Synopsis: Remus' childhood best friend is the only person he is comfortable showing unrestrained affection towards – until he one day gets in his own head about it.
Words: 14.4k
Warnings/tags: there are some suggestive remarks, brief references to "shagging" and implied underage drinking, but i would classify it as safe for minors! fem!reader, use of y/n, childhood best friends to lovers (thus you grew up in wales and use welsh terms, but you aren't said to be welsh), you are in ravenclaw (only for one plot point, not personality), platonic physical affection, romantic physical affection, kissing, "it was revealed to me in a dream" trope, some miscommunication trope, deep yearning, remus' pov (meaning loads of self-loathing and overthinking), panic attack-ish, remus cursing like a sailor and joking about jumping, kind of shy/reserved!remus, some angst, happy ending ofc, background jilypad
Note: phew this was intense but sosososo much fun to write. it is very much a fluffy fic tho, don't be worried<3 i fucking love this story/dynamic so much
a blurb about their happily ever after
It is an ill-kept secret that Remus John Lupin struggles with romantic public displays of affection.
It was something his best friends had teased him relentlessly for since the first time he was given a Valentine Day’s card in year two by a boy that he didn’t even have a crush on mind you, and became a stuttering, spluttering mess. He could still hear James and Sirius’ barks of laughter the second that Hufflepuff was out of view and could still feel the bench shake from when Peter fell off it, clutching his stomach. Remus had been sure his cheeks would be permanently dyed red from the shame.
His one friend who did not betray him in such a manner was his oldest, namely you. Remus’ sweetheart, as Sirius called you, his childhood best friend from back home who he broke the statute of secrecy for when he was too young to realise what that meant, but who thankfully turned out to be a witch too. Something you both wept tears of joy for, as you did not have to be separated when he went off to Hogwarts.
On that horrid day, you only pinched his darkening cheeks and laughed quietly – still teasing, but in a way that felt more like admiring and less like humiliating. He faintly remembers scrunching his nose at you in response, a look you immediately mirrored before you went to hide him in the crook of your neck and gave the others a faux scolding for “embarrassing poor Rem when he is wholly capable of doing so himself”.
His makeshift pack of friends kept that routine up for the rest of his school years, consisting of James and Sirius poking constant fun, Peter enjoying it all a tad bit too much, and you “protecting” him while laughing all the same. His affliction only worsened throughout his time at Hogwarts, but if one of his afflictions were to be the butt of a joke, he supposed he was grateful it was this one.
In moments like these, it was a tad bit difficult to keep that sentiment up, though.
“You should have seen the look on his face, doll!” Sirius made out through a laugh as the group made their way back from Hogsmeade.
He was recounting Remus’ dance on the Three Broomsticks dancefloor with one slightly-more-rowdy-than-normal Emmeline Vance who all but dragged him out there despite his quiet sputters. You had been off on some endless errands that Remus had passionately attempted to join you for before Sirius all but bolted him to the bench because “you owe me a round, you mangy wolf”.
“I believe I have seen it many a time, Siri,” you laughed out, yelping slightly when Remus pinched your side from where he had his arm around you. “Hey!” you scolded him half-heartedly, point diminished by your grin.
“Cheeky minx, don’t side with the devil!” Remus conspired with you through a stage-whisper while glaring at Sirius, whose laughter only doubled in intensity.
“You can’t ask me to lie for you, del,” you replied in the same tone of voice, leaning up to kiss his cheek as if to apologise for your treachery. An apology that was wholly accepted as Remus tugged you closer into his side and allowed for the laughter around him to continue with a sigh.
Because therein lies the one exception – Remus Lupin was pathetically incapable of public displays of affection, unless they were with you.
His problem with these displayals was the insinuation behind them and the attention that was brought to him because of it. If Emmeline dances with him, leaving a scandalously little amount of room between them, he knows what she wants from him and everyone else does, too. If his current romantic partner kisses him in the hallway, it is a glimpse into something that otherwise occurs behind closed doors, a reveal of his private life that he does not enjoy. He wants that part hidden, and embarrassment flares through him like a rocket at the thought that others bear witness to it – and then the flames are stoked when they notice that he knows and has enough dignity to be embarrassed, which just fuels an eternal evil cycle.
You, however – your wonderful self he has known all his life, you who refused to ever leave his side despite his lycanthropy and subsequent grumpy, isolationist persona, you who are his absolute better half and light of his life – there was no reason that affection should be hidden. There was nothing secretive nor fragile in your relationship, it was the purest thing he had ever had the pleasure of having.
There was nothing insinuative or blasphemous about it, there was nothing to be held against him. He would hold you, hug you, even kiss your shoulder, cheek and forehead, because he and all else around knew that it meant nothing more. It was nothing out of the norm, nothing for others to point out and bring attention to. There was no glance into something hidden away, there was no line being overstepped. It was just two best friends, aware and proud of how much they meant to one another.
So Remus never had any hesitations about leaning into your touch, about seeking yours out, about lips identifying exposed skin and staying there for a moment or two. It was something he began doing before he truly knew what embarrassment entailed, it was muscle memory as much as instinct these days.
And if others did not understand it fully, that was an issue Remus for once felt no confinement to public opinion on. If people made assumptions or threw glances, it held no importance to him. Even his Marauders, Sirius especially, raised their eyebrows at your proximity when you all first met, but they understood the routine of it all quickly. That these two first years before them were a package deal in every form of the word. It was quickly accepted within your little pack, albeit fondly commented on every now and again. James had Sirius in that same unrestrained way, bodies strewn across each other at any given opportunity, so why couldn’t Remus have you? Why wouldn’t he?
Never mind that Sirius was officially brought into James and Lily's relationship at the end of last term.
“Well, James would hug anything that moved and seemed like it might need it.” Sirius had argued one night many years ago, not needing to add the and I need it.
“And isn’t that lovely for Prongs,” Remus had drawled in return. “But I need a few years to get there, and Y/N happened to be more strategic than you lot.”
“By knowing you first?”
“Precisely. Also, she’s lovelier than you.”
It had earned him a snort and a pillow to the face, but it was accepted without further questioning. With the exceptions only occurring in a drunken babble here and there from Sirius, alone in their dorm after a party. Remus is quite certain he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence if his life depended on it in those states, and so he never took it to heart.
Remus revelled in having something of his own, someone only he understood on that level, and his heart always warmed when he thought about how lucky he was that that someone was you.
He subconsciously pulled you even closer at that thought, content and comfortable to do so whether that be around his marauders or in front of the whole Great Hall; there was nothing more to it to be embarrassed of. It was just you; just Y/N and Remus. Like always.
“You occluding yourself away from your menace of a dorm mate?” you whispered to him then, and he angled his chin down slightly with a smile to find you looking at him curiously.
“Oh, yeah,” Remus agreed with a solemn nod. “Must prepare for being locked up in a room with him all night. It’s tedious work, you know?”
“Most certainly.” You attempted to match his faux severity, but a giggle escaped you nonetheless – a beautiful one that Remus decided to mentally save for the night, should Sirius become unbearable.
Speaking of; “I take great offence to that,” Sirius proclaimed from the few strides ahead he was, pointing his finger in Remus’ direction without turning around. “Dog-like hearing, Moony, don’t think you can get away with badmouthing me here!”
“Dog-like he says,” Remus whispered to you, earning him an indignant “oi!” as Sirius finally turned around.
“Gorgeous, would you tell your worse half to knock it off?”
“I sure will,” you declared, turning your body more towards Sirius in Remus’ grasp. “Siri, sweetheart, would you knock it off?”
Within the second, Sirius’ offended expression transformed into one of giddiness. “Awe, princess, you think of me as your other half?”
“Worse half, Pads,” James interjected, looking over his shoulder bemusedly.
“Do keep up,” Remus added with a half-hearted glare.
“Irrelevant!” Sirius threw his hands up and spun around in celebration. “I have won the title of her other half, you can get lost Moons.”
Remus used his arm around your shoulders to angle you back away from Sirius. “I think not. I’ve been keeping this friendship for so long, she’ll need a lawyer to get rid of me,” he stated matter-of-factly, looking down at you at the last bit. “Capiche?” He tilted his head at you.
You hummed through a poorly-withheld smile, as if you were considering it. “Sure thing, cariad. Meet with our lawyers tomorrow after lunch?”
Remus gasped as you ripped out of his grasp and stuck your tongue out at him. Flashbacks of your younger days chasing each other down dirt roads came to his mind and widened his grin as he saw you back away from him, eyes trained on his expression.
“Minx,” he breathed out through a laugh just before you sat off running away from him; Remus hot on your heels, laughter escaping him freely. Sirius began running with you, though he was slowed as he twirled around and hollered, surely waking the entirety of the mountaintops surrounding the castle.
James had been minding his own business for once as he engaged in quiet conversation with Lily and Pandora, but his eyes twinkled as he eyed his three running friends, exchanging a knowing look with the redhead.
“Young love,” Pandora sighed dreamily, though James could never be certain if she was looking at the loud, carefree forms before them or at something entirely different.
Remus saw you stopped running while still some dozens of metres away from the castle, still facing away from him, but arms opening to accommodate for the impending crash of his body against yours. It does something funny to his heart to think about, but he just lets it widen his smile as he did exactly as expected – let his arms loop around your waist and twirl you around as he caught up to you.
Your out-of-breath giggles permeated into his ears as his face was tucked in between your neck and shoulder as he slowed down, laughter calming in his own chest.
“Caught you,” he whispered through his own breathlessness. “Happy now?”
You turned in his grasp, squeezing at his shoulders both to show affection and seemingly to steady yourself as your chest still heaved; Remus held you tighter to help you in the latter endeavour. “Shook off Sirius for a bit, so yeah, I am. As should you be.”
He dropped his head laughing at that, glancing behind him through his hair to see Sirius bent over, hands on his knees as James had already caught up to him and was patting his back in sympathy. Any other time of the month, Remus would likely have been right there with him, but this was a good week and you always seemed to be able to find some semblance of energy within him, even if he thought he had none.
“I take back my calling you minx, then.” He looked at you with a smile. “That was strategic.”
“Are you saying minxes can’t be strategic, Loopy?” You raised your eyebrows at him teasingly, pulling slightly out of his grasp to breathe better.
“I’m saying– don’t call me Loopy.”
Your smile became almost taunting at that, and Remus knew his comment likely only worsened the likelihood of you using that nickname now. “I just remembered how I used to call you that the other day actually,” you mused, putting on an innocent smile. “I don’t remember why I stopped, I just forgot about it. I think it might be time for a renaissance.”
“I think I’m too out of breath for you to say things like that. I can’t chase you any further, but that deserves to be chased.”
You shoved lightly at his shoulder at that. “You’re getting too old, you’re no fun.”
“I’m super fun. Textbook definition,” Remus harrumphed, gleaning when you rolled your eyes through a burst of laughter.
“No one who references textbook definitions is fun, Moons!” James called from where the group was catching up to you two, finally within earshot.
Sirius was practically draped across James’ shoulder, breath still coming heavy. He pointed yet another accusatory finger, this time at you. “You’ll be the death of me, dollface. Merlin’s tits.”
“Don’t blame me for your own inadequacy, gorgeous,” you quipped back. It made Remus rather proud, especially when Sirius groaned dramatically in response.
“Time to get some beauty sleep then, yeah?” James coaxed, giving Sirius’ cheek a peck as he continued effortlessly dragging him in through the entrance of the castle.
Lily hummed in agreement, poking one of her boyfriends in the side. “Yeah, Sirius seems to need it.”
“You think I’m so sexy, Red, don’t lie to yourself,” Sirius mumbled, petulantly remaining worn out over James’ shoulders.
Remus smiled at his friends, hand reaching out behind him blindly, knowing you’d find it. Surely enough, your fingers intertwined with his own and gave him a little tug to hasten his gait down the hallways.
Moving up the staircases with surprisingly little trouble, the group finally found themselves outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, ready to split up with you and Pandora heading to Ravenclaw and the rest clambering inside.
You made your goodbyes, quick hugs and kisses on cheeks with Lily and James and a kiss to the hand from Sirius who had decided to lay down dramatically on the floor. When you turned to Remus at last, just a tad bit away from the others, he enveloped you in a warm hug, breathing you in as he settled his chin on your shoulder.
“Let me walk you?” he asked, already knowing you would say no.
“Nice try Loopy, but I’d rather you go inside to the warmth and head to bed,” you murmured into his neck. “Thank you, though.”
You always said no. He always asked, anyway. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly protective or otherwise missed you too much, he’d go with you anyway. Today he decided to respect your wishes.
“Tell me again why you had to be an independent person and get sorted into your own house?” he grumbled against you, smiling when he felt your chest rumbling beneath him. That same smile softened when your grip on him grew just the slightest bit tighter.
“Something tells me you’ll survive.”
He tightened his hold on you in turn, one arm around your waist and the other stabilising your neck, before he spun your body around twice, twirling along the hallway. He relished in the laughter that escaped you and ensured to stamp a proper kiss to your hair before he released you back down to the floor.
“Sleep well, dove.”
“Goodnight, cariad,” you said through a soft smile, giving him and the others a small wave before turning around to where Pandora was waiting, grabbing her hand as you two all but skipped down the hallway together.
With his eyes still glued on your disappearing form, Remus nearly yelped as James’ hands came up to settle roughly on his shoulders – albeit somewhat careful of his joints – steering him through the now-opened portrait, who was rambling on with complaints about students taking up the space in front of her for too long.
“Funny that,” James started.
Remus gave him a puzzled look. “What, Prongs?”
“Just that you danced with one Ravenclaw at the Three Broomsticks for two minutes and gained the colour and conversational skills of a tomato; but when you twirl and kiss this Ravenclaw, all you’re left with is that goofy grin of yours.” James’ comment seemed off-handed, said over his shoulder as they walked through the empty common room.
“First of all, it’s Y/N we’re talking about and not some Ravenclaw,” he started, confusion laced in his voice. In the meantime, James and Sirius kissed Lily goodbye, the latter giving her bum a light tap as she moved up the stairs to the girls’ dorms. “Secondly, it’s Y/N. She’s my best friend, and one of yours, mind you. What’s there to go all tomato for?”
“Some would argue, there is never any reason to go all tomato,” Sirius taunted, ducking the smack Remus aimed towards him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” James laughed, literally waving it off. “Just pointing out the parallel. Ironic, innit?”
“Don’t see why it would be,” Remus grumbled petulantly in return. Sirius reached up to ruffle his hair somewhat roughly before entering their dorm, where Peter was already waiting for them, tucked into bed.
“What’re we laughing about tonight, fellas?” he questioned without looking up from the magazine he was reading through. Remus was fairly certain he had seen Mary reading through that very same magazine last week.
“Oh just at Remus’ peculiarities with birds.” Sirius felt emboldened with his comment from where he was crouched behind his bed – ample distance to protect him from Remus, he surely gathered.
“So, nothing new? Nice.” Peter returned his attention to the magazine it never really left.
“Yeah, don’t worry Pete – your friends are just as big arseholes as on any other day.” Remus bent down to pat the boy on the shoulder before moving over to his own bed, between Peter and Sirius’.
“Hey, I don’t mean to be an arsehole,” James complained with almost a full pout across his lips within a second of Remus’ comment. “We’re just having a bit of fun psychoanalysing you, s’all.”
“Which, of course, is a generally accepted polite thing to do.” Remus nodded as if he was gravely understanding, only flipping James off when the other boy didn’t catch his sarcasm.
“No, Remmy, what would be rude is to point out how you are desperately–” Sirius began with taunting mirth plastered all over his face, but he was cut off as James all but jumped on him to cover his mouth.
The black haired boy looked up at his boyfriend first with some offence and then a look Remus didn’t want to witness.
“How about we leave poor Moony alone for the night, huh baby?” James questioned, moving his hand away from Sirius’ mouth as the other boy nodded almost dumbly, still staring up at him.
“Who’s turning red now?” Remus whispered to himself as he looked through his trunk for his pyjamas. He barely had the reflexes to catch the pillow Sirius hurled at him, tossing it back with a loud laugh that was quickly reciprocated by his best mates.
As if a miracle had been awarded them by some forgiving gods, the boys’ dorm room quieted down fairly quickly after that. Sirius and James settled in Sirius’ bed for the night, barely fitting themselves onto the mattress that was almost too small for one boy, let alone two. Once in each other’s arms, however, it was an easy thing to drift off. Peter was asleep before the other three had even brushed their teeth.
Remus was the only one tossing. Not unusual, but he couldn’t really understand why that was tonight.
His sleep cycle often closely followed the moon’s, and he was almost two weeks away from the full moon, a perfectly decent time for falling and staying asleep. Tonight, though, his body was once more fighting him. He kept replaying the night, the conversations, the interactions, trying to pin his unrest on something. He supposed that dance with Vance had been unexpected and the adrenaline spike of all the attention following it might still linger and make sleep evade him.
Despite what his dismay for public romantic displays might indicate, Remus was no prude. As a matter of fact, just as Sirius had before he was locked down, Remus was no stranger to making his rounds at the occasional common room party. Rarer was it that he shagged anyone back home, as he spent most of his time with you, but it had happened here and there too. Vance and him had even spent a night together once at a quidditch afterparty, but he had no significant interest in her apart from a mutually understood night of fun. He never really did, even when his partners were great in all capacities. It just didn’t seem that romance was an object for Remus – and good riddance, if the struggles of dealing with it so far was any sign.
Perhaps that was it then, dancing with Vance had rehashed something for him. Though the idea didn’t settle well in his bones, Remus also knew that he would never settle if he didn’t give his mind an excuse for his sudden restlessness.
After checking the time with a hefty sigh, he decided to throw in the towel and took a small sip of a sleeping draught potion he had at the ready in his bedside table at all times. If sleep would not come to him, he would hunt it down damn it. His friends’ playful mockery and a dance he didn’t even want to partake in would not cause him any more torment.
As Remus slipped into the land of dreams, he may come to regret that sentiment, if but a bit.
There are warm bodies pressed uncomfortably close to him – the warmest of which has her arms around his neck, one hand scraping through his hair. It should feel good, Remus enjoys when his hair is played with, but this feels sharp enough to draw blood. Emmeline’s laugh is all he can make out over the chatter and stomping around him, but it feels wrong, scratchy like a record player. Her fingers on him are cold, unlike anything else in the room.
It is spinning. The room, that is. Remus is unfocused, as if he had been shooting vodka and not butterbeer earlier. He can’t quite make out any of his friends, or anyone really, Emmeline’s features bleeding out into the background.
For some reason his heart is pounding the way it does before his transformation. Everything feels painfully wrong and he is aware of every inch of his body where Emmeline is touching him.
She is still laughing and Remus is sure it would make his ears bleed, which only confuses him further because Emmeline is truly a nice girl. Just not one he wants to feel flush against himself at the moment.
He reaches a hand up to touch his ear – realising only now that his arms are hanging limply by his sides, the only static thing in the otherwise spinning room – and when he retracts his hand to look at it, his fingers are coated with blood.
His breathing grows ragged as he feels the blood running down the side of his neck. He has half a mind to tell Emmeline, to shout for help. He doesn’t. Nothing comes out when he tries to open his mouth, all control of his body ripped from his grasp.
With no warning he realises the wetness on his neck is not blood, but someone’s open mouth smearing kisses down it with reckless abandon. His stomach ties in knots and he wants to push Emmeline off of him, still to no avail.
Her grip on him tightens painfully, and Remus swears he feels a bone break. He would know.
The flurry behind her has just become a swirl of colours and sounds to him and Remus feels himself drowning in a moment he desperately wants away from. He shuts his eyes hard, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
He feels a warmth in his chest, starkly different from the heat around him, that slowly, like thawing ice, begins to spread throughout him. He hums the melody you sang to him during his first ever panic attack, the sweet one that always lulls him to sleep, and the warmth spreads faster.
With his eyes still screwed shut, Remus begins to regain the feeling in his legs first, noticing them swaying back and forth to some calmer, unknown rhythm.
The feeling in his hand returns too, and it’s clasped around someone else's. Theirs is also warm, light and fits much better in his, though he’s not quite sure what he’s comparing it to.
The front of his body is warmer than the back as he’s pressed up against someone, swaying with them in a slow dance that would never have worked in the middle of Three Broomsticks. It flows with his soul.
At last, Remus can hear again, as if coming up from water. He hears that it was not him humming, but rather a soft figure tucked under his chin, humming the vibrations of the melody against the side of his neck.
When he tightens his arms instinctively, he does not need to open his eyes to know it is you.
He does anyway, looking down at you, standing in his arms, swaying together in an empty Gryffindor common room. There is a lazy smile on your lips as you look up at him, cheek against his chest, eyes twinkling like the starlight.
Remus feels right. Remus feels good. His thoughts are honey, sweet but slow, coating over any coherent reactions he might have to standing here with you like this. He escaped and he is with you and all is right once more.
Have you danced like this before? Did it feel like this then?
You seem unpuzzled, relaxed. The warmth settles in Remus for good.
“Hey handsome,” you whispered, as if you were sharing a secret with him before angling your face more up towards his.
Remus is not in charge of his body when his neck dips down and lets his lips meet yours halfway, casual and expectantly, a habit as much as a wish. You taste like yourself. You smell like yourself. Remus is surrounded by you, cornered by your smile against his lips.
You pull back all too quickly, furrowing your brows at him. Dream-Remus has no hesitation of removing the hand from around your back to thumb at the furrow, brushing away any negative thoughts from you. He kisses the spot between your eyebrows.
Everything is right.
When his eyes meet yours again, the concerned look in them has not changed. You reach a tentative hand up to his cheek, thumb swiping over his cheekbone as you hold him with what he irrevocably knows to be love.
“It’s time to wake up, cariad,” you said with a small sad smile.
The last thing Remus remembers is the feeling of the floor disappearing beneath him.
Remus sat up with a gasp, and for a rare moment in time he was speechless.
He was not a stranger to invasive, questionable or downright spiritual dreams, a side effect of both his connection with the moon and the tons of potions he has taken over the years. Usually, he is present in his dreams and acts as his own little commentator during and after them, narrating what happens and what he thinks of it.
It was not uncommon for him to think “I think I will remember this one” as the final thought in a dream. Or when he wakes up in tears, his first thought was often “that was a bit dramatic of you, calm down”.
Now, he had nothing. Now, he was speechless.
Worse yet, usually when he wakes up with a jolt, it is in the middle of the night – but now, as his senses began to trickle back in, he could hear the commotion around him that only could mean the boys are at various stages in the process of getting ready.
Remus Lupin had just had a life-altering, earth-shattering dream, and James Fleamont Potter was repeatedly knocking his knee into his nightstand as he jumped around while tying his shoes on, instead of sitting down to do it like a normal person would.
He thought James was saying something, and maybe even to Remus specifically, but he could still hear the blood rushing through his head. Beneath that again, he could hear your humming.
With a groan, Remus let himself topple over from his sitting position to land face-first into his duvet.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck?
“Oi!” Remus finally heard, as what felt like a rolled up pair of socks hit his head. “What in Godrick’s name has gotten into you, mate? You good?” It was Sirius voice calling, seemingly from across the room.
Remus just groaned in reply. His eyes were wide open as he stared directly into his sheets, feeling both freezing cold and like his brain was slowed by a fever.
“You okay, Moons?” Peter’s voice came gentler from beside him. Remus thought his hand might be hovering near him, as if he was considering consolingly patting him but was unsure if he should.
Another groan.
“Okay, what about this: groan once if this is Moony mooning over something and twice if you’re in actual crisis,” James suggested, not unkindly.
A singular groan, though it sure did feel like two.
“Groan once if you’re a prick and twice if you’re insufferable,” Sirius felt the need to comment.
Instead of making any further sounds, Remus wrangled his arm from beneath the blanket to show Sirius how he felt about him in the moment with a gesture.
“Fantastic!” James exclaimed. “You have class in 35 minutes, Moons, and breakfast now, so best get a move on.” Remus heard the telltale sound of James leaving – as in, James’ heavy footsteps moving across the floor and Sirius scrambling like a dog to follow after him. At the complete lack of sounds in the rooms after that, he assumed Peter moused after them as well.
At last Remus sat up with a sigh and stared emptily in front of him, mind moving too fast for him to catch a thought but too slow for him to properly process anything.
What does this mean?
Except Remus could no longer deny that he knew what it meant. That the instant your humming caressed his ears, he knew what it meant. That his subconsciousness wanted to replace a girl who saw him as a romantic prospect in a place Remus felt queasy in with you in a place he considered home. That is no coincidence.
And that when you kissed him–
Except you did not kiss him. Remus shook his head at that, as if the thoughts could just tumble out of his ears. You did not kiss him and he did not kiss you. Because this was a dream, it was not real and Remus must just be really, really unwell.
He felt unwell, but not in the way he was trying to convince himself.
Taking one deep breath, Remus looked to the awning of their little dormitory and shot out a silent prayer for any higher power to listen.
Put me back together, I cannot fall apart like this.
Bury this back down deep, I cannot feel like this.
It was going to be a long day.
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
By the time Remus had made it to the entryway to the Great Hall, feeling frazzled and less put together than he had an excuse to, he saw his group of friends making their way out.
“Rem!” It was you who caught sight of him first, and immediately beelined towards him, the others following closely behind, wearing varying degrees of concern and confusion as they looked him up and down.
Your face was by far the most concerned, as you immediately brought your left hand up to cup his cheek. “Are you alright, cariad?”
For the first time in your almost two decades of friendship, Remus was painfully aware of your physical proximity.
He always knew, of course, but it never really registered with him – it was completely natural. Right now, nothing about him felt natural. You stood flush with him and he felt you against him like a fire, skin singeing beneath his clothes. Your eyes seemed so big looking into his that he could get lost in them, his only internal monologue being a dreamy sigh and a long string of curse words at the absolute madhouse chaos that his mind was becoming. As he looked at you, it was like he could see his version of you from his dream as well, how you looked at him with so much love and admiration, how your lips inched closer to his.
“Mate?” Remus realised then, that he had been staring at you for far too long, not answering your question, to the point where James had to try to catch his attention.
“I– uh,” Remus sputtered, eyes flickering wildly all over your face, panic rising in his chest as he realised he could not think clearly with you so close.
He took a step back without thinking, just barely out of your grasp but still close, and shook his head. “Sorry, yeah, no, yes, I just feel a bit… off today.”
The furrow between your brows deepend, and once more his mind flashed back to his dream. His hand twitched. It seemed like you weren’t even aware of it when you took a step closer, to be back by his side, reaching your wrist up to place it on his forehead to feel his temperature. “You’re feeling poorly?” you whispered so quietly and so lovingly Remus thought he might faint.
Was it always like this? It was always like this. Why was he freaking out about it then? He was freaking out. What the fuck was wrong with him?
With horror, Remus realised that a slight blush was creeping up his neck, and he fought hell to keep it down as he cleared his throat. “Just a little, uh, dove, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Do you want to go lay down?” You began what he knew would be a string of suggestions for things to do to make him feel better, and he could not stand watching you be so concerned when he was lying to you.
Almost like a flinch, he pulled back out of your arms – properly this time, taking several strides backwards away from the group. It barely registered with him that James and Sirius were looking at him with some confused amusement while Lily looked sympathetic.
“I, erm, will be fine, yeah? Nothing to worry about.” Without properly looking, he reached an arm out to grab Peter by the shoulder and all but manhandled him to his side. “Peter and I have Herbology now, but uh, I’ll catch you later?”
Remus hated how everything he said sounded like a question, like he was running a lie by you for you to confirm if it was believable. Remus hated that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face for more than a few seconds and most of all he hated that he was spiraling under the weight of your gaze in turn. A horrible combination.
“Take care, Rem,” you whispered as he all but ran away from you, hauling Peter along.
You stood looking after him for a moment, only turning your head when you felt Lily’s reassuring hand on your shoulder to find a small smile on her face.
“What in the buggering hell was that?” Sirius questioned, looking mostly at you for an answer.
“I don’t know,” you said, honestly. Had you known, you might still not have told him, though, if you thought Remus wouldn’t want you to. “I usually always know about his moods before they come, but this has me stumped,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.
“He woke up weirdly,” James mused, rubbing his hand across his chin. “I guess we’ll just see where the day goes, yeah?”
