10

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content Word Count: ~14K

My dad had two frames on his desk.

On the left side, nearest to the computer screen, a photo frame showcased Nani, our beloved late Saint Bernard. Bless her soul. And across from Nani's frame, on the right side of the desk, was a photograph of Rio, standing with a smile so big it almost covered his bright green eyes. He stood on the second step of his first and only podium in F3.

It made me smile each time I laid my eyes on it.

The desk itself was a sturdy mahogany, polished to a glossy sheen that reflected the soft illumination of the room. Tall bookshelves adorned the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes and meticulously arranged files. Dad was a perfectionist.

Everything was perfectly aligned, always.

Against the far wall, a large floor-to-ceiling window bathed the office in natural light, filtered gently by thin, cream-coloured curtains that swayed gracefully in the breeze. The window offered a lovely view of the garden, and even a portion of the pool if we were standing close enough and just at the right angle.

It was a serene backdrop, suited to calm my nerves as I waited for Dad.

He was on the other side of the stainless glass door, pacing the hallway busy with a call. I tried desperately to not focus on his silhouette, a dancing blur of all colours, going left and right, never stopping. Every couple of minutes, he would wave at me, as if saying sorry and asking for one more minute. And every couple of minutes, I would nod and try to find interest in the mutted carrousel of colours of the tomes or the boxes of the files aligned on the shelves.

Even when he entered, his attention didn’t leave his phone. Sitting down on the other side of the desk, he offered me a glance and a quick nod. Seemed so mechanic I wondered how many times he had done the same gesture that day. At my silence, he raised his head.

"Forgive me, Evita. I really needed to sort this out before dinner," our eyes briefly met before his returned to the screen. "But go on, dear. How was your flight?"

"The usual," I replied, trying to hide my growing impatience. I waited for him to shift his attention fully to me, but his eyes remained fixed on the phone, his fingers scrolling through messages.

Realizing that I needed to take the initiative, I pressed on. Hope and apprehension swirled around and inside me. "Did you... set up the meeting?"

"No, I didn't," he finally replied, setting the phone down on the desk. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. As has your brother."

"My brother?"

“He knows you. He knows the field. I asked him for help.”

"And?"

"And I don't think you're ready,” and then silence filled the room. I was not sure if he expected me to say something, or if he was done with the subject. I didn’t say a word. In all honesty, I was still trying to put sense into those words. “I don't know where this interest came from, so I won’t put my name on the line for your whims," he stated.

My heart sank at his words. The weight of his disapproval felt crushing, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that had ignited within me.

“My whims? How—?”

“Two months ago you wouldn’t even consider shifting teams, Eva.”

“Because two months ago I didn’t know you wanted to sell the team. I had a team. A good one.”

“I’m more than sure they will be willing to take you,” his eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up on the desk. “Whoever keeps it, I mean. We haven’t made a decision, yet.”

“And why are you selling?”

“Ah, Eva, you know…” with a shrug, he let his back meet with the leather of his armchair. “It’s expensive. And with Rio leaving… just doesn’t make sense.”

“Right. Silly me,” I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of frustration and defiance. “Without Rio, it doesn’t make sense. Not without the driver that just got you the championship.”

My father leaned back in his chair, studying me intently. The perfect facade not trembling for one second, as I felt mine starting to break. Too many emotions erupted through my cracks and the conversation had just started.

“I’ve seen your dedication, child. And your skill, too. But it’s business, you know, and sometimes we have to make hard calls. The sport is harsh. You will learn that, in a good or bad way. It's cutthroat, unforgiving,” he paused. “And, for sure, it takes more than just talent. It takes a certain level of mental and emotional toughness that I'm not sure you have. And money, of course.”

I felt a surge of frustration rise within me, only showing how right his words were. We were not talking about the team, anymore. And what pained me the most was the nonchalant way he spoke. Dad was not wrong, though. I was a mess mentally. I had a lot to learn. A lot to improve. But don’t other drivers too?

"Dad—,” my hands laid on my tights, slightly trembling. I took a deep breath. “I know this is not easy. I’ve faced difficulties before. I've pushed myself to the limit. I’ve raced and I’ve won. And that should be the proof you need to believe in me.” I paused, taking another break to breathe. “I’ve raced older, more experienced men…. and I won.”

“Eva, this isn’t about gender.”

My eyes narrowed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I know it's not about gender, but I can’t just ignore the implications. You had no problem feeding your 13-year-old son to this sport when it was clear I’ve always wanted this more than he did. He never wanted this, yet, he got everything. The best sponsors. The best tyres. The seat in F3.” At this point, I was not sure if my dad kept hearing me; I don’t think I was hearing myself. “I’m 25 and I’m asking you to help me. Because I want to do this. I want a better team, or just some team that believes in me and works on my potential. If I don’t do this now, I’ll never get a chance.”

“Don’t talk about your brother.”

“Why?”

There was a flicker of unease in my father's eyes. He didn’t answer my question right away. Instead, he took a second, choosing his words carefully. "Fabrizio has worked hard for his achievements, just as you have," he replied, his tone measured. "This conversation shouldn't be about him. It's about you."

“So let’s talk about me and the opportunities I didn’t have. The chances I wasn’t given. Go ahead.”

"Eva, it's not that I don't believe in your potential. But racing is a high-stakes environment, and there are no guarantees. I worry about the toll it may take on you."

“Yet you had no problem to—”

A bang. Loud and strong as his hand met the mahogany wood of the desk. The sudden outburst left me stunned, momentarily silencing my frustration. I felt my whole body freeze. The sound hung heavy in the air, casting a deep shadow over the conversation. His eyes, darkened by the weight of his disapproval bore down on me.

"You're crossing a line here, Eva," he continued, his voice laced with an undeniable intensity, as his stern gaze fell upon mine. "You keep proving my point. You lack stability. You don’t have a strong backbone. This sport isn’t fit for you."

“I—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted, rising from his chair and coming to sit beside me. He placed his warm hand on top of mine, his touch both comforting and unsettling. His skin was still tingling from the impact when it met mine. Awful sensation. “It's a tough and competitive world out there. Besides, racing is not meant for delicate souls like you. Look at you, piccina. The racetrack is no place for someone as graceful as you. Your job suits you so much better."

My anger surged, fueling my defiance. I wanted to get up, stand up for myself. But his hand was there, heavy on top of mine.

“You can take any car to the track any day. Enjoy yourself. Do a couple of races here and there to keep the mind sharp. But—”

“But?”

“But this isn't the right career for you, Eva. This isn't where you belong.”

The weight of his words sank deep into my chest. It felt like a physical force, pressing down on the fragile hope that had been slowly rebuilding. It was hard to take in, to digest. Dad was wrong. I knew this. I knew this was my calling. But it was hard to hear him say it out loud. And it was even harder to take in the reality of it.

I stood up from my chair, my body acting on its own accord as if disconnected from my consciousness. Reality seemed fragmented as if the boundaries between my emotions and actions were blurred.

"So what is it? My job? The office job?" My voice quivered, and the words poured out of me, unfiltered and raw. “You don't see? You don’t feel it, too? The trill, the challenge… the adrenaline. How happy I am when I’m on the track? You were there, beside me in the day I felt the most accomplished. You didn’t see it? You didn’t notice that that’s what truly drives me? Not an office job. That was the least I could do to feel merely content with myself.”

“Merely content?” Scepticism was palpable as he responded. So much doubt laced in his words. “You had so much more than many drivers could dream of, and you were ungrateful. Was that it? You own a pretty trophy and now you think you can take the world? What will happen when you get back to the factory? Better…” He got up from his chair, leaving an indented mark on the upholstery. My dad was only slightly taller than me, but he seemed so much bigger as he stood in front of me. “What will you say when you get to Fuji and realize you’ll be standing in the garage for days, not even touching the wheel of the car? Will you be happy? Or merely content?”

“You underestimate me.” A pause. A deep breath. His words had struck a nerve. “I'm not asking for a life of leisure or constant victory. I know the sacrifices and challenges ahead, and I’m willing to work for them. Marketing? Yes. It’s fun, it was something to keep me busy and yes, I can admit that it’s something that may suit me but will never fulfil me the way racing does…” I pointed at the frame of my brother. “Wouldn’t you like to have another child racing in F3?”

“You’re 25, Eva. Be realistic.”

Silence.

I didn’t know what was coursing through my veins, if sadness for my father’s unwavering position, or a surge of determination, keeping ignited the flicker of hope I shielded inside.

“And who defines what’s realistic?” The question left my lips and I dropped my shoulders, partially defeated. I knew it would be hard, and I knew I was probably not gonna make it, but goddammit, I just wanted him to have enough faith in me to instigate me to try.

“Where was that version of you these past months?” He questioned, his voice laden with disappointment. “You have been impossible to deal with, lately. Too emotional. Too frustrated. Too… unpredictable. Those mistakes on the track, that attitude.”

“You told me I was passionate—” I began, my voice tinged with confusion.

“I told you what I needed to tell you so you could stop crying and go back to work,” he interjected, cutting off my words. “And I can’t follow you around the world, whipping tears.”

Again, his words struck me like a blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. The weight of his dismissal and the invalidation of my struggles crashed over me like a wave. Memories of his hugs and comforting words in the garage surfaced, but they now felt like empty gestures. Anger welled up inside me, but instead of drowning me in a sea of fear and self-doubt, it fueled my determination. I had to prove him wrong, not just for myself but to shatter the doubts he had cast upon me.

Whether it took a year, two, or even longer. I vowed myself to make my way to F3 and fight tooth and nail for that top step.

And I would gift him my own frame.

Before I could find the right words to say, or to feel composed enough to turn my back and leave the office, his phone rang. Its vibration made an annoying sound against the wood, echoing in the room. Not to my surprise, my father was quick to turn his eyes in the phone’s direction. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up from the desk.

“I have to take this,” he muttered and then excused himself from the room to answer the call.

"You talked?" Rio's voice held a hint of anticipation as he picked up on the first beep. It was clear that he had been waiting for my call. The thought made me crack a smile, yet nothing but a melancholic sound escaped my lips. From the other side, I heard, "Pack some clothes and come over.”

Rio was waiting for me at his doorstep with Liv perched on his lap. A large smile cracked on her face as she saw me leave the car behind and walk through the driveway. Rio was not so smiley. His gaze held a silent acknowledgement. Dad had talked to him, of course. He knew his answer. He probably knew it back in Mallorca.

As I drew closer, my older brother pulled me into a tight embrace. Wordless comfort that spoke volumes.

"Papà said you're having a bad day," Liv whispered innocently, her little hand gently wrapping around my neck. "We're going to have a party to make you happy."

"A party?" I questioned, my voice filled with surprise as I glanced at Rio, unsure of what Liv had in mind.

Rio chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"A pyjama party!"

"A movie night," my brother corrected with a smile, opening the door wider to welcome me inside. "And we’ll all be wearing pyjamas."

The weight on my shoulders began to lift as I stepped into the warmth of Rio's home. The house was significantly smaller than my parents’ and decorated in a totally different way. So different that they rarely visited the house.

There was a groovy vibe to the house. A fusion of retro charm and modern comfort. The house was undeniably Marjorie’s domain, a testament to her eclectic taste and vibrant personality. Rio was on the small details—on the vintage motorsport memorabilia and weathered posters from races, teams or technical drawings adorned the shelves and walls, intermingling with kaleidoscopic prints from the swinging 60s. Even the furniture had a retro flair with bold and eye-catching colours that added to the electric atmosphere.

When we met, Marjorie and I bonded through our shared love for music and art. I found comfort in earthy tones and meticulously organized shelves, while Marjorie revelled in the vivacity of vibrant patterns and her devotion to what she affectionately refers to as “organized messes”. Yet, despite our divergent aesthetics, we found common ground in our discussions about art, our shared passion for Frank Sinatra, and our penchant for lighting incense—a practice my mom couldn't quite fathom. And, of course, our mutual adoration for Disney movies and romcoms.

The living room was a cozy haven, with the sunlight pouring through the large windows, casting playful shadows on the shaggy rugs that covered the floor. The room was adorned with retro furniture, featuring plush velvet couches and bean bag chairs, inviting relaxation and lounging. Between them, a couple of air mattresses, that usually don’t belong there.

Grace and Marjorie were already settled in the living room, their giggles filling the air. As soon as they spotted me, Grace's eyes lit up, and she hopped off the mattress, her unicorn slippers making soft padding sounds against the floor.

"Eva!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Look! Pantuflas de unicornio!”

“Oh, my!” A strident giggle left her lips as I crunched down to observe the slippers more closely. “You always have the coolest things!”

“D’you want them?”

“No, my love,” a chuckle abandoned my lips. “They’re too tiny for me. They're perfect for you, though."

Grace's face scrunched up in contemplation for a moment. The bright green eyes stared down for a moment, until she nodded, probably satisfied with my explanation. God, she’s adorable. Then, she slipped her slippers back on and run back to her mom, bouncing around the room, her laughter filling the air once again.

Marjorie was sitting on one of the velvet couches. While one of her hands held Grace’s, bouncing on the mattress, the other waved at me.

“Go change,” she pointed at the hallway. “Fast. Before he eats all the popcorn!”

“Come on!” Rio screamed from the kitchen, on the other end of the living room. “I literally took two! Two!”

I looked back, before disappearing into the hallway. Liv was laughing, with one hand around Rio’s neck and the other deep into the bowl of popcorn.

“He took more than two, mummy!”

There was a strange feeling in my belly as a hurried down the hallway, but I couldn’t understand what it was. As I slipped into my pyjamas and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a sense of contentment washed over me. The realization swept through me like a gentle breeze—I was no longer envious. If before I often felt jealous of my brother, his family and the beautiful home he had crafted for himself, now a different set of emotions took hold—excitement, curiosity.

And it was a strange feeling.

A new, scary, terrifying feeling.

“hate to admit it, but i miss you already”

I typed out the message, the memories of the past week seeping into my very skin, dissolving any remains of envy. I was excited. I wanted to embark on a journey of my own, forge my own path and witness where it would lead me—lead us. Me and Carlos, if he was willing to trace the path with me. A stupid thought —a house for both of us—yet, a peaceful one.

And God, I needed some peace.

After sending the text, I returned to the living room, where the infectious laughter of my nieces embraced me. Settling onto the soft mattress, I stole a glance at my phone, hoping for a reply that would bridge the distance between us. I had seen him that morning. Why was I already dying to get a hold of him, again?

"Alright, folks,” Rio declared, holding the remote high above his head, engaged in a playful battle with my determined nieces, their little arms reaching out to seize control. "Tonight's feature presentation is... drum rolls, please..." Rio paused, expecting a grand reaction, but all he received was an annoyed expression from Liv. Undeterred, he continued, "Tangled! One of Aunty Eva's all-time favourites. Am I right?"

The children froze in their tracks, their attention instantly captivated, their arms suspended mid-air, pointing eagerly at the coveted remote.

“Yes, it is," I confirmed with a smile.

Their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them, and as if in agreement, they lowered their arms in unison.

“I miss you, too. Just a couple more days and I’m home” came the comforting response on my phone screen. And, in that moment, surrounded by laughter and the anticipation of a Disney adventure, I felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude and warmth.

The peace I had sought seemed within reach.

Hours and movies went by. The twins, lulled by the enchantment on the screen, had fallen asleep by the end of Luca, and Marjorie was defeated by her sleep before the conclusion of Pretty Woman.

The familiar glow of the television illuminated the room as we watched How To Lose a Guy In Ten Days, one of my and Rio’s favourite romcoms. Light-hearted distraction, a temporary escape from the weighty realities that burdened my mind and the absence of innocent laughter and ceaseless questions that before had echoed in the room.

In the stillness, I turned to Rio. There was a silent understanding between us, a shared history that allowed us to navigate the unspoken spaces between our words. Yet, as I brushed my fingers through Grace’s curls, I couldn’t contain the question that lingered in my mind.

“He told you he was going to say no, didn’t he?” Rio shifted uneasily, his gaze momentarily drawn back to the flickering images on the screen, a fleeting attempt to evade the weight of the conversation. “Rio, please,” I implored. “He said he talked with you. What do you know?”

If you have a big brother, you know the look in their eyes when they witness you navigating challenges they've once faced themselves. It could be problems at school, petty squabbles with your parents—whatever the case may be. Rio’s eyes, tinged with a mix of empathy and understanding, mirrored the turmoil that swirled within me. Duelling with his own emotions, torn between protecting me from the truth and honouring the trust we shared, he lowered the volume of the movie and then turned to me.

