My name is Vale, I’m 20 years old. Im still trying to figure out how to use Tumblr (even though I’ve had a tumblr account since I was 14?) 💀 so bare with me <3 I repost almost everything I see, so I apologize in advance.
Things I love:
Books
Formula 1
Avatar
Favorite F1 Drivers:
Charles Leclerc
Carlos Sainz
George Russell
Daniel Ricciardo
Lando Norris
I am 100% latina so this will probably be a Spanglish account. Since Spanish is my first language there will sometimes be some posts in Spanish, but mainly English. I just wanted to put this here so people who speak Spanish know that we can talk in Spanish <3
I love fanfics/imagines and I have so many favorite ones (and favorite authors on this app) that I am thinking about making a list and putting it here so people who want recs can look at it. *I will continue to add more and if you want me to add one that you like, let me know!*
Favorite Fanfics List
My ask box is always open so if you ever want to ask anything or tell me something please do 🥰
so... after 5 (?) years i finally picked up my drawing pad again. quick study/sketch of my favorite duo as i try to figure out my digital style jshdsjd <3
in short, the three times you didn't tell carlos you loved him and the one time it was almost too late.
i actually had 2 requests with these prompts so this is those requests
1: “You’re leaving because it’s easier to walk away than to fight for what you really want”
11: “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I love you when I knew I did.”
94: “Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”
Word count: 9.8k
warnings/tags: 18+ angst, fluff, plot with some smut, very light dom/sub blink and you miss it, this is a goddamn rollercoaster im sorry
17 August 2023
You got the call and honestly, you thought it was a joke. Some horrible, practical joke that someone in your life had set up because they knew it would get to you.
Which is why you laughed when you heard the person on the other line say, “There’s been an accident.”
“Yeah, okay,” you snorted, rolling your eyes as you dried the bowl in your hand, finally getting to the stack of dishes you had been neglecting since this morning. “Who put you up to this?”
“No, this isn’t a joke, Miss,” the woman on the line said. “I’m calling from the Jiminez Diaz Hospital. There’s been an accident. Carlos Sainz Jr. was involved in a car accident. He’s-
You didn't hear the rest of whatever the nurse had to say. The ringing in your eyes drowned her out, along with the bowl slipping from your grasp and crashing onto the floor, pieces of blue ceramic shattered around your feet.
Frozen, you tried to listen to the calming voice on the other end of the line, the voice telling you that he was undergoing surgery. She couldn’t provide any more additional information, but she encouraged you, as his emergency contact, to come to the hospital as soon as you possibly could.
As you hurried to find your keys, your relationship with Carlos flashed before your eyes. Every moment, every laugh, every kiss, every fight, every word said and unsaid.
And god there were way too many words you hadn’t got the chance to say.
31 December 2022
Carlos grabbed hold of your waist and you giggled before slipping out of his hold, reaching for the bottle of champagne on top of the fridge. He tried to take it from you, knowing that you probably weren’t going to be able to successfully open it but you just aimed the cork in his direction and he backed off.
“That’s the third bottle,” Carlos told you, he wasn’t scolding, just casually pointing out that you were going to have a massive headache tomorrow morning.
“And it’s about to be the twenty-third year,” you said. Which was technically incorrect, but Carlos admired your excitement too much to correct you. You pointed the bottle in the direction of the hallway and he braced himself for the cork to go flying.
When you managed to pop it off without his help, the bubbly liquid came pouring out the side and you laughed as you held it up above Carlos’ face, instructing him to open his mouth. He listened, but your aim was horrible and the champagne spilled down the side of his chin.
“Here,” Carlos said, taking the bottle from you. You looked up at him and smiled, needing to take a second to focus on him and not on how the walls behind him were spinning. Carlos’ touch was soft as he brushed his thumb over your lower lip, opening your mouth enough for him to pour some of the champagne down your throat as well.
You were drunk, but you were still standing so you considered that a win. You just needed to last twelve more minutes till midnight and then you could collapse on the couch with him if you wanted.
The two of you were supposed to go out to a house party that his friend was throwing. But then you walked out of the bedroom wearing a silk red dress that stopped at your thighs and your hair in perfect waves that looked ideal for Carlos to tangle his fingers through and he quickly decided that he didn’t want to share you going into the New Year. The only person he wanted to celebrate with was you.
So he grabbed one of the champagne bottles and picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder as you squealed. He carried you back into the room you just walked out of and as much as he admired the dress on you, it looked so much better stained with champagne and crumpled on the floor.
You had only been together a few weeks, you were still in the honeymoon stage, which is part of the reason why you were more than happy to just stay at home with him tonight. You couldn’t get enough of him, and Carlos felt the same.
Carlos worshipped you. He had ever since the night you first met, which just so happened to be the first time you slept together.
He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a hookup after catching his eye at the club. You were supposed to go home the next morning, but how could you go home when he woke you up by leaving a trail of kisses down your naval and then across your thighs before he dove into your centre. He worked his tongue through your folds, not slowing until you were seeing stars.
When you did finally cum, legs convulsing around him, Carlos licked up every drop of your juices and then his lips found their way back to yours. He told you he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue and that was when you knew you were absolutely fucked.
Carlos knew your body, he knew how to pleasure you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. It was the sexual drive and the lust between you that drove you to him in the first place, but you stayed for so much more.
You stayed because he memorised your coffee order after the first morning you spent together. You stayed because he listened to you talk about your family for, you timed it, three and a half hours because he wanted to hear all about the ties and the drama and the people that raised you. You stayed because Carlos treated every date like the first one, always looking for ways to impress you, to make you blush or smile.
So there were, four weeks later and ignoring his friends and the promise you made to celebrate New Years Eve with them, because let’s face it, Carlos much preferred having you on your knees in front of him than having to make small talk until the clock struck midnight.
His fingers twisted through your hair as he released into your mouth and pulled out of you, but before you could swallow he kept your mouth open with a tight grip on your chin. Carlos grabbed the champagne bottle next to him and poured the bubbly liquid down your throat. The subtle twitch of his eyebrow was the instruction you were waiting for and you swallowed, tasting the sweet and salty mixture of champagne and him.
You spent your evening tangled up in the sheets, you on top of him, him on top of you. When you left for a moment to go grab a second bottle of champagne, Carlos followed and hoisted you up on the counter, picking up right where you left off.
Now you were drunk. It was the champagne, yes, but it was also Carlos. He was intoxicating, he made you feel bubbly more than the drink itself did. He’s the one you couldn’t get enough of. With his shaggy, dark hair and even darker gaze, you pulled his face to yours and wiped the excess liquid from his chin. You sucked on the pad of your thumb, your lips pulling back into a devious smirk as Carlos groaned, dropping his face to the crook of your neck.
“Tú serás la muerte de mí,” You’ll be the death of me.
“Good,” you whispered, inhaling a sharp breath when he attached his lips to your throat, nibbling and sucking on your already marked up skin. You could still feel the ghost of his fingertips from when he choked you earlier, something you both loved, but his mouth was also enough to leave you gasping for air.
He knew you, he knew your body. He anticipated your reaction every time he touched you. And while you both thought you were taking a break to be able to catch the countdown, even having put on one of his shirts to keep his eyes from wandering, you were almost ready to drag him back to the bedroom because Carlos Sainz Jr. was also going to be the death of you.
But it was New Years Eve.
“Carlos,” you whimpered, pulling your fingers through his hair and giving him a sharp tug so he would lift his head. You hovered your lips over his, “We’ll miss the countdown.”
“I don’t care,” he chuckled, he nudged his nose against yours before connecting your lips. You both still tasted like champagne and god you couldn’t get enough of it. Carlos smiled against your lips and pulled back when he felt you pout. “What, hermosa?”
“I like the countdown,” you admitted, the volume you spoke at dropping about ten levels as you stared up at him through your lashes. “It’s like we get to start a new chapter in our lives at midnight.”
His smile didn’t fade because he loved the way you looked at the world with such a pure lens. He cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your flushed skin. You expected him to kiss you again but he just pressed his lips to the top of your head.
“The only chapters I care about are the ones with you in it.”
You were drunk, but god did that line sober you up.
You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol flowing through your system or if it was because your heart was beating too fast for your own good, but your lips parted with the intent of saying those three little words.
Because you knew then, at that moment, you loved him.
But Carlos kissed you and swallowed the words that were dancing on the tip of your tongue. You thought that maybe that was for the better. It had only been four weeks. A month. It was too soon to tell him you loved him, you’d scare him off. You didn’t need to start a new year with a traumatised boyfriend.
So you kept it to yourself and told yourself that there would come a better time to tell him how you felt because even though you were certain you loved the man standing before you, now was not the time to say it.
But when was the time?
16 Feb 2023
You opened up the top drawer of the dresser that sat across from Carlos’ bed, but he grabbed hold of your wrist before you could pull your clothes out from it.
“Don’t,” he said, demanded basically. “Don’t pack up your things.”