The four of you nodded at each other, but you still gnawed on your lip in concern, glancing over your shoulder to where he disappeared.
Whatever it was, you hoped he would come talk with you about it when he was ready.
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
Remus only had one hour to compose himself during Herbology before he had Charms with you. Sharing most of his classes with you was something he had always considered a blessing, and while that sentiment would likely never fade, it was also causing him some distress as he almost toppled the work desk with his jittering.
Peter didn’t question him, but Remus’ obvious nerves were apparently contagious for the anxious boy who jittered right along with him, casting him the occasional glance.
Letting his elbows fall heavily on the desk, Remus put his head in his hands and ignored the instructions Professor Sprout was walking them through – he would let Peter pick up the slack for once and then subsequently accept the lower marks. Right now, Remus had to think and get his shit together.
He breathed his way through some panic exercises and pictured you in his mind. It almost brought a smile to his lips in an instant and for the first time, he let the realisation of how irrevocably wrecked for you he was.
Has it always been like this? Why have I never put this into words before? How can I revert back?
In that moment, Remus decided two things. Firstly, there was no possibility of you returning his feelings nor would he ever expect you to. It was true that you accepted and loved him in a way he never could quite believe himself deserving of, but that in itself is testament that it couldn’t be any more. What you gave him was already too much, it would be unthinkable for you to harbour even deeper feelings for him.
Second, and most importantly, he could not lose you. Remus has made many mistakes in his time, but he could not live with himself if he lost you. It would be too much. Because regardless of the fact that he now knew he was– that he now knew what he knew, the friendship between you was the most important thing. It was Remus and Y/N, right?
He could not be weird and sputtering, he could not make you uncomfortable. Meaning, he could not withdraw from you despite his instinct to run and hide. Shame burned within him at the thought that even if he could withdraw he didn’t know if he could fight his want not to. You were muscle memory.
Remus opened his eyes and slowly dragged his palms down his face in resolution. He would have to act as if nothing was wrong, and he would have to lie through his bloody teeth to explain away whatever bodily reactions he has.
If he starts stammering, he will have to shut up and lie that he is tired. If he becomes an embarrassing shade of auburn, he will have to cough and lie that he might be coming down with a fever. If he shakes, it is because of lack of sleep. If he, Merlin forbids, cries, he will have to claim he must be coming down with some odd moonsickness. You will surely follow him to Madam Pomfrey and maybe it will be easier when you’re alone.
Or maybe it will be worse.
No matter which it was, Remus would have to soldier it, for your sake. You did not deserve his imposing infatuation, but you also did not deserve to lose what you thought to be a loyal friend.
When him and Peter packed up the barely-used desk and mumbled a goodbye to a disapproving Sprout in the door, Remus made it his mission to focus on his breathing again as he almost ran down the hallways to where your friend group always met up outside the Charms classroom.
Be normal, be normal, be normal.
Your eyes found him the second he rounded the final corner, almost as if you had been watching it, waiting for him. A beautiful smile lit up on your face as soon as you saw him, albeit a bit dampened by the worry in your eyes – he simultaneously wanted desperately to soothe you while also berating himself for it being there. His fault.
“Hey dovey.” He forced his words to be casual, his smile to be measured as he strode up beside you.
This is where he is supposed to drag you into a sideways hug, squeezing your hips while dropping a kiss on the top of your head, causing Sirius to make some quip about “you were literally just gone an hour. He stood beside you perhaps a beat too long before he began to do so with shaking hands, and he felt your burning look as you studied him. Remus made it all the way up to where he would kiss your head before he chickened out due to the tornado screaming in his stomach.
“Hi, Rem,” you all but whispered, your words just for him. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was afraid of what it would be.
“Waited long?” he asked to distract you from it.
“Nah,” you said and leaned further into his side. “But I’m glad you’re here now. How’re you feeling?”
At that, he saw Peter, Sirius, James and Lily – who had been stuck in their own little world – look up and try to hear what he has to say. Remus crumbled under their watchful gazes, knowing they knew him well enough to pick apart his every little reaction. He cleared his throat.
You made a soft cooing sound and started rubbing circles on the side of his hip from where your arms were circled around him. It knocked a wave of dizziness into him that made him want to take a step back to lean against the cold stone wall behind you. In replacement he settled for holding onto you tighter; it only made it worse.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go lay down? Merlin knows we won’t be missing out on anything with the way Flitwick rambles away any sense he might have.”
This is where Remus would laugh heartily at your obvious disdain for the professor that he never truly understood. Instead, his mind zeroed in on one word you said.
We. We, we, we, we.
Circe’s tits, did he want to take you up on that.
He swallowed, acutely aware that you must have heard the sound when stood so close to him, though you didn’t give away any reaction. To buy himself a moment to collect his thoughts, Remus finally dared tilt his chin downwards to kiss the top of your head. It might have been too slow, too tentative, but his heart was beating so fast the rest of his body felt too slowed down in comparison. He hoped you thought the kiss was a thank you for caring and not the nervous stall it was. He hoped he wouldn’t be eternally damned for breathing in the scent of you.
“I’m quite alright, dove,” he murmured instead, furiously avoiding the surely questioning gazes of his other friends. “Thank you, though.”
You grumbled some but didn’t push him on it. He silently thanked you for that, too.
His throat was too parched to partake in the silent banter amongst his friends as you walked into Charms, too focused on where your bodies brushed as you walked, too deafened by the sound of your laughter.
You sat down in your regular spots, you and Remus side by side in the front, with Sirius and James behind you and Lily and Mary to your right. This was normal, this was alright. Flitwick droned on about the theoretics and debates around the charms you learned last lesson, it went in one ear and out the other.
Absentmindedly, you had grabbed Remus’ hand lightly between yours and were tracing soothing circles along his wrist and palm. You meant so well, and this would have cured likely any other ailment Remus struggled with, but right now there were fireworks going off in his head.
Taking advantage of the notice Dumbledore had given all of his professors to not call Remus out on sleeping in class, he folded his arms and laid his head down on them, carefully not to take his hand away from you. If he could shield his face, he could probably talk himself down before class ended.
In the solitude of his arms, he could picture it was just the two of you, sitting in the treehouse you built between your houses as children. If he focused enough, he could smell the apples that grew around him and feel the rough wood beneath his stomach. There, your hand would still be in his, maybe even your cheek on his chest, and it would be alright. It would all be alright because it was just you, and Remus could play dumb and he would never have to realise his feelings and fuck himself over.
It almost worked. Until he was interrupted.
“Psst! L/N?” The whisper was laced with a laughter Remus knew too well and did not care for.
You clearly ignored it – Remus could practically see the eye roll you surely threw his way – but that wasn’t enough to stop his theatrics.
“L/N!” Barty called once more from a couple seats behind you to your right, voice threatening to alert Flitwick to your inattention. “What’s wrong with your dog?”
“What?” you whispered back in equal parts confusion and irritation.
“Your puppy, Lupin,” Barty said, as if it was obvious. Unfortunately, Remus could picture his eye roll too, though his stomach was turning for a wholly different reason. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Remus is quite alright, Junior,” you hissed back, hand tightening on Remus’ at the same time as he loosened it. “And don’t call him a dog.”
Remus slowly lifted his head from his arms and took back his hands to wipe harshly at his face, still not looking towards Junior who barked a low laugh.
“Follows you around like one. Wouldn’t surprise me if you had some invisible leash going on–” Barty quipped, cutting himself off before you could respond and turning to Evan Rosier sitting beside him. “Oooooh, an invisible leash is a marvellous idea, Rosie.”
It was clear you had lost his attention, but Remus’ face still burned painfully as he shifted in his seat. With a harrumphing sound, you turned to look at him. He didn’t meet your eye, couldn’t.
“Ignore him.” Remus always marvelled at how you manage to convey your frustration and care at the same time.
He just hummed in the affirmative, still wiping a bit harshly at his face. If he treated it harshly enough, could he blame his violent flush on it?
“Cariad,” you mumbled, gently taking his hands away from his face, clearly spotting his efforts.
He saw your furrowed eyebrows looking at him, and that was the end of what he could take for the lesson. As you opened your mouth, surely to inquire about how he is, like the beautifully kind person he knows you to be, he pushed his chair backwards.
“I think I should probably listen to you and go lay down, dove,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze. Before you could shoot in and say you would come with him, he continued. “Can you please take notes for me in Transfiguration after this?”
An indirect rejection, a plea for isolation. He didn’t look at your face as he gathered his things, waiting for you to respond instead.
“Sure, if that’s what you want,” you said carefully.
What I want is you.
“Yes, please.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and pressed a parting goodbye kiss to your cheek, tradition. “Thank you, love.”
Then he was sneaking his way out around the desks, barely catching a murmured voice he knew to be Sirius’, likely leaning forward to ask you about him. His lips singed.
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
Remus hid away in his room for two hours, actually being truthful and trying to get a nap in. The dorm room felt serendipitous, being swept up in rare silence and a grace of darkness as he trickled in and out of consciousness. If he dreamed more of you, he would not admit it.
Any semblance of reprieve he might have chased down was ripped away from him by the creaking of the door and the wall of sound that followed his three favourite boys who always got on his last three nerves.
“Oi, Moons!” Sirius exclaimed, far too cheerily. “You know the rules!”
Remus propped his head up on his elbow from where he was sprawled on his stomach, looking blearily at the three figures as they situated themselves within the dorm. “The rule to not wake a sleeping sod? Yes, I’m the only one who knows that rule it seems.”
Sirius took off his sweater as he discarded his uniform and used it to swat at Remus. “Nope! No wallowing on your own. Sharing is caring.”
“‘M not wallowing,” Remus grumbled as he let his head fall back into his pillow.
Letting his guard down was undoubtedly a mistake because the second Sirius was out of sight, he had the audacity to jump into Remus’ bed, nearly flinging him off from the impact. Both Sirius and James were laughing boisterously as Sirius collapsed on top of Remus and ruffled his hair when he tried to shove him off. “Not anymore, no, we won’t let you.”
Remus hated that he loved them.
“Precisely,” James added as he pointed at Remus from where he was changing into his non-uniform clothes as well. “So either speak your mind or perk up, buttercup.”
Remus groaned but let Sirius drag him up into a sitting position. “Can a poor lycanthrope not have one off day without you lot getting your knickers in a twist?” Despite his best efforts, there was no ire in his voice.
“Nope!” James said, popping the p. “Not on our watch.”
“Life is simply miserable without our Moony,” Sirius said, clutching his chest as if he was ailing. “And do you have any idea how weird it is to see your sweetheart without you by her side? It’s like watching a cut up picture.”
All humour that had been creeping into Remus’ expression was washed away in and instant as he swallowed harshly, suddenly averting his gaze from Sirius. Instead, James caught it, who looked at him with big eyes behind his glasses, cocking his head to the side. He looked far too much like the stag he is, before his mouth opened in a small gasp. “Oh,” he whispered softly.
Remus’ heart was beating painfully hard at the look of realisation that crossed his face, turning back to Sirius who had a similar knowing, almost pitying look in his eyes. No, no, no, no.
“I’ll be fine, you, erm, won’t have to live without me much longer,” Remus tried to volley back, just a few seconds too late, tongue feeling heavy at being found out.
If his best mates could see through him that quickly, then you probably already had. He had half a mind to take you up to the Astronomy Tower like old times, so he could apologise and then jump off as an act of redemption.
Sirius gave his shoulder a rough squeeze, shaking him a little as if he knew what was going through his mind. “Fantastic. Then you’ll join us for our free periods, yeah? And the party later tonight?”
Still somewhat sputtering, Remus’ eyes widened to an extent he was sure was comedic. “The pa– the party?”
James smiled at him. “Yeah, Moons. Gryffindor half-term party? That we have talked about all week?”
“Merlin, maybe Pomfrey needs to go easy on the potions she gives you,” Sirius teased, getting up to finish changing.
“Or she could give me more,” Remus whispered hopefully, earning him a round of chuckles.
“You’ll be fine, Rem,” James said, with an undertone Remus did not care for. “If you’re still feeling… off throughout the day and night, you can always snuggle up with a book and ignore us hooligans.” Then, almost as if he was testing the waters. “I’m sure Y/N would love to join you.”
Remus didn’t deign any of that with a response, but he suddenly thought he should get out of his bed so his face didn’t seem so red in contrast with the white sheets.
“I have some essays to knock out, so yeah, I’ll join you to study,” Remus relented. He opened his own trunk to get changed, but decided to half-ass it and just take off his tie and replace his uniform wool with one of his own patterned jumpers.
“And for the party later!” Sirius corrected, ensuring Remus didn’t think he could back out.
“Sure, sure.” He ruffled his own hair so it was Remus-messy and not Sirius-messed-up-my-hair-messy. “Let’s just go.”
─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───
Considering the extent to which he could fuck this up for himself, Remus reckoned he had been doing fairly good keeping his shit together throughout the day.
If he mentally cursed more than normal, contemplated the murder of each one of his friends including himself and generally couldn’t breathe, well, that was merely part of it.
The whole lot had shacked up in the library for the triple free periods you had back to back on Fridays. While you doted concernedly over him for the first thirty minutes, you eased up once you seemed to decide that this wasn’t Remus shoving down some lycanthropy-struggles and avoiding support and help.
As always, the two of you sat in the love seat, your legs sprawled over his lap as you read through your textbooks in the oddest positions. This was usually something he might chide you for – “your neck will hurt if you hang over the edge like that, love” – but today he buried his face into his textbooks with all his might to not seem like he was aware of your body. He was, of course, you burned over his skin and lit up his heart, and Circe’s tits was he the stupidest sod in the whole castle.
Nonetheless, he made it through all three hours, engaging in comforting banter and low laughs with his best mates. When you teamed up with him to mess with Sirius, he at least knew that you weren’t upset with him in any way, even though he was being a lunatic today, even though he most definitely would have deserved it.
What Remus knew would be his breaking point was the Gryffindor party.
It was a laid back event, a party thrown for all of Gryffindor, though it was mostly the upper years who were encouraged to attend. They arranged it halfway through every term to celebrate making it through and engaging with each other. Meaning, most people didn’t get shitfaced but there was some good bubbling energy maintained throughout the whole night.
You and Remus had a tradition for how you dealt with parties – just as you had a tradition for pretty much everything, he had come to notice. Gods, he lov– Stop it.
Neither one of you were necessarily fond of large crowds, but you both were incredibly loyal and fond of your friends and wanted to spend time with them. Thus, you attended the parties, but you always did so together. The more uncomfortable you got, the closer you would get to each other, and if one ever needed a break, they would tap the other three times and they would make up an excuse to usher them out of there.
It had never felt so unnerving to be so known.
Throughout the whole party he had been jittery, head rushing with thoughts. He desperately tried not to take in your outfit and then he desperately tried not to read into it when you seemed disappointed he didn’t compliment you for it like he usually did. Why did he have to be such a sweet best friend normally? Remus can’t keep up with himself.
It did not help him in the slightest that others around the party seemed to focus on your outfit much more openly than he could dare. It made him gravitate even closer to you, tighten his hand on his hip, momentarily rest his chin on the top of your head – and then his actions made him want to kick himself. Possessiveness was the last thing he could be engaging with when he was already betraying you in such a manner.
Leave it to Remus to fuck up something beautiful.
To say you didn’t seem to notice that he was troubled would be taking it too far, but at least you didn’t seem to notice why. You kept him close to your side and would at random points stroke his back soothingly. He wondered if you just thought he was uncomfortable with the party.
You were chatting with Pandora by the drinks table when Barty and Evan strolled up to you both with cheshire cat grins.
“There he is, back on his leash,” Junior said through a menacing laugh, ignoring Evan’s slight elbow to his side. “Feeling better, darling?”
“What brings you to the lions' den, Junior?” Remus asked carefully to divert the topic.
“Well. Y/N’s going so Pandora’s going so Evan’s going, and thus–” he did a small flourishing spin “– I’m going.”
“You’re impossible,” Evan murmured, while Pandora just smiled happily.
“Is he feeling better, then?” Barty asked once more, this time looking at you.
“No, actually,” you said with a small smile Remus knew not to be genuine. “He is absolutely devastated you’re not in the Slytherin common room right now. He had big plans for you there, you know.”
Remus tried to choke down his laugh as Barty looked torn between glee and irritation. Somehow he made both work. “Sorry to soil your plans then, Lupin. Better luck next time.”
Then he stalked off in almost a hurry and Remus couldn’t help but hope he was going to Slytherin to check if you were telling the truth.
He looked down at where you were standing beside him and squeezed your shoulder lightly. “You really are a minx,” he whispered conspiratorially.
That turned out to be his undoing. You turned your head to the side to look up at him with mirth playing around in your enamouring eyes, a soft tilt to the corner of your mouth. And your face was oh so painfully close to his.
Remus became acutely aware that he could easily lean in and catch your smile with his. That the air he was breathing had been close to you in some of the only ways he had not yet. That he must look like your boyfriend when you’re standing essentially pressed up against each other like this.
That he most certainly has been looking at your lips for far too long.
When he flicks his gaze back up, he sees a slight furrow between your brows again as you seem to take in his reaction, and suddenly he goes from having butterflies in his stomach to needing to throw them all up. He took a sudden staggering step backwards, almost crashing into James who was engaging in some animated discussion with Marlene.
“I, uh,” Remus said and dear Godrick he was stammering. “I’ll get us some drinks and we can sit down, yeah?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, instead spinning his back to you and hoping you pick up conversation with Pandora again.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t be a bloody arse.
He hoped he had steadied himself enough by the time he plopped down in his favourite grandfather chair near the fire. He placed both of your drinks on the table in front of him, vowing to touch his as minimally as possible to make sure he keeps whatever wits he has left with him.
A dumb smile takes over his face as his breathing quickens when he sees you make your way over to the seating area, after having listened to his desperate silent plea and finished your conversation with Pandora. Pushing his luck, he shoots another silent prayer that it will be smooth sailing from here, which is apparently promptly ignored as you happily sit down in his lap.
Fuck.
This, he reminds himself, is also normal for the two of you. Especially at parties, especially if you have reason to believe he is unsteady in any sense of the word, which he most certainly has given you plenty of reason to believe.
You give him some form of greeting he can’t quite catch and isn’t sure if he reciprocated as you settle down, putting majority of your weight on his right thigh as you lean your body sideways against his. One of your arms snuck around his shoulders, fingers winding up playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, while the other is stabilising yourself on his knee. Majority of your close friends had followed your lead by sitting down in the small gathering, chattering amongst themselves. He was half-aware that you were rambling on about something to him, something he probably really wanted to listen to, but it felt like his head was underwater.
Unsure of what else to do, he lowered his face into your shoulder and took deep breaths there.
You seemed wholly unbothered, fingers continuing in his hair as your soothing voice carried him through what he feared might become a panic attack. He was almost there, when the cocoon you two had in your chair was burst by the presence of your other friends.
“You alright there, Moons? You’re not going to go all vampire on poor Y/N?” Sirius’ tone was lighthearted and teasing, but Remus felt as if he might actually die.
“Oh, he’s quite alright,” you answered for him with a smile before he could embarrass himself, immediately switching over to engage in conversation with the friends sitting closest to you. Your hand on his knee squeezed reassuringly.
Fuck, how could he not love you?
He loved you.
Remus almost had to fight crying as he hid in the crook of your neck, overwhelmed by his own emotions and the surely watchful gazes of those around him – the latter of which was why he couldn’t.
With a deep breath he let his desire win for just one second and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before emerging from his hiding place. He shifted you carefully to be more comfortable, so that your back was against him and he could rest his head on the shoulder he just kissed.
He did fairly good, partaking in conversation, engaging with the others, albeit more quietly and less than usual. He laughed and he smiled and you were so soft against him, as if you had melted. Remus was in heaven while being tortured.
Marlene wolf whistled quietly from where she was sat on the floor, eyeing Remus with mirth. Though he still did not know why, he was already turning red, the tips of his ears burning.
“Hi, Remmy.” He heard the soft voice say beside him and he turned his head to see Emmeline giving him a somewhat sly smile. “The dance floor’s picking up. Want to go for another round?”
Remus’ stomach churned. Emmeline was such a sweet girl and he never could say no to her, the only thing that felt worse than the embarrassment from his friends’ teasing was the thought of embarrassing her – though Remus was sure even thinking like that made him into an even bigger arse.
Sirius and James had told him multiple times that he could say no. As had you, reminding him how important it was to have boundaries, even while you were sitting practically on top of him at the time. He just could never bring himself to.
Yet his mouth seemed to move on its own accord before he could think, arms tightening around you. “No, not tonight Emmeline, sorry. Knock yourself out, though.” He tried to give her a warm smile, but his movements seemed to be outside of his control at the moment, breath sucked from his lungs.
He realised with a sting that he should have given her more credit all along when she beamed back at him. “No worries, enjoy your night!” she cheered before twirling towards the dance floor herself.
Remus let out a shaky breath and turned to his friends who were almost staring him down. James’ mouth was even open in shock, which he thought was a bit dramatic.
“Hold on, what just happened?” Sirius guffawed. “Has our little Moony learned to say no?”
Remus flushed even further. “Shut up, Pads.”
“Don’t think I will,” his mate replied with a wolfish grin turning to look to the others for support. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“What’s inspired this change in you?” Mary asked thoughtfully, propping her head into her hands as if she was settling in for a lengthy response.
All eyes were back on Remus and he felt like the mask he had been clinging to all day was crumbling. The nerves that shot through him like lightning now was not his usual humiliation from being in a charged spotlight – no, this was fear. Genuine fear that if he didn’t get his head screwed back on within two seconds, he might say something too revealing, or his face would do it without him having to open his mouth. That his fiery ears would somehow spell out I am in love with my very best friend and I realised it too late and am making it everybody else’s problem. He had no idea what to do.
In his time of despair, with Mary’s big eyes staring up at him, Marlene and Lily already snickering between them and Sirius raising an expecting brow, his instincts knew of only one way out.
His finger on your hip lifted. Tap, tap, tap.
Almost as if a switch had gone off, you made a soft gasp and turned to look at him in his lap. “Gods, Rem, speaking of Emmeline, I totally forgot our gift for Sirius in my dorm in Ravenclaw!” you exclaimed, putting your all into the act. Your excuse seemed to be a good one as Sirius’ head immediately picked up, not unlike that of a dog’s if you said the word ‘treat’ around them. “We have to go get it before the party’s over.”
You elegantly hopped up and out of his lap, dragging him behind him with a grip on his elbow. Remus stumbled and scrambled behind you, tossing a sorry don’t know what that’s about look to the others over his shoulder. He barely caught sight of what he could only classify as a knowing exchange of smiles between James and Lily.
Before he could truly process your rescue mission, he was standing outside in the cool hallway breathing heavily, portrait closed behind him.
Before him, you stood with your hands on your hips, scanning his face thoroughly, making him almost cower beneath your gaze. You seemed to make up your mind about something as you took his hand once more and walked with him down the hall in silence, rounding the corners until you reached one of the deep windowsills, the kind the two of you would always sit in and read.
You jumped to lift yourself into it and once you were sat with one hand on each side of your body, you levelled him with a look.
“Okay, spill,” you said, directly but not unkindly. “What is going on with you?”
Remus did not think this through. He needed help and so he called upon you for it like he always does, not thinking to consider that that might very well make this worse for him.
“It’s…” he began, picking at straws in his mind for an excuse. “It’s nothing, dove. Really.”
“When’s my birthday?” you asked then, to his surprise. He furrowed his brows at you and told you the date. You smiled a bit smugly. “Exactly. So you know I wasn’t born yesterday.”
He genuinely laughed at that, even if it was at his expense. He let his body do as it wished and took a small step closer to you. Not enough for your bodies to touch, but enough to feel like he was in your space. Safe, even in his panic.
“Remus,” you said softly, painfully gently. You rarely used his full first name, and now when you did, it was laced with an undertone he couldn’t stomach. It was beginning to sound a bit like hurt. “What is going on with you? Why… why are you acting this way towards me?”
Because you are the one thing I have never had to question and now I’m questioning everything. Because I’m a bloody prick who has one dream and ruins his life over it. Because my mind is running a mile a minute and your lips feel like magnets and I swear I am losing control in a way I only do during full moons.
“I don’t know what to do,” he ended up whimpering quietly, cowardly.
You looked around the hallway as if the answer would be written on any of the walls and moved your arms slightly to gesture around you. “About what? I can’t help you unless I know what it is, cariad.”
He scrunched his face for a moment, looking away from you. “Can we not do this? It’s nothing you can fix, dove.”
You seemed to grow even more confused at that, almost frustrated. “Why not?” He realised then that the two of you had always helped each other through everything. Being locked out must hurt. He wanted to kick himself, but he didn't know what else to do. “What’s wrong, Remus? Please, I just–”
Remus is besieged by the power of someone much more reckless, driven by desire to alleviate you of your confusion and him of his pain.
He cut you off with a kiss.
He took a large stride forward to slot himself in between your thighs, eliminating the space between you within a second, bringing both hands up to cup the sides of your face and pull it towards him. His eyes were shut tightly, furrow in his brows as his lips all but smashed against yours in a kiss that felt sacrificially sacred. Your lips are just as soft as in his dream, as is the small gasp that escapes you as you tense in his grasp.
Remus has never felt better and he has never felt worse.
The kiss lasts for about 10 seconds before he pulls away in even more of a flurry. His hands lost their grip on you first, hovering over your cheeks briefly, as if considering going back in before thinking better of it. He still had you captured in the kiss, hanging on to it for as long as he could deign himself, knowing it was his last opportunity to do so, all the while kicking himself over it.
Backing away, he put double the distance between you. He felt drunk, stumbling slightly as he all but scrambled away, a stinging sensation behind his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, I don't know why I did that. I didn’t mean to,” he breathed out, reeling at his own impulsivity. “That,” he said through a shaking voice as he looked anywhere but your face, “is my problem, and Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
For the shortest second, he lets his eyes flicker quickly over your face before rushing back to stare at a statue on the wall beside you. Your face was blank, eyes wide. Your fingers were barely touching the lips he had just enclosed in his own.
You must be disgusted. You must be horrified. You must feel violated and Remus wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth and rid you of this undying problem.
He was every bit the beast you had tried to convince him he wasn’t.
“Why…” you began, voice but a whisper, before you trailed off.
Remus had to shut his eyes at that, tilting his head slightly to the side. If he breathed through his nose, he might not cry. He was sitting before the highest court he knew, and you were about to ask him to explain himself.
“Why are you sorry?”
The words floored him a little, enough to make his eyes snap open and land back on your face. You looked deeply concerned, brows tilted upwards as you seemed to take his face in. “Remus,” you whispered now that you finally had his eyes on you. “Why are you sorry?”
He shook his head in confusion, feeling every bit like the boy he was. “I shouldn’t have done that.” It was all he could get out through his hoarse voice. He also had no idea how to answer that question in a satisfactory way.
You took in a short sharp breath and then lowered yourself onto the ground to stand before him. With your hands held out in front of you, almost as if you were ready to lunge out and catch him if he was to run – an idea that was becoming increasingly enticing to him – you took a small step towards him. “Why?” There was a growing spark in your eye, dimmed only by your worried frown.
“Y/N.” He didn’t know what else to say, eyes trained on you.
“Cariad,” you replied in the same tone, and a tear slipped down his left cheek. You took another measured step towards him, enough to reach out for him if you wanted to – but of course, you wouldn’t want to, not anymore. “It’s alright.”
He felt dizzy at the lack of the scolding or disgust he had braced himself for, realising how stupid he was for even fearing that from you. No, you would reject him sweetly and kindly, and his heart would never be mended from it. That felt worse, somehow.
“It’s not,” he whispered. “Please don’t say it is.”
You smiled ruefully and took another small step towards him. He could feel the warmth eminating from you. Tentatively, you reached up a hand to wipe at the tear still sitting on his left cheek. He held his breath and fought the urge to lean into your touch, but when you pressed your palm more firmly against his cheek, he couldn’t anymore. A soft sigh escaped him and he let his eyes fall shut as your touch supported him. “It is, my sweet boy,” you whispered with an urgency that almost convinced him. “Remus, can you answer me honestly?”