“He made it clear he was not gonna help you,” Rio confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness that softened the blow. His words, like a ghost passing through a wall in a children's movie, permeated my being. "He doesn't believe that you truly know what you want. But," Rio continued, his voice gaining strength, "you and I both know that what he says doesn't actually care. You can make it on your own."

“Why?”

“Why what?” He was sleepy, and we were whispering. “Why doesn’t he matter?”

“No,” I rolled my eyes. “Why does he not believe I want this?”

A smirk played on my brother's lips, his eyes alive with understanding. "Well, he wasn’t spent enough time with you and Chili, ‘Vita.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

You needed to see him, to realize that you were letting the best damn version of yourself fade away." Rio paused, his words hanging in the air like a weighty truth. "I know you know it. You know he's the one who stirs up that… thing within you. And since Mugello, Eva... you've transformed yourself. I don’t know if you wanted to prove him something, or if he simply has some effect on you, but… I'd rather deal with the unpredictable beast than see you trapped in that soft shell of a person you were becoming.”

"Oh God, you're the worst.”

“What? Am I lying?”

I sighed and looked ahead, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "It's just...I don't know what to say now.” He laughed. “Stop. Shush. Your kids are sleeping.”

“What then?”

“Do you think I can make it?”

“Get to wag status or d—"

"Oh, you fucking idiot," I said with a grin, throwing a pillow his way.

"My kids are here!" He exclaimed silently, throwing the pillow back at me. "Next one and I’ll make you add to the jar."

“Ok. I’m sorry,” I held my hands in apology. “But I’m serious. Do you think I can make it?”

"I do. Whatever you want, I know you can achieve it. WEC, W-Series...maybe even F3 someday. Set your mind to it, and go for it. You know how to market yourself, you know what you bring to the table. You don't need Dad.”

Rio's voice carried a mixture of conviction and unwavering support. It was in moments like these that I truly appreciated having him around. It was in moments like these I started to miss him. I couldn’t imagine not having him 5 minutes away. Either at his house or in his hotel room. He understood the challenges I faced, both on and off the track. For the 25 years of my life, he was always there.

"You've got the charisma, Eva," he continued, his voice brimming with confidence. "You know how to connect with people, how to leave a lasting impression… That's a skill that can take you far. Read everything in your email, answer the emails as you know and call people. Just… be you. I can help with the bureaucratic stuff. I know any of the Carlos can help, too,” that drew a small chuckle from me. “Just believe in yourself and keep pushing. Now,” he pointed at the screen, “the movie.”

Andie was about to grab the microphone and start singing You’re So Vain and, of course, Rio had to join with his too-high-pitched, terrible voice.

“I miss you already,” I whispered, just as the music died.

“Shush,” he muttered, pointing once again at the screen. “The movie.”

Let's not even begin to mention the struggle of attempting to sleep in an impromptu king-sized bed with two toddlers and two adults. Air mattresses and blankets were strewn about, and suddenly Rio's snoring seemed like a minor inconvenience compared to the chaos unfolding around me. Grace and Liv tossed and turned, their tiny fists finding their way to every limb in their surroundings, without a hint of mercy.

However, when I groggily opened my eyes, sandwiched between my two nieces, a tray of coffee and freshly baked pancakes waiting at my feet, and another Disney movie playing on the TV, I couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Marjorie was curled up in an armchair, still in her pyjamas and with a steamy cup of coffee in her hands.

“Morning,” she said. Her pale fingers left the mug to slightly wave at me. “I didn’t know if you had work, so I let you sleep.”

“What time is it?” I looked around, looking for my phone, but in between the mess of blankets and pillows, it was nowhere to be found.

“Just a bit after 9,” she threw me my phone, which I caught phone mid-air.

After a quick glance at the screen, I could confirm her words: a little past 9 in the morning. The lack of sleep tugged at my eyelids, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery scent of croissants enticed me to wakefulness.

"Thanks, Marge," I mumbled, still rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "You didn't have to do all this, though."

She gave me a half-hearted smile. "No problem. Thought a little pick-me-up might help after Rio told me what was going on."

And help it did.

The warm cup of coffee worked its magic and coaxed my mind into alertness as I sipped the rich brew, especially when I noticed the not-so-subtle hints of whiskey under the caffeine tones. You can take a girl of Scotland, but can’t take Scotland of the girl.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked me.

“Not really.”

"Have you got work today, or will you stay with us?" Rio's voice called from the kitchen, still carrying a roughness from sleep. I was not sure if he had listened to Marjorie’s question and my quick answer, or if his question came out of the blue, but his voice was more than enough to change the subject. "Or is it today you're travelling?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving for Milan after lunch. Just need to swing by home to grab my things and say goodbye to Mom."

“Just Mom?”

“Don’t really want to talk with Dad, right now.”

A heavy silence settled between us, punctuated by Rio’s audible sigh. That was enough to make Marjorie swiftly get up and rush the kids inside, leaving us alone to talk. Rio waited until we were alone, gaze fixed on his adorable twins, making their way inside.

“Don’t forget, he’s still Dad, you know,” his voice rang with a certain frustration to it. “Don’t give him reasons to act this way. Try to not be immature about all this.”

I bristled at his words, feeling defensive. "Believe me, if you had the same conversation, you would feel this way.”

Rio's expression softened, “I had some really hard conversations with him, Eva. It takes patience. Especially with him.”

“I don’t really want to pretend I’m okay with what he said.”

“Ignoring him won’t change a thing," Rio reasoned. “Showing him you’re more mature than he thinks might just make him reconsider. Or at least…” he paused, “…bite his tongue.”

“And why is this mature thing coming from?” I stood up from the mattress, my limbs still feeling a bit numb from sleep. My mind, however, was becoming sharper by the second. “I’ve been doing my thing for years. I've always shown nothing but maturity.”

“A bit of self-awareness is welcome, sis,” he mocked. I raised my brow. “C’mon, Eva. Don’t make me go there.”

“Yeah, well. Go there.”

“You know him,” Rio's voice took on a gentle tone as he picked up the pillows, organizing the small nest we had created last night. “You know how dad is. Always so… straight and polite. The way you react to things… I don’t know. He says he spoiled you too much.”

"Now I'm spoiled and immature?" I retorted.

“Stop. You keep proving my point. Just prove him wrong. Be polite, be the most annoying version of Dad you can be.” He looked up at me, hair falling over his sleepy eyes. "He doesn't know you as I do. And I know you're capable of it. I've said it once, and I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

“Also,” he continued, taking a couple of steps in my direction. “If you really want to do this, wrap up all your ongoing projects and focus on getting a team and sponsors. Change priorities. Stop worrying about having a safety net. We won’t let you fall.” I nodded. Words silenced by the surprise his words caught me in. “Also, don’t waste time looking for Dad’s approval or validation. Call whoever you want to call. Stop doubting. Use Fuji to make contacts. Talk to people. Take matters into your own hands.”

Take matters into my own hands.

It was time to actually be independent and take a leap of faith. Not on another, but in myself. And God, I hadn't understood before that that was the most challenging—finding trust in myself.

Throughout that week, as I immersed myself in preparations for the upcoming race at Fuji with my endurance team and meet each night for dinner with my clients from Milan, I started to tie loose ends, just like my brother had advised. I told them about my move and guided them through what was about to happen. I would delegate them to Amanda, showed them how she would take care of them with the same dedication I had, and used the little free time between meetings and training to draft a series of emails, one for my boss and others for the individuals who held the keys to my future.

From afar, I had the help and support from Carlos.

Selfies, texts. A call at the end of the day, even if it was not much more than to exchange a good night.

Thursday night, at the end of the last day, when work was finally behind and the windows of my hotel room framed the lights of the city, I dialled his number. God. His voice. His accent. It soothed me in ways I couldn’t explain.

"You're going back home tomorrow?”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yes. And then straight to Avila.”

"What time do you arrive?”

“At Avila? Around eight, I think. Seven-ish.”

“I’ll be there by then, I think. But I can wait a couple of hours at the airport if you wish.”

"A couple of hours? No. Carlos—" I heard a grunt on the other end, a signal for silence. "No. Don’t bother. My parents will be there to pick me up. You can wait at home."

"Well, I can't.” I laughed, my heart fluttering at the sound of his voice that had just joined mine in laughter. “What? I simply can't."

There was a pause, filled with unspoken longing.

I could imagine his playful smile on the other end of the line. I could trace the wrinkle around his eyes, or the scrunch of his nose. Freaking hell, I was down bad.

“Did your sisters say something to your mom? I find it weird to be invited there, like this.”

“I don’t know,” he paused. “I mean, your mom helping set up the dinner. Blanca wants to make the announcement pretty intimate. And after last week, I don’t find it weird she wants you there. Did she call you?”

“Yes, but not before calling my mom. And she almost threw a fit over the phone, saying I don’t tell her anything.”

“Well, did you?”

I paused. “No, we barely talked. After all that stuff with my dad and going to sleep at Rio’s… you know… barely saw her.”

The ruffle of sheets made its way through the phone, suggesting he was moving on the other side.

“Yeah, about that…” his voice rang more serious than before. Deep and heavy. “How are you feeling? I’m happy to finally catch you on the phone at a decent hour so we can actually talk about it.”

A sigh escaped my lips, a mix of fatigue evident in my voice. "I feel like I need a vacation already. From all this, I mean…" I confessed, my weariness evident. Mentally, I felt exhausted from the constant juggling of obligations. From the moment I woke up until the moment I laid down to sleep, my mind felt like a swirling circus. Thoughts and ideas danced and twirled, leaving me overwhelmed with the cacophony of my own aspirations.

"How's Fuji prep going?"

"Oh, that’s going nice. I mean... Yeah, nicely," I replied, the uncertainty creeping into my words. The sound he made on the other end of the line felt like a gentle reprimand. "I mean, it's just that sometimes I feel like I'm not doing anything, or at least anything that matters and I feel like each time I feel like this I’m proving my Dad right…"

"Eva..." his voice held a soothing quality as if reaching out to calm the waves of doubt crashing against my shore.

"Don't get me wrong," I quickly interjected, wanting to clarify my sentiments. "I'm—”

“Grateful?”

“Yes,” I nodded to the empty room.

“But?”

"But... it's hard not to feel frustrated," I admitted, my voice tinged with a mix of resignation. "I want to be out there, on the track, pushing myself to the limits. Not like this… I mean… I feel like an intern. A movie-type of intern, that gets coffee and sits at meetings, whispering one of two things to a superior and goes home feeling like crap. I mean… It’s good. We are improving. We feel like we can fight in the front next week if we qualify well, but… I want to feel the thrill of competing inside the car. The sidelines are not for me. I enjoy it and I’m so grateful for the opportunity, but each weekend I think it will be different, and it isn’t… I’m just tired of waiting.”

“I know that feeling all too well, love.” I can’t lie, my stomach twitched when I heard it. I was not used to that. Perhaps I would never get used. “I’ve been there, it’s natural to want more. The only thing I can tell you is to be patient.”

“You were there with Sebastian Vettel, not with this team.”

“The fight will make it worth it, Eva.”

I let out a sigh, allowing his words to sink in. “I know.”

“And you matter. Your work matters. You’re smart. You know how to give feedback. I’m more than sure the team is grateful to have you around.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips, comforted by the reassurance. "Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Be sure to not forget.”

“Hm,” I scoffed, immersed in the power of his voice and the darkness of my room staring back at me. I would have gotten lost in it if it wasn’t for his voice, anchoring me in a port of safety. “It is hard to forget, though.”

“Why?”

“Because the path seems so long and I’m 25. 25. I should stick to WEC or LMS instead of just—”

“Eva,” this time it sounded and felt like actually being scolded. “We’re not going to walk backwards. What do you want?”

“Now?”

“Well…” he pondered, ending up chuckling. I could pay to hear his thoughts. “Not now, but for the next months*.”*

“To race. In a car. To have a proper goal to train to. The Challenge is over and I’m not sure when I’ll actually be in a car. No simulators crap.”

He chuckled on the other side. We had the same view on simulators and racing games. We were raised on the track, under pouring rain and the hot Spanish sun. There was nothing in the world that could simulate the feeling of racing under the elements. Feeling and hearing the engine and the blood thickening with adrenaline.

“Okay, so the first step is to get you in a car, then.” He said like it was obvious. “We will sort that out. But after? What’s your goal?”

We will sort that out. That made me smile.

“I don’t know. Is it dumb to say I would really like to try to reach F3? At least.”

I could feel his smile when he replied. “At least. That’s what I wanna hear. It’s not dumb, at all.”

“You have more confidence in me than I’ll ever have.”

“Doesn’t it work both ways?”

The question came so quickly that it almost fell like a product of my own mind. A shiver ran across my spine, filling my body with this incredibly hard-to-decipher feeling. I had him back, yet it felt like I missed him more than ever, or that I was finally noticing how much I’d miss him.

"Yeah, it does. Always did," I admitted, my voice laced with a mix of nostalgia and affection.

Our connection ran deep—deeper than I dared to admit. Our roots were plunging down in the same place.

“Always,” he echoed, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

Wafting in the lavender-loaded atmosphere of the room was the bittersweet reminder of the times we had spent together, the memories etched in our minds like tire tracks on the asphalt. No matter how much time apart or how deep the sorrow seemed to hit, we would always have each other. We were part of each other. And if that used to bring me pain, now I couldn’t feel anything else other than utter glory.

His breath cut rhythmically the silence, I didn’t say anything because there was nothing I could say, and he didn’t either. For a couple of seconds, I let myself picture him there, on the other side of the bed.

“I’ll let you go to sleep,” he said, erupting through the silence.

Looking into the dark in front of me, I wished for his presence. To be able to stare into his eyes and drown in the honey mantle before me. Let my fingers roam through his hair. Inspire the sweet scent of his presence.

“One sleep away and I’ll be there, again,” he said.

“One sleep away,” I repeated. “See you tomorrow.”

                                                        * 

Ávila, its ancient walls and medieval charm, are just a stone’s throw from Madrid, yet for a couple of summers, it felt like a whole different world.

That day, Dad relied solely on his memories to navigate the road. The familiar sights and scents of the countryside guided him out from Madrid, while stirring up anticipation and memories that had lived inside me and been tucked away beneath a heavy blanket of sorrow and regrets. At the first familiar sight, those memories came flooding back to me, vivid and alive in my mind. The oaks, the radiant sun, and the feeling of the gentle breeze that seemed to slow time down, as if we were stuck in a distant dream.

There were summers I spent more time in Avila than in Madrid.

It was our sanctuary—the days unfolded slowly, so lazy and simple; similar to Mallorca, but right at our doorstep, just an hour's drive from Madrid. I had my own room at the Sainz estate, but it was in Ana's bed that I inevitably fell asleep almost every night, after long hours of talking about everything and nothing.

My favourite tradition was the late-night walks after dinner. The five of us—Ana, Blanca, Carlos, Rio and I, would wander along the estate, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight and the few yellow lanterns we managed to gather before leaving. It was magic. It seemed like the moon itself was one of us, whispering secrets in our ears, secrets aching to be shared. Often, I would find myself walking along Carlos, footsteps in sync, away from the rest of the group. I don’t know if it was the moon and its particular allure, or just the tiredness of the night, but as the unhurried days melted into tranquil nights, our conversations grew deeper, more intimate. The night concealed our vulnerability, and the tint of our blushed cheeks blended seamlessly into the shadows.

I remember how I dreamed about kissing him under the moonlight, how it made his eyes even more captivating.

But I never did. I held back.

I wanted him to make the first move, although I never thought he would.

And during the days, when we were not laying by the pool or riding horses around the estate, we would give into our adventurous spirits. The whole property was our playground. Through the trees and the dirt road courses, we held impromptu rally races. Sainz Sr. would join us when he was around, turning those days into an intimate racing boot camp. Roaring engines, screeching tires, smoke and clouds of dust. Those were the moments I longed for, when imperfection was embraced and our hunger for knowledge pushed us further. It was so much more than just racing.

Some days, I would stay over, others I would go back home.

And every time I left, the marks La Piñonera had left seemed to reach deeper.