Ripping your arm from his grasp, you ignored his plea and grabbed the pile of clothes that had accumulated here over the last couple months. It started as a joke, leaving your clothes here, at his place, telling him that you needed an excuse to come over.
And then one t-shirt turned into half of your closet being crammed in with his. Carlos didn’t complain once.
But you couldn’t live in this fantasy world you had created for yourselves any longer. Carlos was about to travel to Bahrain for the start of the season and then he’d head to Italy in between races and then Jeddah and then Australia and you’d be here. In Madrid.
“I’m not staying in your house while you’re travelling around the world racing,” you scoffed, hoping he could see how preposterous the idea was. He opened his mouth, giving you that same look he gave you every time he was about to bring up the idea of you travelling with him. You pointed a finger in his face, “And I’m not going with you.”
You couldn’t. You had a life here, a job here. You had no idea how other girlfriends and partners of these drivers were able to get up and leave their homes for a half of a week to support them, but you couldn’t do that.
Carlo yanked the clothes out of your hands and shoved them back into the drawer. You scowled at him, not like you were very intimidating but you tried to be.
“Carlos,” you huffed out his name. “Let me pack, let me move out. This has been fun but-”
“But nothing,” Carlos cut you off and reached for your arm once more, pulling you towards him. You had been avoiding his eyes for the last hour and he knew something was up, something that went further than just taking your clothes home. “Talk to me, hermosa.”
Carlos didn’t just know your body, he knew you. Your mannerisms, your anxious fidgeting, your facial expressions. He knew your thoughts travelling through your head before you did, the two of you were so in sync it was terrifying.
So he physically felt the heavy exhale you finally let out, forcing all of the weight you had been carrying on your shoulders into the space between you.
“Why does this feel like a break up?” He asked, trailing his hand up your arm. His touch was soft and comforting and you wished it was enough to make everything better. It should have been enough.
And your next few words didn’t just hurt you, they sliced right through Carlos.
“Because I think it is a break up.”
Carlos let go of you to rub his hands over his face before tugging them through his hair. He backed up, putting a little bit more space between your bodies because as much as he wanted to hold you and tell you that you were making a mistake, he heard the certainty in your voice. The ‘I think’ was only added for his benefit. Your mind was made up. He knew it.
And you had seemingly known it for a while, too. You knew this moment was coming.
He walked out of the room when you turned your face, no longer trying to stop you from packing up your bags. He shut the door after him, refraining from slamming it because that’s not who Carlos was. He didn’t do things out of haste and anger, he wasn’t a reactive person.
No, Carlos sat in his thoughts and his feelings and he let them simmer. He thought about the last few months and wondered if it meant anything at all to you, because he thought it did.
And now you were throwing it all away and because what? Because you didn’t want a partner who travelled for a living? You weren’t even trying to put the effort in, you were giving up before it got difficult. And who’s to say it would get difficult? Carlos’ home was still in Madrid, he would always come back to you and now you weren’t giving him the option to.
He could hear you packing from down the hall, a few drawers shutting, his closet opening and closing. This was wrong. And if it felt wrong to him he knew it must have felt wrong for you too, even if you didn’t want to admit it.
When you walked out a while later, a duffle bag over your shoulder, a small suitcase behind you, you still avoided his eyes as much as you could because you didn’t want him to know you had been crying. You didn’t want him to know that this break up was destroying you, but was ultimately the right thing to do.
Carlos stood up and approached you, still keeping his emotions in check even though it broke him to see you so hurt, so hurt over your own choices.
This could be avoided, he thought. This didn’t need to end.
You dropped the bag to the ground and inhaled a deep breath. You glanced at Carlos, but only momentarily as he stood in front of you. It was a lot easier to look at the buttons of his shirt or the rings on his hand or literally anything else because meeting his gaze was too hard.
But this is why you had to leave.
You hated goodbyes and if you had to say goodbye to him every week, if you were going to be in different countries for most of the year, if you weren’t even going to be with him, then what was the point of this relationship?
You wanted to grow with your partner and you couldn’t do that if they were a Formula 1 driver. You couldn’t grow with Carlos.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered with a shake of your head. He could hear the way you choked to get those words out, fighting back even more tears.
Carlos, knowing he didn’t have much a chance to convince you into staying, still lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and choosing to look past the way you winced as you leaned into his touch, as if already thinking about how this would be the last time you’d feel this sense of comfort.
“Don’t do this,” Carlos said, voice timid and lanced with desperation. “Please.”
“Carlos, please don’t make this harder than it has to be-”
“I love you.”
You froze.
Even as Carlos rested his other palm against the side of your face and forced your attention on him, dipping his head as he repeated those words, you remained frozen.
“I love you,” he spoke with so much confidence it scared you. “I love you and I don’t want this to be over. It can’t be over.”
It wasn’t that you couldn’t say those words back because you didn't reciprocate them, you couldn’t say it back because it would only make things harder. Up until now, neither of you had said you loved the other. And up until now, you were perfectly happy pushing what you felt for him down because the timing never felt right and now you knew why.
Deep down you always knew that you’d find yourself needing to walk away.
He’d have an easier time letting you go if you told him you didn’t love him and while it would have been a lie, it was what he needed to hear.
You stepped back and grabbed the duffle bag off the floor, his arms fell back to his sides.
“I’m sorry, Carlos, I don’t-” you turned to the door, letting your hair fall in front of your face, “I don’t love you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He wasn’t arrogant, but he was persistent.
“Well it’s true,” you pulled the strap of the bag over your shoulder and reached for the handle of the door. If you just avoided his big brown eyes and the stare that had you hooked before either of you ever said a word, you could leave. You pulled open the door, only for him to press his palm against it and slam it shut again.
You felt his chest against your back as he stepped forward. Each breath he took was in sync with yours, because you two were always in sync, even at the worst of times.
“I don’t love you,” you repeated, raising your voice.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that, then.”
You couldn’t.
You couldn’t because the moment you turned around you would fall back into his arms. You’d let yourself get swept away by his promises and his affection and then he’d leave for a race and then another and another. You loved this bubble you created during the office season and you fell so hard so fast for Carlos, but it wasn’t meant to last.
“I’m leaving,” was all you could get, gripping the handle again and yanking the door open with such force that Carlos had no choice but to take a step back. He tried to reach for you, his fingers ghosted over yours, but there was nothing he could do to stop you.
You were gone.
June 4 2023
You kept up with the races throughout the beginning of the season. You still followed his account and all of the motorsport ones he was associated with. You didn’t dare like or comment on any of them, but you weren’t ready to let him go.
Telling Carlos you didn’t love him was the hardest thing you’d ever done.
And you didn’t let yourself look at him as you said it either, you didn’t take on any of the pain that he felt. You said the words, you broke his heart and then you left.
Carlos didn’t try to reach out once, not like you expected him to. Even when he was home between races, which wasn’t often, you’d only hear about it from social media.
But this was what you wanted, right? You wanted this life, you wanted to stay home. You didn’t want to keep chasing after a Formula 1 driver and be forced to follow him from country to country if you wanted to spend time with him. That wasn't healthy nor was it something you wanted to put yourself through.
Getting over him, however, was impossible.
And you tried, really. You went out with your friends, you distracted yourself, you picked up hobby after hobby but good god your thoughts always travelled back to him.
You fought with yourself. You kept asking yourself if you made a mistake by ending things. You kept wondering why you didn’t at least try. But then you’d see a photo of him getting into yet another plane and you knew you made the right choice.
Your lifestyles were extremely different. Your personalities were compatible, yes, but the way you went about your day to day lives would never line up. At least not while he was racing.
You wouldn’t lie to yourself, though. You liked watching him race.
When you watched from home, your eyes were always on the number 55 Ferrari. You rooted for him, you winced at every near miss, you celebrated his finishes and without fail, you always looked at your phone and thought about congratulating him via text or even a call, only to instantly decide against it.
You weren’t even that big of a Formula 1 fan before you met him, but now this seemed to be as close to him as you’d ever get again.
It didn’t help that he looked good.
Carlos pulled off those red racing overalls. And when they hung low around his hips and the fireproofs clung to his skin, god you wanted to scream at yourself for letting him go. You could have been there, at the races, if you just put a little more effort in. You could have been the one to rip the fireproofs off his body after he got out of the car, because let's face it, after some of the runs he’s had this season, you knew he was probably needing an outlet to release some of that pent up energy and frustration.
You missed running your fingers through his hair. You missed the feeling of his lips tracing every inch of your skin. You missed waking up next to him and seeing your legs tangled together with the sheets. You missed that he was always looking for a reason to touch you, whether it be your wrist or your pinky finger or your back, his hand was always on you.
You missed Carlos.
You loved Carlos.
Which was why your judgement was a little clouded when your friend invited you to Barcelona the weekend of the grand prix, not to watch the race because god knew neither of you could afford tickets, but to visit the clubs she hoped the drivers would be at.
She knew people who knew people and you didn’t ask questions, you just gripped her hand tightly as she led you towards the VIP section of the third club that night. The first one was a bust. The second one you spotted a few people associated with Formula 1, but the third nightclub was the jackpot.