His body tensed once more as his eyes fluttered open to find yours, reverent. Most parts of him were still screaming at him to run away, to shut up, to do anything but this. His heart seemed to be in charge for the moment, though, and he nodded slowly. Trusting you with his world even as he felt like a traitor in yours.
“All this, today… has it been because you have realised you’re… in love with me?” You seemed to be piecing it together as you said the words out loud, eyes carefully searching his face for his reaction.
Another tear slipped down his cheek, and you quickly caught it with your other thumb, both hands now cradling his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said once more.
“You’re not allowed to be,” you whispered, giving him a half-smile, almost as if you were indulging him in a secret of yours. “Please answer the question?”
It was now or never. “Yes.”
To his utter surprise and deep-seated confusion, the smile on your face grew genuine, settling into the one he always searched for. He almost opened his mouth to question it before he was cut off.
No words can describe the sensations that bloomed in his chest, the butterflies that flitted in his stomach, when you used your hands on his face as leverage to pull him towards you for another kiss.
You kissed him. You kissed him. You were kissing.
His mind was threatening to take off like a rocket and captiulate, but his hands had never been more steady as they circled around your waist, splaying out over the small of your back as he dragged you closer. You sighed against him, smile still evident over your lips, and Remus dared – like the bastard he was – to mirror it.
You were warm against him, but wholly different than you had been in his dream. This felt distinctly real. And just as right.
When you pulled away, your hands had migrated to the back of his neck and you kept your forehead leaned against his. “Good,” you murmured with your eyes still closed. “Because the feeling is mutual.”
He almost reared his head away from you, but managed to only pull back a few centimetres to stare at you in awe. Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out; he could find none intelligent enough to verbalise how utterly gobsmacked he felt.
You seemed to understand him just as well, going by your breathy laugh. There was still that spark in your eye, now shining brightly in the absence of your worry. Had the worry been for him?
“I know I don’t say this enough, but you really are quite an idiot, aren’t you?” you laughed and he slowly felt his heart start beating again.
“Spent too much time with Sirius and James, clearly,” he muttered, half expecting the joke to land flat and you to remember how disgusting he was. Instead, your laugh intensified and you leaned your body further against his. It emboldened him to ask, “What do you mean the feeling is mutual, dove?”
You let your arms glide further up, crossing behind his neck and over his shoulder, bringing him impossibly closer. “Remus John Lupin,” you whispered sincerely. “I am madly in love with you. Romantically. Genuinely. Any thoughts you have that explain that away are false and you mustn't listen to them. I thought you knew by now that I’m always right.”
Even as the grin involuntarily established itself on his face, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked at your face, truly studied it, and he could feel his mind ever so slowly calm down. “You are.”
“What am I?” You were testing him, and he allowed it wholeheartedly.
“Right,” he confirmed. Albeit a bit more hesitantly, he knew better than not to add, “and… in love with me?”
“Two points to Gryffindor.” You reached up to give his lips a soft peck. It felt so natural, like it was already habit for you. He desperately wanted it to be.
“I’m sorry, I’m still reeling from this, dovey,” he confessed, trying to process everything.
There had never been any judgement to be found in your face. “Which parts are you struggling with the most?”
Your eyes were full of understanding, your face scrunched up in concentration. Remus indulged himself in an old habit by reaching up with one hand to thumb the furrows away. It made you smile just like he wanted it to, and gave him a minute to think. “I don’t understand how I didn’t get it before now. I don’t understand how or why you put up with me. I don’t understand how to keep all these feelings inside such a small heart.”
Your hands were stroking his back carefully as you considered his words. “Well, firstly I would argue your heart isn’t small at all, though I get what you mean. You’re not meant to keep all the feelings inside, you know? That’s when you get all sputtery and jittery and start avoiding your best friends.” You gave him a pointed look and he almost shied under your glance. “Sharing them before you bubble over is always a good thing. We’ll work on it together. As for why I put up with you; I don’t. There’s nothing to put up with, I just enjoy you like we always have.”
Your eyes had trailed off into the distance as you thought, but you brought them back to him with a small smile as you added the final part. “I don’t know what did make you realise, so I can’t help you much there. All I can say is, sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of us.”
Remus nodded along to your words, feeling peace spreading within in that manner only you could inspire in him. He truly was an idiot, wasn’t he? “How long have you known?” he asked then, curiously.
“About you or me?”
“Both?” His smile was becoming closer to his standard sheepish one, and you seemed to preen at the sight.
You bobbed your head side to side as you considered. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact date – it wasn’t an overnight discovery you know?” Remus did in fact not know nor relate. “But I realised we were in love, not either one’s feelings. It just sat calmly within me.”
“You mean you didn’t freak out to the extent where all students and professors alike were worried about you?”
He grinned at the small giggle that drew from you as you decidedly said, “No. Definitely not.” You studied him for a minute more. “I think I realised about five months ago, but I didn’t feel any real need to rush anything. It felt less like being given a to-do list and more like being revealed the plot twist in a movie before it happens, if you understand? The two best friends get together in the end, don’t tell anyone.”
He ducked his head at that. While he could not relate, your explanation and experience was so wholeheartedly you that it endeared him to no end. “Does that mean we should just ignore it for five more months or…?” His grin turned cheeky as you lightly swatted his shoulder.
“Nah,” you chuckled. “I reckon we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”
He sighed with a smile. “Yeah.”
You both leaned forward at the same time, as if to seal the deal with a kiss. Remus could feel it like electricity in the tips of his fingers, and he understood what you meant about knowing. Now that he was no longer in a constant state of panic, he felt incredibly calm about the whole ordeal.
Or maybe that’s just how he feels around you.
“Should I ask you formally to be my girlfriend, or are we just skipping straight to marriage?” he whispered against your lips.
Remus felt almost wolfish when you barked a loud laugh, throwing your head back and tightening your hold on him instinctively. “I think girlfriend’s enough for now, yeah cariad?”
“If you insist.” He kissed you through his grin, realising that this was all he wanted to do now.
Like he had so many times before, he tightened his arms around your waist and twirled you around in a few circles, legs flying out behind you. Except this time, your giggles were not hidden in his neck but pressed against his lips, and he tried to capture as many kisses as possible while he spun you.
When you landed with a breathless giggle, he kept one arm firmly around your waist as the two of you slowly made your way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wondered if maybe he could grab some blankets and bring you up to the Astronomy Tower so you could be alone without his friends’ meddling. Yet, he wanted to see them as well, ready to volley back any quips about “took you long enough” and “I fucking called it”. Plus, you argued that you should prove that he was in fact alive and sane.
When he walked the halls back to the Gryffindor common room with your body against his, everything felt right. When you entered together, and everyone read what had happened written clearly across your faces, resorting to their usual hoots and hollers, arguably louder than ever before, it never stopped feeling right.
Remus being Remus, flushed deeply and averted his gaze, as he would continue doing under any uncalled for attention – but your arms squeezing him around the middle brought him right back down and your kiss to his shoulder soothed the burn of their gazes.
“What’s my gift then?” Sirius later asked salaciously as he eyed you two up and down where you cuddled together right back in the same chair, as if nothing changed. Maybe nothing really did.
You grinned widely and cleared your throat. “I honourably present to you,” you said and opened your arms towards Remus with a flourish. “A Moony who is no longer mooning.”
The little group erupted in even more cheers, celebrating the massive feat of taming their brooding boy. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along, even at his own expense. His cheeks were red but it was equally due to the exertion of laughing as it was a tinge of embarrassment. When he hid his face into the crook of your neck again, he didn’t feel nearly as guilty when he pressed a few kisses to the bare skin he found there – even less so when you melted against him with a sigh.
It felt as if a permanent smile had been sown onto his face where he sat, more content than he believed he had been while inside this castle.
Despite Remus Lupin’s disdain for public displays of affection, he had held you publicly many times before this. They all paled in comparison to the feeling of you in his arms now.
It had always been significant to him in its casualty, just as you have always been significant to him long before he had the mind to put the feeling into words. He will always treasure every moment of your existence in his orbit. Yet the way you melted into his skin now, growing roots in each one of his aching bones – no, nothing could compare to it.
Yes, Remus Lupin ailed from public displays of affection. But you were his cure.
Hi!!! First off, I am obsessed with each and every piece you post— you’re a magical genius. Silverstone is upon us (!!!) and I am a huge Carlos fan. I had an idea of Carlos falling for a British Princess, she could be Prince William’s younger sister, who comes to visit during Silverstone— he first meets her a few Silverstone back when he’s still with Ferrari and they’ve been together ever since. Maybe this Silverstone he finally proposes. Hehe I’ve had this idea in my head and your writing never fails to disappoint :)
Proposing to a Princess - CS55
Masterlist
Summary:
Silverstone was always chaos, but nothing compared to the storm inside Carlos Sainz when she walked into the paddock. An English princess, sister to Prince William, she arrives under the guise of charity and STEM campaigns — but it’s all smoke. Carlos knows the truth. Two years of stolen time, secret meetings, and a love that rewrote the rules of both their lives. What begins as a late-night kiss behind an old motorhome becomes a breathless, sacred history. Now, on a rainy Friday evening at Silverstone, Carlos waits with a ring in his pocket, ready to risk it all. And when she rounds the corner with that same steel-and-silk grace, he doesn’t hesitate. No cameras. No press. Just the question, the ring, and the yes that finally makes him whole.
Warnings:
Royal romance, secret relationship, emotional tension, implied sexual history, discussion of media pressure and public life, themes of identity and autonomy, public-private duality, proposal scene, strong emotional payoff. No smut in this part, but romantic and sensual intimacy is present. Expect continuation to include themes of hidden affection, press scrutiny, and the slow unravelling of privacy.
Silverstone was always chaos.
Carlos had stopped pretending otherwise. British fans were different. Louder. Hungrier. Sharp-eyed and smarter than they looked with their glitter face paint and oversized flags. They knew who everyone was sleeping with, who was under pressure, who was up for a contract renewal. They screamed your name when they loved you and booed the shit out of you when they didn’t. And somehow, Carlos didn’t mind. It felt alive.
It was late Friday. FP2 had ended an hour ago. He was still in his race suit, tied around his waist, black Ferrari shirt clinging to his chest as he stood beside the hospitality building, sipping from a water bottle and ignoring his phone. Charles had already vanished to some Ferrari dinner. The press pen was finally empty. For once, no one was watching him.
Except her.
She didn’t belong in the paddock. He knew it before anyone said her name. There was a certain kind of poise that couldn’t be trained. A way of walking that came from bloodlines and boarding school. That chin-lifted grace, like she could drop a curtsy and a dagger in the same breath. Her hair was swept into a bun. Her dress was simple. She wore flats, not heels, and carried no bag. But everyone looked when she passed. Every single one of them.
And Carlos had no idea who she was.
He watched from behind his sunglasses as she stepped out of the Williams hospitality building, laughing politely at something one of the PR girls had said. There were security men shadowing her. Not close enough to be obvious, but close enough to make you wonder. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She glanced across the paddock once, expression unreadable. That was when she saw him.
Their eyes locked. Something flickered.
He didn’t move. Neither did she. The moment passed in silence, stretched too thin, too long, until one of the Williams engineers approached her with a clipboard and her gaze snapped away.
“Who is that?” Carlos asked, turning toward the closest Ferrari staffer.
“Her Royal Highness,” the guy said. “You didn’t hear? shes a Princess. Prince William’s little sister. She’s doing a charity tour this weekend. Mental health campaign or something.”
Carlos blinked. “She’s a princess?”
The guy laughed. “Of England.”
Later that evening, when the sun dipped lower and the paddock emptied out, she came to the Ferrari garage.
Carlos was reviewing telemetry, headset on, shoulders tense. The engineers were mid-debrief, the mood serious and sharp. No one noticed her at first. She didn’t announce herself. Just walked in quietly, hands behind her back, flanked by one discrete bodyguard and a PR girl who looked like she was holding her breath.
Mattia greeted her. Everyone else stood straighter. Carlos removed his headset. Turned. Froze.
She was closer now. Close enough for him to see the faint freckles across her nose, the silver chain around her neck, the bare sweep of her collarbone. She looked at him like she remembered.
“Mr Sainz,” she said softly.
He smiled. “Your Highness.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a mouthful.”
He shrugged. “It suits you.”
She smiled, and for a second, she looked nothing like a princess at all. Just a girl. Curious. Sharp. Amused.
“You’re not British,” she said.
“No.”
“So you won’t care if I sneak out of here before the photographers catch me.”
Carlos tilted his head. “Why come at all?”
She glanced around the garage. “I like the smell.”
He laughed. “It’s not perfume.”
“No,” she said. “It’s oil and fire and adrenaline. You all reek of it.”
He looked at her. Looked at the way she moved without fear, how she didn't shrink under the weight of the silence in the room. She was the kind of woman who didn’t flinch.
“You want a tour?” he asked.
The PR girl blinked. “Sir, I don’t think-”
“I do,” the Princess said.
So he gave her one. They walked the garage side by side, a polite distance between them, her heels barely clicking against the floor. He pointed things out in low tones, watching her take it all in. She didn’t ask silly questions. She didn’t pretend to be impressed. When he showed her the steering wheel, she didn’t even look at it. She looked at him.
“Do you love it?” she asked.
Carlos frowned. “Love what?”
“This. Driving. The risk. The chase. The loneliness.”
He blinked. “I’ve never been asked that.”
She smiled softly. “I’ve never had to ask. Most men tell me everything without saying a word.”
Their hands brushed. He let the moment breathe.
When the tour ended, she thanked the staff graciously and shook a few hands. Her security team nodded. The PR girl looked close to crying. But she turned back once. Just before stepping into the hallway. And Carlos stepped after her. “Wait.”
She turned.
“Meet me later,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You want to be seen sneaking around with a royal?”
“No,” he said. “I want to see you.”
Her lips curved. “Where?”
He didn’t hesitate. “By the old McLaren motorhome. Midnight. It’s quiet there.”
She held his gaze. “If I don’t come?”
“I’ll wait anyway.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked away like she hadn’t changed everything.
He waited. She came. And the first time they kissed, it was like the world fell out from under both of them.
*
Silverstone still smelled the same.
Rubber. Petrol. Rain on hot asphalt. Carlos had always hated that smell, until he met her. Now it felt like something sacred. A memory soaked into the air. A kind of church.
He stood at the edge of the Williams motorhome, half-listening to Alex talk shit about British weather while rain pattered lightly against the roof. FP1 had wrapped two hours ago. Carlos had run well. Clean lines. Strong pace. But his mind was a thousand miles away.
Or rather, a few paddock blocks away.
She was here. Officially, she was attending as a royal ambassador for a new STEM education campaign. The press releases called her “a dedicated advocate for young girls in science and engineering.” The papers fawned over her sensible heels and climate-conscious wardrobe. No one mentioned the real reason she was here.
Carlos hadn’t seen her yet.
He knew her convoy had arrived that morning, quietly and without ceremony. Four SUVs. Two private officers. Her personal assistant, bodyguard, and royal press liaison. He’d seen the tail end of it from his window, coffee in hand, heart punching through his ribs like a fist.
He hadn’t breathed right since. Now, with evening creeping in, he reached into his jacket pocket. The ring was still there.
A simple band. Platinum. One square-cut diamond. No embellishments. No bloodline rubies. He didn’t want to give her history. He wanted to give her choice.
Alex wandered off. Carlos stayed put. Watching the corner of the paddock like she might round it any second.
And then she did.
Hair swept up in that lazy twist she always wore when she wanted to look polished but untouchable. Navy coat cinched tight at the waist. Black trousers. White blouse. Minimal jewellery. She looked like a portrait. Composed. Bored. Regal.
Until she saw him. Her face didn’t change. Not outwardly. But something behind her eyes cracked. That slow warmth. That softness he’d only ever seen in hotel rooms and back gardens and the low-lit seat of a private plane from Madrid to Edinburgh.
She kept walking. He stepped forward like gravity pulled him.
Their paths crossed behind one of the sponsor trailers, out of sight. One of her guards nodded once and turned his back.
“Hi,” Carlos said softly.
She exhaled. “Hi.”
Two years. And every time it still felt like this. Like the first breath after drowning. Like stolen oxygen.
“You look tired,” she said gently, reaching up to brush his jaw.
He caught her hand and kissed it. “You look dangerous.”
“I’m trying to behave.”
He smiled. “Don’t.”
They stood for a second. Silence folding between them like a blanket. Just her perfume and the brush of her fingers on his wrist.
“You have five minutes,” she whispered.
“I only need one.”
She blinked. “Carlos.”
“Not for that.” He reached into his jacket.
Her eyes widened.
“You kept me alive,” he said. “Through transfers and flights and chaos and hiding. You were the only thing that felt like mine.”
“Carlos-”
He held up the box.
“No one knows,” he said. “Not yet. No leaks. No pressure. We can keep it that way if you want. We can disappear into the trees of Balmoral for the rest of our lives and never come back.”
Her breath hitched. He opened the box.
“Marry me.”
No fanfare. No preamble. Just the words and the look in his eyes like this had already happened, and time was just catching up.
Her lips parted. She looked like she might cry.
Then she laughed. Soft and shaky.
“Yes,” she said.
He let out a breath. Smiled like the sun. Slipped the ring onto her finger with reverent hands. Pulled her in. Held her like he’d die if he let go.
One of her guards cleared his throat in the distance. She didn’t flinch.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered into Carlos’s neck. “Same place. Same time.”
“I’ll be there.”
She stepped back, eyes lingering on his. Turned. Walked away like a queen.
He stayed frozen. And for the first time in his life, Carlos Sainz was not thinking about lap times.
Summary: What was once a simple plan is no longer simple—because the cold, distant husband undeniably cares. More than anything. And now, he’s hellbent on finding the ‘kidnapper’ before he’d ever consider divorcing her.
contains: angst, fluff, implied unhappy marriage, Carlos Sr is the villain because I needed one, reader can speak but is selectively mute, marriage of convenience or is it? Part 2 of When The Phone Rings
Carlos (initially) and his family think the reader can't speak. The only people who are aware that she can speak is her mother and her friend, Alexandra. Alexandra is the only person the reader speaks to. Alexandra is Alexandra Saint-Mleux. Reyes is Carlos' mother. Brenda and Spencer are made-up names
For a brief moment, all Carlos sees is his world holding her breath.
Phone in hand, eyes full of tears, staring at him.
Carlos' eyes move before his body, catching (Name) hurriedly putting a device– something that doesn't look like her phone– into her bag.
Then his body moves before mind, in great haste, just in time to catch her as she stumbles, dangerously close to the edge of the rooftop.
His thoughts return only after she's in his arms, steady and safe, against his chest.
She was about to fall. What was she even doing here? Was she trying to–
Carlos shuts the thought down by holding (Name) tighter. At first, all he feels is her heartbeat. Rapid. Frantic. Then come her arms, trembling and hesitant, wrapping around him.
When he pulls back, one thought rises above the rest.
The kidnapper.
"Are you okay?" Carlos asks, voice unsteady, almost broken, but audible now.
The memory of that unknown device by her ear slips from his mind. Her tears are the only thing he can see.
(Name) doesn't say anything, not out loud. Of course not. Like always, she pulls out her phone. But this time, Carlos notices something. Her lips moving, ever so slightly. As if she wanted to speak. As if she almost did.
'I am fine,' her phone reads.
Carlos nods but keeps her close. "Did you see anyone suspicious? Did anyone say anything to you?"
(Name) types again, quickly. 'No one was here.' She shakes her head for good measure.
Carlos nods again, though something in him remains uneasy. His phone buzzes and he tells (Name) to head back to the party. She hesitates before walking away. And as she glances back, her eyes, no longer teary, meets his.
His phone crackles in his hand. "–the signal was coming from this building, sir. Somewhere high. Possibly a rooftop."
Carlos freezes.
A Rooftop.
He spins around, searching. But he finds no one; only the back of (Name), stepping into the lift.
He runs to the door as they start to close. She's looking at him with something unreadable.
Fear?
***
The call comes as Carlos walks through the small park behind the venue. He was expecting it.
He doesn't pick up right away. When he does, it's his voice that strikes first. "That was quite an emotional performance earlier. You surprised me, kidnapper." His voice is now stable, steady. "You almost…sounded like someone else."
A pause. Then, a breath. Sharp. Surprised.
Good, he thinks.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the voice replies.
Carlos simply laughs.
***
(Name) stares at her phone.
Before she can reply, she spots him, standing across the street, waiting for the kidnapper's, her, response.
Panicked, she ducks behind a tree.
She doesn't hear what he says next, only catches the faint sound of his laughter. Something about running away.
(Name) is about to respond when she hears it.
A loud engine.
A truck. Speeding towards Carlos.
Her phone slips from her hand. She screams.
***
Carlos turns around, startled.
Someone screamed his name. And for a second, it sounded like–
Her voice. The one from his dreams.
But all he sees is (Name). And then, the scream again.
A moment later, she's on top of him and both of them are on the ground.
Carlos stares past her shoulder. A truck moving past the same spot he was moments ago.
She saved me.
He's speechless as (Name) helps him to his feet. He feels her hands check over him frantically, as if ensuring he's really still here.
Then, a slap.
Carlos blinks at her in disbelief, just as she shoves her phone towards him.
'What were you thinking?! You could've died!'
She is crying by now, in that quiet, trembling way that always breaks him.
Carlos pulls her into his arms.
***
In the car, (Name) can't stop sobbing.
He almost died. Because of her. Because of her stupid plan.
Beside her, Carlos lets out a choked laugh.
She turns to him in disbelief. He is….laughing?….at her tears?
Carlos shakes his head with a faint smile. "(Name) can make sound," he says softly, like he can't believe it himself.
(Name) freezes.
***
"You made a sound," he says again, the words tumbling out, chasing his smile.
(Name) can make sounds.
One moment, Carlos is smiling at this thought. And then suddenly, he leans back as the realization settles in.
This time, the adrenaline sharpens his memory instead of dulling it.
Everything comes back. (Name)'s terrified eyes. That scream. He didn't imagine it, it was her.
"You can speak," he murmurs, more to himself than to her. (Name)'s eyes widen when he cups her face gently.
"That scream…it was you." She doesn't reply. "Please," his voice sounds sincere and so full of love, "say something. Anything. Just say my name…please."
It nearly breaks her.
(Name) lowers her gaze and types out the only words she can manage: 'I can't.'
Carlos leans back in frustration. (Name) watches him anxiously, afraid he'll do something rash.
But then– he takes her hand. His grip is warm. Steady.
"I know I haven't been the best husband," he says quietly. "I've been distant. Cold. I never gave you a reason to trust me."
His thumb brushes her knuckles.
"But I promise you, I'm going to change that. I will become someone you can speak to. Someone you can trust with your voice."
(Name) can tell he is being genuine.
And she hopes he'll never be able to keep that promise.
Carlos made up his mind even before he started. If this didn't work out, he was blaming Spencer and Brenda.
Maybe it's his fault for asking his assistants for help in the first place. He just hoped they wouldn't end up broadcasting to the entire team that he is married. At least he had been wise enough not to mention who he was married to.
Their grand suggestion for a gift?
Bracelets.
Carlos laughed at first. He almost left without hearing them out. A bracelet? He could've thought of that himself.
But then Brenda and Spencer explained. Not just any bracelet– a handmade one. Something personal. Something that would carry meaning simply because he made it. And, surprisingly, Carlos couldn't argue with that.
So for the past week, he had spent his free time being surrounded by beads, knots and threads.
Matching bracelets– one for himself, one for her.
It's not…. perfect. Or the prettiest. In fact, it looked more like a highschool project than a romantic gestures. But it was his. And he hoped, really hoped, she'd see the effort behind it.
Only….it didn't fit.
Now, standing in front of her, Carlos wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
The bracelet is too small and it's all his doing.
(Name) give him a small, awkward smile, still trying to twist it around her wrist to make it fit somehow. But it won't. Clearly, it's too tight.
Carlos tries to leave but (Name) grabs his hand. With her other hand, she types on her phone.
'Let's fix this. Together.'
And that's what they do for the next two hours. Undoing knots, sorting beads, figuring things out. Together.
It takes far more time that it should. They ruin it three times. The fourth attempt almost gets scrapped halfway through.
But eventually, they get it right.
It's still not perfect. Or polished. Or the prettiest. But it fits.
And it match the one on Carlos' wrist.
And mostly importantly, they made it together.
In the next team meeting, Carlos notices (Name) wearing it. And in the next one. And the one after that.
He catches himself smiling everytime he sees it on her wrist. Brenda and Spencer can't help asking, "Why are you grinning like that all the time now?"
Carlos simply shakes his head and readjusts the bracelet on his own wrist. "No reason."
But he knows the reason. And that's enough.
Carlos had no intention of attending.
'Williams day', an event meant for team bonding, never really interested him. It's more of a tradition than necessity– games, laughter, photos and the sort of things Carlos rarely had time or patience for.
Naturally, he was invited. As the team's star driver, it would have been odd not to include him. But everyone assumed, based on last year, that he wouldn't show up.
They would've been correct– if he hadn't overheard something.
Two days before the event, Carlos heard Alexandria talking to Charles.
"(Name) seems really excited for Williams Day," she said with a smile.
And just like that, Carlos changed his mind.
On the morning of the event, no one looks more stunned than (Name) when Carlos shows up.
"I can come too, right?" Carlos asks casually.
Everyone quickly nods, still too surprised to form actual sentences. But it's (Name)'s wide eyed expression that catches Carlos' attention. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to come. Probably never even considered it.
He offers her a small smile.
***
Throughout the day, Carlos stays close to (Name), confusing nearly everyone. People whisper, trying to figure out why he—of all people—is here, and why he’s glued to her side.
Most assume he’s just being polite. Maybe he’s worried she’ll feel left out.
That’s fine, Carlos thinks. Let them think what they want.
On the bus ride over, he notices it again.
“Why is he sitting with her?” someone murmurs. “Isn’t he married?”
Ah. So Spencer and Brenda must’ve let that detail slip. No matter. They can speculate all they like.
(Name) is asleep on his shoulder and that's all that matters right now.
***
It wouldn’t be a proper team bonding event without games and Carlos isn’t surprised when someone brings out jump ropes for a round of double dutch.
As a senior team member, he gets the first pick. Without hesitation, he chooses (Name) as his partner.
She blinks up at him, clearly uncertain. Carlos gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
“We’ll be fine,” he says, more to himself than her.
They walk toward the ropes together, ignoring the looks cast their way.
Some surprised. Others… not so kind.
***
Double Dutch, Carlos quickly realizes, is much harder than it looks.
He stumbles twice and nearly drags them both down.
But (Name) just laughs. The sound surprises him. Warms him.
The more they jump, the more she laughs. And Carlos, hopelessly enchanted, finds himself grinning too.
***
It happens in a heartbeat.
Carlos mistimes a jump, and they fall to the ground. He lands awkwardly, with (Name) on top of him.
He braces for frustration or embarrassment.
Instead, she laughs, even harder, and buries her face in his chest.
Carlos glances around. The stares are sharper now– confused, skeptical, even judgemental.
But he doesn't care.
(Name) is smiling. And for Carlos, that's enough.
This dinner was bound to be tense, especially after what happened last time. Carlos only agreed to attend because his mother personally asked him.
(Name) spends most of the dinner as she had before– quiet, polite, answering only when necessary with small smiles and messages typed on her phone. Carlos isn't much different. He responds to his mother's questions with short, uninterested answers.
And then, Reyes turns her attention to (Name).
"(Name)," she starts, "the elections are approaching. It would be best if you stepped down from the Williams job for now."
Her tone is sweet but her eyes hold no warmth.
(Name)'s gaze flickers to Carlos Sr., who has been disturbingly quiet throughout the dinner, staring right at her as if he's waiting for her to break.
It's not a request. There's no choice being offered.
(Name)'s fingers hover over her phone, already prepared to nod. She knows her opinion won't matter to them anyway.
But Carlos reaches under the table and gently takes her hand. She looks at him, surprised.
"Do you want to quit the job?" he asks softly. Low and reassuring.
Her eyes flick to Carlos Sr. again. Her Carlos gives her a small squeeze, silently telling her she has nothing to fear– not with him here.
With that silent reassurance, (Name) slowly shakes her head, then types into her phone:
'I don't want to quit.'
Carlos nods and looks at his parents. "She doesn't want to quit. So she won't."