Rio shared the same feeling. It was during one of these days that he discovered that his true passion doesn’t lie behind the wheel but in the heart of the garage. When he heard the roar of the engine after hours of work, while his hands were covered in oil and the bed of his nails were nothing but pitch black, he knew he had found his calling. We all knew. It took him a year to tell Dad and even more time for Dad to let him quit racing.

However, it had been a couple of years since my last visit to Avila, and it was not until I had the first glimpse of the La Piñonera that I realized how much I missed the place. At the end of the dirt road, the house lay under the hot August sun, gates open, ready to welcome us.

Sainz Sr. waited for us on the patio, arms up, waving at us. A trail of dust followed my Dad’s Benz until it was parked under the gazebo, exactly where Senior had instructed to. Against the stone walls of the structure, were a few motorbikes. A fine layer of dust all over them. It was the first time I’d seen them there. They felt so out of place, like a recent photo lost in the middle of a childhood album.

Perhaps time doesn't actually stand still in Avila.

Around us, the air was thick with warmth, and not a leaf stirred on that still day. It was a hot August day, and the second I stepped out of the air conditioner of the car, I felt the heat embrace me. Tiny drops of sweat clung to my nose and temples. Looking around, hearing the crunch of gravel beneath my feet echoed in the stillness, I noticed how the holm oaks stood tall and motionless, the branches casting circles of shadow here and there over the courtyard.

That was just the same.

Reyes met us by the door and guided us inside. My gaze swept across the walls adorned with hunting memorabilia, including the imposing deer heads that had always sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but apologize silently to the frozen creatures for their fate. Their frigid stares followed me all the way through the room, as we made our way to the bustling kitchen. The scents of home-cooked meals and the clicking of utensils filled the air. Ana and Blanca donned their red aprons and summer dresses and moved around, their voices blending into a harmonious conversation. At the clink of my mother’s hells, they turned around.

"You’re here! Welcome back" Ana exclaimed. "My God, it’s been so long."

“Do you miss me that much, already?” I mocked, leaving a peck on her cheek and moving to Blanca, washing some vegetables on the sink. “It’s been… what? Four days?”

“Since you visited the house, idiot.”

“Oh, and I thought I was already being missed…”

I settled down near the window, watching them work from afar. My eyes couldn’t help but drift to the outside, taken by the curiosity of seeing how much had changed in the backyard. But it all matched the pictures in my mind. The green around the pool was still there, so saturated, so inviting. Around it, the herbs and oaks kept their brown and yellow hues, dark green leaves standing tall and watching us from afar. Towels on the loungers, a football near the pool… Oli sleeping in the shadow. Just like I remembered.

“How was the drive here?” Blanca asked, “do you still remember the way?”

"My dad drove. And you know how it goes. He found the worst detours possible and my mom desperately tried to not correct him every five minutes.”

“Oh, the joys of family road trips,” Reyes said. “We should do that more, girls.”

“God forbid,” Ana said between her teeth.

“I would do it more often if my husband had yours’s sense of navigation,” my mom commented. “Alessio can’t find the way even with the GPS in front of his eyes.”

Reyes playfully nudged my arm. "Speaking of trips, I hear you had quite the memorable one in Mallorca. Care to share?”

I raised an eyebrow, pointing at Ana and Blanca. "Now, what have these two been telling you?"

They both raised their hands defensively, shaking their heads. Reyes joined in, laughing along.

"Oh, go ahead, girls," my mom chimed in. "Eva hasn't told me a thing about the whole week. I need to hear it from you."

"There's really nothing to tell," I interjected. "It’s not my fault if these two exaggerated anything."

Ana turned around and walked to the fridge. "Who, us? Exaggerate? Never!"

I chuckled, discreetly pulling out my phone and texting Carlos. "Where are you hiding?"

Blanca playfully nudged Ana. "Watch out. With that many knives around, you don't want to tempt her."

“Don’t give me any ideas.” I slid the phone into my pocket, grinning at them. “Is there something I can help with?”

"Don't you rather go sit outside and relax for a bit?" Reyes suggested, glancing towards the inviting patio. She gracefully crossed the kitchen to pick up a couple of jars lined up in the window bay. The jars, adorned with rustic bows, held a delightful arrangement of lilies and lavender, their soft purple, pink, and yellow hues peeking out from the surrounding greenery. I knew my mom had picked those. They were the perfect choice for Blanca’s dinner. “It will be just us for dinner and everything is arranged for tomorrow. You can rest upstairs if you wish.”

I shook my head, a smile forming on my lips. "No, I can help. I'll help you set the table."

With a nod, Reyes motioned for me to follow her into the dining room. She laid the jars in a console in the dining room. My eyes wandered over the walls, taking their time in every door frame and window they met; I couldn't help but glance outside, secretly hoping for a glimpse of him.

The aroma of the meal being prepared wafted into the dining room, mingling with the gentle scent of the flower arrangements. Laughter and the clinking of utensils echoed from the kitchen, where my mom and the girls continued their lively chatter while cooking.

So warm, so familiar. Like I’d never left.

The tablecloth was similar to one of my memories—carefully burnished to fall neatly over the edges of the sturdy wooden table. Reyes took the lead, picking up the plates and laying them down with precision on the table. It was just us for the night, the guests would arrive the next afternoon, after lunch. Then, at dinner, Blanca and Rodrigo would announce their engagement. My mom would help all day with the preparations. She can’t say no to a party. And Dad would enjoy the morning hunting. He’s one of those.

“You know, if it wasn’t so hot today, we would have dined outside,” Reyes commented, leaning over the back of one of the chairs, using her index finger to align two cups on the table. “Carlos wanted to have a barbecue tonight, but after this week I feel like we all need a homemade meal, something… proper.”

“We can save the barbecue for another day. Senior’s a master on the grill, after all. I can say I miss his cooking.”

Reyes turned on her heels, facing me. “I meant the younger one, actually,” she said. “He really wanted to make you some burgers. I don't know what you did to him last week, but…”

“Oh, just...” I began, my words trailing off as a familiar voice filled the room.

“The younger one? Talking about me?” Carlos's voice resounded through the room, echoing off the cool walls that provided us refuge from the scorching heat, now entering through the door he had left open behind him.

Caco entered after, waving as he crossed the door, phone glued to his ear. The door was kept open and the hot air rippled in, gently brushing against my bare arms. When I turned around, pretending that Carlos’ presence was just another ordinary occurrence and it didn’t affect me the slightest, I couldn't help but notice that he too was battling the heat.

Thick, damp hair clung to his temples and neck, his shirt slightly creased against his torso and back, marked by lines of sweat that clung to his skin, accentuating the contours of his muscles. And he hadn't shaved. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, and the casual way he navigated the distance from the table to kiss his mother's temple as if the house and the air we were breathing belonged solely to him made my heart skip a beat. It was impossible to deny that he had an aura. An ethereal glow.

“Mom, she’s a guest”, Carlos remarked, a slight smile gracing his lips as he draped his arm over his mother's shoulders. She kissed his cheek, her hand moving along his back. Up and down, and up again. A warm feeling spread through my chest, and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Why are you making her work?”

With a soft smile, I replied, "I made myself work. I'd rather help."

"Had a feeling you would say that," he responded, closing the distance between us. Carlos leaned down, his lips gently pressing against each of my cheeks in a tender kiss. Our noses brushed against each other's as he made his way to kiss my other cheek. The gentle bump made me chuckle and I noticed it made him smile. His hand caressed my forearm, leaving behind a lingering warmth even as he pulled away. "How was the drive?”

“Quite an adventure, actually. Dad almost sent us down a hill.”

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right. That man needs a GPS, or a map, or something.”

"Or a couple of lessons from your old man," I pointed, making Reyes chuckle on the other side of the room. Dusty paw prints marked his trousers and he had a small scratch on his arm. "What happened there?"

"Oh, uh… Piñon," he replied, hastily brushing his hands against the fabric in an attempt to clean them. "I think he missed me.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Reyes swiftly crossed the room. The clack of her sandals made both of us turn her way. I couldn't help but suppress a laugh at her disapproving look, but Carlos looked genuinely puzzled by his mother's reaction. "What? It's the dog's fault."

"Come on! Dinner is almost ready, and you show up like this?" Reyes scolded, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"Don't I have like… ten minutes to shower?" Carlos retorted. “We were in the field all afternoon. I would need a shower either way.”

"Five minutes. Not a minute less," Reyes affirmed, her tone firm yet laced with affection. "Por Díos, we have guests, Carlos."

Carlos shot me a playful wink before obediently heading off to freshen up, leaving me alone with Reyes in the dining room. Reyes gestured for me to take a seat at the table, her warm smile finally returning. "Make yourself comfortable, dear. Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Could I... refresh up before dinner, too?" As words left my mouth, I saw Carlos slow down until he stopped by the archway. "Since Carlos will delay dinner, anyway."

“"Well… I don’t see why not. Carlos will end you get settled in. Won’t you, Carlos?”

"Of course," he replied from afar. "The one next to Ana's, right?"

Reyes just nodded and turned on her heels, walking back to the kitchen. Waiting for me, not too far away, a Spanish man, with a beautiful smile and a godly glare.

The atmosphere seemed to shift the second our steps fell in sync. My small suitcase waited for me at the top of the staircase, right at the beginning of the hallway. The scent of aged wood and the soft glow coming through the small windows, casting funny patterns on the art pieces on the wall, welcomed us upstairs.

"We are making some renovations," he said, picking up my suitcase. "It's mostly done, I mean. For my sisters' weddings."

"I couldn't tell," I admitted, between the sound of our footsteps echoing softly against the walls. "Everything very much looks the same."

He smiled at me. “I know. Time doesn’t go by in here.” That smile, united with his tousled hair and the faint scent of his cologne fed something inside me. The light, so warm and bright, fell perfectly on his features. He looked pretty. Homey.

"You didn't shave."

"You said you like it when I keep it like this."

My eyebrow pointed up, "That's why?"

"I'll have to shave it for dinner, but... yes."

We reached a door at the end of the corridor, its aged wood marked with intricate carvings. The door before that one was Ana's room, and it held so many of my secrets, shared in the dark, between the covers and girly giggles. Carlos turned the worn brass handle and pushed the door open, revealing the cosy, inviting room I was used to. That, too, felt the same. Soft sunlight streamed in through a big window, casting warm hues over the wooden furniture and the plush bed adorned with a vintage quilt.

Not much decoration, just the basics for a guest.

"You said you'll have to shave for dinner?" I asked, standing outside.

Carlos had his hand on the handle and his eyes pointed at the inside of the room, probably waiting for me to move. But I wanted more time alone with him. Study him. In his home. In his ambience. Understand if he missed me as much as I missed him. Play this game of how much more time I can’t pretend I’m not desperate to touch him.

"My mom doesn't like it," his hand left the handle to caress his own cheeks. "Neither do my sisters, to be fair. I think you're the only one."

"Believe me, I am not," I replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, his eyes filled with curiosity as he soaked in our conversation. "Oh, really?" he inquired, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Yes. A lot of people, actually.” When I noticed, my fingertips were up, extended to him, lingering on the roughness of his jawline. I’d lost my own game. "But my opinion should be enough.”

His gaze intensified, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Oh, love, it is," he responded, his hand reaching out to gently touch mine.

“You can’t do that,” I whispered.

“What, exactly?”

“Call me that like that.”

“Do you blush like that when I call you love on the phone?” His tongue wandered across his lips and I raised my hand to my cheek. “Don’t bother to check, baby. Why would I lie?”

I stepped inside the room, both my hands on my cheeks, leaving both Carlos and my suitcase by the door. The mirror over the dresser confirmed his words. I shot him a glance, but he just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well,” I moved around. "Don't you want to show me around? Maybe enlighten me on how the faucets work or something like that? Make yourself useful… instead of mocking me.”

Carlos chuckled, the sound filled with warmth and familiarity. "You know this house probably as well as I do, Eva.”

"Well, with the renovations, I can't be so sure anymore..."

"Oh, the renovations," he mused, laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Exactly. The renovations. What a terrible host, Carlos Sainz," I teased, playfully kicking off my sneakers. "I expected your mother to teach you better."

Pretending to take offence, he closed the distance between us. "Terrible host?"

"Yes. Absolutely terrible,” I emphasized, leaning closer to him, our faces mere inches apart. The air crackled with anticipation, and I could feel his warm breath against my skin.

"Well, how can I make myself useful, then?" Carlos's hands tightened their grip on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. There was no need for pretense or hesitation. His anticipation matched my own, the way his eyes held mine told me exactly that. His voice turned husky when he spoke again, "What do you want?”

To burn down in anticipation, I wanted to tell him. To drown in the bittersweet feelings that his presence evoked in me, both threatening and soothing—the urge, the longing, the tug in my belly that told me I was beyond ruined. Once again, his tongue wandered through his lips.

"Could you please just—" I began, my voice trailing off as he finished the sentence, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. The raw desire in his gaze set my senses ablaze, and I found myself leaning in, drawn inexorably toward him.

"Kiss you?" he finished, his breath ghosting over my lips.

The room fell silent as I held my breath, gaze locked with his. And then, I let it wander through his face, taking in every inch of his portrait, from the angle only I had access to. The freckles on his cheeks. The shadow of his eyelashes. The way his iris grew darker, as anticipation flooded his own senses. The droplets of sweat on the bridge of his nose. The way he pulled his lip between his teeth, as my eyes laid on them and travelled up again.

It was this that I needed from him. More than everything.

To be so close to the point of forgetting we were once apart.

With a whispered plea hanging on my lips, I nodded. "Yes, please.”

Carlos's breath hitched at my response, a mixture of anticipation and desire evident in his eyes. Without uttering another word, he closed the remaining distance between us, his lips crashing against mine with urgency. God.

The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the grip of his hands pulling me closer, holding me in place. Fingers burning against my skin. My hands instinctively found their way to his tousled hair, threading my fingers through the sweaty strands as I pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The heat of his body against mine sent pulses of electricity through every nerve, heightening the intensity of our connection.

The room itself seemed to respond to the energy between us, the soft sunlight casting a warm glow that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

"Eva, I need a shower," he murmured, his lips tracing my jaw, meeting my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

"Funny thing," my hands navigated to his nape, meeting the small droplets of sweat that had formed there. "Me too."

Carlos chuckled softly, “My room, then. Quick.”

The sound reverberated through me as he took my hand and led me towards the door. I only had time to pick up my suitcase before I was walking barefoot in the hallway, the warmth of the hardwood floors permeating my socks as I walked behind him, rushing through the corridor.

Once inside, he closed the door. The click of the latch echoed like a sealing promise and seconds after, my back was pressed to the door, his weight pressed against me and his lips travelling down my neck. A mix of nostalgia and passion hung in the air, as the walls themselves remembered the dreams of two teenagers, now fulfilled in their adult forms.

No posters on the walls. A couple of memorabilia here and there. Some photos. Totally different than I remembered. It seemed bigger, now, that I wasn’t looking through a small slit of the door, from the hallway. I think the memory made me laugh softly because I remember a small noise echoing in the room and then his voice following,

“What’s going on?” he asked.

"It's just funny," my laughter danced between us like a playful melody. "I'm finally in here."

He looked around, the smile never leaving his face. "My room?"

"The younger me would die to think of this, right now."

"Oh, imagine if she knew what I'm about to do with you," he said, lifting my shirt. I could see my breasts raise with my breathing, my tanned skin meeting the brim of my bra. He lowered his face to kiss the space between them.

A drip of sweat dripped down my neck to my chest. I looked down, whispering. "Shower." I indicated. And then, his lips were again against my neck. My jawline. "I'm gross.” My lips. “You’re gross.” My chin. ”And we have dinner.” My lips again. “They’re waiting.”

“And I’ve waited all week for this. They can wait twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, but my mom will come look for me,” I protested, even though my body was getting warmer.

"They’re distracted," he said, lifting my shirt over my head. "The…" He didn't finish his sentence. He was so busy trying to undo my bra that he forgot how to speak. He wasn't fast enough, though. His mouth was still gliding down my skin, the uneven stubble of his jaw grazing my smooth skin, but his fingers couldn't find their way. I helped him out, freeing myself of the black bra.

He paused, and then he took a step back, breathing deeply.

"Yeah," he exhaled, eyes on my chest. "This is happening.”

“I know,” I said, breathless. “That’s why we need to hurry.”

He was already taking off his sneakers and shirt as we walked to the bathroom door. My heart was pounding in my ears and my breath was coming faster. I forgot my tiredness and the fact that both our families were right there, just a staircase away.