It didn’t take long to spot Charles, celebrating getting a podium after a difficult qualifying session on Saturday. You never actually met Charles but you had heard lots about him, and from the look he gave you across the lounge, you had a feeling he had heard a lot about you too.
With a drink in his hand, he made his way towards you, nodding to himself when he realised that, yes, the girl in front of him was in fact his teammate's ex.
“Does Carlos know you’re here?” Charles asked, dipping his face towards your ear to be heard over the obnoxious music. You shook your head, eyes darting all around him but the Spanish driver was nowhere in sight.
“Is he-” god why were you even asking? You didn’t have a right to. You broke up with him. “Is he here?”
Charles nodded again, standing up straight to look around the crowded room full of bodies dancing and mingling. A chuckle passed his lips as his eyes widened momentarily, “Looks like he’s a little busy though.”
You turned on your heels. It took a second for you to understand what Charles was talking about.
But then you saw it.
A girl, who very much resembled you, height wise and hair wise, had her arms wrapped around Carlos’ neck as she held their bodies together, letting the music flow through them as they danced together.
You hated the way he was staring at her, like he was thinking about all of the ways he was going to devour her.
And unlike Carlos, you did not let your feelings sit. You reacted to everything. Out of anger, spite, jealousy, you never took a second to think about your actions or the potential consequences before doing anything.
So before you even processed how horrible of an idea this was, you walked across the club, the music fading into the background as you only heard a high pitched ringing in your ears. Carlos paid no attention to you, he had no idea you were even there until you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand off the waist of your lookalike.
She scoffed at you and shot a quick glance towards Carlos, “Cuál es su problema?” What’s your problem?
“You,” You shot back, not giving her any chance of a rebuttal before you pulled Carlos away from her and the dance floor. He called your name, trying to get your attention as you navigated your way to the bathrooms. He was much stronger than you, so he could have pulled your hand off of him if he really wanted to, but he let you drag him into the single user washroom without much of a fight.
It wasn’t until you locked the door behind him and stood only inches apart did it sink in what you just did.
Your heart was racing as you stared up at Carlos. You took in his stern features, the way his eyebrows pinched together as he waited for an explanation, the way he crossed his arms over his chest.
This was very reminiscent of the night you met, only when you met in the club you pulled him into the backseat of a car and he couldn’t take his hands off of you. Now, he was purposely keeping the distance and he seemingly wanted nothing to do with you.
He must have known you didn’t have any words because he cleared his throat and eyed you once over, “What the fuck was that?”
What the hell could you say? That was me pulling you off some stupid look alike because even though I broke up with you, I don’t want to see you with anyone else?
That would be the truth. The reasonable thing to respond with because after pulling him away from his date, you probably at least owed him some honesty.
But again, you were someone who reacted.
“What?” You scoffed, arm flailing to the side. “You think you can come back to Spain for the first time in months and not say a single fucking thing to me? Weren’t you the one who said your home was in Madrid? People talk, Carlos, you haven’t been home since the day-”
“Since the day you left,” he interrupted, knowing damn well you were trying to say he hadn’t been back home since he left for the season even though you both knew there was a deeper reasoning as to why.
Carlos shook his head. His usually loving stare was cold and intimidating, he wasn’t going to let you put the blame on him for anything that had occurred.
“I haven’t been back to Madrid since that day you walked out on me,” Carlos repeated himself, putting heavy emphasis on the reminder that you were the one that left him. “I hope you understand, but I haven’t really been in any sort of rush to go back.”
Why would he want to go back home knowing you wouldn’t be there when he returned? Why would he go back to the one place he knew you’d be, but would still inevitably be just out of his reach? So close yet so fucking far.
He wasn’t going to put himself through that, through knowing you’d be in the same city but not being able to touch you. It was easier to find other places to stay between races.
And you did understand that. It may not have sunk in right away, but it made sense now. You couldn’t see it through the tv screen, you couldn’t get a read on him when you were watching him race from miles and miles away. But you saw it now.
Carlos hadn’t moved on either.
He took a breath as he leaned back against the door. You didn’t like the defensive stance he was relying on. With his arms over his chest all you wanted was to step forward and take his hands in yours. You hated the space between your bodies.
But you were broken up. You both had to accept that, as hard as it was, and that was your doing.
Except you still didn’t want to see him with someone else.
“So who was she?” You asked, drifting the topic of conversation back to the girl from the dance floor.
“You don’t really have a right to ask.”
“It’s not a crime to be curious.”
Carlos clenched his jaw as he averted his gaze for a second. He rubbed his palm over his chin and shrugged, giving in to your question because he always did struggle to say no to you, “I don’t know, honestly. I met her ten minutes ago at the bar.”
“Sounds familiar,” you muttered under your breath, thinking back to when you first met.
“We met on the dance floor,” Carlos pointed out.
“I was on the dance floor. You were at the bar.”
“We were both on the dance floor,” he repeated, sounding more sure of himself the second time.
His eyes dropped, taking in your outfit of choice for the first time since you’ve been in the enclosed space and when the corner of his lips curved upwards, just for a second, you felt your heart skip a beat just like it did the first night you met.
“You were wearing that same skirt too,” he said and you automatically looked down at the black leather skirt you currently had on.
“Was not,” you scoffed, but to be fair, you had absolutely no idea what you had on that night.
Carlos chuckled, ignoring your childish rebuttal. “That skirt and a white top and I know it was white because I remember watching you spill your drink all over the front of it and you said-”
“I need an excuse to take it off anyway,” you finished for him, flashes of that night appeared in your mind. For so long, you only remembered how Carlos made you feel when you first met that none of the other details mattered.
But he remembered everything.
“You ordered gin and tonics all night,” Carlos continued, studying your face as your features softened with each additional memory. “Your friends tried to pull you away from me when we were on the dance floor and you didn’t let them. When I introduced myself, you had no idea who I was and when we finally stepped outside to leave the club, you looked at me with those big eyes of yours and you-”
He stopped midway and inhaled a faint breath, you both did actually. His was due to reliving the night you first met and yours was due to the fact that Carlos stepped forward finally, raising his fingers to your chin to tilt your face upwards.
You leaned into his touch, stepping forward yourself to trace your hand over the shirt he wore as he finished his final thought.
“You looked up at me and you told me I looked like someone you could fall in love with.”
Alarms went off. You wanted to run again. You didn’t want to have this conversation again. Once was enough.
“I don’t- I don’t remember that,” you stammered out.
“Because you were drinking gin and tonics all night,” Carlos said again, this time with a hint of a smile. “I also don’t even think you meant to say it, you changed the topic immediately afterwards.”
“You could just be making this shit up,” you pointed out, not wanting to accept the fact that you knew Carlos would be someone you would love since that first night.
“I could be,” he nodded in agreement, fingers still holding onto your jaw. He stared at you the way he used to. With such adoration and desire. What used to be lust melted into something so much stronger and it hadn’t faded even if months passed. “But unlike you, I don’t lie.”
Your eyebrows pinched together, “When have I ever lied to you?”
“The day you left,” there was another hit to the chest as you anticipated the rest of his sentence. “When you told me you didn’t love me.”
“That wasn’t a lie,” your words tasted like acid on your tongue.
His hand fell from your face and he laughed. The sort of laugh that had your stomach turning in knots because there was nothing humorous about this situation you had now found yourselves in for the second time in four months.
“I know you,” Carlos said. “And I know there’s no possible way that I am the only one that feels so strongly it hurts. I know you love me because I feel it. I always have. In the way you touch me, in the way you run your hands through my hair, in the way you used to wake me up in the morning by kissing me until I finally opened my eyes. I know you love me because I see it in everything you do. In the way you look at me, the way your eyes always found mine if we were in a crowded room and I could see the breath of relief you’d take because as long as we saw each other, the world was calm. I saw it when you started leaving your clothes at my place, when you started going grocery shopping for us instead of just you and I saw how it broke you to walk out on me that day. It wouldn’t have hurt if you didn’t love me.”
With your hand still gripping onto his shirt, your lower lip trembled as you tried to find something to say in response. Every single word that came out of his mouth was true. He knew you better than you knew yourself and he probably knew long before you did that you loved him.
You dropped your gaze, focusing on the wrinkles on his shirt and the white button you played with under your thumb, “You know that phrase, if you love something, set it free?”
“And if it comes back, it's yours,” Carlos added on, stepping closer as he raised his hand to the side of your face, his fingers twisting through your hair. “I’m here, hermosa. I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”
Now it was your turn to laugh. You forced yourself to, thinking that the humorous breath of air protruding from your lips might make the rest of this conversation easier.
It didn’t.
“Carlos I can’t keep setting you free every time there’s a race,” you said, your voice timid. “I can’t. If I’m going to love you I’m going to do it with every bone in my body, with every fibre of my being and I can’t do that if you’re gone for eight months of the year. I need you in my life, with me, by my side, not on a tv screen, not all around the world.”