"Carlos…." Reyes says in tone laced with warning. But Carlos simply returns to his plate.
(Name) glances at Carlos' father, who is clenching his fists tightly under the table. Reyes leans toward him, trying to calm him but he says nothing.
(Name) lowers her eyes to her food, though her appetite is gone. She can't stop thinking about her father-in-law, about what his silence could mean.
Then Carlos, noticing her unease, lifts a spoonful of food and gently gestures for her to eat. She does, almost absently, only realizing she's finished when he pushes a glass of water towards her.
She signs a thank you to him before remembering he doesn't know sign language, not yet at least. She reaches for her phone.
But Carlos stops her.
Then he smiles, a little uncertain, takes a breath and slowly signs:
'You're welcome.'
(Name)'s eyes widen, then brighten with delight. A smile forms on her face. She signs– quickly, excitedly–asking: Did you learn this? How much do you know?
Carlos rubs the back of his neck, chuckling softly. "That's all I know so far," he admits, almost sounding shy. "But I am learning. For you."
Before (Name) can answer, Carlos Sr. abruptly pushes his chair back and storms out of the room. Reyes follows a moment later.
Carlos watches them go, unbothered, then turns back to (Name).
"Ice cream?" he asks, as if none of it mattered.
And for the first time that evening, (Name) smiles– genuinely, freely.
(Name) doesn't know why, but the moment she steps into the paddock, she has that feeling. That something big is about to happen.
It isn't anyone's birthday– not hers, not Carlos', not even Alexandra's. It's not even race day, just a free practice. And yet, a strange feeling blooms in her chest, of a certainty that something big is about to happen.
She can't explain it but she can't shake it either.
***
The interview goes smoothly, just as planned.
The questions are predictable, the answers follow the notes (Name) prepared for Carlos. He strays from the script occasionally, making her blink in mild confusion. But a little improvise is nothing (Name) cannot handle.
But then, at the end, Carlos goes completely off script.
"Can I say something off topic?" he asks the interviewer.
"Of course," comes the answer.
Carlos takes a deep breath. "I want to say something to someone very special to me."
Then he says it.
"I love you." Once in English. Again in Spanish. Then in nine more languages.
(Name) translates each repetition, her hands moving on autopilot while her eyes remain fixed on Carlos in growing disbelief. She doesn't understand what's he doing, why he's saying these things.
Not until he turns to face her.
Then, in one last language– her language– he signs the words.
"I love you."
For once, (Name) is unable to react.
***
When she enters the team room, Carlos stands with his back to her, scrolling on his phone in front of the TV.
She hesitates at the doorway. "Did you mean it…"
Carlos spins around at the sound.
That voice.
The same voice that called his name that day. The same voice that saved have him. The voice he's dreamed of hearing again.
His eyes land on (Name), standing there like a ghost. Still. Silent. Or so he thinks.
"…Carlos?" she says softly and this time, he sees it– her lips move, her voice trembling but real. She spoke. To him.
Carlos is in front of her and gently cradling her face, before she can say another word.
"Say that again," he whispers. "Say my name. Please."
(Name) looks down. Then, slowly, her voice cracks the air again. "Did you…mean it? Was that for me?"
Carlos doesn't speak right away. He doesn't need to. He leans in, resting his forehead against her. And she sees it then, tears in his eyes.
"(Name) can make sound," he murmurs in awe. "You are speaking."
And then he's laughing, before lifting her into his arms and spinning her in a full circle.
"(Name) is speaking to me!" Carlos shouts, as if he can't believe it's real.
(Name) finds herself laughing too, her smile blooming with something she hasn't felt in a long time.
Freedom.
Carlos wins the Spanish Grand Prix.
In the team room, (Name)'s heart skips a beat as she watches him on the screen, scanning the stands for someone. For her.
***
He doesn't greet his father when he walks in. Doesn't stop by his mother either. No, the very first thing he does is head straight for (Name) and pull her into his arms her.
She hears the gasps. The shuffle of feet. The sound of the door opening, of someone leaving in haste.
But none of it matters. Only Carlos does.
***
Later, at the post race interview, Carlos can't stop smiling. And for once, neither can (Name).
She is too focused on interpreting his words to notice that he spends most of the interview looking only at her.
"Anything else you'd like to say before we wrap up, Carlos?" the interviewer asks.
Carlos nods. "Yes."
(Name) pauses, confused. This wasn't in the notes.
"I want to dedicate this win to someone very special," Carlos says and for the first time, (Name)'s hand falter. She stills, only for a moment, before quickly catching on.
"To my amazing, wonderful, inspiring wife. (Name)."
Interpreting her own name from his mouth feels…different. But good different.
But Carlos isn't finished.
"This win is for my wife, who is standing beside me right now." He gently pulls (Name) closer with one arm around her waist. "This one is for you, (Name)."
And then, he leans in.
He kisses her. Their first real kiss since the wedding. The first one that feels true.
(Name) kisses him back, smiling against his lips.
Somewhere in the background, she hears Alexandra's muffled scream of shock and what sounds like several clipboard clattering to the ground.
None of it matters.
Carlos is smiling. And for now, that's enough.
***Is it a bit unrealistic for Carlos to win a race in a Williams car? Yes but that's the beauty of fanfic, anything can happen.
♡ the sand, the sea, and that goddamned orange dress ♡
or: carlos had suggested you take time off. visit his family in spain, eat copious amount of home-cooked food, go to the beach. he did not, however, tell you he was planning to fuck you on said beach. with his family just a walk away.
warnings: PURE SMUT. either i'm wriitng angst or the dirtiest shit known to man, thank you to @mikeyspinkcup for this ask!!
♡
it started at dinner. you'd worn that dress to mess with him—maybe. maybe not. but carlos was already tense when you stepped out of the guest bedroom, legs bare, hair undone, collarbone glowing damply in the candlelight. the neckline of the slip itself was harmless, really. just a soft scoop across your chest. nothing scandalous. but the hem? carlos suddenly found himself very interested in whether the linen tablecloth reached the floor.
his fork stalled halfway to his mouth, and for a second, you could've sworn he forgot how to chew.
you acted like you didn’t notice. slid into the seat beside him with that little smirk (knowing. teasing). crossed your legs. leaned your elbows on the table like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t just walked out here looking like you belonged on your back. the clink of cutlery on ceramic rang through the air, followed by the hum of laughter, the rich smell of fresh garlic and oil clinging to the air. you huffed at his cousin's nonsense joke, reaching over to interlace your fingers with carlos' under the table. his knee bounced under the table, once, then stilled.
“¿tienes suficiente, cariño?” his mamá asked, offering another scoop of arroz, her gold bracelets clinking gently as she reached for your plate.
“sí, muchas gracias,” you said sweetly (how could you even think with the way his eyes burned into the side of your head? he was losing his touch), and blushed when his mamá touched the side of your face, murmuring about how pretty you looked. (and it was true. you looked very pretty. he probably should have told you so.)
you kicked him under the table when his hand found the inside of your thigh. a nudge. teasing. harmless. his pinky slipped beneath the hem of your dress like a secret. like a promise.
his eyes flicked from your legs to your mouth, slow and deliberate. like he was choosing which part of you to bite first. a muscle in his jaw ticked. he was with his family, por dios, sitting around a dinner table with the people who had raised him.
and he was thinking about you.
you took a sip of water, and the condensation on the glass slicked your fingers. he wondered if you'd taste of the champagne you'd had earlier if he kissed you now, if he pulled you to him by the throat. he reached for your hand—his palms were calloused, still a little dry from the sun and salt lingering from your afternoon adventures—and watched your lips pull in an unrestrained smile. (there she was. his girl.)
he stood up after dessert, calm as anything, brushing off his palms and ruffling his cousin’s hair. “we’re going for a walk along the beach,” he said casually, pressing a kiss to his aunt’s cheek. “too full to sit.”
his mamá nodded, already beginning to gather leftovers for you to take home. “don’t stay too long. the tide comes in fast.”
your stomach dropped clean through the floor. you barely had time to slip on your sandals before his hand found yours—tight, warm, firm—and he tugged you out the door without another word. you followed him mutely down the winding hill, past coolers and towels, toward the dunes.
"carlos, what—" carlols' mouth found yours (hungry, desperate) before the words could fully form. teeth scraped—gentle then not—against your bottom lip as he walked you backward toward the dunes. the sand shifted beneath your feet, soft, giving way, while his fingers hooked into your panties, tugging them down with practiced ease. like he'd rehearsed this moment. like he'd played it out in his mind until the movements became muscle memory. (you were dripping, he realized with wonder, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. couldn't think. could barely remember his own name with his hands on you like this.)
"i should be a gentleman," he muttered against your throat, voice rough like sandpaper as he dragged the strap of your dress down. his lips followed the path of exposed skin, marking territories previously unexplored. "but then you wore this dress."
the fabric pooled at your waist (a whisper of silk against heated skin) as he guided you down between two sheltering dunes. the ocean murmured secrets behind you, wind dancing across newly-bare skin until your nipples tightened in the salt-sweet air. his eyes tracked the reaction—molten, hungry—while his fingers tightened against your spine.
the sand beneath you pressed the day's warmth into your back (like him, like this) as he laid you down. his weight settled over you, and when he kissed you again, it was deeper—messier—all clash of teeth and greedy tongue until your lip throbbed purple-sweet and swollen.
his gaze dropped (lower, lower) to where your chest heaved with each desperate breath. to where your thighs pressed together, seeking friction. seeking him. one hand slid behind your knee, hitching it up around his hip as he settled between your legs. you felt him there—hard, aching through denim—and when he rolled his hips down (just once, just a taste), the gasp that escaped you sounded foreign to your own ears.
"mírate," he breathed, fingers finding their way between your thighs where you were bare now. exposed. dripping, just for him. always for him. "so fucking wet for me."
his knuckles dragged along your slit (slow, torturous) and the sound he made was animal-raw, as if it hurt him to touch you. as if he couldn't stop himself from doing it again, slower this time, just to feel you open for him. just to watch your face as you fell apart.
"dios mío," he whispered it like a prayer against your skin. "you don't even need me to do anything, do you? just soaking through that pretty dress, all by yourself."
you whined when his hand pulled away (empty, empty, you were so empty) but then—oh—then he was sucking his fingers clean. eyes locked on yours as he tasted you. deliberate. devastating. "sweet," he groaned, and your back arched straight off the sand. wanting. needing.
he caught your wrists as you reached for him once more, pinned them above your head where sand stuck to damp skin. "no," he said, voice tinged in velvet. in steel promises. "not yet. you want it too bad. makes me want to take my time."
and god, did he ever.
when he pushed into you (finally, finally, the head of his cock notched against your leaking hole as if to tease you further), the world narrowed to achingly acute sensation, to the delicious stretch of him filling you, to the weight of him pressing you into warm sand. to the rough scratch of hair on his stomach against your oversensitive skin, to the way his hips fit perfectly against yours, like you were made for this. for him.
(somewhere distant, the ocean kept time with your heartbeat.)
"carlos—" his name spilled from your lips like a prayer. your fingers dug into his back, feeling the way his muscles rippled beneath salt-slick skin. he was everywhere—surrounding you, consuming you, breaking you apart piece by perfect piece. "carlos, oh, fuck, i—"
he fucked you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. each thrust deliberate (devastating), deep enough to make you see stars. galaxies themselves flashed behind your closed eyelids, your dress bunched uselessly around your ribs while the thin straps dangled empty against your arms. sand clung to your skin everywhere he wasn't touching, as if to sink you into its clutches.
(he owned this moment. owned you.)
"gonna come for me, hermosa?" carlos' lips brushed your temple, voice rough with promise. "right here?" a particularly deep thrust made you gasp, hands flailing wildly against his shoulders. "where anyone could see how pretty you look taking my cock?"
you nodded frantically, words lost somewhere in your throat. he moaned, swearing in a low string of spanish, gutteral and deep. when your orgasm hit ("oh, fuck, fuck—!"), it was like drowning. like burning. like being reborn. he caught your cry with his palm, muffling the sound of his name on your tongue while pleasure wracked through you in endless waves. "shh, baby. shh. don't want them to hear us."
he followed you over with a broken sound—something close to your name—spilling hot and deep inside you as his forehead pressed to yours. for a moment, neither of you moved. he broke the reverie: soft kisses. gentle now. reverent. his lips found your cheek (your neck, your shoulder) while his hands—still trembling slightly with the aftershocks of his orgasm—traced patterns on your skin.
"c'mon," he murmured finally, tucking himself away with careful movements. "can't keep the family waiting forever."
(but oh, how you wished you could.)
your eyes widened. "we're going back?"
he shrugged, as if your legs weren't still locked around his waist. "you think they didn't notice we were gone?" (you wanted to smack him. or kiss him again. or maybe both.)
as you walked back up the path, still reeling, the wind cooling your sticky thighs, you realized—he was grinning. smug. satisfied. you barely made it back to the table before collapsing into your chair with a shaky breath. his mamá squinted at you, reached across the table, and gently brushed a strand of hair from your damp brow.
“carlos,” she asked worriedly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “¿qué le hiciste a la pobre niña?” what did you do to the poor girl?
you went still, blinking. carlos hummed, scooping a bite of remaining flan onto his spoon. “nada." he chewed slowly. swallowed. then added, low and shameless, "nada que no haya pedido.”
nothing she didn't ask for.
♡
note: hehehe enjoy this!! i am nOT GOOD at writing smut so i apologize for the lack of detail!!!! MWAH ALWAYS AND FOREVER I LOVE YOU!!
Summary: forced into therapy after a not-so-fatal accident, Carlos expects to fix his fear, not fall for his psychologist, Silvia. As their professional line blurs, they ignite a forbidden romance, risking everything for a chance at a love that defies the high-stakes world of Formula 1.
Word count: 13k (at this point just burn me at the stake)
Warnings: emotional vulnerability, professional ethics, implied romantic tension
A/N: at this point I'm looking for a beta reader because my sister @smoooothoperator is sick of me. She doesn’t say it out loud, but I know it. If anyone wants to be my friend please???? I'm begging you????
have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find
masterlist
The impact isn’t the worst part. Not the crash, nor the jolt that runs down his spine when the car hits the barriers. Carlos has had accidents before. He has felt the raw force of speed turn into chaos in seconds. This is no different. It shouldn't be different.
And yet, as he removes the steering wheel with steady hands and exits the car, something settles in his chest, something heavy and suffocating. He removes his helmet, but the feeling doesn’t fade. Around him, the race continues; the roar of the engines fills the air, and he stands there, watching as the marshals clear his wrecked car from the track.
He can’t stop looking. Something inside him stirs, as if a dark thought is trying to make its way through, but Carlos suppresses it. He clenches his jaw, forces a long exhale, and walks toward the assistance vehicle. He isn’t hurt. Not a scratch. He should be fine.
But he isn’t.
In the following nights, the accident returns to him in sporadic bursts, fragmented images that wake him in the middle of the night. It's not exactly fear, but something inside him trembles when he remembers the moment he lost control. On the track, he’s supposed to be in charge, to decide every movement with surgical precision. But there, in those seconds when his car became a missile with no direction, he felt something he doesn’t want to admit: vulnerability.
The following races are strange. There’s something in the way he drives that has changed, and although no one directly mentions it, he knows they notice. He’s not slower, but he’s not the same. He becomes more methodical, more cautious in certain maneuvers. His braking is a little longer, his overtakes less aggressive. Sometimes, when he’s alone in his hotel room after a Grand Prix, he remembers the exact moment his car crashed, and for some reason, he feels the air catch in his throat.
It bothers him. It shouldn’t affect him like this. It’s not the first time he’s crashed a car, and he knows it won’t be the last. But this time, there’s something different. Maybe because it wasn’t his mistake. Maybe because, for the first time in his career, he wondered if it could’ve turned out worse. If, in another circumstance, he might not have walked away.
The interviews become an awkward formality. The press asks what’s wrong, why he seems more serious, more quiet. He responds with empty phrases, with that neutrality he’s perfected over the years. But inside Ferrari, within the team, the glances persist. His engineer remains patient. Some mechanics try to joke with him as usual, but there’s something in the air, a lingering discomfort. And then there’s Vasseur.
Vasseur notices it. He says nothing at first, but Carlos sees the way he watches him during meetings, the way his eyes harden every time they review the data and see those small changes in his driving style. He’s not alarmed yet, but he’s attentive. And Carlos knows he can’t afford that kind of attention.
Then comes the conversation.
“Talk to Dr. Silvia Costa. I worked with her years ago, and she’s very good at what she does,” Vasseur says, with his usual pragmatic tone, straightforward, no room for discussion.
Carlos frowns, crossing his arms. “I don’t need a therapist.”
“Oh?,” Vasseur doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, fingers interlaced on the table. “Then tell me, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Carlos responds too quickly, and they both know it. Vasseur watches him in silence, giving him space to correct himself and Carlos looks away. “I’m just… adjusting. It’s normal after an accident.”
“What’s not normal is that you’re still ‘adjusting’ so long after,” Vasseur rests his elbows on the table. “Look, Carlos, I’m not here to waste your time. But I’ve been in this business for years, and I know what happens when a driver starts to doubt. It doesn’t fix itself.”
Carlos exhales slowly, annoyed. “I’m not doubting.”
“Yes, you are.” Vasseur’s tone is direct, but not cruel. “I’m not saying you’re slower, or that you’ve lost your talent. But you’re driving differently. More cautious. With more margin than you usually give yourself. And that margin, sooner or later, is going to cost you positions. Do you know who else is going to notice? The people who make decisions in this team.”
Carlos grits his teeth. He hated when Vasseur was right.
“I’m not saying you’re going to lose your seat,” Vasseur continues, “but if this keeps up, we’re going to have a problem. And I’d rather avoid it now than too late.”
Carlos taps his fingers on the table, resisting. The thought of sitting in a room and talking to a stranger about whatever it is he’s feeling repulses him. He’s not like that. He doesn’t work that way.
“Listen,” Vasseur says, calmer now. “Do it. One session. If after that you still think it’s a waste of time, I won’t insist. But I doubt that’ll be the case.”
Carlos takes his time to respond. But deep down, he knows Vasseur isn’t giving him a real choice. And the worst part is that he is right.
“Fine,” he finally concedes, his voice tinged with resignation. “One session.”
“Good.” Vasseur nods with a slight smile. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”
Carlos isn’t so sure.
Silvia Costa’s office isn’t what he expected. There’s no couch, no pristine white walls. Instead, there are shelves filled with books, a warm light, and a chair that feels far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t want to be there. Carlos feels out of place, with the sense that he should be anywhere else. Preferably inside a race car, at full speed, far from this room where the air is too calm.
Silvia smiles at him naturally as he enters, no trace of pity or judgment on her face. “Carlos, come in. You can sit wherever you feel most comfortable.”
He merely nods and sits in the armchair across from her, though comfortable is not the word he’d use. He crosses his arms and fixes his gaze on an indeterminate point on the table. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened.
“I guess you’re here because Vasseur insisted,” she says in a light tone, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Carlos lets out a brief, humorless laugh. “How’d you guess?”
“Because almost everyone comes in like that,” she replies calmly. There’s no pressure in her voice, no rush to make him speak. She just leaves the space there, available.
Carlos nods, not knowing what to say. Silvia doesn’t interrupt him, doesn’t fill the uncomfortable silence with empty words. She just waits. And somehow, that’s more unsettling than any question.
He feels the urge to stand up and leave. To pretend this never happened. But something in the way Silvia looks at him, with that mix of understanding and patience, keeps him in his seat.
Carlos exhales slowly, feeling the weight of the silence between them. He doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s used to conversations having a clear purpose, to people wanting something from him: answers, statements, justifications. But Silvia just watches him, not judging, not expecting anything specific, and that throws him off.
“Tell me about the accident,” she says, finally. Her tone is neutral, with no trace of pity or morbid curiosity. As if she were asking about any other day in his life.
Carlos clenches his jaw. His first instinct is to respond with a dry “there’s nothing to tell,” but he knows that won’t work. He’s here now. It’s best to get it over with quickly.
“It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary,” he says, shrugging. “I lost the car in a corner, ended up against the barriers. End of story.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“No.” He forces himself to sound indifferent, but his answer comes out too blunt.
Silvia nods lightly, not questioning him.
“And what happened after?”
Carlos frowns.
“Nothing. I got out of the car. Walked to the assistance vehicle. Watched them remove my car, then went back to the paddock.”
“How did you feel?”
He presses his lips together, a subtle irritation flaring up in his chest.
“Fine.”
Silvia tilts her head slightly, as if analyzing his response.
“Really?”
Carlos exhales with frustration, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Look, I know where you’re going,” he says, not hiding his impatience. “But I’m not the first driver to crash into the barriers. It’s no big deal. It’s just part of the job.”
“I know.” Her voice remains calm, but not placating. “So why are you here?”
Carlos tenses.
“Because they’re making me.”
Silvia smiles faintly, without a hint of mockery.
“You already said that. But if everything was really fine, if it really wasn’t ‘no big deal,’ do you think Vasseur would’ve asked you to come here?”
Carlos feels the discomfort knot in his chest. He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to admit there’s something still chasing him when he closes his eyes at night, something he can’t shake when he’s in the car.
He looks away, uncomfortable.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, as his only concession.
Silvia doesn’t press. She just nods, as if that small crack in his defense is enough for today.
“That’s fine,” she says, her voice calm. “You don’t have to know right now.”
Carlos blinks. He expected her to insist, to try and get more out of him. But she doesn’t.
“We’ll leave it here for today,” she adds. “If you decide to come back, we can keep talking.”
Carlos doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no either. He just stands up, feeling a slight pressure in his chest that wasn’t there when he arrived.
And as he walks away from the office, Silvia’s words echo in his mind.
“If everything was really fine… why are you here?”
The simulator shouldn’t feel this real.
Carlos knows that. It’s a machine, a set of data and algorithms designed to mimic reality—but without the weight of true speed, without the roar of the engine vibrating in his chest. And yet, when his hands close around the steering wheel and the virtual track unfolds before him, his body reacts as if he were really there. As if everything truly depended on every turn, every brake.
He settles into the seat, adjusting everything without thinking too much about it. The simulator's cockpit is dark, enclosed, only the screens and projected data in his peripheral vision. One of the engineers says something over the radio, but Carlos just nods, letting the voice blend into the background noise. His focus is on the track. On the stopwatch.
First stint.
The virtual tires are cold on the first lap, but that doesn’t worry him. The simulator is fine-tuned to the millimeter, and Carlos knows every detail of the circuit. He has memorized it in his skin, in his muscles. Every braking point, every apex. His body acts before his mind, automated by years of repetition.
He releases the brake into turn four, letting the car settle on the front-left tire before opening the throttle. Precise. Fast. As always.
But then he reaches that turn.
It’s not the same one from the accident. He knows that. The incline is different, the angle less aggressive. But something about the way the car moves as he enters, at the exact point where he should release the brake and trust the grip, triggers an instinctive reaction.
A slight hesitation on the wheel.
A millisecond of doubt.
Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but he feels it.
It’s not the first time he’s gone through this turn. It’s part of today’s test program. And yet, this time, something is different. An echo of the crash slipping through the cold data of the simulation, through the precise calculation of the steering angle and brake distribution.
Carlos frowns, his jaw tight. No. It doesn’t make sense.
He presses the throttle more firmly on the next lap, forcing himself to ignore the feeling.
But there it is again.
His foot moves just a fraction of a second earlier before braking, anticipating something that doesn’t exist. His body reacts as if it’s expecting the impact, as if, deep down in his subconscious, that turn means danger.
The simulator engineer’s voice comes through the radio.
“All good, Carlitos?”
The question sounds casual, but Carlos knows he noticed the difference. The telemetry doesn’t lie.
He presses his lips together, jaw clenched. Everything is fine. It’s just that his heart is beating a little faster than usual.
“Yeah. Small mistake. Let’s go again.”
He tries again. And again. And again.
Every time he reaches that turn, his foot hesitates just before braking. It shouldn’t happen. Not in a simulator. Not when there are no real consequences.
But his body doesn’t seem to have received the message.
And the worst part is that the more he tries, the stronger the feeling becomes. He can’t ignore it. It’s there, like interference in a signal that used to be clear. An empty space between instinct and execution.
When the session ends, he steps out of the cockpit, frowning, discomfort knotting in his chest. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like that his own instinct—the one he has refined for years to react in fractions of a second—is failing him.
He feels restless, his skin stretched too tight over his muscles.
He walks down the hallway aimlessly, not even stopping to talk to the team. He doesn’t want to review the telemetry. He doesn’t want to confirm it in cold, precise data.
Carlos enters the locker room and leans against the wall, letting the silence wrap around him.
When he looks at himself in the mirror, what he sees in his reflection isn’t fatigue or simple frustration. It’s something deeper. Something that won’t go away, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.
Before he can think too much about it, he pulls out his phone and dials a number he knows by heart.
It only rings once before the call is answered.
“Son,” his father says, with that unshakable calm he has always had. “How are you?”
Carlos wets his lips. His usual response—fine, all good—gets stuck in his throat.
“I had a session in the simulator,” he says instead.
There’s no rush in his father’s voice. No impatient “And? How was it?” Just silence, giving him space.
Carlos exhales.
“There was a turn that… I don’t know, it reminded me of that crash from months ago. It shouldn’t matter, but every time I got there, I braked early. A millisecond. But I felt it.”
On the other end of the line, his father sighs.
“That happens because you’re human, Carlos.”
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to be human. He wants to be infallible.
“You crashed too,” he says, almost defiantly. “This didn’t happen to you.”
His father laughs, but not mockingly. It’s the kind of laugh that comes with understanding, with years of experience.
“And how do you know that?” he asks, calmly. “Because I didn’t say it in interviews? Because it didn’t show up in the telemetry?”
Carlos doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to think about that.
“The important thing isn’t whether you feel fear, son. The important thing is what you do with it.”
The knot in his chest tightens a little more.
“Did you go see the psychologist Vasseur recommended?”
He clenches his jaw. “I went once.”
“And?”
“Nothing. It was… weird. She didn’t push too hard.”
His father lets out a soft chuckle.
“Smart move. Now you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about going back.”
Carlos tilts his head back, lightly knocking it against the wall. He hates him a little for saying that. Because it’s true.
“Listen, Carlos,” his father continues, his voice patient. “If you have a tool at your disposal, use it. There’s no point in fighting alone if there’s someone who can help you understand what’s happening.”
Carlos runs a hand through his hair, his breathing slower now.
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.” His father doesn’t let him escape. “The question isn’t if you know. It’s if you’re going to do something about it.”
Silence.
Carlos closes his eyes for a moment. He hates himself a little for what he’s about to say next.
“…I’ll call her tomorrow.”
His father smiles on the other end of the line.
“Good decision.”
Carlos hangs up. He stays there for a moment, phone in hand, head resting against the wall.
Then, he lets out a brief, humorless laugh.
If only everything in life could be solved as easily as turning a steering wheel.
Carlos lowers his phone and places it on the locker room bench, next to his helmet and the gloves he still hasn’t put in his bag. He should feel better. The call with his father should have relieved some of that pressure in his chest, given him the certainty that what he’s going through is normal, that he’s not losing his mind. But it doesn’t.
The weight is still there, settled in his stomach like an anchor. It’s nothing. It shouldn’t be anything. But the more he tries to convince himself, the more obvious the one truth he’s been avoiding becomes.
No, he’s not okay.
And if he knows it now, if he’s already reached that conclusion—why wait?
He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. Then he reaches out and picks up his phone again, unlocking the screen and finding his chat with Vasseur. It’s there, in their conversation from days ago. A number, accompanied by a brief message.
"For when you’re ready. Call her."
Carlos exhales sharply, as if he needs to brace himself. His thumb hesitates over the screen for just a second before tapping the number.
The tone rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A click on the other end. And then, a voice, husky from interrupted sleep.
“Mmm… yes?”
Carlos blinks.
It’s not a receptionist. Not an answering machine.
It’s Silvia herself.
Shit.
He freezes for a second—long enough for Silvia to make a quiet sound, shifting, as if sitting up in bed.
“…Carlos?” she asks, still drowsy but not surprised.