The world ceased around us.

The glass of the shower was cool against my skin, and the tile of the bathroom floor was cold under my feet but when his lips found mine, my skin prickled with heat and I couldn't think about anything else but the way his tongue whipped into my mouth and how his hands slid down my back to pull me against him, trapping me against the glass divider of the shower stall and holding me there as if he had forgotten I needed air.

So urgent. So needy.

Desperate. Passionate. God. Carlos.

My hands were clumsy on his belt, pulling the leather without success. His hands fell over mine, heavy and warm, so big compared to mine. With a stronger thug and with the clink of the buckle, my way was freed.

He had to step away. The button. The zipper. And then he was undressing in front of me. His muscled kissed by the artificial yellow light of the bathroom. Swiftly, he came back to me, not even giving me time to admire him.

And God, how I wanted to.

I was feeling greedy, so greedy.

Shamelessly, my eyes drifted to the mirror in front of us. Our bodies seemed to be melting into one another. His back muscles flexed under his skin as he moved; drops of sweat slid along his back and disappeared into his boxers.

"The water," he pointed, undoing the button of my jeans and sliding them down my pants, as he knelt in front of me.

My hand searched blindly for the faucet, because this time I couldn't take my eyes off his tan shoulders, and the way his muscles responded with grace under skin stretched taut over them. His lips swooped down against my panties, feeling their elastic around my thighs. Without averting my eyes from him, I leaned forward to my right, my fingers finally meeting the cold iron surface. The water ran from the tap in a gush, ice cold, then cascading down, pooling on the marble floor with a splash that echoed in the room around us.

"In," he ordered, getting up and undressing his boxers.

I stepped into the shower, gasping. "It's freezing."

He followed me with two steps, his arm pressing against my back, trapping me against the glass again, this time on the other side. "That may be because you turned it to the wrong side, smartass."

I didn't see him change the faucet, but in a couple of seconds, the water ran warmer against our skin. He chuckled, his lips grazing my earlobe as his hands explored my waist. Our skin was already slick with sweat before the shower started, and now every inch of us was glistening under the artificial bathroom light. He looked like gold, tanned and carved into perfection. His fingers probed between my legs, arousing me further until I was biting my lip to keep from crying out. The droplets of water danced on my forehead.

And then he was pushing me against the cool tile, his hand finding my nipple and rolling it between his fingers. I gasped, biting his shoulder, and his other hand slid on my back, pushing me firmly against him.

"How is it possible that I miss you this much, uh?" He said, fingers now rubbing against my folds, his mouth whispering in my ear. My breath was coming out in shallow pants. "I'm so hard." His index and middle finger were inside me. Thumb pressed against my clit. Hearts beating against my chest. His and mine both. I pressed my head against his shoulder, my nails digging into his back.

"I missed you." I moaned, feeling my body tightening around his fingers. "I really did."

And I wasn’t talking about the previous week, anymore.

My eyes closed. His stubble was razing the skin of my neck as his lips moved to my earlobe, his tongue flickering over the right side of my neck. He tasted like mint and salt. Felt like heaven.

“You’re so hard,” I could feel it. Pulsating. Against my leg. Desperate. So close. “What if they…”

"They won't.” His teeth captured my earlobe between them. “We got time. Focus on me. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through my body when his tongue reached my ear. I moaned against him, my hands gripping his shoulders. An emptiness hit me as his fingers slid from me, and I opened my eyes. His dark eyes glowed in the hazy fog that had gathered around us, and droplets of water flew over his showers and onto me. He glanced down admiringly at his wet fingers, coated with my arousal.

"D'you want to taste it?"

"No," I said, breathless. God, this man. On his knees, water running down his face. His lips glistened. His eyes glimmering. "I want you inside me."

His hand fisted my hair and his other hand grabbed my ass, fingers clawing my skin and pressing me against him. The desire to feel him inside me was maddening, taking over every part of me.

"Feisty."

"Thought that was a given."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, "I'm well aware." One last peck on my lips, his voice raspy and low.

I closed my eyes and felt his hand guiding his hardness into me, damp tip meeting my folds, slowly and provocatively. It was so warm. He was everywhere. He was still kissing my skin as he slipped inside me. So tight, baby. So good. Filling me, inch by inch.

The cold tire against my back was the only thing that kept me from collapsing. I slumped over it, my hair spilling down my shoulders and chest. Carlos’ eyes dropped to my chest, and my eyes did the same. Water poured from his shoulders, meeting my belly and making my skin glisten.

And then he pulled out, his hands on my hips, keeping me steady. His eyes were on mine, the same dark depths that held me captive since I met him.

"You okay?"

"More than okay."

He smiled, flexing his hips, and then pushed back in, harder this time. I moaned, gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. I was lost in him. In the way he felt inside me, the way his voice sounded when loaded with lust and pleasure.

His name came out in a whisper. He didn't answer but he quickened his pace, digging his fingers into my hips and kissing me harder. I loved the feel of him getting harder inside of me with every thrust, and I loved hearing him breathe faster and louder each time he squeezed my hips, muffling moans that followed immediately after. I loved the sensation of the water raining on me. How the sound of his breath was turning into something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

"Wait," I told him, between whispers and pants. Carlos stopped moving and looked at me, confusion etched into his features. "What's wrong?"

My skin was all shivers, my back was almost numb with the temperature of the tile. I only noticed how cold I was when the hot water fell on my shoulder again and dripped through my back.

"I think I'm just a bit cold," I whispered, mouth hovering over his.

"That's okay." Carlos' voice was soft, his hand sliding around my waist to the front of my body. One finger traced the outline of my nipple, back and forth, and I arched my back, pressing myself harder against him. His finger dipped inside my navel and I gasped, biting his lip. "Can we try something different?"

"Please."

"Here, then," he moved, pushing me with him closer to the water. The warmth relaxed my muscles and sent an overwhelming feeling over me. I let the water fall over me, as Carlos kissed my neck and shoulders. He was behind me, erection against my ass, hands on my waist, lips all over me.

My hands met the glass divider, warmer than the tile, but exactly as slippery. My hands searched for support as I folded forward. Water hit me right on the back, dripping down me like gold.

“Oh, God,” he uttered, hands firm on my ass, groping my cheeks and pulling them apart. His wet fingers travelled down my slit, slipping inside me again. My body fold even forward, elbows meeting the wall, ass pinned into him. "Every inch of you, baby. So pretty."

And then his hand was gone, replaced by his hardness again, rubbing against me, pressing against my entries, teasing me and making me whimper.

"Please," I begged, my fingers curled around the cold glass. My nails bit into my palms, the sensation unbearable, but incredibly wanton. "Please."

"Please what, baby?" I bet he was smiling when he pressed his thumb against my needy flesh.

"Please fuck me."

The words had just slipped out, and I didn't even realize it.

But it was okay. He knew what I wanted. And he would give it to me. Hard. Fast. And so deep that I would never be able to forget him again.

And then he was inside me, sudden and hard, and I cried out, my nails digging into the glass. I was so tight, I was almost choking him. He started moving, slowly at first and then picking up speed, and I reacted immediately, twisting around and meeting his thrusts. He muttered something in Spanish, in an accent so deep I couldn't understand his words, and I could feel my orgasm building, threatening to consume me.

"Please," I begged again, my voice trembling. "Make me come."

"C'mere," my body followed his voice, and my back meet his chest. He was smiling against my shoulder. He held me in place as he pounded into me, one hand wrapped around my neck, the other pushing down on my clit. I was shaking, my whole body quivering.

"You like this?"

"God. Yes." Words left my lips as my body was hit with waves of pleasure. Waves after waves of it. My toes curled. My stomach tightened. I'd forgotten how good it felt. How good he was.

"Go on, pretty girl," he said as his tongue flicked between my earlobe and the skin of my neck. His thrusts deepened and went faster, still without mercy, until they turned into a fury. I was feeling dizzy. Head elsewhere. Maybe from his grip on my neck or the heat in the room. Perhaps both."Cum for me."

"I'm so close," I whimpered. My hips swayed against him as I leaned back into his shoulders, arching my back. "I'm so close."

It was almost painful, really, how much I was enjoying this, how my body was responding to his touch, to his voice, to him. Go on. You're so pretty. You're so good.

"Oh, Carlos," I cried out, my head turning to his neck to rest on his shoulder, my hands flat against the glass. "Jesus—"

My childhood crush was making me cum in his childhood room. In his childhood home. And I was loving every second of it. I was coming in his arms, and I cried out loud for him. Pleasure tore through my body as he thrust into me, taking the breath from my body. My skin was covered in goosebumps, and my body was shaking uncontrollably.

Clit trobbing. Nerves about to snap.

I felt my muscles twitching around him, drawing groans and moans from his lips. He didn't stop moving, thrusting into me with more strength and power.

"Inside me," I said between moans and whimpers. "Cum inside me."

And then he did, slamming into me one final time and spilling himself inside me. I swore I saw stars. Felt everything. The way his body was shaking against mine. The way his heartbeat was thundering in my ears. The way he was still moving, still thrusting, still claiming me as his.

"You're mine," he told me, and I could hear the weariness in his voice. The way he was still holding me close to him.

When I turned to him, his eyes were closed still. His hands didn't move away from my skin and he embraced me, holding me there.

He was right. I was his. And I belonged there.

And it was natural. It was easy.

"I am," I whispered, eyes closed, my body trembling and weak.

"Oh, my good girl." Carlos' lips slanted over mine in a slow kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth. My body leaned against his, completely and utterly at his mercy. "You're so pretty. Have I told you that?"

"Hm... I don't think you have, actually."

"Well, you are. Every inch of you," he said, smiling, his hands moving to my shoulders, then to my neck. "Should have told you that sooner."

"In all honestly, you should've done a lot of things sooner."

He shrugged, kissing me again. "Don't you think?" I said, my lips touching his neck. "Don't you think you should’ve kissed me that night during my... what? 16th birthday party?"

He laughed. "Maybe."

"Or, I don't know, when you got that fourth place in Adu Dhabi and hugged me like never before?"

Once again, he laughed, turning around to pick up the shampoo. "Maybe."

"Maybe is not the answer I'm looking for," I said, raising my head to look at him.

"Why didn't you?"

"I think Rio would have killed me. Or your dad. One of the other, for sure."

"So…” I teased, the corner of my lips tugging up as his eyebrows drew closer. “You were a chicken?"

"Yeah, that's one of the reasons." He opened the bottle of shampoo. "Turn around."

I turned and leaned my back against him so he could wash m hair. "One of?" I said, ducking my head under the water. "What's the other one?

His hands began washing my hair with long strokes. "I've told you. I didn't think I could give you what you needed."

"But you had girlfriends."

"I did." His hands began washing my hair. "But they weren't you."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I could have fucked it up and I wouldn't be failing you. I could fail. I could not be a good boyfriend because I wouldn't be your bad boyfriend." His hands were massaging my scalp, making my eyes close in utter bliss.

He finished washing my hair and rinsed it before turning me around to face him. His brown eyes were softened as he looked into mine. I watched Carlos in silence, my eyes tracing the shape of his face, the subtle lines of his jaw and his lips, which were still curved in a soft smile.

"And now?" I asked softly. "You think you are?"

He shook his head slowly and sighed. "No," he said, his voice low. "But I know you have a different opinion."

"We still have time to figure that part out, right?"

"We do," he said. "We have not much time until someone comes to call us for dinner, though."

"Yeah. Right." I gave him back the shampoo. "Please, tell me you have a good body wash."

"I'm not a savage, DiMaggio."

"You're a racing driver, Sainz,” he snorted. "That's almost the same."

                                                        * 

2022, 29th August

Unveiling the Victors and Underdogs: Reflecting on the 6 Hours of Fuji

by James Anderson, Motorsport Commentator

In the fast-paced world of endurance racing, it takes something truly extraordinary to capture the attention of fans and fellow competitors alike. At the 6 Hours of Fuji, one driver accomplished just that, proving that age is no barrier to success and talent knows no bounds. Eva DiMaggio, the rising star of DAR Racing, made waves throughout the weekend, leaving an indelible mark on the race and the hearts of racing enthusiasts worldwide.

From the very start, the odds seemed stacked against DiMaggio. Forced to step in during the first practice session due to her teammate Matteo Serra's unexpected bout of food poisoning, she had to adapt quickly to the demanding Fuji Speedway. But adapt she did, showcasing her innate skill and lightning-fast reflexes with a couple of impressive laps during practice. The whispers began to circulate throughout the paddock, and everyone took notice.

As the race commenced, it became abundantly clear that DiMaggio was a force to be reckoned with. Her fearless overtakes in the Ferrari 488 GTE Evo were a sight to behold, displaying a level of confidence and determination beyond her years. She fearlessly navigated through the field, inching closer to the podium with every passing lap. The chemistry between driver and machine was undeniable, as if they were in perfect sync, dancing their way through the twists and turns of Fuji Speedway.

DAR Racing's decision to extend DiMaggio's stint proved to be a stroke of genius. She continued to push herself and the car to the limits, defying expectations at every turn. As the checkered flag waved, DiMaggio and her team celebrated a hard-fought fourth-place finish, a significant achievement considering the challenges they faced throughout the weekend. Their jubilation may have gone unnoticed in the immediate aftermath, as the attention turned to the traditional podium ceremony. But fate had one last surprise in store.

As Corvette Racing, in second place, was disqualified from the race, it was DAR Racing and Eva DiMaggio who were propelled into an unexpected third-place finish in the LMGTE Am class. The garage erupted with joy and pride as the realization sank in—their tireless efforts had paid off, and they stood on the podium as a testament to their resilience and unwavering spirit.

Beyond her impressive performance on the track, what struck me most about Eva DiMaggio was her infectious smile and genuine warmth. Throughout the weekend, she effortlessly engaged with fans, fellow drivers, and teams, leaving a lasting impression. It was heartwarming to witness drivers from different categories flock to congratulate her after the podium ceremony, recognizing her remarkable achievements and undeniable potential.

At just 25 years old, Eva DiMaggio has already made a great step to make a name for herself in the world of motorsports. DiMaggio’s performance in EuroCup and Formula 4, as well as her victory at the Ferrari Challenge Europe in 2022, showcased her talent and versatility. And while Fuji marked her first time in a car after that triumph, it certainly won't be her last. Once again, DiMaggio got the chance to showcase her ability to step up when needed and perform under pressure. I wonder what she can do with proper training and preparation.

Eva DiMaggio has undoubtedly established herself as a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the track. Her relentless pursuit of excellence, combined with her natural talent and infectious spirit, sets her apart as a driver destined for greatness. As we applaud her achievements at Fuji, we eagerly await the next chapter in her extraordinary journey, eager to witness the continued rise of this young motorsport sensation.

Thought a little pick-me-up would help after today's race, so I really tried to finish the chapter today! It's 11 pm and I'm super sleep deprived, so I'm sorry if you find a typo here and there, but I didn't revise as many times as I should've. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting for so long but life's been crazy. Can't promise when the next one is coming, but the story is not finished yet! It will come! Also: thank you so much for all the messages, comments and reblogs. You are amazing. If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is published, let me know! As always, sending you all the love!

[ironheartwriter]

Happy WIP Wednesday friends! Ngl, I completely forgot that it was Wednesday until people started tagging me in things. Whoopsie.

Thanks for the tags: @strandnreyes, @emsprovisions, @alrightbuckaroo, @whatsintheboxmh, @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses

Enjoy this bit from the upcoming chapter of Even in the Dark, also a warning that TK is under the influence of a completely made up drug during this:

Carlos steps over the threshold between the rooms, glancing around curiously. His eyes first go to the bed, which was currently empty, though had definitely been slept in, the lumpy pillows and thin blanket askew. On the small table sat the full tray of food, seemingly untouched, each plate full. Carlos approaches the table slowly, as though something might jump out at him. On the tray was a small, handwritten note in Iris’s familiar, extravagant writing that read simply ‘I’m sorry.’ Of course Iris was apologizing. He knew all too well how, despite the fact that Iris had simply been doing what he had told her to do when she’d made the bracelet to restrict TK’s powers, she still felt bad about doing it. “What are you doing?” Carlos damn near jumps out of his skin at the soft, barely audible voice in his ear, his heart racing as a violet flame appeared in his palm. What he sees when he turns around, however, has him automatically stepping back, bumping into the table and knocking the tray from it with a loud crash, the contents spilling in every direction. He hadn’t heard nor felt TK approach him, and for a split second, he’s not entirely sure the being standing in front of him is TK, but once there’s several inches between him, TK’s features become more defined, more familiar, in the shadows of the room, aside from his eyes, which are now an eerie, shimmering iridescent blue, rather than their normal green. “What the hell are you doing, pest?” Carlos snarls, irritation mixing with his confusion, closing his hand to cause the flame he held to disappear. “What am I doing?” TK repeats, his tone a soft purr, seemingly several octaves off from its usual tone, the shift serving only to set Carlos’s teeth on edge further. “You’re the one skulking around my room, Your Highness, what are you doing?”