What you were asking for was selfish, you knew this. You knew that, essentially, you were putting Carlos in a position where he had to choose. He had to choose between you and racing and that wasn’t a fair spot for him to be in. You knew this.
Which is why you chose for him.
Four months ago you chose for him, and you were doing it again now.
You briefly glanced up to meet his eyes, trying to move past the way you were melting at the feeling of his hands in your hair.
“I shouldn’t have come to Barcelona, I’m sorry,” you breathed out, hands falling to your side. Without so much as a second look, you stepped past the driver and reached for the door handle.
Carlos didn’t let you walk out on him this time.
He grabbed your wrist and spun you back around so fast that you didn’t have a second to breathe before his lips were on yours. Furiously and passionately like he was making up for all of these months without you. His tongue dove into your mouth as you slid your hand around the back of his neck, holding his face to yours because even though you knew this was a terrible idea, that you were broken up, there was no better feeling in the world than kissing Carlos Sainz Jr.
Neither of you were sure who started undressing first. It didn’t matter. Buttons went flying, your skirt got hiked up around your waist and when Carlos hoisted you up to place you on top of the sink, you had a momentary lapse of judgement and asked yourself why you broke up with him in the first place.
“I miss you,” Carlos muttered against your lips as you inhaled a sharp breath when he pushed your panties aside, the pads of his fingers traced over your folds. “I missed this.”
“Carlos-”
“Missed how wet you got for me,” Carlos ignored whatever plea was about to fall from your lips as he pressed his mouth to the crook of your neck.
You were putty in his hands, quite literally. There was nothing but quiet whimpers and strangled moans from you as he slid two fingers past your folds, both of you forgetting that your conversation ended with you trying to walk out on him.
His thumb traced over your clit, applying the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to have you arching your back as you sat perched on the edge of the counter. You felt him smirk against your skin right when he picked up the pace of his digits, curling them against your walls, so deep inside you.
You dragged your fingers through his hair, encouraging him to keep his lips on that spot just below your ear as your head fell backward. Carlos kept you upright, he supported you, he knew how helpless you were during times like these and he lived for it.
Four months ago you would have never thought that walking out on Carlos Sainz Jr. would lead you to being finger fucked by him in the bathroom of a Barcelona club.
He lifted his head, replacing his lips on your throat with his free hand and forcing you to look at him. You recognised the lustful stare, only growing darker as he alternated between lightly tracing your most sensitive nub and pinching it between his forefinger and thumb until your legs quivered beneath you.
Carlos attached his mouth to yours, biting down and tugging on your lower lip, the sharp pain only added to the pleasure coursing through your body. He thrusted his fingers into you with such force it had you yanking on his dark hair so hard Carlos hissed through his teeth.
“Cum for me,” Carlos’ groan was masked with a demand. One you had no possibility of ignoring as your body reacted to him and his words. With his fingers so deep inside you, Carlos worked you through your release, slowing but not stopping as you dropped your head to his shoulder, holding him as close to you as you possibly could.
When he finally pulled his fingers out of you, you weren’t surprised when he brought them up to his lips. There was a perfectly fine sink right in front of him but Carlos would never waste an opportunity to taste you.
He then cupped your chin, his gaze softened but you could still make out the mischievous glint. This night wasn’t over.
“Let’s get out of here.”
That’s all it took. Those five little words. The one request and you had forgotten every logical decision that had led you up to this moment. He helped you off the counter, kissing you once more before you had to leave the privacy of the bathroom and before long you found yourself walking the same route as the first night you met.
Past the dance floor, sending your friend an assuring smile, silently telling her everything was fine. Carlos led the way at first, you kept a safe distance behind him and when you walked outside there was already a car waiting out front. You climbed into the backseat alongside him, ignoring the flashes from paparazzi and the call from them asking if Carlos was back together with his ex.
You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. From the ride to the elevator to the hallway until finally he dragged you into his hotel room, or maybe you dragged him once the door opened, you were both desperate for the other at this point.
It was hard to think rationally. In the back of your head you knew you’d have to leave in the morning before you found yourself clinging to him the way you used to, but you just wanted to enjoy the time you had now. You wanted to hold onto every beautiful sound that came from the back of his throat, each kiss he pressed to your skin, the sound of your name escaping his lips because no one would ever say your name that way he did.
You loved him.
You loved the way he knew your body better than you did. How he had you desperate for a release in a matter of minutes, and only giving in when you begged for it. You loved the way he stretched you out, needing a second to inhale a quick breath as he slid his cock into you with little warning, deciding you were wet enough already after making you cum once in the bathroom and again on the edge of his bed with just his tongue.
You were used to his size, you had spent enough time in bed with him to know what to expect tonight but after four months your mouth still fell open and he swallowed all of your moans by pressing his lips to yours and taking all of your air out of your lungs.
Carlos wasn’t patient. Why would he be? After months without you he didn’t feel the need to wait. He found a steady pace but within minutes he had picked up his speed and hiked one of your legs up around his waist.
That position turned into another which turned into a third and at one point during the night Carlos had you sit on top of him, staring at your own reflection in the mirror as you bounced on his cock, listening to his encouraging words and his praise while his fingers made for a beautiful necklace on your throat.
He cherished you, treating you like royalty on his sheets as you both carried the same thought, both of you knowing that you wouldn’t stay past the morning. As much as you wanted to forget that you broke up with him and as much as he wanted to pretend that you were still his, there was no denying your relationship was over.
You loved each other, but that wasn’t enough to make up for the distance and the lost time during races and the anxiety of not being able to come home to each other at the end of the day. You loved each other, truly, but it was never enough.
Which was why when morning came, you climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb him after getting very minimal hours of sleep. You slid on the clothes you had discarded all over his room and decided that leaving without a second look would be easiest.
You had just cracked the door open when Carlos stirred in the blankets behind you. You had no choice but to turn around, to look at what you were walking away from for the second time.
He sat up in bed, the sheets draped over his lower half and his hair unruly and sexy and almost enough to make you crawl right back in next to him.
He saw that you had redressed yourself, made yourself as presentable as you could wearing the clothes from last night. He didn’t have to ask where you were going, he just nodded to himself and let out a breath of acceptance.
You were never going to stay.
“I’m sorry,” you said, but those two little words were not the words he was hoping to hear during his short time with you.
“No you’re not,” Carlos shook his head. He looked away from you for a second, his tongue poking out to moisten his lips. He was asking himself if last night was a mistake. It probably was.
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“You’re leaving because it’s easier to walk away than to fight for what you really want.”
“I’m leaving because it’s what’s best for both of us, Carlos.” You sighed, leaning against the frame of the bedroom door. “I can’t live the life you want me to live and I’m not going to ask you to give anything up for me. We’re at a crossroad here.”
Carlos dragged his line of sight back towards you, “Even though I love you? That doesn’t make any difference?”
It makes things harder.
You shook your head, repeating that you were sorry one more time and letting the last image of Carlos be of him dropping his head back down to the pillow before you turned around and walked out of his life once again.
August 17 2023
You practically ran to the receptionist, slamming your hands against the desk, “Carlos Sainz Jr., is he- is he here? What room is he in? Is he okay? God please tell me he’s okay-”
“Ma’am, I need you to take a breath,” the nurse was calm, she had been through this hundreds of times. Dealing with the frantic loved ones of a patient. She stood up, hand outstretched to rest over yours as she pushed the box of tissues closer to you. You grabbed one and dabbed the corner of your eyes, having been imagining the worst the entire drive over and unable to stop crying.
You didn’t even have time to question why you were still his emergency contact. You had no idea how your name and number came up in the conversation and it pained you to think that when the paramedics brought him to the hospital, the only phone number he could think to mutter was yours.
“Is he okay?” You repeated after a deep inhale. “I need to know he’s okay. The lady on the phone earlier wouldn’t tell me anything, she just said there was an accident.”
“Carlos Sainz?” The nurse asked, looking at her screen as she sat back on down. She typed on the keyboard, muttering a few things to herself until his file popped up. “He’s undergoing surgery right now, should be done soon though.”
“Surgery for what?” You asked, desperate to get information. “Is he going to be okay? He’s a racecar driver, can he still drive? Is it life threatening-”
The nurse seemed to crack a smile, “I’m familiar with his occupation, Miss. Unfortunately I am not able to give you any more information on his condition.”
You couldn’t tell if the whole confidentiality act was because of his fame or because she really had no idea how he was doing. Regardless, the not knowing stressed you out beyond relief and you tried for a few more minutes, pestering for answers, until finally she told you that the only option for you was to sit and wait.
So you did. Foot tapping against the tiled floor. You thought about calling his parents or his sister but last you saw from social media, his sister was somewhere in Greece and you had absolutely no way of contacting his parents as you weren’t with Carlos long enough to get their contact information.
It was just you in the hospital waiting room, nervously watching the minute hand on the clock go around way too damn slow. Every time a doctor or another nurse entered the room, your heart dropped in anticipation, but none of them were there to keep you informed.
Twenty minutes went by with no news, and in hindsight, that really wasn’t that long of a waiting period. But it felt like an eternity, not knowing. Left drawing your own conclusions, your own terrible scenarios.