Carlos blinks again, his brain stuttering to start.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, too fast. “I thought this was your office. I didn’t mean—”
Silvia chuckles softly, cutting off his apology. Her voice still carries the lazy notes of sleep.
“It’s okay,” she says, a smile almost audible in her tone. “No problem. Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to call at this hour.”
Carlos pulls the phone away from his ear for a second and checks the screen.
00:37.
Fuck.
He closes his eyes briefly, cursing himself in silence. Of course, Vasseur wouldn’t give him a reception number. He gave him her personal one. And in his brilliant moment of clarity, he just called her in the middle of the night.
“Seriously, I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand down his face. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Silvia laughs again, softer this time.
“Carlos.” Her voice is patient, free of any irritation. “Breathe.”
And the worst part is—he does. Without thinking, he exhales in a long sigh.
“Good,” Silvia says, still relaxed. “Now tell me, did you call by mistake, or did you actually want to talk to me?”
Carlos swallows. A reflex of pride, of discomfort, tells him to hang up now and pretend this never happened. But it’s too late for that.
And more importantly… he doesn’t want to hang up.
He clenches his jaw, hating what he’s about to admit.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Silvia doesn’t tease him, doesn’t try to soften it with kind words. She simply gives him space to continue.
Carlos licks his lips, staring at the screen as if it might show him the right way to explain. He doesn’t know why this is so difficult. He’s done hundreds of interviews, talked to engineers about incredibly complex mechanical issues, spent hours breaking down every detail of his race performance. But saying out loud that something isn’t right? That gets stuck in his throat.
Silvia waits. She doesn’t rush him and somehow, that makes it easier to talk.
“Today in the simulator,” he starts, rubbing his thumb against his eyebrow, “there was a corner that… I don’t know. Something about it reminded me of the crash. It’s not the same, but the feeling was there. And I braked earlier than I should have.”
There’s a second of silence. Then, Silvia responds, as calm as ever.
“And that worried you?”
Carlos tilts his head back, staring at the locker room ceiling.
“What worries me is that I don’t know how to make it stop.”
It sounds more honest than he expected.
Silvia doesn’t tell him she understands. She doesn’t tell him it’s normal. She just responds with something that throws him off more than anything else.
“Then let’s talk about it.”
Carlos blinks. “Now?”
“You don’t have to do it right this second,” Silvia replies, “but if you’ve already taken the step of calling me, why wait?”
Carlos presses his lips together. Exactly.
Why wait?
Silvia lets him think. She doesn’t push. She lets him decide.
And Carlos, for the first time in a long time, chooses not to run.
“Okay.”
“Good.” Silvia sounds more awake now, and her voice carries something almost like satisfaction. “I’m guessing you’re not in Monaco right now. When you’re around, stop by my office, and I’ll make time for you. You’ve taken the first step already—don’t back out now.”
Carlos exhales.
“Yeah. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Perfect. Get some rest, Carlos.”
She hangs up before he can change his mind.
Carlos stays there, phone still in his hand, staring at the dark screen.
The pressure in his chest is still there, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating.
The hallway felt longer than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he was walking slower, carrying the weight of someone unsure if they really wanted to reach their destination.
Carlos adjusted the sleeves of his sweatshirt, feeling the slight tremor in his fingers. Not cold, not exactly fear, but something close to a restless unease he couldn’t shake.
He had barely slept. Another night spent tossing and turning, his mind trapped in a loop of thoughts that led nowhere. It had been like this for weeks—months, even—but it was getting harder to hide it. The exhaustion clung to him like an extra weight he couldn’t shrug off.
He sighed before pushing the door open and stepping into Silvia’s office.
The same room. The same scent of coffee and paper. The soft light filtering through the blinds. And Silvia, sitting behind her desk, wearing that same calm expression as always.
It should have felt familiar. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had walked into this office. But Carlos felt the same nervousness he had in their first session. Something about this space disarmed him, stripped him of his defenses before Silvia had even spoken a single word.
It was not a comfortable feeling.
He let himself drop into the chair with a heavy exhale, fixing his gaze on a random spot on Silvia’s desk.
"Alright. I’m not okay," he admitted, no pretense, no embellishment. "I can’t sleep properly, my foot shakes on the throttle in fast corners, and last night, I found myself watching a documentary about avocado farming at three in the morning."
Silvia glanced up from her notebook, raising an eyebrow.
"Avocados?"
"Don’t ask. It was just… hypnotic."
She gave a small, amused smile but didn’t say anything. She simply let him continue, and that unsettled Carlos more than if she had asked him something difficult. He cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the chair’s armrest, as if trying to organize his thoughts.
"I realized that if I keep going like this, I’ll end up with a farm in the middle of nowhere instead of on the starting grid. And as tempting as that sounds, I don’t think people would be too thrilled to see me milking cows instead of driving a Ferrari."
Silvia tilted her head slightly, studying him with that gaze of hers that made him feel too exposed. Too transparent.
"It’s not just the accident, is it?"
Carlos opened his mouth to respond, but Silvia spoke first.
"It’s the pressure of carrying your last name. The shadow of everything your father achieved. The obligation to live up to it. It’s what it means to drive for Ferrari, what it means to be Leclerc’s teammate, the uncertainty of not having a secured seat for next year. Nothing is guaranteed, and the accident was just the final drop that made all of this feel even heavier."
Carlos felt the air catch in his lungs. He froze, too still, as if any sudden movement would make Silvia’s words even more real.
He didn’t know what hit him harder—hearing out loud what he had never put into words or the fact that Silvia had broken him down so effortlessly.
Something inside him tensed. Was he really that obvious? That easy to read?
He looked at Silvia, caught between disbelief and something deeper, something he couldn’t immediately name.
"Wow," he muttered, half incredulous, half uneasy. "I don’t know if I should congratulate you or be worried that you can read me so easily."
Silvia rested her elbows on the desk, lacing her fingers together, her gaze unwavering.
"It’s not that you’re easy to read, Carlos. It’s that you’ve been trying to ignore it for too long."
A faint shiver ran down his spine. He ran a hand over his jaw, averting his eyes to the floor. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to acknowledge how much those words had hit the mark.
Because that would mean accepting that all this time, he had been running.
From his name. From Ferrari. From the toxic competitiveness. From the uncertain future.
From himself.
For the first time in months, it felt like someone was putting order to the chaos inside him.
And that scared him more than any high-speed corner.
Carlos let out a slow sigh, as if hoping to exhale some of the weight pressing down on him. It didn’t work.
He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes before letting his arms drop onto his lap.
"Alright, let’s say you’re right…" His voice was lower, rougher, more tired than he would’ve liked. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Silvia looked at him with patience, as if she had been expecting that question.
"For starters, stop pretending everything is fine."
Carlos let out a humorless chuckle.
"Great, I’ll squeeze that in between ‘improving quali times’ and ‘not losing my mind over Ferrari’s strategy calls.’"
Silvia allowed a small smile, but she didn’t let him deflect with sarcasm.
"Carlos… I know you think it’s all about driving faster, about just pushing through as if nothing’s wrong. But how much longer do you think you can keep this up?"
Carlos narrowed his eyes, feeling a sharp pang in his chest because, as much as he hated to admit it, that was the question he feared the most.
"I don’t know," he murmured, staring at the floor. "I don’t know how much longer I can last."
And there it was. It had slipped out before he could think twice. A truth he hadn’t even allowed himself to acknowledge.
Silvia didn’t respond right away. She gave him space, let him breathe.
The silence in the room felt heavy, but for the first time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the kind of silence that demanded immediate answers—it was the kind that gave him permission to process.
Finally, Silvia took a deep breath and said, with that quiet certainty that always disarmed him:
"Then let’s start there."
Carlos met her eyes, with something that looked like surrender—but maybe, just maybe, it was the first step toward something different.
"Alright."
And this time, he meant it.
The weeks began to blur into a routine that, although intense, gradually stopped feeling like a burden for Carlos. Between endless simulations, training sessions that pushed his body to the limit, and races that demanded every ounce of his focus, there was always a spot in his schedule for his sessions with Silvia.
At first, he went out of obligation. It was what Vasseur expected of him. It was what, deep down, he knew he had to do, even if he hated to admit it. But over time, without realizing it, he started anticipating them in a different way. Not with reluctance, not with the feeling that he was walking into some kind of emotional interrogation, but with a strange curiosity.
Because Silvia had the patience of a saint. She never pressured him, but she never let him escape either. She knew exactly when to let silence do the talking and when to strike at just the right moment to make him see what he refused to acknowledge. As if she had a map of his mind that he hadn’t even been able to draw himself.
Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. His fear didn’t just come from the accident. It had been there long before. The fact that, despite all his achievements, his seat in Formula 1 never seemed fully secure.
And between sessions, travels, and races, something else found its way into his routine: humor. He discovered that Silvia shared the same dry sarcasm he did. That she had an almost unsettling ability to fire back at him with comebacks so quick they left him speechless. That somehow, in the midst of all those conversations about fears and anxieties, there was always a moment when they ended up laughing at something absurd.
Carlos hated to admit it, but he did. One afternoon, leaning back against the couch in his office, arms crossed with an expression of feigned indifference, he casually let it slip.
“Don’t get too excited, but therapy might be one of the best decisions I’ve made.”
Silvia merely raised an amused eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”
Carlos tilted his head as if considering it. “I don’t know. Don’t get used to it.”
But deep down, they both knew the truth.
The weeks continued passing, marked by a whirlwind of flights, training sessions, and races that took him all over the world. However, between the adrenaline of the circuits and the constant pressure to prove himself, one thing remained constant: his messages with Silvia.
It wasn’t something he had planned, nor something he even stopped to analyze. At first, they were just reminders about their sessions, the occasional comment about his progress. But before he knew it, the texts became more natural, more frequent. A joke between races. A “Try not to crash” that always arrived before qualifying. A “You did well” after a podium finish—one that Carlos pretended not to care about but, for some reason, always made him smile.
And when he came home, exhausted after days of travel, Silvia was there. Not physically, but in that small corner of his routine that now belonged to her. In her office, with her notebook full of notes, with that gaze that seemed to see right through him, with the coffee that, at some point, she had started preparing exactly how he liked it.
“How do you know?” he asked one day, raising his cup with curiosity.
“Observing is part of my job,” Silvia replied simply, shrugging.
Carlos couldn’t help but smile. Because yes, Silvia observed him. More than he sometimes observed himself.
And the same happened in reverse. Because, without meaning to, Carlos started noticing things about her. Small details that lodged themselves in his mind without permission. That she always ordered her coffee from the same café. That at the end of the day, she had a habit of pulling her feet up on the couch while reviewing her notes. That when she was deep in thought, she absentmindedly twirled her pen between her fingers.
And that she liked jazz.
She had mentioned it once, offhandedly, while they talked about ways to unwind. Carlos hadn’t said anything at the time, but weeks later, when he stumbled upon an old vinyl in a tucked-away shop in Madrid, he bought it without thinking too much.
“For you,” he said, handing it to her.
Silvia looked at him in surprise, holding it in her hands as if it weighed more than it actually did.
“You bought this for me?”
Carlos shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know. I saw it and thought of you.”
Not much else was said. But when he returned the following week, the vinyl was playing in her office. And Silvia, with a book in her hands and a steaming cup of coffee on the table, looked up at him with a small smile.
“Good taste, Sainz.”
Carlos just let out a quiet laugh.
It was strange, how the boundaries between them had begun to blur. How, without meaning to, Silvia had become more than just his psychologist. She had become someone with whom he could share comfortable silences, someone with whom he could laugh at life’s absurdities.
And, without realizing it, someone he wanted to impress.
On the other hand, Silvia had always been good at keeping her distance.
Over the years, she had learned to build invisible barriers between herself and her patients. Not out of coldness, but out of necessity. Getting too involved meant losing perspective, and losing perspective meant not being able to help them in the right way.
But with Carlos… with him, those barriers didn’t always seem so solid.
She hadn’t noticed it at first, but little by little, the space between them had become less rigid. Their sessions were no longer just a process of analysis and therapy; they had turned into conversations where humor surfaced naturally, where Carlos lowered his guard, and where she found herself, unintentionally, doing the same.
And it was in a moment like that when everything became a little more complicated.
Carlos had just made a sarcastic remark—one of those that usually made her roll her eyes, but that lately, had been drawing genuine laughter from her instead.
"It must be exhausting for you to be this perceptive all the time," he had said, a lopsided grin on his face.
Silvia played along, responding with a joke of her own.
"Oh, absolutely. Every morning I wake up thinking, ‘How lucky am I? Another day of understanding the human psyche better than everyone else.’"
Carlos let out a laugh. But when Silvia looked at him again, something in her chest tightened without warning.
Because he wasn’t just laughing with his mouth—he was laughing with his eyes.
Because, without realizing it, Silvia was looking too much.
And the worst part was that she didn’t want to look away.
Carlos had the kind of laugh that made everything seem easier, lighter. It was real, untouched by the pressure of cameras, free from any need to put on a front. And for a fleeting moment, for just a single second, Silvia allowed herself to simply look at him, as if there were no reason to hold back.
But then Carlos turned his head, and their eyes met.
It lasted only a second. A brief moment, seemingly insignificant.
But Silvia felt it.
Because the way he was looking at her wasn’t casual.
It lingered just a little longer. Held just a little more weight. As if, for that one moment, he was seeing her differently too. As if he had noticed something in her expression that she hadn’t been quick enough to hide.
Her chest tightened. The feeling was so strong that Silvia almost frowned, as if the weight inside her was something tangible she could shake off.
No. No. Not this.
She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on her notebook, though she knew there was no point in writing anything now.
"Right, back to the topic…" she said, trying to steer the conversation back on track, but her own voice sounded different.
Carlos didn’t respond immediately.
She felt him shift on the couch, probably leaning forward slightly. She didn’t look at him, but she could imagine the expression on his face. That mix of curiosity and something else she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.
But in the end, he said nothing.
And she forced herself to do the same.
Because nothing had happened. Nothing she couldn’t ignore. Nothing she couldn’t lock away in the same corner of her mind where she kept all the things she wasn’t supposed to feel.
And yet, when Carlos said goodbye and left through the door, when the office was left in complete silence, Silvia allowed herself to close her eyes and let out a sigh.
Because maybe—just maybe—she had just crossed a line from which there was no turning back.
Silvia finds out about the news like everyone else: with the headline flashing on her phone screen.
Carlos Sainz signs with Williams for 2025.
She knows it’s real even before opening the article. The weeks of rumors, speculation, and uncertainty are over. It’s official. And before she can stop it, a wave of relief and pride washes over her.
It shouldn’t feel personal. She shouldn’t feel this way. But she does.
Because she’s seen Carlos at his most vulnerable. She’s been in the room with him when the pressure made him doubt himself, when fear seeped into his voice in ways even he didn’t recognize. And now, here he is. With a secured future, with an opportunity he had been so afraid he wouldn’t get.
The first thing she does is smile. The second is buying a bottle of champagne.
It’s not a clinical or professional gesture, but she doesn’t think too much about it. She’s spent months watching Carlos carry the weight of uncertainty, and today, for the first time in a long while, she can picture him breathing a little more freely. She wants to celebrate that. She wants him to celebrate that.
Carlos, for his part, should feel lighter. The contract is signed, his future is secure, and for the first time in months, no one is asking him what he’s going to do next year. But when he steps into the office and sees the bottle of champagne on the table, something inside him cracks just a little.
Silvia is smiling. Not with the measured politeness of a professional, but with genuine happiness, with a sparkle in her eyes that leaves him disarmed. She’s happy for him. And that, for some reason, is what undoes him completely.
“Congratulations,” she says, a small smile on her lips as she raises a glass. “You did it.”
Carlos doesn’t respond right away. He closes the door behind him but doesn’t move past that. His eyes remain fixed on the unopened bottle, on the way the light reflects off the glass. His throat bobs with a dry swallow. Suddenly, the relief he should be feeling turns into something heavy, something difficult to process.
“Come on, sit down,” Silvia tries, her tone light, steering the conversation forward. “This calls for a celebration.”
Carlos lets out a short, rough laugh.
“Did you really buy champagne?” His voice holds a hint of disbelief, like he can’t decide whether to tease her or thank her.
“Of course,” Silvia replies with mock indignation. “It’s not every day you land a Formula 1 contract. And I wanted to see if you finally have good taste or if you’re still ordering white wine like a British tourist in Ibiza.”
Carlos shakes his head, a ghost of a smile forming. But it doesn’t last. Because then, he feels the sting in his eyes. And before he can stop it, Silvia sees it too.
The tears.
Not sobs, not ragged breaths. Just a silent trail, tracing a path from his eyes down to his jaw.
Silvia feels her body tense. For a second, just one, she hesitates. Because she knows what it means to take a step closer. She knows what she’s supposed to do, and what she shouldn’t do. But then she looks at him again, and the answer is clear.
She moves. Slowly. Wordlessly.
When she places a hand on his arm, Carlos doesn’t pull away. When the other slides to his back, he closes his eyes and lets his forehead rest gently against her shoulder. His breathing is uneven, caught between restraint and collapse, and Silvia holds him.
For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the office, not the contract, not the lines they aren’t supposed to cross. Just this. Just him.
And in the midst of it all, in the trembling of his chest, Carlos has a realization as clear as day: what he feels for Silvia isn’t going anywhere. It can’t. Because this is what they are. This is what they’re supposed to be. And yet, here he is, burying his face in her shoulder like nothing else in the world matters.
When Carlos finally pulls away, when he looks up and their eyes meet, they understand.
What this means.
What comes next.
And neither of them moves to step back.
Silvia is the first to speak. Her voice is low, careful.
“Carlos… what’s wrong?”
He blinks, like he’s suddenly remembering where they are, like he’s realizing that Silvia is still looking at him with that patient, disarming gaze of hers. He rubs a hand over his face, as if he can wipe away what just happened, as if he can rewind to before crossing that line.
But he can’t.
And lying to Silvia… that has never been an option.
Because she always knows. Sometimes even before he does. But telling her the truth makes no sense either. What for? To tell her that he cares for her? That seeing her this happy for him shatters him a little? That the news of his contract feels distant, insignificant, when she smiles at him like that? For him?
Carlos swallows and lowers his gaze. He can’t say it. He shouldn’t say it. But he can’t find a lie that holds either.
So he just murmurs,
“I don’t know.”
And Silvia, with that damn patience, with that effortless understanding that strips him bare, nods like she gets it anyway.
And in that silence, in everything they don’t say, Silvia understands it all.
She realizes that the champagne was a mistake.
She realizes that pushing her own limits was a mistake.
She realizes that seeing Carlos cry was a mistake.
Because now, that tightness in her chest, that warmth when she looks at him, has a name.
And the worst part is—Carlos has just realized it too.
Carlos lets out a short laugh, a fragile sound that barely settles in his chest. He runs a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes with an open palm before letting it drop to his thigh.
“Well… that was dramatic.”
His voice is still a little raw, but he tries to mask it with lightness.
Silvia blinks, caught off guard by how quickly he’s trying to pull himself together, and lets out a small laugh. It’s instinctive, soft—an attempt to bring them both back to the normality they so desperately need.
“A little, yeah,” she admits, offering a half-smile.
Carlos exhales and sinks into the chair, dropping his head back, staring at the ceiling for a second before sighing again.
“I haven’t even started working with Williams yet, and I’m already crying about it. I’m going to be a mess.”
Silvia leans back against the desk and, absentmindedly, nudges the champagne bottle slightly to the side. Now, it feels out of place—like a joke told at the wrong time.
“If you cry every time someone congratulates you, then yeah, that could be a problem,” she teases, trying to lift the mood. “Maybe I should’ve brought tissues instead of glasses.”
Carlos drops his head to the side, giving her that signature look of exasperation that comes so naturally to him.
“Or maybe just never celebrate anything with me ever again. Clearly, I don’t handle it well.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”
He laughs. A real one this time. But when he looks up, when his eyes meet Silvia’s, the sound catches in his throat.
Because she’s smiling too—but there’s something else there. Something in the way she looks at him, in the almost imperceptible pause before she looks away. Something Carlos feels like a weight in his chest, like an invisible thread pulling him toward her.
Silvia realizes instantly that she’s held his gaze for too long. She blinks, clears her throat, and straightens slightly in her seat.
“Well,” she says, like she’s trying to put an end to whatever this moment was, “should we pretend you didn’t just get emotional and start the session?”
Carlos sits up, adjusting in his chair, clinging to the opportunity to regain control.
“Yes. Good idea. Let’s pretend I’m a functioning adult and not someone who falls apart over a job contract.”
“Exactly. And I’ll pretend this wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”
The silence that follows is devastating.
Carlos blinks. Once, twice. His breath catches, and it’s as if the air in the room has changed density. As if, all of a sudden, he doesn’t know where to place his hands, how to hold himself in this confined space.
Silvia feels it too. She sees it in the way Carlos looks at her, in the tension along his jaw, in the slight flare of his nostrils. And the worst part is, she can’t pretend she didn’t say it. She can’t take it back. She can’t make it so it never happened.
Because it did.
That thread between them, the one they had been stretching for months, has just snapped.
Silvia feels her own breath turn shallow, the skin at the nape of her neck tingling with the absolute awareness of what she has just done. The words still linger in the air, as if they haven’t quite settled, as if they’re waiting for one of them to deny them.
"I'm sorry," she says, too quickly. Too nervously.
Carlos doesn’t answer. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know how. His mind is a whirlwind of tangled thoughts, none clear enough to hold on to. Just moments ago, he had been dealing with the weight of his new contract, the relief of securing his future, the vulnerability of having cried in front of her. And now, this.
Too much.
"I didn’t mean it like that," Silvia tries, running a hand over her forehead, as if she could erase the comment with a single gesture. "It was… I don’t know. Inappropriate."
Carlos swallows. He can’t look at her. Not yet. Not when his body is still reacting in ways he doesn’t understand, when his skin is still on high alert, when his heart is still racing for reasons that no longer have anything to do with Williams or his contract.
Silvia takes a breath and straightens her shoulders. She needs to pull herself together. She needs to put things back in their place.
"We can…" she starts, but the words die in her throat.
Carlos finally looks up, and when their eyes meet, there’s something there. Something big. Something impossible to ignore.
Silvia sees it. Carlos knows it.
But neither of them is ready to face it.
So she looks away, picks up the champagne bottle, and sets it aside.
"Do you want to start the session?" she asks, as if nothing happened.
Carlos nods once, slowly.
"Yeah," he says. His voice is lower than usual, as if he’s still wading through everything that just unfolded. "Yeah, let’s start."
And they do. They pretend everything is the same.
But they both know nothing is.
Silvia had been feeling the weight of this decision for days before she typed out the message.
Ever since that session, from the exact moment she crossed a line she never should have crossed, she knew this couldn’t continue. But knowing it and accepting it were two different things.
Because the thought of not seeing him anymore, of no longer being the person Carlos turned to in his most vulnerable moments, twisted her stomach in a way she didn’t want to analyze too deeply.
She had tried to lie to herself, to rationalize it. It was just an impulsive comment. Nothing more. But every time she thought back to the silence that followed, to the way Carlos had looked at her, to the way her own chest had tightened upon realizing what she had done...
No. She couldn’t keep ignoring it.
That’s why, when Carlos stood on the podium in Austin, when she saw him with that spark in his eyes, with the satisfaction of a job well done, she knew it was time. Because he was moving forward, rebuilding himself after months of uncertainty. And she couldn’t be the obstacle in his way.
Her hands trembled as she typed the message. She stared at the screen for too long, rereading every word, wondering if there was any way to say it without it hurting.
There wasn’t.
Pressing her lips together, she took a deep breath, and with a final pang in her chest, she hit send.
Then, she placed her phone face down on the table, rested her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands.
She had just done the right thing.
So why did it feel like she had just made an irreparable mistake?
Champagne still soaks his race suit as Carlos steps into the motorhome room and collapses onto the couch. His body is exhausted, but the adrenaline from the Austin GP is still coursing through his veins.
A second place. Another podium in his career. And for the first time in months, the feeling that things are finally falling into place.
He grabs his phone with the intention of texting Silvia. It’s a habit he doesn’t even think about—just a simple "Did you see that?" or "You owe me a session just to talk about how good I was today."
She always replies quickly, with a dry but knowing remark. "Not bad for someone who still brakes earlier than necessary." Or, "Don’t let it go to your head, Sainz."
But this time, when he unlocks the screen, something is waiting for him.
A long message.
Silvia Costa:
"Carlos, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. About our last session, about how I acted. About what I said. And I know we can’t keep ignoring it.
Please don’t misunderstand this. It has nothing to do with you or with whatever it is that you feel. But I am your psychologist, and I crossed a boundary I should not have crossed. I don’t want this to affect your career, my job, or what we’ve built over these past months. What we’re doing is not sustainable. It’s not professional. And the most honest, the fairest thing for both of us, is to end this here.
If you want to continue therapy, I’ll help you find another professional who follows my methods, someone I trust. I know you don’t like opening up to just anyone, and I know it has been a privilege that you trusted me enough to do so.
And I also know this won’t be easy. But it’s the right thing to do.
-Silvia."
Carlos reads the message once. Then again.
The tingling of celebration, the weight of the trophy in his hands, the euphoria of having driven a flawless race... it all vanishes.
All that remains is the sudden emptiness of what he’s just lost.
His first instinct is to deny it. His fingers are already moving, ready to type something, to call her, to tell her she’s overreacting, that this doesn’t have to mean what she thinks it does.
But then, the image hits him like a punch: Silvia, sitting in her apartment, phone in hand, hesitating, torn, realizing there is no other way out. That she has spent days thinking about this, that it has weighed on her just as much as it has on him.
And that’s when Carlos understands exactly what Silvia must have felt when she sent that message.
Because he feels it too—the crushing sense that he’s just lost something he can’t get back.
Carlos still has his phone in his hand when the door of the motorhome swings open.
"Carlos!"
Vasseur’s voice fills the room before he even has time to react. The team principal strides in, a wide grin on his face, enthusiasm radiating from every word.
"What a race, mate! Seriously, that was incredible."
Carlos looks up, blinking as if suddenly trying to remember where he is.
"Ah... thanks."
Vasseur drops into the seat across from him, still riding the high of watching both of his drivers deliver a spectacular result.
"Not just the race," he adds, pointing at him. "You look different. More solid, more confident. It shows in how you handle battles, how you keep a cool head."
Carlos tries to nod, tries to smile. But his mind is still trapped in the message. In Silvia. In what just happened.
And then, Vasseur says her name.
"You have to thank Dr. Costa for that, huh? I told you, didn’t I? Best decision you could’ve made."
Carlos feels the hit straight to his chest.
Silvia.
His throat tightens, his stomach churns. Suddenly, the room feels too small, the air too dense.
He doesn’t know what to do with his face, with his body. Should he nod? Should he lie? Should he laugh and say yes, that she’s been the key to everything? Because up until a few minutes ago, before he read that damn message, he would have said it without hesitation.
But now…
Now he doesn’t know what to say.
The only thing he does know is that he’s screwed.
Because out of all the people in the world, out of all the women he’s ever met, he had to fall for his psychologist.
The irony almost makes him laugh.
"Yeah," he manages to say, though his voice doesn’t sound quite like his own. "She’s been a huge help."
Vasseur nods, satisfied, oblivious to the storm raging inside Carlos.
"Well, keep this up, Sainz. This is the driver I want to see. This is the Carlos that wins races."
He claps him on the shoulder before getting up, still glowing with pride.
Carlos barely feels it.
All he can think about is the fact that, for the first time since he started working with Silvia, he’s going to have to do it without her.
The return to Monaco feels different this time.
It's not the first time Carlos has come home after an exhausting race, but he's never felt this restless before. There was always a rhythm to his post-Grand Prix routine—training, reviewing data, resting. And at some point during the week, a session with Silvia.
Now, that space is empty.
At first, he tries to ignore it. He convinces himself it's just a matter of time, of getting used to a new rhythm without her. He throws himself into training, into meetings with Ferrari, into preparations for his move to Williams. But no matter how hard he tries, there are moments when her absence slips into his day uninvited.
Like when he comes back to his apartment after a run and instinctively checks his phone for a message from Silvia. Or when, in the middle of a conversation with his engineer, he feels the urge to joke about what she would say to him at that moment.