Tagging: @sapphic--kiwi, @reyesstrand, @nisbanisba, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @heartstringsduet,

@tellmegoodbye, @lightningboltreader @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @literateowl + open tag because I'm late

[chicgeekgirl89]

Fandom: 911 Lone Star Summary: When Carlos receives a late night call from one of his sisters who is worried about the health of his nephew, T.K. doesn't hesitate to jump in and show the entire family why he's worthy of Carlos' love. Thanks to @carlos-tk, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @whatsintheboxmh, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @strandnreyes, @carlos-in-glasses, and @bonheur-cafe for the WIP Wednesday tags. I hope you will accept this instead, belated as it is! A/N: This is my 100th fic on AO3!! 🍾🍾🍾 (Not my 100th fic ever, many of them never made the transfer from ff.net, but still!) I've been sitting on this one for a while and seeing T.K. shine feels like it's worthy of being #100. Also Adriana and Francesca weren't supposed to be in this one, but they literally barged through those hospital doors and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn't love them more!

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“Sooo…never again, right?” Carlos asks.

“Oh my god never again,” T.K. agrees fervently. “Why were the plates so weird? Some of them weren’t even plates at all. And the food was…bad.”

“So bad,” Carlos says. “Tiny and bad.”

“Three hours. We were there three hours,” T.K. says in disbelief as he slows down at a stoplight. “Why did we have to wait like thirty minutes between courses?”

“The menu said it was to give us time to renew our digestive energies and be more present in the dining experience,” Carlos says.

“I didn’t know my digestive energies needed to be renewed.”

“Me neither.”

It had taken them months to get a reservation at the trendiest new restaurant in town and they’d both been excited for the occasion. The menu promised a foodie paradise with unique dishes, creative presentation, and an emphasis on sustainability. They’d gotten dressed up and ready for a fun date night out only to be disappointed the moment they’d walked in the door. 

The place had been crowded, they were practically elbow to elbow with the tables next to them. Carlos had learned the intimate details of one couple’s fertility issues and another couple’s trouble with their neighbors.

Then the food had started coming and been a complete disaster. Carlos considered himself something of a foodie, and T.K.’s New Yorker palate had sampled a number of cuisines over the years, but this had been the worst food Carlos had ever eaten. He hadn’t been able to identify a single item on any of his plates and his tongue longed for something with even a hint of flavor. The plate that held a single, lukewarm radish had nearly been his undoing.

Overall it had been three hours of bland food, awkward company, and not at all what either of them had imagined.

“I’m starving. Can we please pick up something on the way home?” T.K. asks, his stomach letting out a gurgle as if to affirm his statement.

“God yes. I think Chu’s is still open, right?” 

Carlos pulls out his phone, but it lights up with a call before he can check to see Chu’s hours. “Why’s my sister calling?”

T.K. glances over at him. “Which one?”

“Lucía,” Carlos says. It’s not typical of his sister to call at this hour out of the blue and he feels his internal warning bells activate as he picks up the call. “Luci? Que pasó?”

“Hey Carlos,” she says, sounding tired and stressed. “Sorry for calling, I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re just on our way home from dinner. What’s going on?”

“I don’t—I’m probably overreacting,” she says. “It’s just that Justin is out of town for work and I’m—“

Now he’s really worried. “Lucí, it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sebastian woke up sick a couple days. I didn’t think it was a big deal, both boys are sick all the time from daycare and school, but he wasn’t any better today, so I took him to the doctor. They said he’s fine, likely just a virus or something, but…his fever won’t break and he keeps saying his belly hurts.” 

Carlos can hear the deep seated worry in his sister’s voice and it rocks him to his core. His sister is an amazing mom, fearless and sure. To hear her so uncertain is throwing him off.

“I didn’t know if maybe T.K. could just give me some advice or something?” she says, ending it like a question.

He looks over at his fiancé. “What’s going on?” T.K. asks,.

“Sebastian’s sick,” Carlos says. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, put her on speaker,” T.K. says immediately, turning his eyes back to the road as the light changes.“Hey Lucía,” he says loudly so she can hear him.

“Hey T.K.,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I know people probably ask you for medical help all the time.”

“It’s not a problem. Tell me what’s going on,” T.K. says.

“He won’t eat, he’s barely drinking. His fever had been holding steady at around a hundred, but it just spiked up to one oh two. I’ve given him medicine, done cold washcloths, I don’t know what else to try.”

“And the doctor said what exactly?”

“That it’s probably a stomach virus,” Lucía says.

T.K. mulls that over for a minute. “Aren’t we like fifteen minutes from their place?” he asks Carlos.

Carlos nods. 

“Okay, Lucía we’re going to swing by, all right?” T.K. says, flipping his blinker on to get them turned around back the way they’d just come.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that—“

“We’re coming Luci,” Carlos says. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, thank you,” she says, relief flooding her voice and loosening the knot of fear in Carlos’ chest.

He hangs up and looks at T.K. “It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

“Probably,” T.K. agrees. “But if it makes her feel better to have someone give her advice it’s worth going over.”

Carlos’ heart goes soft at those words. He’d never imagined he’d be with someone like T.K. Someone so kind and good, someone who would drive to his sister’s house at nine o’clock at night just to assuage her fears. It’s beyond his wildest dreams.

They pull into the driveway of the ranch style home about ten minutes later, T.K.’s ambulance driving having shaved a few minutes off their time and a few years off of Carlos’ life. At least they’re not driving the Camaro tonight so Carlos didn’t have to fear for the safety of his baby as they sped through yellow lights and weaved in and out of traffic.

Lucía opens the door before they even knock and the relief Carlos felt a few minutes ago evaporates at the sight of her worried face. She was holding back on the phone; in person she looks even more terrified and exhausted than she sounded. “Hey guys,” she says. “I’m so sorry to drag you all the way over here.”

“Stop apologizing,” Carlos admonishes her immediately as they step inside. “That’s what family is for.”

Sebastian lays on the couch in the living, looking younger and tinier than his six years, his face pale and drawn. There’s an episode of Paw Patrol playing on the television mounted above the fireplace and he has a blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. Carlos can see Fuzzy, his comfort bear, peeking out over the top. 

“Hey buddy,” he says, crouching down and giving his nephew a smile. “Tummy bothering you?”

Sebastian nods but doesn’t say anything, another sign that something is wrong. Usually he’s a chatterbox, happy to talk about school or his friends or soccer. Carlos smiles wider, despite the worry swirling in his gut, trying for calm and reassuring uncle. “Do you remember my boyfriend T.K.? From the party at Abuela and Abuelo’s house?” Carlos asks and Sebastian’s eyes move over his shoulder to where T.K. is standing behind him. He gets another nod.

“He’s going to take a look at you, okay?” Carlos says, standing up and moving back to where Lucía is anxiously hovering behind the couch so that T.K. has space to work.

“Hey Sebastian,” T.K. says as he takes Carlos’ spot. “You know I’m a paramedic, right?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, his voice small.

“Do you know what a paramedic does?”

“Help people feel better?”

T.K. smiles and nods. “That’s right. So let’s see if I can help you feel better, sound good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Awesome. Okay, I’m going to pull down the blanket and take a look. You tell me if anything hurts, all right?”

He gently pulls down the blanket and places his fingers on Sebastian’s wrist, looking at his watch while he does it. He pulls out a stethoscope he had in the car and listens to the little boy’s lungs, then takes his temperature with the thermometer Lucía has on the coffee table. He narrates quietly the entire time, letting Sebastian know what he’s doing as he does it.

“Okay, let’s see that belly,” he finally says with a smile.

He pulls up the top of Sebastian’s Power Rangers pajamas, talking to him softly while his hands palpate his abdomen. “You like Power Rangers huh? Which one is your favorite?”

“Red,” Sebastian says immediately. “He’s the head guy.”

“He is,” T.K. says. “I always liked the Green one though.”

Sebastian winces and makes a noise that breaks Carlos’ heart in half. T.K.’s hands immediately immediately stop. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “That hurt?”

Sebastian nods and T.K. gently puts his pajama shirt back into place. “I’m going to go talk to your mom and tío. You stay right here and make sure this couch doesn’t go anywhere, okay?”

He gets to his feet and nods toward the hallway where Carlos and Lucía follow him out of Sebastian’s earshot. “His pulse is a little fast and there is some tenderness in his abdomen,” T.K. says quietly. “That coupled with the fever and the lethargy is definitely concerning.”

Lucía puts her hand on Carlos’ arm and he covers it with his own in an attempt at reassurance. “So what should I do? Wait until the morning and see how he is? Give him more meds?” she asks.

“Considering his symptoms, I would recommend you take him to the ER,” T.K. says gently.

She blows out a breath as Carlos’ stomach drops. “Okay,” she says. “Okay um, okay. I’ll just wake up Nicholas and…”

“No, no, no,” Carlos says quickly. “No I’ll call Mom and ask her to come be with Nicky. I’ll stay until she gets here.”

“And I’ll go with you to the ER,” T.K. offers. “I can walk you through all the paperwork, field questions from the doctors, whatever you need.”

“Seriously?” Lucía looks teary eyed. “You’ll come?”

“Of course,” T.K. says. “Why don’t you go grab whatever might help keep him calm while we’re there? iPad or a book maybe. It could be a long wait.”

“Okay, right. Yes. Give me like five minutes and I’ll be ready,” she says, rushing off to go gather supplies.

“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks immediately.

T.K. has his neutral paramedic face on, but Carlos has learned to read between the lines. “I’m thinking it could be a number of things,” T.K. says. “Just a stomach bug maybe, but even if it is I think he’s dehydrated. And given his symptoms and the decline, I’m also worried about an impacted or perfed bowel or maybe even appendicitis.”

“How worried?” 

T.K. blows out a breath. “Worried enough that I wouldn’t wait until the morning to try and get him some treatment.”

His words unlock a whole new level of fear that Carlos has never experienced before, and it takes a lot for him to stay calm as he calls his mom and explains the situation. Lucía returns with a tote bag full of supplies and T.K. scoops up Sebastian, carrying him out to the car with Lucía on his heels. 

“Mom says she’ll be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll be right behind you,” Carlos promises as T.K. sets Sebastian gently in the backseat, pillowing his head on Lucía’s lap.

“Can you call Justin?” Lucía asks, looking like she’s barely holding it together. “He knows Sebby’s sick but I want him to know we’re heading to the ER.”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “I’ll call him as soon as I’m back inside.”

“Hey,” T.K. catches his eye as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got them, okay?”

“I know you do,” Carlos says and then the door is shut and they’re gone, leaving him standing in the driveway, his heart in his stomach.

He trudges back into the house and sinks onto the couch, eyes glued to Nicholas’ sleeping form on the baby monitor. He’s not a parent, so why does this feel so awful?

It takes him a minute to emotionally prepare for this phone call and he has to take a deep breath before tapping Justin’s name on his screen. 

It rings and rings and then sends him to voicemail, so he tries again. And again. The third time, Justin finally picks up.

“Dude, if this is a butt dial I’m going to kill you,” his brother-in-law says groggily.

Carlos forgot that it’s nearly midnight on the east coast right now. “Justin,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“What’s wrong? Are Lucía and the boys okay?” Justin immediately sounds more awake now that he’s heard Carlos’ voice.

“Everyone’s safe,” Carlos tells him quickly. “I’m at your place with Nicholas because Sebastian’s feeling worse. She and T.K. are on the way to the ER with him.”

There’s a pause, Carlos can practically feel Justin’s panic through the phone. “Okay, um, okay,” he finally says. “Shit, I’m in Atlanta. There won’t be any flights for hours…”

“My mom’s on her way here to stay with Nicholas,” Carlos says. “I’ll head to the hospital and keep you updated, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, um, thanks Carlos,” Justin says, sounding a little hoarse. “Please um, please tell them I love them, okay? And that I’ll be on the first flight out I can get.”

“I will.”

He hangs up just as the front door opens and his mom comes in. “Carlitos,” she says softly and he immediately gets up to hug her. “How is Sebby?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. They probably just got to the ER, it could be hours before we know anything.”

“And Lucía?”

“She’s worried,” he says. 

“As are we all,” she says, empathy all over her face. “T.K. went with her?”

“Yeah, he said he’d help with things there.”

She smiles softly and touches his face. “You picked a good one mijo. Not every man would drop everything to help his boyfriend’s family.”

There’s a lump in Carlos throat and he struggles to speak past it. “I know.”

“You should get going.”

“Okay. Nicholas is asleep in his crib. I called Justin, he’s working on getting a flight back.”

She nods. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

The drive to the hospital is so lonely and silent that it makes each minute feel even longer beneath the glow of the streetlights. How on earth did he go from having dinner with his boyfriend to taking his nephew to the ER? It’s ridiculous. They should be home right now, cuddling on the couch or the bed, watching some stupid show that neither of them really cares about because what they’re actually interested in is making out with each other.

Instead he’s about to spend hours in a hard plastic chair praying that a six year old he loves dearly is going to be all right.

He’s so anxious to get there that he doesn’t realize until he’s through the doors that he has no idea where he’s going. Or even if they’re gong to let him stay. Surely they’re not going to let three adults hang out in the ER in the middle of the night when one would suffice. 

He forgot he has T.K. Strand in his corner.

“How can I help you?” the nurse asks when he steps up to the counter.

“I’m here for my nephew? Sebastian Bryant? He came in with my sister,” Carlos says, feeling awkward.

“Oh you’re Carlos,” she says immediately. “T.K.’s boyfriend.”

“I—yeah,” Carlos says, surprised by her familiarity.

“I’m Stella. It’s so nice to finally meet you, although I wish it wasn’t because your nephew’s in here. T.K. talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“Oh my god, try getting him to stop. Carlos this, my boyfriend that, and now I see why. You two are gorgeous together,” she says, flashing him a smile. “Here come with me. I’ll take you to them. Darlene? Can you cover the desk?”

Stella takes him down a hall, past the general area of the ER to a more closed off section. It’s not a room, but it’s quieter here, and Carlos can hear T.K.’s voice even before Stella pulls back the curtain to reveal him.

“Found someone who belongs to you,” Stella says.

T.K.’s eyes find him, soft and relieved. “Hey, I was just about to text you an update. Thanks so much Stella.”

“No problem. I’m going to check and see where we’re at with the tests and then I’ll be back.”

“How’s it going?” Carlos asks quietly.

Sebastian is asleep in the bed, an IV in his arm and Fuzzy tucked in beside him. Lucía is sitting in a chair next to him, his little fingers curled around hers.

“They’re going to take him for a CT as soon as one opens up,” she says quietly. “He was crying when we got here, but they gave him some pain medication and he fell asleep like ten minutes ago.”

“Good,” Carlos says in relief. It feels so much better to know that there are people actively working to help Sebastian. “Nicholas is with Mom, he was still asleep when I left. And Justin’s getting on the first flight he can in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Lucía’s face crumples and she immediately puts her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. T.K. looks at Carlos. “I’m going to go grab us some coffee,” he says, slipping discreetly out of the room.

Carlos squats down by his sister’s chair and puts a hand on her knee. She immediately covers it with her own and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He just—he’s so little. He was so scared when we got here, it’s so bright and they put in the IV and he cried and I just, I need Justin to be here, because I am not strong enough for this.”

“He’s coming,” Carlos says. “He’s coming as fast as he can. And until he does I’m here, all right? I’m here with you and Mom is with Nicholas. Sebastian is going to be fine. He’s scared, but you’re taking such great care of him. You are an amazing mom. You’re doing everything right.”

She nods a couple times, clearly trying to internalize his words before taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes. “You know um, T.K. is pretty amazing too,” she tells him, wiping at her eyes. “I thought we’d be here for hours before we got answers, but he called ahead in the car and that nurse, Stella, was waiting for us. As soon as we were in the door they were drawing blood and starting tests. It’s like they rolled out the red carpet.” She nods toward the doorway. “Not everyone would do that kind of thing for someone they barely know.”