When a doctor did finally emerge from the swinging doors, he stared down at his clipboard before approaching the nurse behind the reception desk. You watched them interact, of course you did, you needed to know if he was Carlos’ doctor.
When he walked over to you, a tight smile on his lips, you stood up instantly.
“You must be here for Carlos,” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake with not nearly enough strength you wished you had. “I’m Dr. Alejo.”
“Hi,” You tried to glance at the clipboard tucked under his arm but you wouldn’t understand anything anyway. “Is he-”
Dr. Alejo nodded and you felt as though you could breathe when his smile grew even just the slightest bit.
“He’s fine,” He assured you. “A few broken ribs that will heal on their own, a fracture of his left wrist that required surgery and some severe bruising along his abdomen, but no internal bleeding to be concerned about. He’s okay.” Dr. Alejo scratched his jaw, “Might not be able to finish the season, but I think he’s just happy to be able to walk away from this accident.”
He nodded his head towards the doors that separated the patients from the waiting room, leading you through them and down the hall as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard.
“It was a car accident?” You asked. “How? What even happened?” It was hard to believe that a professional racing driver would get into something so mundane as a car accident. During the break of the Formula 1 season.
“I believe the other driver was distracted,” Dr. Alejo answered. “I don’t have much more information than that as he wasn’t my patient, but he’s also okay. I think still in surgery, but both drivers are extremely fortunate in this scenario.”
He stopped in front of a room where the door was slightly ajar. Carlos’ name was written on the board outside of it and you asked for permission before going inside. The doctor nodded and allowed you in by yourself, instructing you to be gentle as he had just come from surgery.
You walked in, not prepared for the sight of Carlos on the bed with IV tubes sticking out of his wrist. His entire rib cage and abdomen was bandaged up and you could see hints of bruising on his legs and arms, aside from where the cast on his left wrist was covering them. There were minor marks on his face as well, cuts from the broken windshield, more bruising, everything that made you ache for him.
His eyes were closed so he didn’t see you slowly make your way to his bedside, sitting on the side that seemed to have less injury. You scanned over him, taking in the damages to his body and you didn’t think twice before raising your hand to brush a few strands of hair off his forehead.
You hadn’t seen him in a few months, not since you left his hotel room.
Part of you expected that you’d run into each again, you’d always been drawn to Carlos, but you never would have imagined this.
You didn’t even know he was home.
Hesitantly, you took his hand in yours, thumb tracing over the few inches of skin that weren’t littered with dark bruises. You felt his fingers twitch in your grasp and you glanced up in time to see his eyelids flutter open.
“Hi,” you whispered, expecting to have to explain yourself. Carlos most definitely did not expect to get into any sort of accident today, let alone see his ex-girlfriend who walked out on him twice. Obviously there was some explaining to do.
But he only turned his palm upwards to interlock your fingers together, careful of the IV tubing. He tried to shift on the bed, only to grimace in pain and you inhaled a breath, worried for him.
“Just-” you swallowed, fighting the urge to put your hand to his chest like you would normally do if you just wanted him to sit. “Just take it easy, okay?”
Carlos nodded, glancing down at your hands and then at the cast on his wrist and then sighing with deep despair as he took in the bandages wrapped around his body.
“Not like I had a shot at the championship anyway,” he joked, already thinking about the last half of the season.
You didn’t want to laugh. Nothing about him sitting in a hospital bed was funny, but it was no surprise he was thinking about Formula 1. He was a driver, racing was in his blood.
So you just cracked a hint of a smile and tried to change the topic to something else, something more pressing.
“I didn’t know you were back in Madrid.”
Carlos paused, “I just got in today.”
Your brows pinched together, “What do you mean? Didn’t your break start two weeks ago?”
“I was in Italy, for a bit,” he told you, his thumb brushing over yours. “But I didn’t want to be there. All I wanted was to come home. All I wanted was to see you.”
Your heart sank deep into your chest, “Don’t tell me you got into a car accident when you were on the way to my place.”
“Then I won’t tell you.”
“Carlos,” You wanted to scold him, really. You had broken up, he didn’t need to come see you. If he had just stayed in Italy, if he hadn’t decided he needed to see you, he’d be fine and not laying with limited motion in a hospital bed. You were the reason he ended up here.
He always said you’d be the death of him.
“I love you,” Carlos said, sounding more sure of his own words than he ever had before. “I love you, and I don’t care if you walk out on me every time I say it because I’m just going to follow you. I made a mistake the first time, letting you leave. I made it again in Barcelona and I’m not doing that anymore, I’m not going anywhere, hermosa and if I do, I’ll always come home to you.”
You had thought you were all cried out, having tears stream down your face the entire drive to the hospital as you thought about your relationship with Carlos. The good, the bad, everything in between. You cried thinking you’d never get a chance to create another memory with him. You were distraught, wanting to scream into the abyss because even if you weren’t with Carlos, you couldn’t imagine a life without him.
You loved him.
You always had. You always will.
And you weren’t going to go another second with him thinking his feelings weren’t reciprocated.
A single tear fell down your cheek as you locked eyes with him, the only person in your life you would ever give your heart to and know, without doubt, that he would give his back in return.
“I love you,” you finally told him, the biggest weight lifted off your chest, one that had been dragging you down for months. “I love you, Carlos, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I love you when I knew I did. I'm sorry it took this for me to tell you. I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you-”
You moved closer to him, dropping your head to rest against his after you kissed his temple, quietly repeating that you loved him over and over again. You placed your hand against his cheek, holding Carlos against you and he covered your hand with his, not wanting to let go.
He’d let you go one two many times and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Summary/Prompt: 1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal
2. A state of agitation or panic [informal]
As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think
Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x Female Reader
Word Count: 6,100
Warnings: Sexual references, general Chapter 8 Aftermath content
Previous chapters: ONE || TWO || THREE || FOUR || FIVE || SIX || SEVEN || EIGHT
Newton's third law is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
The following hangover lasted for two days.
The next morning, you thought you were dead. Or at least you did for the thirty seconds you got to sit in that odd, floaty feeling you get when you wake up with a hangover, right up until the point where a quiet “Cariño,” brought your attention to the side of the bed where you met the soft brown of Carlos’ eyes as he waved a croissant under your nose.
You groaned loudly as your stomach flipped and a wave of nausea crashed over you with such force you physically shuddered.
“Get that thing away from me now,” you managed to groan against the pillow. Carlos must have managed to understand the muffled garble because the rich, buttery send drifted away.
“Good morning,”
“No,”
“What?”
“Just…” you stopped to swallow down another wave, Carlos’ peppy attitude grating on you intensely. You couldn’t finish the sentence. “‘M going to lie on the floor now,” you rolled out of bed and army-crawled into the bathroom where the cool slates were all but calling your name in the balmy morning.
You got a whole five minutes of peace before he was grinning over you again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your Monaco winner,” you squinted at him and caught the lens of his camera flash as the sunlight caught the polished glass. You made a certain hand gesture in his direction that made him make a gleeful noise.
“I think I’m dying,” You heaved yourself over the toilet bowl and felt his presence come mortifyingly closer before his hand landed warm on your back. For the first time, it occurred to you what you were wearing - after a second of sifting through your swimming mind you realised it was a T-shirt, much bigger than anything you owned. “It feels like my soul is being ripped from my body,” You coughed, felt your mouth water and weakly tried to push Carlos away when you realised there was no escaping your imminent fate.
“So dramatic,” he tutted, but his tone was softer, his touch careful and he stayed far too close for comfort as your body tried to expel whatever alcohol was remaining in your stomach. Suddenly you were small again, fragile. Something he could so easily break should he choose to.
“Says the person who kept feeding me champagne,” you moaned, the word like acid on your lips, and you felt your stomach heave again at the mention of it.
“Come on, you’re okay,” Carlos’ encouraging hands were lost on you, he was trying to get you to stand, but the thought of standing made your head spin and you flopped back onto the floor, pushing your forehead harder against the tiles as you waited for the feeling to pass again, swallowing furiously and breathing deeply through your nose. “Oh Cariño,” he seemed to realise that there was no amount of enticing he could do to get you off the floor right then. “Can I help?”
“Please,” you were so hungover tears were pricking your eyes. “I just need a shower,”
You were semi-correct. One cold shower and a bottle of electrolyte-spiked water later you’d made it downstairs to the lobby, lolling your seat in the breakfast lounge with sunglasses firmly in place. But you were sat up, opposite Carlos, and picking at the display of bland, carby foods he’d fetched for you.
Carlos, who’d started the day annoyingly bright, seemed to have finally felt his hangover arrive. He’d lost a bit of colour from his cheeks and had also gone from trying to wolf down the buffet he’d raided for himself, to nudging the bits of ham curling around the edge of his plate with his fork. You’d have had more sympathy for him except for the fact that it was largely his fault you were in such a state.