Or when he sits on the couch after dinner, and without realizing it, his mind plays tricks on him—What is Silvia doing right now?
And that’s when he starts questioning everything.
Why does he feel this way?
Is it because Silvia was his psychologist and, for the first time in his life, he had someone who truly listened to him? Someone who didn’t just see him as a driver, as Carlos Sainz Sr.'s son, but as a human being with fears, doubts, vulnerabilities no one else knew?
Is that what he misses? The way she understood him, how she anticipated what he felt before he even realized it himself?
Or is it Silvia?
The woman, the person beyond her role.
Because if it were just about therapy, he would have found another psychologist by now. He would have moved on.
But he hasn’t.
Because no one else is her.
And then, amidst that tangle of thoughts, comes an even worse doubt.
What about Silvia?
Was it just work for her?
Was she simply good at what she did, and he made the mistake of confusing professionalism with something more?
Was everything he felt real, or was she just doing her job?
That thought sticks like a thorn in his mind.
And when he arrives in Mexico, about to race one of his last Grands Prix with Ferrari, he can’t stop wondering—If Silvia were here, if she were watching him, would she feel any of this? Or would she just see another driver, another patient?
He tries not to think too much. He focuses on the car, on the strategy, on doing his job. And for a while, it works.
Qualifying is solid, the start is clean, the race is intense. He has to fight for every lap, every corner, every strategic decision. And when he crosses the finish line in first place, when he hears his name chanted by thousands of Mexican fans, he should feel complete.
He should feel invincible.
But the moment he gets out of the car, as the initial euphoria settles into his exhausted body, his first instinct is to reach for his phone.
To text Silvia.
To say, “Did you see that?”
To read, “Took you long enough, Sainz.”
To hear her voice, even if just for a few seconds.
But he can’t.
Because Silvia is no longer on the other side of the line.
And so, as the press surrounds him, as the mechanics embrace him, as the Mexican crowd idolizes him like one of their own, Carlos feels something unexpected.
Loneliness.
It’s absurd, unfair, selfish. He’s surrounded by people who care about him, in one of the best moments of his career, and yet, as the red and green confetti explodes into the air and the crowd roars his name, all he can think about is what’s missing.
Who's missing.
How none of this feels the same without her.
Carlos holds on as long as he can.
He gets through the interviews, the photos, the congratulations. He endures the hugs from his mechanics, the cheers of the fans, the pats on the back from his father. He withstands the lights, the noise, the overwhelming energy of everyone around him.
But the moment he sees an opportunity, he slips away.
His team is still celebrating, the paddock is a chaos of people coming and going, journalists chasing statements, assistants rushing from one place to another. No one notices when he sneaks off, when he steps into a quieter hallway, when he opens the door to an empty room and closes it behind him.
His breathing is faster than normal. Not because of the race. Not because of the adrenaline.
Because of what he’s about to do.
Carlos holds his phone between his fingers, turning it absentmindedly in his hand as the echoes of the celebration still vibrate through the paddock. In the distance, he hears the laughter of the Ferrari crew, the sound of champagne bottles popping open again and again. The euphoria is still in the air, and yet, he feels completely detached from it all.
Winning in Mexico should have been one of the happiest moments of his career. He should be smiling, enjoying it, letting himself be carried away by the thrill of victory. But all he feels is a persistent emptiness.
And he knows exactly why.
He exhales slowly and unlocks his phone. His thumb scrolls through his contacts until it lands on the name he’s been trying not to search for these past few days.
Silvia Costa.
For a few seconds, he just stares at the screen, hesitating. For what? What does he expect her to say? But before his brain can convince him not to, his finger has already tapped the number.
The dial tone rings once.
Twice.
Three times.
When the line finally opens, Carlos feels something tighten in his chest.
“…Carlos.”
She doesn’t ask why he’s calling. She doesn’t sound surprised. Just tired.
Carlos swallows and runs a hand down his face.
“I won.”
Silence. Long. Heavy.
Then, a barely audible exhale.
“I know.”
Carlos clenches his jaw.
“It doesn’t feel the same without you.”
Silvia doesn’t answer right away. And in that silence, he understands everything.
It’s not that she has nothing to say. It’s that she doesn’t know how to say it.
“Carlos…” she murmurs finally, and he closes his eyes, because he already knows what’s coming.
“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have called you,” he interrupts, his voice low. “Don’t do that.”
Silvia lets out a shaky breath.
“Then what do you want me to do?”
Carlos runs a hand through his hair, feeling the dried champagne clinging to his skin.
“I don’t know. Just… tell me the truth.”
Silvia stays quiet.
Carlos wets his lips, inhaling deeply before voicing the question that has been eating away at him since he got her message.
“Is this real for you? Do you feel the same way I do, or are you just ridiculously good at your job and I’ve been fooling myself all along?”
Silvia closes her eyes on the other end of the line.
Carlos feels it. He doesn’t need to see her to know he just hit exactly where it hurts.
Silvia exhales shakily, and Carlos can hear the hesitation in her silence. He doesn’t push, even though everything inside him is screaming for her to just say something.
And then, finally—
“Carlos,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “You have to understand that this isn’t just about what we feel.”
Carlos clenches his jaw.
“But it is,” he insists. “That’s the only thing that should matter.”
Silvia lets out a breath, and he can picture her running a hand through her hair, just like she does when she’s trying to find the right words.
“I wish it were that simple,” she murmurs. “I wish we could just… pretend like none of the rest matters. But it does. It has to.”
Carlos exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why?”
Silvia hesitates.
“Because if this goes wrong, Carlos, it’s not just about us. It’s about my career, my credibility. You know what world we live in. People talk, they assume things, they twist narratives.”
Carlos swallows, staring down at the floor.
“You think they’ll say you took advantage of me?” he asks, voice quieter now, like the thought physically pains him.
Silvia shakes her head, even though he can’t see her.
“No,” she whispers. “I think they’ll say you took the risk, and I let it happen. That I blurred the line. That I became unprofessional. And then, what? Who’s going to trust me after that? Every athlete I work with knows someone in this world. You know how connected everything is.”
Carlos stays quiet, because as much as he wants to fight her on this, he knows she’s right.
Silvia exhales, softer this time.
“And it’s not just that.” Her voice wavers slightly. “I spent so much time convincing myself that this wasn’t real, that it was just… proximity, circumstance. And maybe at first, I even believed that.” She pauses, like she’s bracing herself for what comes next. “But I don’t anymore.”
Carlos closes his eyes.
“Then why are we even having this conversation?”
Silvia lets out a small, breathless laugh, like she can’t believe he doesn’t see it.
“Because knowing that doesn’t make it easier.” Her voice cracks slightly, and Carlos’ chest tightens. “Because it scares the hell out of me.”
Carlos’ grip on the phone tightens.
“Silvia…”
“I don’t get to just feel things, Carlos. Not like you do. Not when it could cost me everything I’ve worked for.”
Carlos exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
For the first time since this conversation started, he understands.
Not just what she’s saying, but what it means.
She’s not pushing him away because she doesn’t want him. She’s pushing him away because she does. Because she feels it just as much as he does, and that feeling is a risk neither of them knows how to navigate.
Carlos leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I hear you,” he murmurs, and Silvia goes silent, like she wasn’t expecting that. “I don’t like it. I don’t agree with it. But I hear you.”
Silvia exhales, something unreadable in the sound.
Carlos waits a moment, then speaks again, softer now.
“But we don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”
Silvia stays quiet, and he takes that as permission to keep going.
“I know you’re scared of what this could mean for you, for your career, for everything you’ve built. And I’m not asking you to risk all of that overnight.” He swallows, steadying himself. “But I am asking you to try.”
Silvia lets out a shaky breath.
Carlos grips his phone a little tighter.
“We can take it slow,” he continues. “We don’t have to tell anyone. We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just… let yourself have this. Let us have this.”
Silvia swallows audibly.
“Carlos…”
He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again, looking straight ahead as if she were in front of him.
“No one else gets to decide what this is except us.” His voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to anchor her to something solid. “We don’t have to make a statement. We don’t have to be reckless. We don’t even have to put a name to it yet.”
Silvia presses her lips together, thinking. He can tell she’s torn, that her brain is still trying to find a reason to say no.
Carlos softens.
“But we get to choose what this is,” he murmurs. “Not them. Not the media. Not the paddock. Us.”
Silvia closes her eyes, and for the first time in weeks, she lets herself imagine it.
A version of this that isn’t terrifying. A version where she doesn’t feel like she’s about to lose something. A version where it’s just them, learning how to be together without the weight of the world pressing in.
It’s dangerous. It’s a risk.
But so is not trying.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the bigger mistake.
She lets out a breath.
Slow. Quiet. Just them.
“…Okay.”
Carlos straightens slightly, his fingers tightening around the phone.
“Okay?”
Silvia swallows.
“Yes,” she says, firmer now. “But slow. And private.”
Carlos’ lips twitch into a small, almost relieved smile.
“As private as it gets when I’m in a garage full of mechanics who have nothing better to do than gossip.”
Silvia groans, and Carlos laughs, warmth spreading through his chest for the first time in weeks.
And then, before she can start overthinking it again, before she can try to convince herself that this is a mistake, Carlos speaks again, his voice quieter, softer—almost pleading.
“Just let yourself be loved, Silvia.”
Silvia lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
It won’t be perfect. It won’t be easy.
But it’s theirs.
And for now, that’s enough.
Carlos had never been this impatient to get home.
The moment his plane touched down in Monaco, his mind was already ahead of him—tracing the familiar drive back to his apartment, picturing Silvia walking through his door. It had only been a few days since their call, since she agreed to try, but those days had stretched unbearably long.
Carlos checks the time again.
Five minutes.
He exhales, running a hand down his face, forcing himself to calm the restless energy in his body. It’s ridiculous—he’s been in countless high-pressure situations, faced the scrutiny of the world, handled races where milliseconds determined everything. And yet, standing in his own home, waiting for Silvia to arrive, he feels nervous.
Excited, but nervous.
The apartment is ready. He made sure of that the moment he got back from the race. Everything is set exactly the way he wants it—soft candlelight flickering on the table and along the shelves, filling the air with warm hints of vanilla and sandalwood. The kind of scent that lingers, that wraps around you like something familiar, something safe.
The kind of scent he hopes she’ll associate with him.
His stomach twists slightly at the thought, at the weight of what tonight means.
Because this isn’t just dinner. It’s the beginning of something neither of them knows how to define yet.
And then, the doorbell rings.
Carlos inhales sharply, running his palms down his jeans before moving to the door. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t give himself time to overthink. He just opens it.
And then he forgets how to breathe.
Silvia stands there, clutching her purse a little tighter than necessary, her weight shifting from one foot to the other. Her hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the golden glow of the hallway lights. And God—she looks breathtaking. Not in the way that models on magazine covers do, but in the way that matters. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you, that leaves you completely disarmed.
Carlos’ lips part slightly, but for a moment, no words come out.
Then—
"Joder."
Silvia blinks, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice.
Carlos shakes his head, exhaling a soft laugh as his eyes sweep over her again.
"You are beautiful."
Silvia lets out a nervous breath, her lips twitching.
“Carlos.”
It’s a quiet chiding, but there’s no real complaint behind it.
Carlos leans against the doorframe, eyes still fixed on her like he’s trying to memorize this moment.
“No, really,” he insists. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
Silvia raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms in a half-hearted defense.
“Like what?”
Carlos tilts his head, his gaze softer now.
“Like you actually tried to impress me.”
Silvia exhales a breathy laugh, glancing to the side as if embarrassed.
“Maybe I did.”
Carlos’ stomach flips. He grips the edge of the door tighter.
“Well,” he murmurs, voice lower now, steadier. “It’s working.”
Silvia meets his gaze again, and something unspoken settles between them. Something new. Something electric.
For a brief second, neither of them moves.
Then, Silvia clears her throat, shifting slightly on her feet.
“So… are you going to invite me in, or are we just going to stand here while you stare at me?”
Carlos grins, stepping aside with an easy shrug.
“Oh, I’m definitely going to keep staring,” he admits, voice full of warmth. “Just from a more comfortable position.”
Silvia rolls her eyes, but the smile that curves her lips is undeniable. She steps past him, and as she crosses the threshold, something shifts.
The moment she enters his home, she realizes—
It doesn’t feel unfamiliar.
It doesn’t feel like stepping into someone else’s life.
It feels like she’s been here before, like she’s walked through this door a hundred times, even though this is the first.
The scent of vanilla and sandalwood lingers in the air, the candlelight casting soft shadows along the walls, the space so unmistakably Carlos—but somehow, not foreign to her at all.
Carlos watches as she takes it all in, the way her shoulders slowly relax, the tension in her grip on her purse easing.
And just like that, the nerves that had been tightening in his chest finally fade.
Because she’s here.
And it fits.
She fits.
He closes the door behind her, and when Silvia turns to face him, there’s something in her eyes—something hesitant, but sure all at once.
Carlos lets out a slow breath, smiling.
This is theirs.
The scent of garlic and simmering spices fills the kitchen while soft jazz hums in the background, wrapping around them like something tangible, something intimate.
Carlos moves around the stove with ease, occasionally bumping into Silvia as they navigate the space together. It’s effortless, like they’ve been doing this for years instead of for the first time.
They talk about everything and nothing.
Silvia tells him how she learned to cook at eight years old, not out of passion but out of necessity—because, according to her parents, “no daughter of ours is going to be a disgrace to Italian cuisine.”
Carlos laughs, shaking his head. Eight? He tells her that, by that age, he could barely make a sandwich. He learned how to control a clutch before he learned how to properly run. He grew up with the smell of gasoline instead of home-cooked meals, with long weekends at the karting track instead of lazy mornings in the kitchen.
Silvia listens, slicing vegetables with steady hands, occasionally stealing glances at him. He tells her about Mónaco, about Madrid, about how circuits feel like home to him—strange, considering they are nothing more than strips of asphalt in different places.
Silvia teases him for his predictable answer.
Carlos smirks. “I’m a simple man, Costa.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s warmth behind it.
The conversation flows, easy and unfiltered. She talks about the places she loves—Florence, because it looks like a painting; the ocean, because it always calls her back.
Carlos listens. Really listens.
And then, somewhere between the soft sizzle of the pan and the quiet melody playing through the speakers, he turns to her.
"Do you dance?"
Silvia blinks, caught off guard.
"What?"
Carlos gestures toward the music, the smooth rhythm of a saxophone weaving through the air.
"Do you dance?" he repeats, voice softer this time.
Silvia hesitates, fingers still curled around the knife handle.
"Here?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
Carlos shrugs, stepping closer, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.
"Why not?"
Silvia exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but she doesn’t say no.
Carlos takes the knife from her hand, sets it down on the counter, and offers his own hand instead. A warm glow flickers in her eyes as she hesitates for just a second—then, slowly, she slips her fingers into his.
The music sways around them, rich and smooth, curling into the small spaces between their bodies. Carlos leads them away from the counter with an easy pull, guiding her into the center of the kitchen.
There’s no rush, no urgency.
Just slow, deliberate movement.
Silvia’s free hand settles lightly on his shoulder; his drifts to the small of her back, barely pressing, just resting. They step in time with the music, close but not desperate, fitting together as if they’ve always known how.
Carlos has danced before—at parties, at family gatherings, in the middle of celebrations with his team. But never like this. Never in a kitchen filled with candlelight, with a woman who looks at him like she belongs there.
Silvia’s hair brushes against his cheek as she tilts her head slightly, adjusting to the rhythm. Her forehead is just at the right height—the perfect height—for him to press a kiss there without thought, without hesitation.
So he does.
Soft.
Barely there.
Silvia stills, just for a second. A breath caught between them.
But she doesn’t pull away.
Carlos closes his eyes briefly, letting himself memorize this—the warmth of her against him, the way she feels right in his arms. There’s no desperation in the way they hold each other. No frantic need, no urgency.
Just stillness.
Calm.
Something that settles between them, steady and unshaken.
Silvia exhales, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder.
Carlos keeps leading.
The jazz plays on.
And then—
A sharp sizzle.
A crackle.
A burning smell.
Silvia stiffens. Carlos’ eyes snap open.
The pan.
The food.
The goddamn stove.
“Shit.”
Silvia barely has time to react before Carlos spins away from her, lunging toward the kitchen counter. A thin column of smoke curls toward the ceiling, the once-promising meal now a charred, unrecognizable mess.
She presses a hand to her mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Carlos, gripping the handle of the pan, turns to her with an expression somewhere between devastation and disbelief.
“DO NOT LAUGH!” He looks back at the pan, the smell making him gag. And with a resigned look on his face, he turns again back to Silvia. “What do you think about ordering sushi?”
The months pass in quiet certainty.
Their relationship is private, but not a secret. They never make a grand announcement, never feel the need to define things for the world. They simply exist together, moving in and out of each other’s lives with an ease that feels both inevitable and right.
And the world—their world—accepts it without question.
The paddock, a place where rumors spread faster than race strategy updates, doesn’t treat it as a scandal. There are no whispers of controversy, no raised eyebrows. If anything, there’s an unspoken understanding, a silent approval from those who have seen the change in Carlos firsthand.
Because every time Silvia is there, he is different.
Lighter.
Happier.
His team notices it first. The way his shoulders aren’t weighed down by pressure the same way they used to be. The way he walks into the garage with a quiet kind of confidence, his mind clear, his focus sharper. The way he looks toward the paddock entrance before every session, waiting, searching—
And then, the moment he sees her, his entire face changes.
It becomes impossible to ignore.
The cameras catch it. The fans notice it.
Every race weekend she attends, Carlos carries an extra spark—something undeniable, something warm. His radio messages are lighter, his post-session interviews filled with effortless smiles. Even on the tougher weekends, when things don’t go his way, there’s a steadiness to him that wasn’t there before.
And the fans—oh, the fans—they adore Silvia.
Not just because she’s with him, but because she doesn’t just stand in his world—she belongs in it.
She walks through the paddock with quiet confidence, not needing to prove herself. She chats with the engineers, with the mechanics, with the media personnel who remember her from before. When fans recognize her and approach, she meets them with the same warmth she’s always had, taking pictures, sharing inside jokes.
Carlos is fiercely protective of her, but it turns out he doesn’t need to be.
Because the world has already decided: Silvia Costa is one of theirs now.
And then, of course, there’s Vasseur.
If anyone thought Fred Vasseur wouldn’t take full credit for their relationship, they were very wrong.
Every time Carlos or Silvia posts something—an innocuous photo from a race weekend, a picture of Carlos’ hand resting near Silvia’s on a dinner table, even just a candid shot from the paddock where they’re caught laughing together—
Vasseur is there.
In the comments.
Fred Vasseur: “You’re welcome.”
or—
Fred Vasseur: “I will be expecting my invitation.”
or, Carlos’ personal favorite—
Fred Vasseur: “All great love stories start with therapy. Shakespeare said that.”
(Silvia is pretty sure Shakespeare did not say that, but she lets it slide.)
Carlos never replies.
Silvia, on the other hand, always does.
Silvia Costa: “I am raising your rates, Fred.”
But for all the teasing, for all the public amusement, the best moments are the ones that belong only to them.
The quiet mornings in Monaco, where Carlos wakes up to find Silvia curled into his side, her hair spread across his pillow, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. The lazy afternoons where they cook together, where Silvia tries (and fails) to get Carlos to tolerate more than the mildest amount of spice.
The race weekends where Carlos, exhausted but glowing from another podium, finds her waiting for him in the motorhome, her arms already open.
The stolen moments between flights, between commitments, between the noise of the world—where it’s just them.
Because the truth is, everything in Carlos’ life makes sense when she’s there.
Everything fits when Silvia is beside him.
And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s chasing something just out of reach.
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cs55 - “Your father will kill me if he finds out I watched his little girl fuck herself”
bodyguard!carlos x reader, inspired by this wonderful moodboard by @sunflowerlando 💓
smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), masturbating (and use of toys/vibrators), age gap (6 years), he's trying to be cool but he's down bad fr.
tags: @softhecreator
His hands were squeezing your ass, his lips were on your neck. He was hot, truly hot. His name was Charles - which had sounded as good to you as 'stranger' did, because it sounded like a hot night in a club bathroom and not ever seeing each other again after. Just what you needed.
All fun ended when a hand wrapped around your arm and firmly pulled you away from the hot stranger, making you leave without saying goodbye. "What do you think you're doing?" you snapped, roughly pulling your arm back. People were looking at you, but you didn't care. "It's time to leave, because I'm not letting you embarrass yourself." His deep voice was audible even over the loud music. Your bodyguard towered over you, the jacket of his suit pulling taut around his biceps and his chest, stretching over the expanse of his back. "Get in the car, or I will take you there myself. Your father wants you home in half an hour," Carlos said.
"I was just having fun," you complained. "I haven't said goodbye to my friends yet." You twirl around on your heels, but you're swooped off your feet barely a second after. Dangling upside down with your bodyguard's hand on the back of your thigh - to keep you from flashing everyone while you hung over Carlos' shoulder - wasn't exactly what you had in mind as a graceful exit. After meeting Charles and making out with him on the dance floor like you were teenagers, you were sure you could escape from his sight for an evening. But your dad hired a bodyguard who saw everything. Nothing you did got by unseen by him.
It was annoying yet funny at the same time. He hated it when he had to watch you while you were going out. He hated it when you went on a date. He hated to see little boys, who didn't know who to appreciate a woman, all over you. His broodiness never seemed to leave him, causing him to look at you with a frown or a scowl etched on his face. "Are you drunk?" he barked. "No, sir," you replied with a roll of your eyes. "So I won't throw up. But if you shake me around like this upside down any longer, I might," you mutter. You yelped when Carlos put you back on your feet when you reached the car. You hadn't even noticed he held your coat in his other hand while he lifted you all the way to where the SUV was parked.
"Turn around," Carlos said, still having no reason for a small smile or to look you in the eyes. "Turn around," you mocked him, yet turning around to let him help you get your coat on. He opened the door of the car for you, looking away before his eyes could drop to your ass. He knew this was going to be a hard night when he watched you walk out of your room with the short, sparkly dress. Carlos got behind the wheel of the Bentley, fingers curling around the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white. You were the death of him. He glanced in the rearview mirror as you moved a hand through your hair, then whining when you finally took the heels off your feet. He hated how short your dress was, and the fact that his fingers were itching to ride up the material further.
While your legs wrapped around his hips and the ruined material of your panties would grind against his growing erection.
"You're such a cockblock," you complain after a couple of minutes on the road. Carlos looks at you again through the mirror, but doesn't respond. "You're the reason why I haven't gotten laid in like... three months," you continue, knowing you were pushing his buttons. "Like I said, your dad wanted you home before two," Carlos said, while he knew he was taking the bait. "You're no fun," you continue, ignoring his previous words. "I'm plenty of fun. I just don't mix business and pleasure," his voice sounds sharp, almost judging. You're used to it by now. "Oh look, a boring cockblock," you sigh, resting your head against the leather seat. "I'd call it a smart cockblock, but sure." You snorted at his response. "Sassy tonight, aren't you," you catch his eyes again in the mirror before he turns onto the porch of your family's residence.
"You're a pain in my ass, as always," Carlos says, stopping the car and turning off the engine. "Get your shoes," he adds, looking over his shoulder and watching you look back at him stubbornly. The banter, the teasing, the mocking, he loved it. He pulled the door of the backdoor open to let you out. You scooted over to the edge of the seats, reaching for your heels to put them back on your feet. Carlos sighed softly, taking the patent leather pump with the red sole from you, the detail of the red colour another simple, stupid thing that caused his slacks to tighten. He didn't miss the way you shivered when his fingers brushed over your ankle. He put your shoes on without a word, offering his hand to help you step down. His nostrils caught a whiff of your cherry perfume.
"Thank you," you softly said, looking up at him, well aware of the ten centimeters that are probably between the two of you. Carlos stepped back to let you walk by, closing the door of the car and locking it as he watched you walk towards the door. The glittery ends of your dress were hanging just below your ass, teasing him some more. The gentleman he was, he waited downstairs, his back towards you, while you walked upstairs, a hand on your thigh attempting to hold your dress down enough, but he knew it would be too short anyway. He knew your routine by heart: kicking off heels, getting rid of dress, wash off make-up, do skincare, two glasses of water, let phone charge on nightstand, set alarm, go to sleep - either in an oversized shirt and panties, shorts and a top, or just panties.
You knew Carlos would wait before he was sure you'd be in bed, because he was probably still traumatized by the one time you walked out of the bathroom at the end of the hall, almost naked. His jaw had clenched, his hands were folded together behind his back, knuckles white from squeezing his fingers, and his eyes had definitely dropped to your tits. But you were forbidden territory, like he was for you. It was tempting, very tempting. A part of you was wondering what was underneath that layer of broodiness. He was always so calm and collected, annoyed with whatever you did, but you were sure a part of him secretly cared. Because you trusted him, no matter where you went. But he was a pain in your ass as well, because fuck, there was a deep itch inside you, and he didn't let anyone satisfy it.
Carlos went upstairs to take his usual position close to your door. He had the night shift whenever you went out. By the orders of your father, he stood by your door the whole night. It was silent in the large residence, his footsteps audible on the marble floor. He eyed your door, which was slightly ajar. He heard you stumble around the room quietly, but the light on your nightstand soon turned off, silence returning in your bedroom. He remained in his position for a couple of minutes before wandering around the hallway. He passed your door not much later, standing still when he heard something. Carlos halted, listening. It was a low, buzzing, pulsing sound, rustling of sheets following, your breathing pattern changing. His jaw slacked, knowing he should just continue, get out of hearing distance, but he couldn't move.
The door was left ajar far enough for him to look inside your room, to see your silhouette on the bed, hand clutched in the sheets while the other disappeared between your thighs. Carlos' lips parted with a soft breath, feeling the heat creep up his neck, his button-up suddenly choking him. He was no stranger to sex, no stranger to women's bodies, but this felt too intimate. He shouldn't stay and watch, but his eyes couldn't pull away from the scene in front of him. Your back arched off the bed while the vibrator pulsed in and out of you, the silicon top nestled against your clit. Your curtains weren't fully closed, the moonlight that entered through the window emphasizing your silhouette. He could see your hard nipples as your chest rose with more erratic breaths. If he held his breath, he'd hear the squelching noises of the toy fucking your wet cunt.
He was going crazy. His cock was throbbing against the seam of his slacks, the material becoming uncomfortably tight. Carlos planted his hand against the wall, unable to stop watching you pleasure yourself. It was so hot, so sexy, so raw and beautiful. Soft whines and moans escaped your mouth, your hips bucking in desperation. He imagined how your snug pussy would feel around him, how pretty you'd look underneath him. Carlos was nearly embarrassed by the way he stayed as still as he could, not making a sound, not wanting to disturb you and stop the show you were putting up for him. A side of him figured you were doing this on purpose, just to rile him up even further. At the moment, he didn't care why you left the door open. He watched your body tremble as you came, the vibrator against your clit making you convulse with sensitivity. For a moment, it was quiet, and he was almost relieved.
Carlos leaned his head against the wall, gnawing on his bottom lip as he watched your chest rise and sink with a few deep breaths. Sheets rustled as you turned around, and he was sure you'd put the thing in the drawer of your nightstand and go to sleep. He needed to stop watching, but once again, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, not missing how you got on your knees, whimpered when you turned the vibrator on again and tortured your overstimulated clit some more. Carlos nearly groaned when you turned on the fake dick as well, and it was pulsing, thrusting again against your pussy before you let it slip inside. Carlos turned away, closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall. He needed to turn around and take a breath, because he couldn't look at his boss' daughter this way.
He barely said a word to you for a week. You didn't ask why he was excessively moody with you, but you definitely knew. You knew what you had done to him. It was making you smile at the thought, knowing he was struggling whenever he picked you up from the gym, a dinner with your friends, or a simple grocery run. Carlos couldn't look at you, knowing that if he did, he wouldn't be able to wipe the scenes of you fucking yourself and cumming while he was watching, from his mind. He really tried to put more distance between the two of you, but you could see his own plan failing. You could see it in the way he held your eyes when you looked at him through the mirror in the car. You noticed it in the way he held you to his chest whenever you were walking in a crowded area, the way his eyes raked over you when you were dressed up for an event, the soft compliment that slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.