“That’s T.K.,” Carlos says, warmth blooming through his chest at her words. “He’s…incredible.”

“You know, I already liked him a lot, but now…” She quirks a smile. “You’d better hold onto him.”

Carlos nods, heart fluttering away in his chest. “That’s the plan.”

T.K. comes back with coffee right about the same time someone shows up to take Sebastian for his CT scan. He’s unhappy to be woken up, but mollified when Carlos promises to take him for ice cream once a week for the next month. 

The nurse is incredible, telling Sebastian he’s going to go on a ride in a spaceship, although that does nothing to help Carlos’ heart when they start the sedation and he watches Sebastian’s eyelids flutter shut, his body going limp in a weirdly unnatural way. He’s gone for over an hour, all of them sipping tepid hospital coffee in a desperate attempt not to fall asleep as the clock ticks later and later. 

When the orderly returns with him he’s completely zonked out and Carlos hopes he’ll stay that way. It’s not long after that an ER doctor shows up and informs them that the CT scan is indicating appendicitis, despite Sebastian’s slightly atypical presentation of symptoms. Lucía takes the news better than Carlos thought she might, she’s clearly relieved to have an answer and a defined course of action, even if it does mean a surgery they’re told is being scheduled for the early hours of the morning. Someone will be by soon to get them admitted and transferred to a room for the night.

“You guys should go home” she says. “You’ve done more than enough, really. He’s just going to sleep until it’s time for surgery and they’re not going to let you come into the room with us anyway.”

“Don’t worry about them kicking us out,” T.K. says immediately. “If you want us to stay that won’t be a problem.”

She smiles at him. “You’ve done more than enough tonight. I’ll be fine. I promise. Go home and get some sleep.”

Carlos is reluctant to leave her, but she’s right. There’s no point in staying when it’s so late and nothing is going to happen until morning anyway. The moment of crisis is past and now there’s nothing to do but wait.

“I’ll come back in the morning for his surgery,” Carlos says.

“You don’t have to—“ She must catch the look of determination in his eyes because she cuts herself off and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stands and she meets him with a brief hug before she turns to T.K. “I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t think I would have made it tonight without you T.K.,” she says.

“Yes you would have,” he says graciously. “But I’m glad I could help. If anything changes in the night you have my number, don’t be afraid to call.”

“I will.” 

Carlos can’t help but notice that T.K. gets a slightly longer hug than he did and the warm feeling in his chest only intensifies. He reaches for T.K.’s hand as they head out into the hall and T.K. gives him a tired smile in return. “Oh, hang on one second,” he says as they pass the nurses station, letting go of Carlos’ hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogs over and flashes that winning smile again at the nurse who’s there, not Stella this time, and chats with her for a minute before returning to Carlos’ side. “What was that about?” Carlos asks, interlacing their fingers together again.

“I just wanted to make sure they put Sebastian in a private room,” T.K. says. “They have the space, Natalie says it won’t be a problem.”

“Natalie huh?” Carlos says as they exit the automatic doors and head for the darkened parking structure. “She also falls victim to your beautiful eyes and charming smile?”

“Victim?” T.K. scoffs. “No one is a victim. I have paid for these hospital perks with dozens of coffees and donuts and muffins and even the occasional Target run. This is just good natured southern kindness being returned.”

Carlos laughs out loud. “Right. Not a single bit of it has to do with your innate charm and that smile that brings people to their knees and makes them feel like they’re only person you’ve ever cared about.”

“I mean, it had to start somewhere,” T.K. says, flashing him that exact smile. “But we’ve come a long way since then.”

“Well thank you,” Carlos says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. “I honestly I don’t how to say thank you enough. My family is…they’re so important to me and I…”

“Hey.” T.K. tugs him to a stop and meets his gaze under the half light of the parking garage. “They’re important to me too.”

The drive home is blessedly short and they fall into bed exhausted at around midnight only to wake up again at five to head back over to the hospital. Carlos tells T.K. he doesn’t have to come, but the look he gets shuts him up immediately. T.K. is clearly invested. 

They stop for coffee on the way, real, decent coffee, and some bagels, plus a cake pop for Sebastian after surgery. 

He gets a text update as they’re pulling up to the hospital again; Justin is on a flight and should get there by the time the surgery is over. It’s a relief to know his sister will have her support to lean on again in the near future. 

Once they arrive Carlos sits back and watches in wonder as T.K. works his magic. Someone shows up to give Sebastian not one, not two, but three different stuffed toys along with a coloring pack and some Hot Wheels cars. T.K. sits down on his bed and explains the whole surgery in terms a six year old an understand, and when the time comes, Sebastian is whisked off without a single tear.

He’s seen T.K. at work before, but this is an entirely different level of incredible. He knows almost every nurse, every doctor, every orderly that they see, and if he doesn’t, by the time they leave he’s made them feel like an old friend. People can’t seem to do enough for him. 

Justin gets there about twenty minutes after the surgery starts, exhausted and haggard looking, his collared shirt buttoned the wrong way and his hair looking like he didn’t even comb it. T.K. somehow procures fresh, non-cafeteria coffee for him, whispering something about the doctor’s lounge, as well as a banana and a granola bar. 

Everything goes exactly as expected and soon enough the doctor is back to let them know that Sebastian was a champ during surgery and they expect a quick recovery. Lucía and Justin head back to wait with him until the sedation wears off, while Carlos and T.K. continue hanging out in the waiting room until Sebastian can have more visitors.

When Carlos hears a loud commotion behind him, he knows without even looking that reinforcements have arrived. Adriana and Francesca have shown up with more balloons than a circus, a gigantic stuffed bear, and several bags of god only knows what else. “Oh my god, Cesca don’t let them float away,” Adriana is saying as they try and get through the automatic doors that keep closing before all the balloons can make it through.

“I’m not!” Francesca snaps back. “It’s the stupid doors! You could like try to help!”

“With what hands?” Adriana cries, her arms full of stuffed bear.

“Ah, perfect,” Carlos says weakly, looking at T.K. who is already smiling at his sister and cousin’s antics.

“Carlos! Get over here!” Francesca barks and he stands with a sigh, going to help her get in the doorway. 

“Hello, good morning, how are you guys doing?” Carlos prompts as he grabs the brightly colored strings and yanks them inside, the balloons bopping along behind and nearly smacking an elderly woman in the face.

“I mean you’re both awake and have coffee, so I assume you’re fine,” she tells him as she plonks into a seat across from T.K.

“Yeah, geez, way to make our nephew’s surgery about you,” Adriana says with a roll of her eyes. 

Carlos doesn’t bother to remind her that technically Sebastian is a cousin to her, not a nephew; labels other than “familia” ceased to have any meaning to them long ago. “So what’s the deal? Is he okay?” Francesca asks.

“The surgery went well,” T.K. says. “Sebastian’s appendix didn’t rupture, so the chances of infection are low. He should be able to head home in a day or so.”

“Phew. Poor little dude. This sucks,” Francesca says.

“But he’s okay,” Adriana says. “That’s what’s important. Everyone is okay. And all his friends are going to be very jealous when he gets back to school.”

She opens one of the bags and pulls out a tray of something that immediately fills the air with the scent of tomatoes and cheese. “Why do you have tamales?” Carlos asks. “It’s ten am.”

“Because Mom told us to go by the house and bring them over,” Francesca says. “She doesn’t, and I quote, ‘want anyone eating that hospital garbage, it will rot their stomachs.’”

“Sounds like your mom,” T.K. says with a cheeky smile as he reaches for one of the tamales. 

“We also have…taquitos, mac and cheese for Sebastian, and…arroz con pollo,” Francesca says, checking the other bags. 

“Your mom just had this all on hand?” T.K. asks, his mouth full.

“Tía Andrea always has everything on hand,” Adriana says.

Despite his initial scoffing, by the time Justin comes back an hour later to tell them Sebastian is up for visitors, Carlos has eaten three tamales, half a dozen taquitos, and a plateful of arroz con pollo. Apparently hospitals make him hungry. They’ve also fed four nurses and an orderly that T.K. knows, and they haven’t even put a dent in what’s there. 

Justin looks a little less of a mess now, he’s clearly spent some time in front of a mirror and his shirt is buttoned the right way now. He’s smiling in spite of the tiredness in his eyes, which widen in delight at the sight of the food. “Oh thank god for Andrea,” he says, immediately reaching for a taquito. 

“Hey, how do you know it wasn’t us?” Adriana asks, clearly offended.

Justin fixes her with a look and she shrugs. “I mean, yeah it was Tía Andrea, but we’re the ones that brought it over here,” she says.

“Thank you for your service,” Justin says around a mouthful.

“How’s Sebastian?” Francesca asks.

“Better than Lucía or me,” he says. “He says it barely hurts and he’s very excited to have a cool scar.” He looks at T.K. “Apparently you’ve really made this hospital experience feel like a vacation T.K.”

“I’m just glad he’s doing all right,” T.K. says. 

“Can we see him?” Carlos asks. 

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Lucí sent me to get you all.”

“Well then let’s get this party moved!” Francesca says, closing up the tupperware with incredible speed built from years of cleaning up house parties and hiding the evidence before their parents got home.

They make quite a parade marching through the pediatric wing of the hospital with balloons and bears and food galore. But then, the Reyes clan usually does. They’re not exactly known for being a calm and quiet bunch.

Sebastian is sitting up in bed eating a popsicle, looking like the happiest human alive even with an IV in his arm and stitches in his side. “Sebby!” Francesca says happily. “You’re looking good there buddy!”

“You brought me balloons?” he asks as Lucía quickly rescues his popsicle, which is in danger of falling to the floor.

“We brought you balloons and a bear and macaroni and cheese from Abuela,” Adriana tells him.

“Can I have mac and cheese right now?” he asks Lucía.

“Let’s maybe wait until after the doctor comes by again,” she says.

“But then I can have it? And the ice cream Tío Carlos promised me?”

It gets a chuckle from everyone in the room. 

The women start to fuss, setting up the balloons and bear in the best possible place, but Carlos’ eyes are on T.K. who is not-so-subtly checking out all the monitors and lines, ensuring that things are exactly as they should be. God, he loves this man. He loves him more than he thought he could ever love a human being.

“Well this looks like a party!” A man whose name tag identifies him as Dr. Nguyen, comes into the room, iPad in hand. Carlos assumes this must be the surgeon. “Sebastian who are all these fine people who came to visit you?”

“This is my Tía Cesca and my Tía Adriana. They brought me balloons,” Sebastian says, pointing to them in turn. 

“Well that’s very nice.”

“And that’s my Tío Carlos,” Sebastian says.

“Oh, is this the Tío you were telling me about? The one who’s a paramedic and helped you feel better?”

“No, my Tío Carlos is just a police officer,” Sebastian says. “My Tío T.K. is the one who’s a paramedic.” He turns his head to look at where T.K. is standing next to his IV pole. “Paramedics help people feel better. Right Tío?”

T.K. freezes for a second, his eyes locking with Carlos’. “Um, yeah,” he says finally. “Yes, that’s right. Paramedics help people. And then doctors help them even more.”

“Yeah, Dr. Nguyen took my appendix out,” Sebastian says. He looks the doctor square in the face. “My mom says you have to tell me if I can have mac and cheese or not.”

Dr. Nguyen laughs. “I can do that. Let’s give you a little check up and see.”

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Francesca says, which is hilarious given that she hasn’t let anyone have a single minute of privacy since the day she was born.

They step out into the hall, Adriana and Francesca immediately abandoning T.K. and Carlos to go look for hot doctors. Carlos runs a hand through his curls and looks at where his boyfriend is leaning up against the wall. “Well I guess we know who his new favorite tío is,” he says.

T.K. looks up, uncharacteristically nervous. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. You’re not just a police officer.”

Carlos chuckles. “Oh I’m sure he meant it exactly like that. Tío Carlos is just a tío who wrestles and gives him ice cream. Tío T.K. saves lives. You made an impression.”

T.K. blushes. “I’m glad I could help.” His gaze softens. “I can’t believe he called me tío.”

And despite the fact that no one in the family has ever referred to T.K. that way before, Carlos isn’t surprised in the least. “Is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” T.K. says quickly. “Yeah I—as long as you and your family are okay with it. I don’t…I wouldn’t want him to be confused.”

“He’s not confused.” Carlos’ words are soft and he reaches down, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t think anybody is confused anymore about why you’re so important to me.”

T.K. meets his gaze and Carlos feels like he can see all the way into the vulnerability at the core of this man who came here so broken and lost, and is just starting to figure out how vital he is to everyone around him. Carlos leans in and their lips meet, soft and sweet. It’s not enough to really say thank you, he’s not sure he can ever truly find a way, but in this moment he knows he’ll try. Everyday for the rest of his life if he needs to.

The door to Sebastian’s room opens and Carlos reluctantly pulls back, keeping their hands firmly clasped even when T.K. starts to pull away a little. “Bad news,” Lucía says. “Mac and cheese is off the table until tomorrow. T.K., he would like to know if you have any connections that can get him jello instead. But only the red kind. Not the green.”

“Absolutely,” T.K. says, already pulling out his phone to send a text. “Red jello coming right up.”

Carlos shakes his head and smiles as they reenter the room, Sebastian’s face lighting up when he sees T.K. again. Carlos has always thought T.K. seemed like magic. And now everyone else can see it too.

[formula1fanfiction]

Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Title: What's going on?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Characters: Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, George Russell, Alex Albon, Esteban Ocon.

Prompt: Could you write Pierre, who becomes a kisser when drunk? Bottom Pierre.

A/N: Pierre's a little meance in this and poor Charles is the one who has to deal with all the shit.

If Charles had one thing to say about is best friend, it's that he's not a very classy drunk. "I'm not going to drink, I promise." Pierre tells Charles as he walks through the door. "I've heard that before." Charles replies before following him through the doors.

They are already late to the party, most over drivers seem drunk already. "Come on Pierre, it's wine it won't kill you." Charles watches as Max pratically shoves the drink into Pierre, most of it sloshes out of the side and stains Max's white shirt red. "Whoops."

"I'm good, i'm not drinking tonight." Pierre smiles at the Dutchmen politely, then walks away.

"You drank last time and nothing bad happened." Carlos tells Pierre, Charles stares daggers at his teammate behind Pierre's head, because yes something bad did happened last time. Pierre vomited into a potted plant and then tried to make out with Sebastian Vettel, Charles had never been more embarrassed, especially when Seb had told him to control his best friend.

"He's good." Charles steps in. "Because last time he vomited into a potted plant." He decides to leave out the kissing Seb part. Carlos laughs so hard, he has to clench down on his stomach.  

Pierre likes kissing people when he's drunk and that's a problem.

"Stop being boring, it's my party, now drink." Lando presses a vodka into Pierre's hand, who gives a little shrug. "I guess, one can't hurt." Oh, here we go. Charles mentally rolls his eyes, watching him tip back the drink.   

One quickly turns into several, Charles hates that he can't enjoy himself because he's got to take care of Pierre. Hopefully he doesn't try and kiss anyone tonight.

"Oh hello, Estie bestie. Why do we hate each other?" Esteban, who never drinks looks repulsed as Pierre closes the gap between them with puckered lips. "Pull yourself together." Charles hisses, quickly pulling Pierre away, giving Esteban a small smile in apology. "You would only hate yourself in the morning for going there."

"Drink this." Oscar presses a glass of water into Pierre's hand. "It will help you sober up." Charles is too busy watching Alex and George shamelessly making out, Alex has George pressed up against the wall, a hand up his shirt. A small part of him wishes that was him and Pierre.

"Yeah, they need to get a room." Oscar laughs, following Charles eyes. "I would tell them to get one, but i'm scared they will end up fucking in Lando and I's bedroom." Charles forgot for a moment that Lando and Oscar are together, it seems everyone is in an established relationship but him.

"Get away from him." Charles glances over and sees Pierre, now has George pressed up against the wall. Luckily the Brit, doesn't seem that angry about it, his boyfriend on the other hand roughly pushes Pierre away. "Kiss your own boyfriend."

"You took my seat, so I thought i'd take your man." Pierre is smirking, Charles doesn't think he's ever seen Alex that angry, he quickly pulls him away. "Sorry Alex, he's drunk." Alex places his hands on his hips. "Why don't you kiss him instead, we all know you want to." Charles narrows his eyes and pulls Pierre away.