You were about to open your mouth to tell him off for complaining that he, too, wasn’t feeling so good when the other half of his bad influence dragged a chair around the table that was clearly meant for two, and down plopped Charles, fully accessorised with a large pair of Ray-Bans.
“Lando is not coming for breakfast,” that didn’t surprise you, the younger Briton rarely drank and even he’d been roped into the chaos of last night. “He’s not in good shape,”
“Surprised you’re here,” you mumbled. Charles shrugged, and made a vague gesture that said ‘me too’. “D’you know where Seb and Mick are?” If the group of twenty-something-year-old athletes had taken such a battering, you dreaded to think what had happened to poor Seb.
“Flew back to Switzerland earlier,” Charles told you, swiping a pastry from your untouched plate as payment. You took another gingival sip of the black coffee you were cradling, not even bothering to protest the blatant thievery.
“Where’s my phone?” You patted your pockets, knowing full well your phone wouldn’t be there. You hadn’t looked at it all morning, in fact, you weren’t even sure it had survived Jimmy’z and made it back to the hotel. “Oh god,” the words were small and defeated, accompanied by your head falling into your hands. You knew that if your phone were missing, it would have to stay missing for at least another day; there was no way you could stomach going on the hunt for it in the state you were currently in.
“Upstairs, I put it on the charger,” Carlos didn’t even look up from his eggs, but you nudged his foot under the table and felt him respond with gentle pressure against your ankle.
“Thanks,”
Charles stood in a dreamlike fashion shortly after, hardly remembering to bid the pair of you goodbye as you watched him drift unsteadily back to the elevators. The rest of the morning was spent back in your room. The Champagne remainders were untouched, but Carlos made a good effort at finishing off the French treats that came with the celebratory hamper as you curled against him, your eyes unfocused on the mindless, trashy TV you were both pretending to watch.
The afternoon followed with an hour of lazy head, Carlos so settled between your thighs you’d thought he’d fallen asleep there. You came quietly against his mouth, rocking your hips to match his languid pace, your fingers tightening in his hair. The endorphin rush that spread through your body, too, was slow. It gently made its way through your nervous system, clearing your head and healing you so blissfully that you barely noticed him kissing his way back up your stomach until you were cuddled against his chest. Carlos held you tightly as you slept off the last of the hangover together.
“I hate this bit,” his calf-like eyes were focused on you again. He had that devastatingly handsome look on his face, the one he had in interviews when he’d just missed out on a pole, or a podium, or a few hundredths of a second to Charles.
“It’s just over a week,” You promised. He shrugged.
“Always feels like longer these days,” You felt yourself melt against him at his words. The advantage to Carlos’ private jet sponsorship was the equally private lounge access he got before his flight; at least this time you could say a proper goodbye. You pecked his lips for what felt like the thousandth time that day. You wanted to tell yourself it was just the hangover and the adrenaline crash that was making you feel clingy, but you knew deep down something had changed. You just weren’t sure what - or how - just yet.
At least it was a night flight home. You slept from the moment you found your seat until you were set to land, and that was only because a steward gently touched your shoulder and informed you so. Your dad picked you up at the airport and you slept once more, the whole car journey home. You were way too big for him to do so, but somehow you remembered briefly waking up to the feeling of him lifting you out of the car and placing you into bed. For a moment you were the eight-year-old girl who’d won her first-ever karting race, a gruelling, wet affair that had taken everything out of your tiny body and that night too you’d slept all the way home and right through your dad carrying you to bed. You’d clutched that trophy so hard you woke up the next morning with it still in your hand.
This time around there wasn’t a trophy in your hand the next morning. There was the dull ache of the final stages of recovery headache and an equally dull, gnawing hunger that seemed to be coming from somewhere much deeper than your stomach.
*****
“Finally,” was the first word to pass Andrea’s lips as you made your way downstairs for breakfast. You weren’t sure if she was referencing the monumental lie-in you’d had or the fact that you’d cancelled the celebratory brunch you were supposed to have yesterday morning before their flight home. You figured she meant both.
“I told you not to expect her yesterday,” Your dad sent you a wry smile from across the breakfast table and slid you a mimosa. Your stomach twisted, but it was weak and you wanted to make it up to your mum for standing them up yesterday. She’d had a busy morning; a spread filled with pancakes, waffles, even french toast, with a whole tray of bacon, eggs and sausages.
“Bloody hell mum, were you expecting The Queen?” You joked at the sheer volume of food, not that you were complaining as your dad piled your plate high, the day of barely eating finally catching up to you.
“Just my little champion,” You smiled appreciatively, not even bothering to correct her terminology. A single win wasn’t a championship, but this one sure as hell felt like it. Either way, you weren’t going to complain when you had a “sim and gym” day with Katie and were going to need all the energy you could muster to survive that. The other downside to having a rugby player as your coach, she got some kind of sick kick out of forcing you to do the most gruelling workouts on the days when you needed it the least.
Fortunately, your parents lived within an hour from Silverstone, so you took advantage of the slow lunch before getting changed into your team colours and packing your laptop and a gym bag for later. The green seemed to shine a little brighter that morning. You couldn’t help but admire the way your new Ray Bans seemed to complement your polo perfectly.
You hadn’t expected an honour guard, but the welcome you got when you walked into the Aston Martin headquarters was oddly quiet. The receptionist barely lifted her head as you scanned in, and you made it all the way to your office completely unbothered, which, you thought, must have been the first time that had ever happened to you.
You popped one of those little pods into your coffee machine and contemplated snapping a picture to send to Carlos. The man was a borderline coffee snob and with Ferrari being so deeply Italian, they seemed to have professional barristers on every corner endorsing the habit. He’d scoff at whatever you had in your hand whenever you saw each other in the paddock and you knew his reaction would be the same towards your little coffee machine. Could you really complain though, given how many of their exquisite drinks you’d had for free in the last few weeks?
Your thought process was interrupted by a knock on the door. A young man in a polo shirt that was at least two sizes too big and a name badge pinned on an angle you had to tilt your head to read was hovering in the door. You could tell by the blue of the badge that he was an intern.
“Hi,” you volunteered it became apparent he wasn’t going to offer words.
“Oh, um, hi,”
“What’s up? Did Katie send you?” You could see the poor boy physically wracking his brains trying to remember if he’d met a Katie yet.
“Uhm, no I can’t remember her name - sorry - but, there’s a- like a meeting, soon?” He paused to check his watch “In twenty minutes. Whole team in the… the big conference room,”
Why they had sent an intern to tell you rather than Katie, or even an email, was lost on you.
“Thanks,” The intern moved as if he was going to rock back on his heels to leave, and then changed his mind, swaying forwards again.
“Congrats on Monaco, by the way!” He almost shouted, making you flinch a little and the champagne-induced throb in your head threatened to return for a moment. “My little sister - she loves you. And - I mean I do too - not like that! But you’re really cool,”
He’d gone an impressive shade of pink, but the sentiment warmed your heart.
“That’s very sweet of you guys! Hang on,” you leaned over and grabbed a sticky note from your desk. “What’s your name? And your cubicle number?” He hastily told you his name was Luke, and gave you the location of his desk in the intern pen.
“Cool, thank you. I’ll get something for your sister sent over there,” He nodded and retreated in a rush of thank yous. There were always boxes of merch in your office, so it didn’t take you a minute to put together a little gift bag with a couple of your driver cards, a mini helmet model and a couple of caps, all signed for Luke and his sister along with a few other Aston Martin branded bits you had lying around. You stuck the note with Luke’s number on the top of the bag, grabbed your coffee and made your way out.
The intern pen was on the way to the meeting rooms, so you slipped the bag under his desk on your way down, thankful that the rest of the interns also seemed to be out running errands. You’d been caught before in there and when one intern gets a sniff of their hero, you tended to get stuck in a mob it would take you at least an hour to extract yourself from.
The sheer size of the big conference room always surprised you. Four long tables made a square, with projectors on all four sides of the room and space for a speaker to stand at one end with a platform and a microphone. You very rarely had to go in here, meetings involving you were usually smaller affairs, or they were much larger and much more informal whole-team briefings.
You were one of the first to arrive, despite the fact that the meeting was due to start in two minutes. Fortunately, Seb was already there and almost instinctively you found yourself sliding into the empty seat beside him. Despite your mother’s incredible brunch spread that morning, you still found yourself a little disappointed that there wasn’t a snack in sight.
“Do you know what this is all about?” You whispered to Seb, the room so imposing you felt like a child in a school assembly hall, unable to raise your voice despite several other conversations happening around you. A steady trickle of people were making their way in, several of whom you didn’t recognise, others you were more familiar with. Your whole pit wall team was present, as well as Katie and Britta, John the social media admin and even Mike, who sat close to the podium with the microphone.
Seb shook his head, curls following the movement with a gentle bounce of defeat. You made a non-commital noise of acceptance. “How was yesterday?” The question was accompanied by an elbow in your side and eyes shining with mischief.
“How was yours?” You instantly reflected the question, but Seb stopped you with a clear look of ‘I asked you first’. “It was rough,” you admitted, trying hard not to recall the gory details of the morning in Monaco, but even so there was a small, proud smile fighting to make its way onto your face.