"Do you want a drink?" the question threw him off guard as you both reached the top of the marble stairs in your family's residence. Your parents were on a cruise for two weeks, they had left this afternoon. It meant that the house would be empty, except for the staff. "Since when are you making drinks in your room?" Carlos asked. "I just keep a bottle of rum there, that's all," you chirped, twirling around on your heels, your dress floating around your ankles. "I'm still working," he said, pushing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Weren't you also working when you were watching me for an hour last week?" you ask, cocking your head sideways while looking up at him. Carlos felt his heart stop in his chest for a couple of seconds, watching you close the distance between the two of you.
"Watching you is my job, sweetheart," he replies. "Hmm," you hum, turned around and walking into your room, reaching into one of the cabinets to get the bottle of rum and two glasses. You poured the liquor in for him anyway, handing him one of the glasses. You laughed a little as he remained in the hallway. You took a sip and leaned against the door, your heels left in the closet already. His eyes were so intense. You had felt them on your body when he watched you. It made you feel hot all over while the silence lingered between you. "I will need your help to unzip my dress," you spoke up, leaving your empty glass on the coffee table in the corner. Carlos knew he should say no, ask one of the maids to help you - and then leave, but he found himself stepping over the threshhold and into your room.
His eyes quickly scanned the bed, the desk against the wall, the floor to ceiling windows, the walk-in closet with a huge mirror. You stood in front of it, taking your earrings out before unclasping your necklace, rings dropped next to it. Carlos towered over you as he looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, brushing your hair away from your back to find the top of the zipper. His fingertips tickled a little in your neck before he took the zipper down agonizingly slow. "Did you enjoy watching me?" you ask, eyes burning through his soul when he looked up at the mirror again. There were many ways he could answer that question. He went over them in his head, reaching the end of the zipper. His fingers gathered your hair behind your shoulders again, watching the way the material of your dress loosened around your body.
The straps fell down your shoulders, but you made no attempt to keep them up. You let the dress pool around your ankles, feeling comfortable despite his broader, bigger body hovering over you. "I always enjoy watching you," Carlos' voice rasps in your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat as his lips brush over the shell, finding the sensitive skin beside the lobe. One of his hands lift to nestle in your hair in the back of your neck, a gentle, yet strong, tug on your roots tilting your head aside. Goosebumps cover your flesh when his lips kiss your neck. "But I loved the part where you became desperate to cum while that toy was fucking you." Carlos watched you shiver. "Not so mouthy now?" he hummed. "Give me permission to touch you, mi reina," he breathed, making you nod quickly. "Please," you say, a little breathless as well. His grip on your hair tightened, making you tilt your head back as far as you could.
His palm glided from your throat to your neck, finding the swell of your tits before cupping one of them, moving on to your stomach. "You're so goddamn beautiful," Carlos nips at your neck again, groaning when he feels your ass against his crotch. "I had to stand and watch pathetic boys beg for your attention," he continues, his voice alone enough to harden the pearls of your nipples. "Watch you dress up in the prettiest dresses, but I couldn't touch you," he mutters, hot, open mouth kisses covering your skin. "Your father will kill me if he finds out I watched his little girl fuck herself, but breaking a contract never felt this good." You slipped from his grip, but only to turn around and face him. Your hands grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket to close the gap between your bodies, your lips colliding in a hard, long-awaited kiss.
You could feel through his slacks how hard he was, your hands leaving his chest to pad down his abs, finding the leather belt and undoing the clasp. Carlos slipped his arms out of the jacket, revealing his athletic, muscled form in the crisp white button-up he was wearing. You groaned at the sight of his vest with a holster underneath. A man wearing a gun has never been this hot before. He captured your mouth with his again, feeling your hands unbuttoning his slacks, zipping the material down and slipping inside to find his growing erection. "Shit, baby," he breathed as he watched you sink to your knees in front of him, the right side of your body angled to the mirror. He looked into the reflection of it, watching you free his cock from his Calvins. Carlos grunted lowly at the sight of your doe eyes eying his cock, nimble fingers wrapping around the girth.
Your mouth was watering at the mere feeling of the veiny shaft, fingertips exploring the ridges and veins that would feel so good inside you. Your saliva wetted the palm of your hand before you started stroking him slowly, a sigh falling from his lips. Carlos gathered your hair in his fist, watching you wetten his cock some more before you took him into your mouth. You moaned at the weight of him on your tongue, tasting the salty drops of pre-cum when you swirled the muscle around the tip. You felt the corners of your mouth straining when you took more of him, licking and sucking what you could take. Your lipgloss he had seen you reapply throughout the night was smudged already, smeared around the base of his cock when you tried to take him completely, the sounds of you gagging on him making throb against your tongue.
Carlos started taking control when you established a comfortable rhythm, his abs contracting as he listened to you slurping and sucking his cock, occasionally letting him hit the back of your throat. He looked sideways into the mirror again, eyes glued to your head bobbing up and down, his cock left glossy with your saliva. He pushed you further down, gently holding you there and seeing his cock bulge in your throat. You let go with a gasp for air, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock before he pulled you up. Without a word, he lifted you up as if you had the weight of a feather, walking you to your bed that was still so perfectly made up. You scrambled up to your knees when he dropped you on the mattress, watching him stand near the end of the bed, finally getting his vest off and placing the gun on your desk.
His cock pulsed when he looked at the red apples of your cheeks, your bambi eyes and your pretty being waiting for him. Your fingers teased your nipples, other hand threatening to drop between your thighs if he let you wait any longer. A soft breath passed your lips when he finally got rid of his shirt, your eyes drinking in his toned body, his hard abs, the broad planes of his chest and biceps you want to put your teeth in. Your hand wraps around his cock again, but his palm finds the side of your neck, his lips leaving a delicious kiss on your mouth before he pushed you onto your back. A laugh escapes you when his hands curl around your ankles to pull you to the edge of the bed. Carlos nearly folds you in half after he put your ankles on his broad shoulders, his hand guiding his cock through your slit. His eyebrows furrow together with a groan, watching your sticky wetness ooze from your hole with a mere brush of the tip over your clit.
"You got this wet from sucking me off, hmm?" he asks. "It better feel as good as it did in my mouth," you reply, jolting a little when the big head teases your cunt, slipping through last minute to tease your clit instead. You were in heaven as soon as he entered you, filling you up to the brim, stretching you out. It had you gripping the sheets from the start. Carlos watched his cock split you in half, giving you a couple of seconds to adjust before finding a pace that had you arching your back off the bed and your fists squeezing the sheets so tightly in your palms. He was rewarded with an 'oh my god', ah's and oh's following that told him not to change anything about the rhythm. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed your legs further to your chest, breathless cries mixing with the sounds of your bodies slamming together, the wet noises of your cunt gripping his cock and sucking him in.
You would say you've had good sex more often, but this was better than good sex. You were on the brink of a release embarrasingly fast, your body doing a weak attempt to meet his thrusts. He was in you so deep, so hard, and you were so wet, you were sure you were leaking down your thighs. He hadn't even taken off your panties, he had simply slid them aside. The material was begging to be removed from your body, the seam threatening to break against the side of his cock. "Such a perfect little pussy," Carlos breathed. "I imagined how fucking wet and tight you'd be," he continued, fuelling the heat in your lower abdomen. "Don't stop," you moan as he let your legs fall open, but only to wrap them around his hips, his hand having free access to your clit. "Carlos!" you cried out, his cock hitting you g-spot over and over again. You were a writhing mess underneath him, body tensing up as you felt your orgasm so close.
Carlos felt your pussy squeezing him, your wetness soaking him. Nothing could prepare you for the peak your body reached, freezing your muscles for a split second before the warmth washed all over you, pleasure dotting your vision, curling your toes and making your legs shake as you gave in. His cum filled you up, cock throbbing inside you. Carlos looked at you through hooded eyes, his hot breath softly ghosting over your face. His lips pressed to your neck again, watching you catch your breath as well. He slowly pulled out of you to get a couple of tissues and clean you up, eyes darkening again at the thought you'd go to bed with your pussy filled with his cum. He reached for his underwear to pull on again, soon finding you in front of him, pulling him down into a kiss. "Don't go," you whisper against his mouth. "We need to do that again in the morning," you add, making him laugh softly.
His lifts you up with ease, groaning as he feels your nipples against his chest. Carlos drops you on the bed again, hovering over you with slight hesitation. Would his boss find out if he was inside your room instead of guarding the door in front of your room? "I need you to fuck me in the car," your words distract him from the thought, nails tickling his chest. "And on every surface in the house," you continue, flipping the two of you around, so you're straddling him. Carlos looks up at you with admiration, making your heart beat a little faster. You lean over him, looking into his eyes. "Starting with my father's mahogany desk," you whisper, not missing the way his lips curled up in a grin.
Summary: they always knew their love wasn’t enough to keep them on the same path. Over the years, they find and lose each other in an endless cycle of nostalgia, love, and goodbyes. There’s no resentment, only the pain of knowing that even the purest love may never be enough. But among all the people, they were always each other's.
A/N: some might say that I'm not capable of writing beautiful things, but the truth is, I LOVE angst. I cried while writing this—I hope you give it the love it deserves and appreciate it a lot. Like and reblog!! Lots of kisses <3 I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING
masterlist
The first memory she had of Carlos Sainz wasn’t particularly grand. It wasn’t of a rising Formula 1 driver, nor of a young man carrying the weight of a last name that already resonated in motorsport. It was, simply, of a guy who had walked into a café in Madrid with messy hair and exhaustion in his eyes, ordering a black coffee with the deep voice of someone who hadn’t slept enough.
She didn’t know him personally, but she knew his name. She had seen him on TV, in sports articles, in interviews where he smiled with the same expression he had now—a little distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else. On another track, in another country, in another time.
It was a mutual friend who introduced them, almost as an afterthought. A simple, “Oh, by the way, this is my friend,” as if he weren’t about to change the course of their lives.
Carlos shook her hand and smiled.
“Nice to meet you.”
It wasn’t a spectacular moment. There was no spark of electricity, no instant certainty that they were destined for something more. But when they sat at the table and he looked at her with a hint of curiosity, she knew she was in trouble.
The conversation started effortlessly, with the ease of two people who, though they came from different worlds, shared the same language in humor and irony.
“So… you’re the one who wants to be world champion?” she teased, resting her chin on her hand.
Carlos set his coffee down on the table and held her gaze with a smile that didn’t hide his pride.
“I don’t want to. I’m going to be.”
He didn’t say it with arrogance, but with the certainty of someone who had spent his life preparing for it. There was no doubt in his voice, not a hint of false modesty. And in that instant, she understood that this was not a man who knew how to love halfway. That if he gave his life to something, he did so completely.
“And what if you don’t?”
Carlos looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.
“That’s not an option.”
There was nothing more to say on the matter.
Outside, Madrid carried on at its usual pace, but inside the café, time seemed to slow down. They talked about everything and nothing, losing track of time until Carlos checked his phone and frowned.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“No,” he replied, but slid his phone back into his pocket with a hint of discomfort.
She understood the signal. She smiled, leaning back in her chair.
“Do you have a flight?”
Carlos let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
“Tomorrow.”
“And today?”
“Today I have training. Then the simulator. And after that, probably a call with the team.”
“Ah.”
There was no reproach in her voice. Just the acknowledgment of a truth she didn’t yet know would weigh so much.
Carlos noticed her expression and tilted his head with an amused smile.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of person who says ‘nothing’ when clearly thinking about something.”
She let out a sigh, playing with the napkin between her fingers.
“I was just thinking that if this were a date, it’d be pretty depressing to know I have to share you with a race car.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation.
“Hey, it’s a very beautiful car.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And fast.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And it’s my job.”
She smiled, unsurprised.
“I know.”
He studied her for a moment, as if weighing the meaning of her words. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at her intently.
“And if this were a date?”
She tilted her head, amused.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Carlos held her gaze for another moment before letting out a short laugh and shaking his head.
“If this were a date,” he said, picking up his coffee, “I’d probably do something stupid like try to impress you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I’d tell you something exaggerated about my job, like that my heart rate never goes above 80 beats per minute while driving at over 300 kilometers per hour.”
“That sounds like a lie.”
“It’s completely true.”
She set the napkin down on the table, crossing her arms.
“And how would I know you’re not saying the same thing to everyone?”
Carlos rested an arm on the table and leaned slightly toward her.
“Because if this were a date, I would’ve already asked you to have dinner with me tonight.”
She felt a flutter in her stomach, but didn’t let it show.
“And if it weren’t a date?”
Carlos held her gaze for another second before smiling, resigned.
“Then we stick with coffee.”
She nodded, smiling too.
"Then coffee it is."
And it was. For weeks, months. They saw each other whenever flights and schedules allowed. They shared late nights in airports, brief calls between meetings, messages sent across time zones.
They didn’t rush to put a label on it because they both knew the truth from the start: she wasn’t competing against another person.
She was competing against the one love Carlos would never sacrifice.
And the worst part was that he never made her feel like she had to.
The problem with Carlos Sainz was that loving him felt like the easiest thing in the world.
She hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t planned it. It just happened. A quick call that stretched into the early hours. A message between flights that made her smile before she even realized it. A conversation that started with “Have you eaten?” and ended with her staring at him through a screen, feeling both closer and further away at the same time.
They weren’t together in the traditional sense of the word. No promises, no unrealistic expectations. No grand declarations, no ultimatums. Just him and her, finding each other in whatever gaps the calendar allowed, in every city where their paths happened to cross.
Sometimes, that meant a quiet dinner in a tucked-away corner of Barcelona. Other times, it was a fleeting visit to his hotel room after a race, where she would find him exhausted, the marks from his helmet still pressed into his skin—but his eyes lit up when he saw her.
“Come here,” he’d say, reaching for her.
And she would.
She’d sit next to him on the bed, the TV humming softly in the background, while he talked about tires and strategies, blind corners and missed opportunities.
Sometimes, he would fall asleep mid-sentence, his head resting against her shoulder.
She never woke him.
The first time she realized she had crossed an invisible line was at Silverstone.
It wasn’t because of a fight. It wasn’t because of a misunderstanding. It was because of how she felt when Carlos crossed the finish line, arms raised, his team’s cheers echoing through the radio.
She was in the stands, lost in the sea of people celebrating his victory, and yet, in the middle of all that euphoria, she felt something unexpected: emptiness.
Because when he stood on that podium, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the anthem playing, the flag waving above him—she knew she wasn’t there.
Not because she didn’t want to be.
But because, in that moment, he didn’t need her to be.
And it didn’t hurt. It didn’t make her feel small. It only reminded her of what she had always known: in Carlos’ life, she wasn’t the main character.
She was a pause.
A beautiful, warm, fleeting pause. But a pause, nonetheless.
And that day, as she watched him celebrate with his team, arms wrapped around his people, she understood that she couldn’t compete with something that had been his whole life long before she ever came along.
So she didn’t try.
She simply loved him.
She loved him the way you love something ephemeral, the way you love a summer sunset you know won’t last.
She loved him without asking for more than what he could give.
And Carlos never promised more than he knew he could offer.
That was the cruelest part of it all.
He never lied to her.
He never misled her.
He never asked her to stay.
But he never let her go, either.
With time, she learned to read the signs.
The way his voice sounded when he was exhausted. The way his gaze shifted when something frustrated him. How his laughter changed depending on whether he was truly happy or just covering the weight of a loss.
She also learned to recognize when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reach out to her.
Not because he didn’t care. Not because he didn’t miss her. But because sometimes, his world was too loud, too demanding, and there simply wasn’t room for anything else.
She never complained.
Never asked why his replies sometimes took hours. Never mentioned that, during the busiest weeks of the season, the calls became fewer, the messages shorter. Never admitted that there were nights she fell asleep with her phone in her hand, rereading their last conversation, wishing it had lasted a little longer.
And Carlos, somehow, knew.
Because when he finally had a moment to breathe, he sought her out.
Not with apologies, not with excuses.
Just with his voice, with that quiet laughter through the phone, with an “I miss you” whispered between sighs, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.
She always answered with the same softness.
But one day, without knowing exactly when it had started happening, she stopped feeling like that was enough.
The first and only time she thought about leaving was in Abu Dhabi.
The end of the season always carried a mix of exhaustion and celebration. Carlos had finished the race with a solid performance, and though he hadn’t made the podium, his team was satisfied.
At the closing party, he was surrounded by his people, a glass of champagne in hand, his smile easy, relaxed. She watched from a quiet corner, the same tenderness in her gaze, the same admiration.
But something inside her felt different.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It wasn’t anger.
Carlos would have celebrated just the same. He would have laughed just the same. He would have woken up the next day with the same determination as always, ready for the next season, ready to keep chasing the dream that had been his long before she came into his life.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to ask:
What’s in all of this for me?
She didn’t have an answer.
But she did have a ticket back home.
And that night, while he kept celebrating with his team, she decided she wouldn’t wait until the end of the party to use it.
When Carlos saw the message on his phone, his smile faded.
I love you. I’ve always loved you. But in this story, the protagonist has always been F1. And I’m just someone passing through.
There was no reproach.
She hadn’t asked him to stop her.
Just a truth that, deep down, he had always known.
The noise of the party continued—the toasts, the laughter, the camera flashes—but to him, it all became a distant echo.
For a second, he convinced himself that she was still there, somewhere in the room, with her quiet smile and patient gaze, waiting for the moment he would realize he had neglected her once again.
But no.
She was gone.
Not in anger. Not with accusations. Just with the certainty that he couldn’t give her more than he already had.
And the cruelest part of all was that she was right.
She always had been.
Carlos doesn’t remember leaving the party. He doesn’t remember crossing the hotel lobby or the way his footsteps echoed in the hallways when he reached his room’s door.
He finds it just as he left it: closed. Untouched. As if she had never been there.
But when he turns the handle, what he sees tells him otherwise.
There’s a coffee cup on the table, still bearing the imprint of her lipstick on the rim. Her jacket is draped over the chair, as if she had hesitated for a moment before deciding not to take it.
And on the bed, perfectly folded, is the sweater he had lent her the last time they saw each other.
Carlos stares at it for too long.
He doesn’t touch it.
He doesn’t move.
Because in that moment, he finally understands.
She never wanted him to choose between her and Formula 1. She never asked him to.
But the problem was that even if she had, Carlos wouldn’t have been able to give her the answer she deserved.
It had always been her who adjusted to his life.
It had always been her who found the gaps between races, between commitments, between flights and hotels.
It had always been her who waited for him.
It had always been her.
And now, for the first time, she had stopped waiting.
For the first time, she had decided she didn’t want to be just the space between his priorities.
Carlos sits on the edge of the bed.
He closes his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, he feels what it’s like to lose something without ever meaning to let it go.
The airport was almost empty at that hour of the night.
Cold lights illuminated the polished floor, reflecting the silhouettes of the few passengers dragging their suitcases with tired steps.
Carlos found her by the boarding gate, sitting with her back straight, hands clasped in her lap.
For a moment, he just watched her.
He wanted to memorize her like this, before she saw him. The serene profile of her face, her hair falling over one shoulder, the way her lips pressed together softly, as if holding back a thought she wouldn’t say out loud.
He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she lifted her head and saw him.
And then, she smiled.
Sweet. Calm. As if his presence didn’t surprise her at all.
As if she had known he would come.
“You came,” was all she said.
Carlos exhaled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked toward her.
“Of course I did.”
He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told him she was leaving.
He didn’t ask why their last conversation had been a message instead of a goodbye in person.
Because deep down, he knew.
If she had told him earlier, he would have tried to convince her to stay.
And she had never wanted to force him into that.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the runway through the window.
The murmur of flight announcements filled the space between them, blending with the muffled voice of a child playing with a toy plane a few seats away.
“I didn’t want it to end like this,” he said at some point, without looking at her.
She turned her face toward him but didn’t answer right away.
Not because she didn’t have something to say, but because she was choosing her words carefully.
“It was never about how it would end,” she finally replied. “It was about everything it meant while it lasted.”
Carlos clenched his jaw.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair how calm she sounded, how at peace she was, while he felt like something inside him was slowly breaking.
Because he loved her.
He loved her with a certainty he had rarely felt in his life.
But love wasn’t enough.
Not when she had always been the one who waited.
Not when he had never put her first.
Not when, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, his world would always revolve around one thing: Formula 1.
She smiled at him, as if she could hear his thoughts.
"I know you, Carlos. I don’t want you to promise me something you can’t keep."
He closed his eyes.
Because that was the hardest part of all this.
That even if he loved her with everything he was capable of, he couldn’t promise her that he would change.
He couldn’t give her a different story.
And she knew that.
That was why she was leaving.
That was why, this time, she wasn’t going to wait for him.
Carlos didn’t know when he started crying.
It wasn’t when he saw her pick up her bag. It wasn’t when he heard the final boarding call for her flight.
It was when he truly understood that there was nothing he could say to make her stay.
He wouldn’t lose her because he didn’t love her.
He would lose her because he had never known how to make room for her in his life.
And that truth, so brutal and definitive, shattered him.
She watched him break.
And yet, she didn’t walk away.
Instead, she came back to him. Without hesitation. Without thinking. She hugged him as if it hurt to let him go, as if she loved him with every part of herself but knew that love wasn’t enough to stay.
"I can’t do this," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice broken in a way he had never let anyone hear before. "I can’t…"
She shut her eyes tightly, feeling his tears soak through the fabric of her coat, but she didn’t let go.
"Carlos…" she whispered, and the way she said his name—filled with both sweetness and sorrow—made him tremble.
He held onto her tighter, desperately, as if some part of him still believed that if he held her long enough, she wouldn’t leave.
But she couldn’t stay.
Not when he had never asked her to.
"Tell me what I have to do," Carlos's voice broke into a plea he never thought would leave his lips. "Tell me how to fix this."
She let go just enough to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.
And the image of her tears sliding down her cheeks burned into his mind like a wound that would never heal.
"You don’t have to fix anything," she said, her voice softer and more broken than he had ever heard it. "I never asked you to change for me."
"But I want to," he insisted, and his voice cracked at the end, because now he understood, now he saw everything clearly, and goddamn it, why did it have to be now? Why so late? "I want to, for you."
She shook her head, with a tenderness that tore him in two.
"You can’t. You don’t know how."
And she was right.
Because she never wanted him to give up anything.
And he didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t defined by Formula 1.
Carlos swallowed hard, feeling the anguish burn in his throat.
"I need you."
She smiled—a sad, beautiful smile that shattered what little was left of him.
"No," she whispered. "You want me. That’s different."
Carlos closed his eyes as if that could contain the pain, as if not seeing her could make it hurt a little less.
It didn’t work.
Because when he opened them again, she was still there.
Beautiful. Steady. Determined to leave him.
And yet, with trembling hands, she wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs.
"You don’t know how much this hurts me," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"Of course I do," she replied, and a single tear rolled silently down her cheek. "Because it hurts me too."
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t accept that this was the end. As if there was still something he could do to stop her.
"How do I go on without you?"
She let her hands drop to her sides, as if she no longer had the strength to hold him.
"You will. You always have."
And that was what finally destroyed him.
Because he knew she was right.
Life would go on. The engines wouldn’t stop. The next flight would be waiting for him, and then another, and another, and another…
But she wouldn’t be there.
And when she took a step back, Carlos felt every part of him screaming for him to stop her. To do something, anything.
But he didn’t.
Because he no longer had the right to ask her to stay.
"I don’t want you to go," he whispered, his voice raw and broken.
She closed her eyes.
Because she knew.
Because if she had heard those words before, if he had said them at any other moment, maybe everything would be different.
But he didn’t.
And now, it was too late.
"I know," she whispered against his hair. "I don’t want to go either."
Carlos swallowed hard.
She looked into his eyes one last time.
And with the same tenderness she had always spoken to him, with the same sweetness with which she had loved him, she said:
"I’m glad I loved you."
Carlos felt his throat close up.
But he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t try to stop her.
He didn’t reach for her when she turned and walked toward the gate.
He just stood there, watching her leave.
Watching as, for the first time, she took a path that didn’t include him.
And when the last image he had of her was her silhouette fading beyond the gate, Carlos knew that no matter how much he had loved her, he had always been too late.
The first reunion
Airports had never meant anything to Carlos.
They were nothing more than transit points, impersonal spaces where life moved too fast to leave a trace. Arrivals, departures, goodbyes, reunions… everything happened in a rush, leaving no time to process anything.
But that wasn’t true.
Because there was one airport that had marked him forever.
And now, so many years later, in another airport, he sees her.
Just a few meters away.
His heart lurches in his chest, strong enough to make him stop in his tracks.
She hasn’t changed. Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.
She still has that natural elegance, that quiet air of someone who doesn’t need to draw attention to fill a space. Her hair is a little longer, her movements a little more measured. Life has passed.
But not enough to erase what they once were.
She looks up.
And sees him.
Carlos doesn’t know if one, two, or five seconds pass before a smile curves her lips.
It’s a warm smile, but soft. No surprise, no hesitation, as if finding him here were the most natural thing in the world.
"Hello, Carlos."
God.
Her voice.
He hadn’t expected hearing her voice after so long would do this to him.
Carlos feels a tightness in his chest. It’s not sadness. It’s not regret.
It’s just… affection.
A deep, unwavering affection that time hasn’t managed to wear down.
He smiles too. He couldn’t not.
"Hello."
She lowers her gaze for a second, as if processing something, before looking at him again.
"I wasn’t expecting to see you here."
"Me neither."
And yet, here they are.
They are no longer the same people. Life went on, the choices they made led them down different paths, but…
But they haven’t forgotten.
And maybe that’s enough.
There are no promises, no expectations. Just two people who once meant everything to each other, meeting again in the one place where they had always said goodbye.
"Do you have time for a coffee?" she asks, with the same sweetness with which she once offered him her love.
Carlos nods, feeling that, even though he’s no longer part of her life, he still likes the idea of sharing a little time with her.
Because love doesn’t disappear.
It just changes shape.
And this time, instead of hurting, it feels like a beautiful memory that still breathes.
The coffee between them is a clumsy attempt at normalcy, a shared routine that feels foreign after so much time. Sitting across from each other at a small table, they play with their cups in their hands.
"You still take it the same way," he murmurs, breaking the silence.
She nods with a tense smile. She doesn’t dare tell him she’s spent years waiting to hear his voice this close.
"So do you."
Carlos lets out a soft laugh, but neither of them finds the conversation funny. Another silence settles between them, heavier this time, more suffocating.
"How did we end up in the same airport, on the same day, at the same time?" she asks, her tone light, almost amused.
"I don’t know." He plays with the handle of his cup. "Probably the universe deciding we haven’t had enough."
She smiles, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
"It always did have a twisted sense of humor."
"I couldn’t agree more."
They remain silent for a few seconds, but this time, she is the one who breaks it.
"Do you still not know how to pack properly?"
Carlos bursts into genuine laughter, remembering all the times his suitcase looked like it had been packed by someone with their eyes closed.
"I’ve gotten a little better, but I still don’t know how to fold shirts properly."
"I always found it incredible that you could drive a car at 300 km/h but couldn’t fold a T-shirt without it looking like crumpled paper."
"Everyone has their talents."
She smiles, lowering her gaze to her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily.
"And you?" he asks, resting his arms on the table. "Do you still carry a library in your suitcase?"
"Of course," she laughs softly. "You never know when you’ll need to kill time."
Carlos nods, vividly remembering all the times she pulled out a book in the middle of the chaos of a paddock, as if the world around her didn’t exist.
"What are you reading now?"
"Something on Stoic philosophy," she replies. "I bought it out of curiosity, but I think I’m getting more out of it than I expected."
"Sounds deep."
"It is. It’s basically about accepting what you can’t control."
Carlos sets his cup down on the table, watching her intently.
"That sounds pretty convenient."
She shrugs, offering a half-smile.
"I guess at some point, we all need to learn how to do that."
Silence creeps between them again. They don’t ask because they fear the answers. They don’t talk about the important things because they know it will hurt.
He doesn’t ask if she’s been happy without him.
She doesn’t ask if he still thinks of her before falling asleep.
He doesn’t ask if she ever loved someone else.
She doesn’t ask if, at any point, he wanted to find her.