"What was that all about?" Pierre asks staring into Charles' soul, like wasn't the one who tried to kiss George and piss off Alex. "You tried to kiss George, while Alex was standing right next to him." Pierre giggles. "I wasn't talking about that."

"Then what, Pierre?" Charles just wants to home, parties are no fun when you a babysitting an actual idiot. "When Alex said, why don't you kiss him, we all know you want to." Charles shrugs.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Charles?" He wants to say, but that would be lying, so he doesn't say anything, just glares at Pierre. His personal space is suddenly crowded by Pierre then their lips meet. The kiss isn't a good one, Pierre's drunk and it's full of tongue and teeth but Charles' heart does a happy dance finally getting what he wants.

"Shall we go back to the hotel?" Pierre smirks as he pulls away. How can Charles say no to that. They don't bother saying goodbye, Pierre's pissed off way too many people.

"Are we going to fuck, Charles?" It's the first thing Pierre asks when they enter the bedroom. "No, you're too drunk for that." Pierre laughs. "I'm not drunk, tipsy maybe but not drunk."

"Still no, because i've never, you know with man." Charles gestures with his hand, embarrassed that he's even admitting to this. "You can fuck me, it's no different than doing it with a women, I know you've done that." Pierre shrugs. "Well yes, okay."

"Great." Pierre tears off his clothes, like he's some kind of animal and spreads himself out in the middle of Pierre's bed. "There's lube in my pocket." Charles fishes it out of Pierre's jeans while slowly taking off his own clothing.

"Are you sure about this? I feel like i'm taking advantage of you." Charles climbs up onto the bed and settles himself between Pierre's spread legs. "I've wanted to fuck you for years Charles, just get on with it, i'm horny."

"Ok, Mr bossy." Charles pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, probably too much he makes a bit of a mess and it runs down his fingers. "Not the whole bottle, Cha." Pierre giggles placing his hands behind his head, lifting his legs slightly giving Charles better access to his hole.

"Actually, maybe my hands and knees will make it easier." Pierre rolls over and soon Charles is presented with that nice ass. Charles is a little nervous sinking the first finger inside, he's fucked girls, this isn't too different. He twists and turns the digit, fucking him with them, then adding another one. He works his way up to four fingers, just because he's scared to death of hurting Pierre.

"Today Charles, I am not a virgin, I bet I could get your fist inside me at this point." Charles lets his fingers slip out. "You are so bossy for someone who is about to have a dick in their ass."  

"I just know what I want, now stop fucking around and get inside of me." Charles resists the urge to spank the pale pass and pours lube on his cock, hissing in pleasure at finally giving himself some pleasure.

Charles lines himself up with Pierre's hole and slowly sinks inside. "Charles." Pierre snaps again and Charles gives up taking it steady and slams inside of him with one swift thrust. "Fuck yes, you feel so good." Charles stalls for a few seconds but soon starts to move, because Pierre is annoying as fuck and keeps complaining, drilling Pierre with rough but shallow thrusts.

"Wow Charles, you really know what you're doing." Charles has had it with Pierre's mouth now and decides it time to shut Pierre up once and for all and slams inside even harder, getting deeper and deeper with each thrust. The headboard slams against the wall. Pierre's bossy sounds are now replaced with loud moans, which are slightly better to handle.

Charles sinks to the deepest parts of him and angles his thrusts until he slams into Pierre's prostate. "Fucking hell." Pierre throws his head back, taking his own leaking cock into his hand are furiously strokes himself to the same pace as Charles' thrusts.  It doesn't take long for him to fall apart and he's screaming Charles' name as he paints his own hand with his milky white seed, collapsing down onto the bed in the process, leaving him face down ass up.

"I'm close." Charles digs his fingers into Pierre's hips and thrusts into him with all his might. Pierre is still moaning loudly, even though he must be feeling sore and oversensitive by now. Three more hard thrusts and Charles is following suit, screaming out Pierre's name as he spills inside of him. Charles pulls out instantly and collapses down onto the bed, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry Pierre, I feel like I took advantage of you." Pierre makes a sound and pulls Charles in for a cuddle, until his head rests on Pierre's chest. "I was bossing you around the entire time, you can't think I didn't want it."

"I think you wanted it, but you are drunk..." Pierre giggles. "I'm not drunk Charles, i've always wanted you, I always kissed the guys to make you jealous." Charles can't believe what he's hearing. "You kissed George, in front of Alex." A shit eating grin appears on Pierre's face. "No harm in pissing of Alex in the process."

"So you wanted to fuck then?" Pierre nods. "I've wanted to fuck you forever Charles, I had always thought that you would be the bottom." Charles shrugs. "Maybe next time?"

"I hope that's a promise."

[tailoredshirt]

FIC: As long as it’s with you (TK/Carlos, PG-13)

TK just wanted their first Valentine’s Day as a married couple to be special.

Unfortunately they spend it in the ER.

1.3k // PG-13 // AO3

Written for @strandbuckley for the @tarlosweeklyprompts Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange! I hope you like it. <3 Thank you to @finetune for all of her assistance and hand holding.

—

“All right,” Dana said, removing the tourniquet from TK’s finger. “Keep your hand in the air and apply pressure to the wound…just like that.” She gave TK a wry smile. “It’s almost like you’ve done this before.”

TK laughed. “Yeah, although I think I like it better when I’m not the one losing a finger.”

“Stop being dramatic,” she said, tossing a bandage wrapper into the garbage. “It’s not the whole finger.”

TK looked up at his hand, which he was still holding up in the air. “Still managed to ruin my night.”

Dana rolled backwards in her chair to put back a roll of tape, then rolled back to TK. “Big plans?”

“No. Yes.” He glanced at his phone, where he and Carlos smiled up at him, dressed in their tuxes. “First Valentine’s Day since my husband and I got married.”

“Pic?” Dana asked. Her eyebrows went up when TK showed her the lockscreen on his phone. “Nice.”

“Right?” TK said, setting the phone back down. “But he drew the short straw and had to work this year, so I thought I would make dinner. You know, surprise him when he got home.” He sighed. “This was not the surprise I had in mind.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re not the only mandolin accident of the evening.” Dana checked on TK’s hand and seemed satisfied that he was doing a good job of keeping pressure on the wound. “Hang tight. I’m going to get your discharge paperwork.”

“Thanks.”

TK leaned back against the wall and looked down at his phone. His dad had texted him, asking how dinner had turned out. The last thing TK had texted him was a picture of a small pile of fresh vegetables he had picked out at the farmer's market. He'd been so excited that afternoon, sending Carlos 'sorry you're stuck at work babe :( we'll celebrate this weekend' texts while picking out fresh scallops and a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne.

Not great, he told his dad. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he tried to decide how much to tell him. Should've stuck with pasta.

Suddenly the door opened, and Carlos popped his head in, his eyes big with worry behind his glasses. “Hey.”

TK sat up straighter in his chair. “Hi, baby.”

Carlos sat down next to him, smelling very faintly of the light cologne he wore to work. He took the arm TK was holding up to inspect the bandaged finger. "What'd they say?"

TK shrugged. "It'll heal but it'll take a few weeks. I’ll just have to change the bandage."

Carlos nodded. “Why are you holding your hand up like this?”

“To make sure it stops bleeding.”

Carlos looked stricken, and TK grabbed his other hand. “Hey, it’s fine. I probably could have treated it at home—”

“No,” Carlos said firmly.

“—but I knew you’d want me to get it checked out,” TK said, smiling softly.

Carlos still looked unhappy, but his posture relaxed. He continued to hold TK's hand up for him. "What were you doing with the mandolin anyway? You never use it."

TK sighed. "I was trying to cook dinner. For Valentine's," he added unnecessarily.

Carlos blinked at him. "For me?"

"No, for my other husband. Yes, you."

Carlos still looked confused. "Oh. That's..."

"I know, I should’ve just waited for the weekend so we could go somewhere nice.” The embarrassment was setting in. Not only had he screwed up making a meal that Carlos could have prepared in his sleep, but after a long day at work Carlos had to come sit with him in the emergency room. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“What were you making?” Carlos asked him.

“Seared scallops with rainbow carrots and zucchini.” He wasn’t even sure if they went well with scallops. He just thought they looked cool. “With a citrus glaze.”

“I love scallops,” said Carlos.

“I know. I’ve been watching this lady on Instagram, and…” He didn’t want to admit that her schick was impressive-looking meals in 30 minutes or less. “They looked good. I put the scallops in the fridge so you can make them later.”

Carlos’s thumb gently stroked the inside of TK's wrist. “We can make them later. Together.”

His husband was so sweet. TK didn’t deserve him. “They’d probably taste better if you made them.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to cook Valentine’s Day dinner with my husband.”

Carlos, still holding TK’s injured arm at the elbow, put an arm around him. TK sighed and leaned his head onto Carlos’s shoulder. They both stared at the mess of tape and bandages on TK’s finger.

“Sorry I ruined our first Valentine’s Day,” TK said quietly.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I kinda did though,” TK said, moving his injured hand for emphasis. Carlos brought TK’s hand to his face so he could kiss his palm. Then he placed a very soft kiss on the bandage covering TK’s finger.

TK huffed. “Gross,” he whispered into Carlos’s shoulder.

Carlos looked down at him, and they sat in silence for a moment, watching each other. TK felt Carlos’s fingers stroking the base of his neck.

“How was your day?” TK asked him.

“Fine.”

“Did you—”

The door opened. “Okay, got your discharge paperwork,” Dana said, closing the door behind her. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Carlos said, nodding politely.

“Also have your tegaderms,” she said, tossing a bag of bandages onto the table. “Unfortunately they were out of Scooby Doo, so you’ll have to settle for the plain ones.”

“Bummer.”

Dana went over discharge instructions with both of them. She gave TK a plastic finger protector and helped him into the sling.

“Tyler Kennedy—you know, it never even occurred to me to wonder what that stood for until now?” Dana said, snapping off her gloves as TK sighed. “Anyway, Tyler Kennedy Strand-Reyes, I now pronounce you…not my worst patient of the evening.”

TK held his good hand to his chest. “Thank you, Dana. I’m honored.”

“Keep him away from cooking utensils?” Dana told Carlos. “Or at least the sharp ones?”

“I’ll try,” Carlos promised.

“Won’t be a problem,” TK assured her.

As they made their way through the parking lot towards the Camaro, holding hands, Carlos asked, “So are you on a first name basis with all of the nurses?”

“Just the ER nurses.”

“And which coma does Dana know you from? Or did you meet her after the concussion?”

TK rolled his eyes. “You know that I’m EMS, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“That stands for Emergency Medical Services. That means we make a lot of trips to emergency rooms, especially this one.”

Carlos stopped as they reached the car. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

Carlos leaned forward to press a soft kiss to TK’s mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And it doesn’t matter what happens on Valentine’s Day,” Carlos told him, cupping TK’s cheek, “as long as I get to spend it with you.”

TK smiled and leaned back against the car, pulling Carlos with him. “So you’re saying you’ll spend every Valentine’s Day in the ER with me?”

“No, I am not saying that.”

TK kissed him, slipping just enough tongue in so Carlos would know that it was a promise for later. “There’s still two hours left, and I know how we can spend them.”

Carlos raised his eyebrows. “You know your arm is in a sling, right?”

“My mouth still works.”

Carlos shook his head, but he was smiling. “Come on, babe. Let’s go home.”

[oflights]

oh have I missed the chance for prompts??? I hope not. Ummmm let’s see. How about your choice of the lads going to one of the below places:

* sushi conveyor belt restaurant

* way overpriced boozy brunch

* garden seating at a pub, on a hot summer night

so, as we've already discussed, i low-key want to do ALL of these and as such have screenshotted this to return to some of them. but this one is, in a roundabout way, garden seating at a pub on a hot summer (june) night. in new york! finally!

it's also 2.3k word again (just fuck my life, honestly) and it's getting back together fic. i'm sorry. this is who i am. i hope you like it!!

It’s a beautiful night, the stickiness of the summer day having faded a bit with the sun, just gone down an hour or so ago. There are lovely, multicolored paper lanterns filled with magical light strung up above, crisscrossing the width of the garden area, scattering it in purposeful rainbow. The low, cheerful din of glasses clinking against the wooden tables and excited chatter washes over the space.

There is a nice breeze, one Draco has been told means he should be grateful this is late June in New York and not August, where breezes flee. It’s still hot, unexpectedly so; he is very aware of wearing long sleeves and concedes his agent was probably right about that. He just didn’t want—people here like to ask about his tattoo when back home they know better, or worse, really. He doesn’t want to talk about that.

He finishes his drink trying not to even think about it, drumming his fingers against his own wooden table and shaking his head when a waitress asks him if he wants a refill. Carlo, his agent, gives him an unimpressed look and says, “If we’re going to wait to start, you might as well have another drink to calm your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” Draco says automatically, and Carlo snorts.

“Sure. Look, if that’s the case, we might as well—”

“Just a few more minutes; they’ll be here,” Draco cuts in quickly, and now Carlo sighs.

“A few more minutes, all right. But if we wait any longer the people who want to be here will actually just leave, and then we’ll have booked all this for nothing.”

Draco nods distractedly, already looking away and glancing out over the other tables without trying to be too obvious about it or catch anyone’s eye. He still has to nod at people—people he can’t really believe exist, people excited to see him read to them, people who have read his book with their actual eyes and liked it and bought it and maybe told their friends to buy it. They have it with them, holding it in their hands. It’s startling every time he thinks about it. It still seems like a trick, like someone is going to jump out from somewhere and say “Got you!”

This is the first reading he’s doing in person, ever. He’d done a successful launch party in London, had done something of a press round, even—terrifying, the whole time, even as it all went well. He’d read from his book on the wireless, he’d chatted with a few people who walked up to him in Diagon Alley, bewilderingly, happily. He likes to talk about his book.

But now Draco’s half a world away from all that, because apparently his book is selling really well in the States, better even than back home, and the international affiliate of his publisher wanted him to do a book tour to support the second printing, which means conferences and events and more press and—

And a reading, to strangers, in a beautiful garden area behind a large, apparently historic pub in the magical area nestled between the West Village and Greenwich Village. The sounds and lights of the city around them are muffled, muted, like the world has narrowed down only to this.

It’s a long way to go, for him and for all of the people Draco had rather desperately invited—all of his friends, who had had to break their promises to come one by one as family and job issues waylaid them.

Even his extended friends, the kind he only sees at rare and rarer pub nights every few months or at weddings or funerals or—he’d given out invitations to them, too, had offered to arrange Portkeys and stays in New York even once the book tour takes him elsewhere.

A few had said they’d try to come, but as the people he’s closer to had cancelled—Pansy, histrionically heartbroken about it, Blaise playing it so cool it was clear he truly was upset, Greg and Millie and Daphne and Theo and all of them full of regrets and work and kids and things that Draco didn’t have to keep him from doing something mad like traveling around the world for a stupid little book—Draco had resigned himself to the fact that they wouldn’t come either. Why would Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom go out of their way for someone they see once every few months now, ever since—when the people he sees at least twice a week on average couldn’t make it?

Draco had even invited—he was desperate—and he knew he wouldn’t come because they were over, of course, any obligation to come to things like this had ceased when all that had ended, so there was no way—but just in case—   

He'd told himself that was all okay because his parents had promised. They don’t understand any of it, of course—Father thinks it’s a silly hobby gone a bit too far, and perhaps it had started that way, a diversion from the drudgery of managing the Malfoy estate, but now it’s all this, it’s Draco’s life that he doesn’t get—but they had said they’d be here to support him. They have no jobs, he is their family, they can arrange international Portkeys in their sleep—there’s no reason for them not to come. He’s certain they’ll be here.

Draco cranes his neck, searching the tables for any telltale blond hair he’s missed, eyes flicking to the back entrance to the pub where he’s sure they’ll emerge at any moment. Maybe they missed their Portkey and had to reschedule. Maybe there was a delay at the terminal. Maybe they decided to sleep off the time difference at their hotel and didn’t set a wakeup Floo. Maybe—

“Draco,” Carlo says, very gentle, but not patient. “We’ve got to start. I’m sorry, but I don’t think they’re coming.”

Draco shakes his head, even as the truth of that settles in the pit of his stomach like a sinking stone. He swallows past a lump in his throat, wishing he did have a new drink so his hands could be damp with cool condensation instead of clammy, anxious sweat.