“I nearly missed my flight,” He admitted with a wry smile. You wanted to push for more details, but something Charles had said at the hotel breakfast distracted you.
“Wait, you went back to Switzerland - how are you here?”
“Supposed to still be there,” he sent a look in the direction of Mike that screamed Red Bull sulk for a second, eyebrows drawn in and an impressive pout. “I was only told about this last night. I had to fly in this morning,”
You were about to press further when Mike stood up and cleared his throat, effectively commanding the full attention of the whole room. Silence fell so suddenly it was as if a mute button had been pressed.
“Right, well thank you all for coming. I think we all know why we’re here,” You did not like the pointed look he sent in the direction of you and Sebastian, especially considering you very much did not know why you were there. You sent a desperate look towards Katie, hating the feeling of being caught out. She wouldn’t meet your eyes.
“First of all, congratulations where it’s due. First and third for the team is an outstanding effort,” there was a round of rather stilted applause, you and Seb standing out as you both launched into much more enthusiastic clapping, which you quickly ceased. Mike was fiddling with the projector. You took the opportunity to lean towards Seb.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to be positive?”
“Y/N, where do you want to start?” Mike’s direct address snapped your attention right back to the front.
“Um…” Under his steely gaze, you had nothing to say.
“Let’s give you some options, how about that?” The tone of his voice made it clear that that was not a question he was waiting for you to answer. “How about assaulting a marshall? Or marching into the Haas garage? Acting as if you’re the only one in charge of the decision-making? Breaking into the Red Bull hospitality!? Or perhaps your concerning relationships with other drivers? To name a few,”
Oh.
“‘Oh’ indeed,”
“Sorry-” Sebastian interrupted, the attention of the room immediately gravitating towards him.
“You’re not innocent either, Vettel,” Mike’s tone was icy as he spat the German’s surname. You felt Seb shift beside you and knew immediately that he was switching from the gentle, bee-loving neo-hippie mentor back into the petulant driver who rose to world-dominating fame. A fantastic scowl graced his features, clearly offended at being interrupted in such a manner.
“What assault?” The ‘W’ came out like a ‘V’ when he was cross.
“We’ll start there, then,” Mike snapped. He threw a letter down and watched it slide along the elongated desk to where you stopped it. You didn’t need to open it because there was a copy of the contents being projected on all four sides of the room. An official FIA statement.
A fine of 20,000 euros is to be paid by the driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) alongside a requested formal apology for the physical assault of a pit lane marshal during the second red flag event of the 2022 Formula One Monaco Grand Prix. The driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) shall receive 1 point on their Superlicence for unsportsmanlike behaviour.
It wasn’t the money that felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest.
“Unsportsmanlike?” Your voice was smaller than you would have liked. “But I didn’t assault him,” you sounded like a child, and it was clear in Mike’s expression he wasn’t interested in your side of the argument.
“What did you do then, Y/N?”
“I-” You took a nervous sip of coffee. This was going to be a long meeting and you were not going to cry at the first accusation. “I was running to the Haas garage to find out about Mick. He grabbed me and stopped me,”
“And then what?”
“I…wriggled,” it sounded ridiculous when you said it out loud.
“So you got into a physical altercation with a pit lane marshall?”
“I didn’t hit him or anything! I just got away from him,”
“Y/N, I don’t want to hear it.” You knew better than to argue back. “Which brings me to my next point.” The image changed slightly, and two more letters were sent down the desk.
A fine of 5,000 euros each is to be paid by the driver of car number 5 (Sebastian Vettel) and the driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) for the illegal entry into a competitive garage (HAAS Formula One Team) during racing hours in the second red flag event of the 2022 Formula One Monaco Grand Prix.
“Oh come on!” Sebastian spoke from beside you where he was reading his copy of the statement.
Mike was staring right at the two of you with an exasperated fury that made you want to disappear. You weren’t one for getting in trouble at school, but you could easily imagine this was the way teachers looked at naughty children. It didn’t sit well in your chest.
“Sebastian, you illegally entered their garage! Please argue that,”
“It was very clear we were both only there for the concern of our friend,” Seb spat the word at Mike like it was venomous. “Y/N couldn’t tell you a single detail of that garage, she was in a state,”
That was true, the only memory you had of the Haas garage was the stony-faced man in the white shirt who told you Mick was alive and the feeling of the world splitting apart beneath your feet.
“And you want the FIA to believe that?” Mike ran a hand through his short, grey hair and for the first time, you noticed the bags under his eyes. You wondered how long he’d known he was going to have to handle this.
“Sportsmanlike behaviour?” Sebastian scoffed. “Clearly not,”
Mike had had enough of the conversation.
“You’re not to argue the fines,” he sent a pointed look in Seb’s direction. “You’re both to pay in full out of your personal accounts, you’re both to write formal apologies. And you’re never going to display such immature, unprofessional behaviour again. This goes against everything we stand for as a team and you’re both going to make a very public rectification, understood?”
You nodded, your focus suddenly extremely limited to the square of the desk in front of you, unable to look up and meet the eyes of anyone in the room. Your face was burning, your vision was swimming and you knew you had never been so embarrassed in your life. You could feel Sebastian beside you, almost quivering with rage and his hands balled into tight fists in the periphery of your vision. Unlike you, his whole body was tense, on high alert and ready to fight.
“You’re also extremely lucky that Christian is a very reasonable man and isn’t pressing charges for your little stunt in the Red Bull swimming pool. How stupid could you possibly be thinking that was a good idea?” You sank further into your seat, what had appeared nothing more than a hilarious prank at the time suddenly was thrown into harsh, bleak contrast as you realised just how dangerous your idea had been. Although it had been your idea, John was rounded on for his turn of telling off. You didn’t even feel like the pressure had been taken away from you, as you watched the beloved members of your team that you had slowly grown closer and closer to being reprimanded on your behalf. The guilt was eating you alive.
“A team apology has already been issued to Red Bull. I don’t want to hear another word about this now-” Mike interrupted at least three of you who had spoken up over the stunt at once. “John, you stick to your team’s ideas only from now on and Y/N and Sebastian - you’ll be having separate PR briefings because you know Drive to Survive will be all over this,” Mike paused to rub his temples.
A break was suggested, and half the room stood to go and locate coffee. Mike took two paracetamol and you couldn’t help but think he had the right idea, however, you felt like you were glued to your seat. Katie was still refusing to meet your gaze and with Seb and Britta murmuring over an iPad in rapid-fire German, you suddenly felt very small and very alone. You were almost willing for Mike to hurry up and continue the onslaught because at least it gave you something to focus on.
After the break, you moved on from fines to receiving a very public lecture about your attitude towards tyres. Apparently arguing with your strategist over broadcasted radio is not something well endorsed by Aston Martin, regardless of who’s opinion was right.
“You have one job, Y/N,” Mike snapped. “Just the one! Drive the fucking car. The idea of it being a team sport is that we sort the rest,”
That was enough to tip you from embarrassment to anger.
“I drove that ‘fucking car’ to first place! And had you boxed me to inters I would have driven that fucking car right into a fucking wall. I argued because I was right,”
“You weren’t right, you were lucky!”
“I’m the driver, if anyone knows the tyres it’s me,”
“You’re barely out of your rookie season. You respect the strategy we give you,”
“Not when it’s wrong! I listened to you in Imola and-”
“Enough! Y/N that is enough!” Mike was red in the face, and his hands slammed down right in front of you so that he was towering over your seated frame as he shouted. “Maybe your friends at Ferrari can call their shots but you are not contracted for your opinion and we do not want to hear it. Need I remind you Lawrence’s son is waiting for your seat,”
“How dare you talk to her like that,” Sebastian’s voice was so controlled it screamed danger.
“Be quiet, Sebastian,” Britta’s hand landed on his arm. Seb dropped whatever he was about to say, but it couldn’t break the intense stare you were stuck in with Mike himself.
“And as if that wasn’t enough damage-”
Mike stepped away from you, clicking on a few slides further where a collection of images made your stomach sink.
“Schumacher is young, he’s popular and he’s already formed a close alliance with Sebastian. We chose to ignore whatever your relationship with him may be. Your personal life should be none of our business,”
You knew what was coming next. One of the pictures on the screen was of you wrapping your entire body around Mick right as he’d stepped out of the safety car, his head buried in your neck and Sebastian closing in on you. The second image was taken shortly after; you were gripping each other’s forearms with your heads pressed together. To an outsider who didn’t know the depth of your bond, it was obviously intimate. The third photo was at the end of the race when you’d jumped into Carlos’ arms and he’d held your legs. You hadn’t noticed at the time but here, caught in HD, the way his fingers splayed across your bum was not friendly, nor was the way he was looking at you in total awe. The quality of the final photo dropped off significantly, but the evidence was so much worse.