He is not nervous. “You can do this,” Carlo tells him. “Just keep an eye on me; I’m here.” Draco likes talking about his book. He likes being around people, chatting with them—it’s just reading, his own words, he practically knows them by heart, they’re etched into his skin far deeper than the Mark, scratched over his heart—

But he really, really wanted his parents to come. He truly thought they would.

“All right,” Draco says finally, still shaking his head but forcing himself to come to terms. He talks himself into it as he stands up, rationalizing—it was definitely the time difference. They’re napping; Mother will wake up horrified, and they’ll get late drinks and perhaps midnight room service and laugh about it later.

That’s how he gets himself to the edge of the garden under the brightest lights, standing at a Levitating podium that settles to the ground once he reaches it. It’s hotter here, under the lights; he wants to rip his sleeves off and use them to dab at his sweaty temples. He has to take deep breaths.

Draco looks out over the crowd, their eager faces, and tries to focus on Carlo—but his face is too soft, too close to pity. He tries to look at nothing instead, knows soon he’ll be reading anyway so it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to look at the fact that his parents aren’t here. But first he has to talk a little, introduce himself, thank people for coming, all of these people who don’t even know him, didn’t raise him, still showed up because they liked his work that much when his parents haven’t even read—

“Hello,” Draco makes himself say, a small huff of a laugh, as charming a grin as he can muster. For a moment, that’s all he can muster; his throat is tightening, his sleeves feel like they’re getting smaller. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be strangled at your wrists, but perhaps they’re cutting off the circulation there, constricting his blood flow enough to explain why breathing is so treacherous. “I—I’m so glad you’re all here. I’m so glad that I’m here.”

More words, successful. Words are his thing, Draco reminds himself. He can do this. “And I’m—I’m grateful, really. Impossibly so. It’s really—this month, in this place, and I’m barely starting to understand how much it means to everyone because all I’ve known, all I’ve put into this book, is what it means to me—what it means to be like us, or so I assume, in what feels like a very small world, and—” He breaks off, making slightly panicked eye contact with Carlo—who taps the rainbow pin on his lapel and gives him a thumbs up, encouraging, he can do this.

Draco manages to open his mouth again, but all that emerges is a puff of slightly distressed air. And that’s when movement from the back entrance distracts him thoroughly, gratefully, another place to fix his gaze—which widens, steals more breath.

Rushing through the doorway, knocking into a slotted wooden chair and swearing, is Harry. He’s got Draco’s book wedged under his armpit, he’s whispering apologies to people he bumps into; he drags a chair out from a table with a bunch of strangers, apologizing to them and then hurriedly turning to face Draco with a slightly sweaty, flustered face.

Harry grins when Draco catches his eye. His glasses reflect the rainbow lights a little, and he looks a mess in the loveliest, most familiar way. He’s practically vibrating in his seat, excited, maybe nervous, too, and he’s—here. He’d gotten the invitation Draco sent in desperation, the note he’d scrawled I’m sure you’re busy with work, and I know we don’t really see much of each other anymore, and it’s a long way to go, but if you want to, if you have any interest, it would mean a lot be nice of you and nice to see you—and he’d Portkeyed halfway across the world and he’s here, somehow, bewilderingly, happily.

And suddenly all of Draco’s words are right there, easy, ready to be plucked up and tossed out with every confidence at where they’ll land. It’s a familiar feeling, a specific kind of confidence he’d thought entirely out of reach once he and Harry broke up and descended into the awkward, not-quite friends they’ve been since. Harry is here, and he cares for him, at least enough to show up for him, and Draco can do this because Harry clearly believes he can. It must not have even been a question in his mind, for him to come all this way.

“I’m so grateful we’re all here together,” Draco says. He touches his own pin, looks around, keeps talking. “Being together like this in a small world—it makes it feel much bigger.”

He goes on; he reads. He chokes himself a little but only for good reasons, looking up and seeing people listening, their eyes shining, laughing at the best of moments. He looks into Harry’s eyes, grins back at him, softens it when he catches Harry swiping his fingers behind his glasses as subtly as possible.

After, Draco gets another drink and sits at various tables, signing books, chatting happily. He gravitates towards Harry, who has his own drink and seems to be waiting, but when they near each other Harry whispers, “No, you can keep—I’ll wait for you, Draco, it’s all right.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispers back, hoping Harry knows how much he means it.

And there’s every opportunity to tell him as the crowd thins and the pub staff comes out to start stacking chairs and taking down the lights. Carlo leaves after hugging Draco and telling him how brilliant he’d been, telling him to get excited about doing this again two nights from now in Boston. And then there’s Harry, here, waiting.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Harry says once Draco joins him in the only other unstacked chair. The lights are all gone now, the pub staff telling them they can hang out while they finish closing up inside, the only light streaming from that backdoor. “And that I didn’t, um, tell you I was coming. I was just so—I’d heard about it, of course, but I didn’t know if you’d want me here really, I thought maybe you were just—”

“I wanted you here,” Draco says, realizing he was desperate but not in just the way he’d imagined. “I—I am so happy you came.”

“Me too,” Harry says, and then he laughs a little. “Even though I can barely see you.” He taps his wand a few times and shoots brilliantly bright, multicolored sparks out of it; they rise up to form a glowing, rainbow swirl of light above them, like all the lanterns have cracked open and spilled above them.

It’s beautiful, and Harry looks beautiful beneath it, the colors splayed across his skin as he puts his wand down, reaches out, and takes Draco’s hands. “Better,” Harry says, and then: “I’m so fucking proud of you, Draco.”

Relief, rushing and sweets, hits Draco so fast that it’s all he can feel for a moment. Gone is the disappointment, nerves, dread—all of it falls away. He can do this, he thinks; he did it.

“Do you want to—I mean, you came all this way, and this place is closing but I’m sure there are others we could—maybe food? And we could—I’d love to just—” His words are gone again but now it’s because it feels like there’s too many, that there’s so much he wants to say to Harry and it’s all got to come out quickly because “—and I’m going to Boston very soon, I’m sorry, but maybe—”

“Never been to Boston,” Harry says, smiling so fondly. He squeezes Draco’s hands.

[theghostofashton]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags @bonheur-cafe and @carlos-in-glasses

i'm working on two aus right now, going back and forth between them, so here's a little from the exes to lovers one

TK keeps sneaking glances at Carlos, trying not to look long enough that he notices, but unable to tear his eyes away. The normal, roommately thing to do would be to move on, act like he didn’t walk in on what he walked in on and erase those couple minutes from memory, but he can’t. He can’t stop thinking about it. Carlos was so upset. The pain in his voice, the tears, don’t feel like something he can just forget about, ask him if he wants to go to the dining hall in a bit or whether he’s okay to leave the lights turned off while pointedly ignoring everything he just heard. But they aren’t close enough for TK to ask him about it, and he doesn’t know of any of Carlos’s friends he could call for him right now. He doesn’t even know if Carlos has any friends that could come be with him right now, and that makes his chest hurt. “Hey, uh,” He says, as Carlos lifts his head and rubs so roughly at his eyes it makes him wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk in on…” “S’not your fault. You couldn’t have known,” Carlos says, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse. After a couple moments, he adds, “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” TK thinks Carlos should be the one being apologized to, not the other way around, but he doesn’t want to start anything, so he lets it go. “My dad’s a firefighter,” TK says. “So Thanksgiving’s never a huge thing for us, he’s usually working it. But his firehouse does a dinner, every year, for the crew and their families, and anyone else that wants to come, that my mom and I always go to. You’re welcome to join us.” It’s all he’s ever associated Thanksgiving with, and he used to hate that, especially when all of his friends would come in after break with their stories about their traditional Thanksgiving dinners with all of their extended family, sounding like they were plucked right out of all the movies. But having been away from home for the past couple of months, he’s found himself actually looking forward to going to the station. It’s not the same as what everyone else has, but it’s his. And he misses seeing the crew all the time. He even misses his parents. He hasn’t seen them since Families Weekend a few weeks ago. Carlos sniffs. “That’s really nice of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose. It’s only a few days. I’ll be fine here.” “You wouldn’t be!” TK insists. “My dad always says the more, the merrier. There’s a lot of food, games, it’s fun. And on his crew is really nice. Please come.” A hint of a smile peaks out onto Carlos’s face, and TK’s heart soars. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “Thanks, TK.”

no pressure tagging @reyesstrand @sanjuwrites @chaotictarlos @paperstorm and leaving an open tag for anyone else who sees this and wants to join!

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @paperstorm, @freneticfloetry, @carlos-in-glasses, @lemonlyman-dotcom, and @three-drink-amy. Thanks!

I opened old WIP to try and psych myself out of whatever block I'm having with knave-verse, and this seems to just mean I have more open files to procrastinate on?

On the other hand, I did write this scene in knave-verse - new theory, if just keep writing scenes eventually they'll transfigure themselves into something coherent? (I mean, this did kind of work for the first one, so . . . )

Mitchell ambushes him at the front door.  "ADA Cortes is here."

He frowns.  "Julián? Why?"

She shrugs. "I didn't ask."

He scowls at her. "Helpful. Thank you."

She leans against the edge of the intake desk and peers around the corner in the direction of the bullpen. "He never remembered my coffee order."

He sighs. "Yes, your dislike for Julián is well documented. He's probably just here about a case." Although off the top of his head he can't think of what case.

She hmmms. "I'm just saying, TK always gets my coffee order right, and he brings the good bagels."

He eyes her, and decides he doesn't really want to ask what mental leap she'd just made was. "Noted."

She hmms, dissatisfied with his response. "I'm keeping an eye on him." He gives her a dubious look, but she lets him go with an imperious wave.

He stops near his desk, where Julián is leaning over it, looking at the pictures he keeps there - his family, TK, a picture of him and Mitchell after they'd solved their first case together. "Julián, sorry did I forget a meeting?"

Julián shakes his head. "I just wanted to stop by to see if you had an update on the case."

He frowns. "Which case?"

Julián gestures. "The missing painting."

Carlos frowns more. "You'd need to speak to SSA Tulson about that. The theft is a White Collar case, not my jurisdiction."

"You seemed pretty involved the other night."

He raises his eyebrows. "That was just a coincidence. I was there as a guest."

Julian looks annoyed. "Right, as TK Strand's date. At a cocktail party at Cliff Massey's house."

He stares at Julian mystified. "Yes? Massey's on the Board at the Blanton. TK works at the Blanton."

Julian's lips tighten in annoyance. "I could barely get you to go out to a restaurant with me, but apparently now you're fine parading around the Austin elite as a plus one."

He blinks, taken aback. "The hell?"

Julián looks indecisive for a moment, like he's weighing whether he wants to say something, and Carlos remembers that from when they'd dated, the way Julián would pretend to debate with himself before he told you something he thought was for your own good. He hasn't missed it. "I looked up your boyfriend."

"Did you?" he says with a bland calm he's not feeling.

Julián nods. "He seemed very knowledgeable about art theft for a guy who's a glorified art teacher, so I got curious. He's got quite a record."

Carlos glances around the bullpen, and then takes Julián's elbow, steering him towards the conference room, tightening his grip when Julián starts to protest. "I am not doing this with you here." It isn't until they're in the conference room, and Carlos is leaning back against the door that he lets his smile drop. "So, you looked into TK?"

Julián nods. "After the theft, and some of the comments I overheard, I thought I should do my due diligence."

"Did you?" he repeats thinly. "You know, when people say they don't trust law enforcement this is part of what they mean, this kind of gross and blatant abuse of power."

Julián looks startled, but not guilty, and Carlos feels the dull flush of anger start to build. "What does that mean?"

"What possible reason did you have to run a background check on TK? There's been no arrest in the case, there's no indictment for you to prosecute. He's not even a person of interest."

"Maybe he should be."

Carlos grits his teeth. "Because?"

"He has a file an inch thick," Julian snaps, "all of it for art theft."

He holds on to his temper with a thread. "Yes. You know what isn't in that file? An arrest. For anything. Which SSA Tulson knows, which is why he doesn't consider TK a person of interest. Not," he mutters, "that is any of your business."

"You introduced him to your parents."

He gapes at the non sequitur. "Are you stalking him?"

Julián makes a sharp gesture. "I looked at his fucking Instagram account, and there he is laughing with Major Reyes, and helping someone I'm guessing is your mother blow out the candles on a birthday cake. I mean, I'm just guessing because it's not like I ever met her."

Carlos stares at him. "I'm sorry, are you jealous? We broke up two years ago, and I wasn't the one who ended it."

Julián glares at him.  "I was falling in love with you.  I was falling in love with you, and you never let me in, not really.  And it didn't seem like that was ever going to change, no matter how long I waited.  I broke up with you before you had a chance to break my heart."  His mouth twists a little.  "Might have left it too late for that anyway."

Carlos has no idea what to say.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know."  And stalls, because what can he say after that?  Everything he can think of feels unkind.

"Yeah, I got that message, loud and clear.  Thanks." Julián stares at the folders on the table, but Carlos doesn't think he sees them.  "What does he have that I didn't?"  Carlos blinks, startled, and Julian presses the point.  "We could have been so good together, we could have made a name for ourselves."

"Been the fashionable gay power couple," he suggests dryly. Julian shrugs and doesn't deny it.

tagging @chaotictarlos, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and @lutavero

[chaotictarlos]

This fic is based on the picture prompts from @tarlosweeklyprompts that I posted. I haven't written much for my own prompts in a while, but this idea came to me and has me in it's gripes. I hope you enjoy it! thank you for the tag @sanjuwrites

Carlos nods and shifts on the piano bench, his nerves evident in every movement and glance around the space. TK watches him for a few moments, doesn’t say anything else, and then lifts his camera to his face. He presses it gently against his face, eye finding the little window he looks through and he starts snapping photos.

He takes one of Carlos looking at him, his face unsure and eyes full of nerves. TK gets the feeling that he’s not used to being the center of attention and TK thinks that’s a shame. Someone as beautiful and seemingly kind as Carlos shouldn’t be so nervous to have someone’s eyes on them. TK moves around the piano, snapping a picture here and there. It’s quiet except for the click of TK’s camera and the sound of his feet against the floor as he walks around.

Eventually, Carlos’ fingers start to move across the key and a soft, melancholy sound fills the space around them. TK pauses, lowers his camera, and watches Carlos. His eyes are closed, fingers dancing across the keys effortlessly. It seems like he’s settled into the element. TK watches as Carlos’ fingers move against the keys, noticing for the first time how long his fingers are and how big his hands look. They look capable and strong.

TK moves closer to the piano, kneels down and trains his camera onto Carlos’ hands and snaps a few dozen photos of him playing the piano. The music notes sound so sad as Carlos plays them and TK wonders if he’s playing this song because it’s a representation of how he feels or if he was one of his go-to songs. The music feels like it has a lot of emotion in it, it stirs things inside TK that he’d rather not think about. An itch in the back of his mind, the dark depths that he tried so hard not to go to when he was around others. It’s so tempting, to slip in his thoughts and allow himself to spiral but he can’t.

Not in front of this person who doesn’t know a single damn thing about him.

He stands, bringing his camera down, and watches Carlos as he finishes out the song. The way Carlos looks is the way TK usually feels when he has a camera in his hands. There’s a peace that comes with doing something that you love so much, and TK can see that reflected in Carlos. TK leans against the piano, camera in one hand and leans his chin in the other, and listens intently. He’s sure this is the most beautiful piece of music he has ever heard on a piano.

“That was beautiful,” TK says softly as the last of the notes fade into the air. “Is that an original piece?”

Carlos nods, “Yeah. I wrote it after my dad passed last year.” 

TK’s heart aches and a memory tugs at the edges of his mind, trying to demand to be thought about but he pushes it away. There are things he would rather not think about.

“I’m sorry for your lost,” TK says. “Losing a parent is never easy. Having a creative outlet can help to navigate those feelings though.”

Carlos nods, giving him a look that seems to say that he knows TK understands in a more intimate way than most do.

npt: @thebumblecee @paperstorm @mikibwrites @mooshkat @a-j-cowwley @lightningboltreader @bonheur-cafe @basilsunrise @catanisspicy @heartstringsduet @detective-giggles @angeltk @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @carlos-in-glasses @largepeachicedtea @reyesstrand @shadesofdeviant @taralaurel @noxsoulmate @kiloskywalker @theghostofashton and an OPEN TAG for anyone else who wants to do this.