A grainy picture that was taken in the dark of Jimmy’z. Carlos’ hips pressed so close to yours there wasn’t a spec of space, his hand in your hair and the other on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose was at the juncture of your neck and lips millimetres from your skin. You were no better, eyes closed and lips parted in clear bliss, a hand gripping his bicep for dear life and the other fisted in the front of his shirt, clearly encouraging him into you.
“For fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Katie’s voice was quiet enough that few people would have heard her. The disappointment in her tone echoed in the pang in your chest.
“It’s not what it looks like-”
“Shut up, Y/N,” Mike snapped. “You have done enough for a lifetime in less than 24 hours. I don’t want to hear another word from you,”
“But I’m not dating Mick, it’s not-”
“ENOUGH! The adults are talking now,”
That stung. The tears that had been intermittently welling in your eyes finally spilt over as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You made an exaggerated gesture of running both hands across your face in frustration to remove the evidence, although you knew it was obvious he’d finally made you cry, and in front of the whole team no less.
The PR team were suddenly speaking up, discussing how much they’d offered the magazine companies that had hold of the paparazzi photos to keep their silence. Mike had sat down and for the first time, there was an efficient, business-like feel to the meeting rather than a public humiliation.
Within the next half an hour several cover-up stories had been prepared and were ready to be released if - and when - the rumours started. You weren’t consulted on a single one, despite it being your personal life under the microscope. Katie was the only person sticking up for you, and you had a strong sense that you were not going to be received well if you tried to offer anything. You didn’t understand the full scope of what the PR team were suggesting, too many business-like words and complicated, contractual terms for simple things that you were simply too overwhelmed to be handling right then. From what you understood they’d be saying you’d broken up with Mick and Carlos was nothing more than a drunk moment.
Agreements were starting to be murmured and there was a restlessness you could feel spreading amongst the whole meeting. Mike announced the dismissal and people were nodding and iPads were being packed away. You didn’t dare move. Seb was the second person out of the door, his expression nothing short of stormy.
Mike spotted that you were still rooted to your seat amongst the steadily growing flow of people leaving.
“I want your apology done and published tomorrow. Pay the second the FIA contact you. Keep your head down, you do nothing between now and Baku but train and I swear to god Y/N, you pull another stunt like this again and you’re out, I don’t care how talented you are,”
You held Mike’s gaze, something childish in you refusing to acknowledge him further than a swift nod. You tried not to look too much like you were scampering out of the meeting room with your tail between your legs, but you knew it was obvious.
Sebastian was in your office.
“Looking for these?” He held up your car keys, which were exactly what you were looking for. There was nothing in the world that could stop you from immediately getting out of the Silverstone complex as quickly as possible. You nodded, fully aware that your chin was wobbling as you fought off a fresh wave of tears.
“Good. Come on,”
He marched ahead of you through the building, out into the car park and unlocked your car, opening the passenger door for you with an expectant look. He didn’t say a word as he climbed into the driver’s seat, and pulled out of the complex with impressive speed.
“Cry now,” He said. You didn’t need much encouragement.
He drove in silence for ten minutes, whilst you tried to cry as quietly as you could. There was something big building in your chest and it was hurting the more you tried to control yourself. Seb pulled off the main road into a leafy, sheltered run-off that was totally uninhabited. He parked, rounded back over to your side and without a single word pulled you up and into his arms.
He held you tight and allowed you to finally let out the broken sob that sent you spiralling into a full-blown panic attack.
“Sorry-” you choked out but Seb immediately cut you off with a firm ‘no’. He didn’t try and talk you through it or get you to stop, instead letting you work your way through the way your body was attempting to rip itself in two until you somehow found your own breathing rhythm and your chest stopped squeezing and the sobs settled to a gentle stream of tears. He just held you, firm and fast against his chest and let you figure it all out yourself.
“You need to cry,” He told you when you tried to apologise again, the both of you now sat on the floor in the late May sunshine. “You’ll feel better. But not in there,”
“Oh my god, Seb-” the wave of dread that had temporarily pulled back crashed over you once more, and you immediately curled towards your senior, his arm opening and pulling you into his shoulder as if it was second nature.
“I know,”
“My career is over,” you moaned, a fresh stab of pain shooting through you. “Lance has been waiting for me to fuck up for years,”
“They are not going to sack the winner of Monaco,”
“But-”
“Look,” Seb handed you a stack of papers you hadn’t noticed he was carrying.
“What is this?”
“I printed them off last night. I thought we might need them,” Each sheet was a photocopy of a news article, each about a scandal involving an F1 driver. Seb himself and the Multi-21 incident was on the first page, there were several other on-track episodes, but what mattered most to you at that moment was the list of after-party allegations. From wild parties to sex scandals, the list of drivers with gossip surrounding them was ridiculous. Seb plucked the bottom paper from your hands. It was several screenshots of ‘news’ from Monaco two nights ago. Lewis in the club bathrooms, Checo allegedly cheating on his wife, Lando had been caught kissing that girl he was talking about, Charles had a very public fight with Charlotte, and Mick had been seen walking a girl home.
“Scandals are part of the job,” was all he said. “How many of these do you remember, Y/N?” You flicked through the pages again.
“Maybe three?”
“Exactly my point. It all dies the second they see something more interesting to talk about,”
“But it’s different, they already don’t take me seriously because I’m a girl, and now they all think I’m fucking half the grid and have evidence,” The image from the club flashed across your mind again. You had a feeling Mike had only put up a select sampling.
“I know,” Seb pondered “I don’t have the answers for that one,”
“Thank you,” you hoped he knew how much you meant it. “I think you’re the only person who can make this feel like it isn’t the end of the world,”
“Do you know how many times Christian told me off in front of the whole team?”
“No?”
“Enough that I just used to laugh when he tried,” You gave a wet giggle at that. “Do you want to go to McDonald’s?”
“I always want to go to Maccies,” you agreed, allowing Seb to once again drive as you pulled out of the quiet spot and rejoined the main road to find the nearest food source.
“One day, we will laugh about this,” He handed you the prized milkshake from the drive-thru window.
“I can’t believe he actually called me a diva over tyres,” Seb managed to grin around his veggie burger.
“Yes. But you need to know, Y/N, the way he spoke to you was completely unacceptable,”
A few of Mike’s choicer phrases bounced around your head.
“No jokes about that, okay? I’m going to do something - or say something - I don’t know what yet,”
“You don’t have to,”
“I’m your mentor. And you’re my friend. I’m not letting anyone talk to you like that and get away with it, do you understand me?”
“Yes, but shouldn’t I say something? Feminism and sticking up for myself and all that?”
“I think experience is more important here. And keeping you out of any more trouble,”
“Thanks, Grandpa,”
“Hey, enough of that!” he nudged your elbow, and the pair of you dissolved into emotionally drained giggles over your shitty burgers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Helloo, long time no see!
As per standard Iggy behaviour, I vanished for a few months but I'm back! Uni is finished, I can finally breathe and I have three months until I start my job in which priority #1 is finish Flat Spin so I hope you're all ready for an onslaught of writing >:)
I've missed being here so much and I'm so excited to pick up this story again. Hopefully, we can all remember the 2022 season lol. As always, this is a work of fiction based on real life but nothing more. I'm sure Mike is actually a lovely person and a great team principal, I just needed him to be like this for The Plot! (also can we talk about Aston Martin this season? Suddenly I'm not feeling like this fic is totally delusional hehe)
Anyway, so happy to be back. So excited for the next few months!
What do you mean there was a new flat spin chapter and I didn’t realize cause I was logged in in the wrong tumblr account omg I’m so excited to read alnskansknsksnksf
Hate To Love You - Chapter 4 - Saved By The Wolff (Charles Leclerc Series)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Warnings: language, enemies to lovers
Synopsis: Lily Wilson, Mercedes first female driver, has only one goal: to win the world drivers championship. There’s only one thing standing in her way - a certain Ferrari driver who is determined to not let that happen. [Enemies to lovers series with Charles Leclerc] Check out the full intro synopsis + full story master list here.
Tag List: Drop a comment below or fill out this google form.
Word Count: 4800
THANK YOU for all of your patience <3 I am very excited to release the next three chapters. They are all planned out and I am in the middle of wiring them. The plan right now is to release one every Friday - ENJOY. Comments and thoughts on the story are like dessert to me so thank you in advance!
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character
Warnings: Language, I guess?
Word Count: ~4.253
— Just hold my hand. If you are afraid, you can hold my hand.
And it was so cold, my hand froze when I pulled it out from under the covers to extend it towards him. Carlos was on the bed across from mine, his hand stretched out toward me. The beds were far enough apart that I could barely reach him with my fingers. We both got as close as possible to the edge of the bed, the whisper of sheets spreading through the room. I grabbed two of his fingers. He smiled at me. And we fell asleep like that, with our fingers intertwined, hovering over the face of my brother, lying on a mattress between the beds. Eventually, after I had fallen asleep, I let go of his hand and hid it under the blankets. When I woke up, I had both hands on the pillow, but his was down on the side of the bed, his fingers still outstretched—not towards me, but pointed at the floor. And there was no longer a storm and I was no longer afraid.