Instead, they keep talking about trivial things, as if they were strangers. As if they didn’t know how the other kisses, how their laughter sounds intertwined in a dark room.
"Well..." she checks the time. "My flight leaves soon."
Carlos nods but doesn’t move.
"Yeah, of course."
She stands, and he follows, walking together toward the boarding gate. They stop a few steps apart, looking at each other.
"I’m glad I saw you," she says, and it’s the first truth they dare to admit.
"Me too."
She hesitates for a moment before smiling at him, as if the goodbye doesn’t hurt.
"See you around."
Carlos holds her gaze, watches her walk away, and feels like he’s losing her all over again.
The second reunion
Carlos wasn’t expecting to see her.
Not here, not tonight.
But fate, with its twisted sense of humor, has brought her to the same wedding he’s attending.
When he sees her, something inside him stops.
It’s a mutual old friend who’s getting married—someone with whom they once shared memories of another time, back when they were still a couple, when life seemed a little less complicated. Carlos wonders if she knew he would be here, if she saw his name on the guest list and decided to come anyway.
Or if, just like him, she simply went along with the invitation, without thinking too much about what she might find.
She hasn’t changed.
Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.
The dress she wears falls elegantly over her figure, and her smile is still the kind that lights up a room without effort. She’s talking to someone, a glass of wine in hand, tilting her head with interest—the same way she used to listen to him when he told her stories that didn’t really matter.
He wonders if she still bites the inside of her cheek when she’s nervous.
If she still falls asleep on planes before takeoff.
If she ever thinks of him when she hears about Ferrari.
She notices him after.
Their eyes meet across the crowd, and it’s as if time contracts. As if all the times they’ve avoided each other, all the efforts to stay apart, are erased in this single moment.
And yet, they don’t move closer.
Not yet.
But the entire night revolves around them in ways neither wants to admit.
Mutual friends glance at them with nostalgia—some with knowing smiles, others with a hint of sadness in their voices when they remember what they once were.
"Do you remember them? How good they were together…"
"They were perfect."
"Such a shame it didn’t work out."
She smiles politely. Carlos merely takes a sip from his glass.
They don’t say anything.
Because what could they say?
That yes, they were happy, but they were also not enough.
That love is not always enough when time and priorities are working against you.
The night goes on.
And stolen glances become inevitable.
Carlos looks for her in the crowd, only to find her already watching him.
She finds him when he’s at the bar, when he laughs at someone’s joke, when his expression softens for a fleeting moment.
They both look away, but never for too long.
Then comes the accidental brush of their hands when they cross paths on the dance floor.
She’s spinning with someone else, and he’s passing through the crowd.
It’s just a second, a fleeting touch of her skin against his.
But they both feel it.
Like an echo of everything they once were.
A moment that lingers longer than it should, though neither says it out loud.
And the respect.
That silent respect, that invisible space they’ve learned to keep—as if getting too close might wake something that has only ever been asleep, never truly gone.
Carlos watches her as she dances with others, laughing, her hair falling down her back, the golden light reflecting off her skin.
She watches him when he stops to talk to old friends, when his laughter rings through the warm night air.
They have never been strangers.
But they can’t be what they were either.
And that truth weighs as heavily as the music filling the room.
The music changes.
From the lively, upbeat songs that have dominated the dance floor, the DJ slows things down with a soft melody—one of those that invite bodies to draw closer, to sway gently, as if time might pause just for a little while.
Carlos looks at her.
"Dance with me," his voice is low, barely audible over the wedding’s hum.
She looks at him, surprised.
For a moment, Carlos thinks she’s going to refuse. That she’ll smile kindly and say no, that it’s better not to tempt fate.
But then she nods.
"Okay."
And she lets him take her hand.
They move through the crowd with the same ease with which they once sought each other out in any room. But there’s a chasm between them, one that time and choices have carved with ruthless precision.
They dance.
They move with a familiarity neither dares to acknowledge. Hands on waist and shoulder, fingers brushing with painful tenderness. They’re not pressed together—not like before—but the space between them is filled with what they were and what they still feel.
It’s the perfect balance between nostalgia and restraint.
Between the love still burning in their eyes and the certainty that they can do nothing about it.
They dance in silence.
No words. Just slow movements, the careful touch of their bodies, the feeling that this is the last time they’ll be like this—in each other’s arms, pretending for a few minutes that life didn’t get in the way.
Carlos takes a deep breath.
He wants to say something, anything.
But what can he say when she already knows everything?
When she has always known?
She is the one who breaks the silence.
"You still dance the same," she murmurs, a sad smile on her lips.
Carlos lowers his gaze to hers, to her eyes that are still the same as always.
"And you still fit here just the same," he answers quietly.
She looks away for a second, but she doesn’t pull back.
Around them, their friends watch in silence. There’s no need for words to see the obvious—the way they look at each other, the gentleness in their movements, the way neither seems willing to let go. There is no tension, no resentment, only love wrapped in the careful restraint of what can no longer be.
"It was always them," someone whispers, with a hint of melancholy.
"It still is. They just… can’t be anymore."
"Look at them. If you didn’t know their story, you’d think they were still together."
"No, if you knew their story, you’d understand why it’s so heartbreaking to see them like this."
The murmurs reach their ears, but neither of them says anything. They simply keep moving, letting the music be the only one to speak.
Because, in the end, what else is there left to say?
As the song ends, their hands slip away slowly, as if letting go of each other is the hardest thing in the world.
And maybe it is.
The Third Reunion
She has a few days free from traveling and decides to seek peace where she once found it: a small coastal town in northern Spain. She walks through the same plazas as years ago, the same streets, the same ports. The restaurant is the same, but everything seems smaller now.
The last time she was here, it was with Carlos, and it was warm. It was summer, and he had made her promise not to work or think about the future—only about the days they had together. Now it’s winter, and the sea breeze drifting through the empty streets carries a feeling of emptiness, of something that once was and is now gone.
The restaurant remains a forgotten corner, with its dim lighting and the same wooden chairs that creak when you sit. She orders a glass of wine and lets herself be enveloped by nostalgia, by memories that shouldn’t hurt this much.
And then, she sees him.
Carlos is standing at the door, still wearing his coat, looking at her as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if time has played a cruel trick on them again.
“It can’t be…” he says, with a disbelieving laugh.
She blinks, shakes her head, and laughs too. There’s no other possible reaction. The coincidence is absurd, cruel, inevitable.
Carlos shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack before sitting across from her, without asking for permission. As if this place, this moment, still belonged to them and no one else.
“How long has it been since you were here?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.
“Since the last time. With you.”
Carlos nods, and the silence between them is dense, heavy. They order their food without thinking, as if they were still the same as before. She still asks for the sauce on the side. He still orders the same glass of wine. Small habits that haven’t changed, even though everything else has.
“How have you been?” she finally asks.
Carlos looks at her, and in his expression, there are a thousand answers he will never say out loud.
“Good. Racing. Traveling. The same as always.”
“The same as always,” she repeats with a broken smile. “I figured.”
She doesn’t say it with resentment, only with a certainty that aches. Because she always knew Formula 1 was his life. She was only a stop along the way.
Carlos places his glass down and looks away.
“And you?”
She takes a moment to answer.
“Trying to live.”
Carlos looks back at her. It’s a simple response, but there’s something else beneath it. Something he doesn’t want to analyze too much.
“Are you happy?”
She holds his gaze, as if daring him to hear the truth.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Are you?”
Carlos wets his lips, hesitates.
“I don’t know.”
She gives him a sad smile.
“How ironic.”
Carlos wants to say something more, but instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it until he finds something. He sets it down on the table.
“Do you remember this?”
She frowns and picks it up. It’s a photo. The last one they took here, years ago. They’re sitting together at a table—the same table where they’re sitting now. She has her head resting on his shoulder, and Carlos is looking at her instead of the camera.
The love is evident.
She runs her finger over the screen delicately, as if doing so could bring her back to that moment.
“I never realized you looked at me like that.”
“I always looked at you like that.”
She lifts her gaze. Carlos doesn’t look away. It’s a punch to the chest.
“Why are you showing me this, Carlos?” she asks softly.
Carlos lowers his head, exhaling.
“Because sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.”
She tenses. She sets the phone down carefully and pushes it away.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“No. It’s not. The truth is, you did what you had to do. What we always knew you would do.”
Carlos clenches his jaw.
“And what if I was wrong?”
She sighs and leans back in her chair.
“You weren’t. I never would have asked you to choose. And you never would have.”
Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the chest.
“I loved you.”
She smiles sadly.
“I loved you too.”
“Then why are we here and not together?”
She leans toward him, resting her elbows on the table, and says with devastating calm:
“Because love isn’t enough when there’s always something more important.”
Carlos says nothing.
She shakes her head with a soft, trembling laugh.
“How am I supposed to forget you, Carlos? How am I supposed to move on when every turn I take, you’re there?”
Carlos closes his eyes for a moment.
“I can’t change the past.”
“No. And I can’t change how I feel.”
Carlos swallows hard.
“You were never my second choice.”
“Then why wasn’t I the first?”
Silence.
She smiles bitterly, running a hand through her hair.
“Tell me something. If you could go back, would you do anything differently?”
Carlos looks at her. The answer is in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
She nods before he can say anything.
“I thought so.”
And that’s when Carlos understands. This is the end.
Not because they don’t love each other. Not because they don’t want to be together.
But because he never would have chosen differently.
She stands up, leaving money for the bill on the table.
“Fate is cruel, isn’t it?” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
Carlos watches as she walks away. It’s like that day at the airport, but worse.
Because now, he knows he has lost her for good.
For the first time in years, he feels like the world is collapsing around him.
The Atlantic air is sharp, cutting.
She walks without looking back. But Carlos follows her. Because he can’t let it end like this. Not again.
The night is dark, and the waves crash against the rocks with fury. The wind hits them with the same intensity as the feelings they have repressed. There’s no one else in the street. Only them.
“Are you going to keep running from me forever?” His voice reaches her before she can walk any further.
She stops dead in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around.
“Running?” she lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Don’t make me laugh, Carlos. If anyone has run away here, it’s always been you.”
He clenches his fists, walking until he’s standing right in front of her. The sea roars behind him, the wind pushes them, but the distance between them remains the worst storm of all.
“I didn’t run.”
She lifts her gaze, and her expression is filled with a sorrow that hurts more than any shout ever could.
“No. You just left me behind.”
Carlos feels like a dagger has been driven into his chest.
“You knew…”
“Of course I knew!” she bursts out, raising her voice for the first time all night. “I always knew. From the very first day, from the first time you said you loved me. From the moment you looked at me, and I believed we could find a way.”
Carlos takes a deep breath, the wind whipping against his face.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
She laughs again, without joy. Her eyes shine with a mix of fury and unbearable sadness.
“That’s the worst part, you know? That you didn’t want to. That you never meant to. But you did it anyway. And you keep doing it!”
Carlos takes a step forward, but she steps back.
“Do you want to know why I’m here?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Because I tried to move on. I tried. But here I am, standing in front of you, and I still feel the same. I still love you the same way, I still look at you as if you’re the only thing in this world.”
Carlos closes his eyes tightly, as if doing so could keep out the pain of hearing her words.
“Don’t say this…”
“Why not?” she whispers. “Because it hurts you?”
Carlos clenches his jaw.
“You have no idea how much it hurts.”
She looks at him, the wind tangling her hair, the waves roaring behind her.
“Oh, don’t I? Do you have any idea what it feels like to always be the one left behind? The one who watches you go, who’s left with memories that are too heavy to carry?”
Carlos feels something inside him shatter.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. It always has been!”
“I loved you!” he yells, desperation burning his throat. “God, how I loved you. Do you know how many times I tried to forget you?” His voice breaks on the last word. “How many times I wanted to hate you? But I can’t. I can’t, because I love you with every fiber of my being, and that’s the cruelest thing of all.”
She laughs, a hollow sound.
“Fuck, it’s so fucking unfair.”
Carlos swallows hard.
“It is.”
She lifts her gaze, her eyes burning.
“You know what’s worse? That all this time, I’ve tried to convince myself I was wrong. That maybe I didn’t love you that much. But every time I see you, I know I was lying to myself.”
Carlos holds her gaze.
“I never stopped loving you.”
She smiles, and it’s a sad smile.
“I know.”
A silence falls between them, heavy, suffocating.
She wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.
“But loving me was never enough for you.”
Carlos feels something inside him tear apart.
She takes a step back.
“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep seeing you and pretending I don’t still love you.”
Carlos looks at her, desperation in his eyes.
“Please…”
She shakes her head.
“Tell me how to move on. Tell me, Carlos.”
Carlos clenches his fists.
She laughs again, her laughter broken by sobs.
“You can’t, can you? Because you haven’t done it either.”
Carlos feels his throat close up.
She looks at him for a long moment, memorizing every detail.
“I loved you with everything I had. And I’d do it all over again. But I can’t keep choosing you if you never chose me.”
Carlos feels a knot in his stomach.
She walks away, her footsteps echoing against the wet stone of the promenade.
Carlos watches her go. And once again, he doesn’t stop her.
The Last Reunion
There is no noise in his head when he crosses the finish line for the last time.
No shouts, no euphoria, no deafening roar of the engine drilling into his ears.
Just calm.
The kind of calm he never imagined feeling in a moment like this—the kind of serenity one finds when, after years of fighting against the current, they stop rowing and simply let themselves drift.
He expected nostalgia. He expected emptiness. He expected fear. But he feels none of those things.
He feels peace.
The peace of someone who has given every last piece of himself to something and, for the first time, doesn’t feel like he’s leaving anything behind. He has given it all, with no regrets and no reservations.
He removes his helmet with steady hands, no hesitation. He hears his name chanted from the grandstands, feels the pats on his back from his team, the embrace of his engineer, the flashes of cameras capturing the end of an era.
But inside, everything is silent.
Carlos Sainz is no longer a Formula 1 driver, and the world keeps turning.
That night, while the echoes of celebration still hum through the streets, he is alone in his hotel room, staring at the open suitcase on his bed. For years, his entire life has fit into a single piece of luggage—race suits, boots, headsets, caps with the logos of Ferrari, Red Bull, McLaren, Renault, Williams. The stickers on his passport are the only proof that, for more than a decade, he never truly belonged anywhere.
Until now.
Carlos has never been one to hesitate, but still, when he books the flight, his fingers tremble slightly over the screen.
He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side.
He doesn’t know if she will want to see him, if she still feels the same, if she still thinks of him when a song plays on the radio or when she watches a race on a quiet Sunday.
He doesn’t know anything.
Carlos stands in front of her door, his heart pounding in his throat, and one unshakable certainty in his chest: he can’t spend the rest of his life without trying.
When she opens the door and sees him, her expression freezes.
And then, slowly, it crumbles.
Carlos doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at her. Just feels her.
Years have passed.
Years of trying with other people, of unintentionally searching for each other in different eyes, of accepting that what they had would never be repeated with anyone else.
Years of remembering.
But now they’re here. In the same time, in the same place.
And Carlos has never wanted anything more than this.
“Hi,” he says, with a tired smile.
She blinks, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Carlos…”
His name is a whisper. A plea.
He takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t come to ask for your forgiveness.”
She looks at him, saying nothing.
Carlos swallows, his voice softer than ever.
“I didn’t come to make promises either.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of everything unspoken is crushing her.
Carlos steps forward.
“I just want to tell you the truth.”
She trembles.
“Carlos…”
He shakes his head.
“Let me say it.”
Their eyes meet, and it’s like being back in that airport, at that wedding, in that small town where they unknowingly broke each other.
“If you ever thought you weren’t enough for me,” his voice cracks, “that I didn’t choose you, that you were always second place…”
He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“You were so, so wrong.”
Her eyes shine with tears.
Carlos smiles sadly.
“You were always the only one that mattered.”
She exhales a shaky breath, as if the air has been stolen from her lungs.
Carlos takes one last step—without touching her, without forcing anything.
“But I chose you too late.”
His words land like a blow, an open wound.
She looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
Carlos runs a hand through his hair, letting out a bitter laugh.
“God… I spent so much time running from this. Believing I had all the time in the world. That loving you was enough, even if I always left you waiting.”
She looks at him.
And in a low, wounded voice, she says:
“But it never was.”
Carlos nods, his eyes glassy.
“It never was.”
Silence engulfs them. Everything they are, everything they were, hanging between them.
Until she, lips trembling, asks:
“What are you doing here, Carlos?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every last ounce of courage he has left.
“I left Formula 1.”
Her brows furrow, surprised.
“Why?”
Carlos takes a deep breath.
“Because I don’t want my life to keep racing past without you in it.”
She loses her breath.
Carlos continues.
“Because after all this time, after every goodbye and every reunion… I still love you.”
Her lips tremble harder.
“Carlos…”
He gives her a small, sad smile, holding her gaze.
“And this time, I’m not letting you go.”
The silence that follows is dense, heavy, filled with promises and fears and years of restrained love.
She doesn't answer right away.
Because this is real. This is everything.
When she finally speaks, her voice is a broken whisper.
"I don't know if I can go through this again."
Carlos nods. "I know."
"I don't know if I can trust that this time you'll stay."
"I know."
She blinks, a single tear falling.
Carlos steps closer, his eyes burning with contained emotion.
"But I want to find out with you."
She looks at him, searching his face for something that will tell her this is just a fantasy.
But all she finds is truth.
Truth and love.
A love untouched. A love that never ceased to exist.
She closes her eyes and lets out a sob.
Carlos smiles softly.
"For the first time in my life, I don’t know what comes next."
She watches him, her heart pounding.
Carlos takes a breath, and with more sincerity than ever, he murmurs:
"But if you let me… I want to find out by your side."
She laughs through her tears.
And this time, when Carlos takes another step closer… she doesn’t pull away.
She stays.
The way she was always meant to.
@smoooothoperator
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cs55 - “You were looking at me with your pretty eyes, begging for a kiss,"
carlos x merhi!reader
smut (18+), age gap (5 years), p in v, oral (f receiving), carlos being a real cutie, totally smitten and v gentle, fluff, man written by a woman vibes
Taglist: @softhecreator @ascarimo
Never in your life had you been nervous about Carlos coming over, but when Roberto had texted you and requested to bring extra pastel de natas because he was taking Carlos along, made you feel hot all over. You were an adult now, and you thought your childhood crush on your brother's best friend had faded. Nothing of that was true. You hadn't seen him for a long time. You occasionally joined Teto on track, but as he was often in Japan and the other half of the season was spent with Carlos during his weekends. You saw each other during Christmas, and that was about it. Nevertheless, your brother was your hero, he had always been. He knew you liked Carlos, however, you weren't sure if he ever caught you crushing on him or not. You grew up on track with them, even though you weren't karting yourself.
Carlos was five years older than you, and with his height, his luscious hair, pretty eyes and kind character, he was an automatic crush-target for any teenage girl. You first met him when you were six and he was eleven. It was a blurry memory of a day at some karting track with his helmet on your head, which was way too big and made you look like a stick-character. Where other boys didn't want to talk to you because they thought you were too young and childish, Teto and Carlos gladly pulled you along, never minding your endless rambling, or when you had ice cream all over your face, or when you fell asleep in their tent. When you were ten, Teto gifted you a set of drawing pencils and a sketchbook, so you had something to do at the track. Carlos stood up for you when some boys bullied you and stole your pencils, getting them back for you before you could blink.
When you were thirteen, Teto asked Carlos to pick you up from school when your boyfriend, with whom you had a relationship of a total of five days, dumped you, and you were crying. When you were eighteen, he was the one you called in the middle of the night when you were drunk for the first time and you were scared of what your brother would think of you if you came home like that. It was one of the last moments you had seen him, because when you were eighteen, he was already in Formula 1. You had texted in his first year, his second year a little less, till you barely heard anything from him. And you understood, he was busy, he made it. For your brother, the Formula 1 journey wasn't as easy. It took a toll on the family as well, because it was crazy expensive. It meant that all money was put into Teto's career.
It meant that you had to earn your own money to pay for university. Seven years later, you had a Master’s degree and lived and worked in Porto, your favorite city in the world. Teto had called you a couple of days ago, telling he was in town and wanted to stop at your place. Later he asked if it was okay if Carlos was joining. Carlos' training camp was currently happening in Portugal, which was the reason why they were near. You looked at your reflection in the mirror that hung in the hallway, satisfied with the bouncy curls in your hair and the touch up of make-up you did about ten minutes ago. You were nervous. For meeting your brother and someone you knew practically your whole life. There was a knock on the door, and your brother's annoyingly happy face was soon visible when you opened the door. "Hermanita, te extrañé," Teto said, bringing you into a tight hug.
"Where's Carlos?" you asked. "He's parking the car," Roberto replied, stepping past you. "He's excited to see you," he added, putting his coat on the rack in the hallway. "Did he say that?" you asked, making your brother look at you. "Of course, why wouldn't he be? You're his hermanita a little too," Teto squeezed your shoulders, not catching your expression dropping at the thought of meaning nothing more to Carlos than a little sister. "I'll start making coffee, he'll be here soon," he said, walking through the hall to your kitchen. "Already here." You looked up to see Carlos walking towards your door, moving a hand through his hair, dark brown coat unzipped and clinging onto his broad frame. Scruff coated his handsome face, those dark eyebrows still the same, just like his sparkling eyes. The Carlos you knew was a boy, tall, not so muscled yet, with boyish characteristics, but this Carlos... was a man, the definition of tall, dark and handsome, the kind all women would swoon over.
The kind of man that swept you off your feet with one look, who aged like fine wine. Strong jaw, rough hands, amber eyes, raven hair. "You look like you've seen a ghost, y/n," Carlos jokingly said as he halted in front of you, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes. "Well, I haven't seen you in what, seven years? You can be a ghost for all I know," you recover easily, smiling back at him. "C'mere," he muttered, arms wrapping around your waist before you can protest or think of a strategy to hug this tree of a man he became, both in size and height. You had to step on your toes to curl your arms around his neck, burying your face in his jacket, smelling the woody, leather, slightly musk, scent. He kisses your cheek, which had you praying he wouldn't feel your heart pounding through your chest against his. "Teto's making coffee," you say, pulling back from him. "Doing something useful for once," Carlos replied, closing the door behind him when you both walked into your apartment.
"I heard that!" your brother called from the kitchen. Carlos chuckled, shaking his jacket off his shoulders and putting it next to Roberto's in the hall. He briefly looked around, eyes gliding over the small table under the mirror where your car keys laid, some Rituals scent sticks stood and a tube of lip gloss rested. He walked into the living room, which was bright and spacious. A lot of light was coming in from the large windows, a door on the left that led to the balcony. The kitchen was on the other side, where he heard you and Teto bicker about him making a mess while not even being for five minutes. It made him laugh softly, because this never changed. Carlos sat down at the table, watching you command your brother around to sweep up the crumbles he left on the clean, marble counter while you took two cups of coffee to the table. His eyes moved over to you next. Your hair had gotten so long, it had always been curly, unlike Teto's.
You were wearing a pair of jeans with straight ankles with burgundy kitten heels, lifting you just a little bit higher, emphasizing your legs, the shape of your curves. The white shirt you were wearing accentuated your olive skin, which ran in the Merhi family. Your eyes were like honey, a little lighter than his, even a little lighter than your brother's eyes. The definition of pretty. As if it was a coincidence, a golden necklace with a blue diamond pendant decorated your neck. The last time Carlos had seen you, he had been concerned. You didn't look happy or in your place. You were skinny, hiding in big hoodies and more oversized clothing. Now, you looked happy, healthy, your skin glowing. He couldn't help but glance at your hands when you put the cups down on the table, spotting the absence of any rings. Carlos would lie if he said that didn't relieve him a little bit. Teto brought the plate of pastel de natas, putting them down in the middle of the table.
"What have you been-..."
"So, how's trainingca-..."
You laughed when you both started talking at the same time. "You can go first," you gestured, bringing your cup to your lips to take a sip. "What have you been up to? I haven't heard things about you in a long time," Carlos said, his elbows leaning on the table, drawing your eyes to his arms, his biceps, in the knitted sweater. "You want a recap of the past seven years?" you let out a soft laugh. "Te dije que ella obtuvo su maestría, Chili," Teto chimed in. "Yes, I got my degree, moved to Porto about three years ago and joined a marketing firm. I'm currently a project leader and it's going really well," you said, and he could see on your face that you were happy here, loving it here. "She's always too busy to visit her brother," Teto teased, his arm wrapping around your shoulder meanwhile. "Just like he's too busy to visit his hermanita," you reply, making Carlos chuckle as well. "Hey, I'm here now!" he protested. "With your second favourite person in the world."
Your cheeks grew hot at his words, and you glanced over at Carlos again with a shy smile. "I have to agree it's been a while since we've properly seen each other, y/n," he agreed with Teto. "I'm happy you're happy," he added. "You know what's also amazing about you being so busy?" Roberto stood up and twirled some of your curls around his fingers. "No time for boys whose ass I need to kick if they hurt my sister." You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head while he disappeared into the hallway to get to the bathroom. "How have you been?" you ask, looking at Carlos again. "I've been good," he nods. "Last year was tough, but it's going up again. Training for the new season just started, spend the holidays with family, took some time off," he continued, silently confirming he didn't have anyone specials in his life now either. Not like you already knew that from his social media or anything...
It nearly felt ridiculous how your crush on him had never gone away. No one could simply have a crush on Carlos, because he was the kind of man anyone would be totally obsessed with. "We were talking about having dinner tonight, somewhere nice, good food, wine. You're welcome to join, meet the team of people who are by my side most of the time. Believe it or not, besides your annoying brother," he said, a lazy curling his full lips. "That's lovely, thank you for the invite. I'd love to come," you smile back at him. "I miss the old days sometimes," you sigh, leaning your cheek on your hand. "It was so much more simple when I was still drawing weird things at the table while you and Teto were driving around and buying me ice cream after." The memory makes Carlos smile and gnaw at his bottom lip. "Even when your pencils got stolen all the time?"
"You'd get them back for me."
"Yeah, I would."
Your eyes locked in a dreamy haze, that took way too short as Teto came back again. You sat up a little more, awkwardly adjusting your hair before crossing your left leg over your right. "I invited y/n to the dinner we spoke about," Carlos spoke up again, while Teto glanced between the two of you, not missing the pink apples of your cheeks and the way Carlos refused to glance over at you now, as if he had caught you two. "Yeah, I wanted to suggest that in the car, so, great. You're going to meet the people who we travel with to the races," Teto told you, making you nod. "We have to get going, but pick you up at eight, okay?" he said. "Sure, update me if you need. Do you still have my number, Carlos?" you turn to your brother's best friend again. "I'm pretty sure I do," Carlos nodded with a smile. They got up and you did too, ready to walk them to the door. "Dresscode for tonight?" you asked while Teto pulled his jacket on.
"Dress? Skirt?" Teto opted, his shoulders raising in a shrug, leaning down so you could kiss his cheek. "You're a Merhi, you'll look great. See you tonight, hermanita," he added, making you laugh. His phone rung soon after, to which he opened the door and waved at you to take it. "He's right," Carlos said, standing in front of you now, his jacket back on. "I've been meaning to tell you that you look great," he added, making your heart palpitate faster in your chest while he leaned down and turned his face. Your hand landed on his bicep as you leaned up to kiss his cheek as well, his facial hair prickling your lips slightly. "Looking forward to dinner," Carlos softly adds. "Yeah, me too," you nod, leaning against the door as you watch him walk through the hallway, turning his head to look at you a last time before he walks around the corner.
You dearly wanted to relax, read for a couple of hours before taking a shower and getting ready. You had plenty of time before the dinner, but you decided to spend half of it stressing over what to wear, how to behave, and who you were going to meet. You decided to settle for a long, cream coloured off-shoulder dress that nicely accentuated your tan skin. Your hair was half up, part of it tied up with a french pin. You paced around your bedroom to find your favourite heels, the jimmy choo's with the bow on the back. Your doorbell rung, making you rush onto the hallway to get your purse. "Estoy en camino, no me apresures, Teto," you called when the bell rung again, rolling your eyes while taking your coat from the rack. "You know how I ha-... Carlos," you breathed, looking up at your brother's best friend, who was casually leaning against the door, the keys of his Ferrari between his fingers. "Hi," he said, charming smile on his lips.
He took his time to rake his eyes over you before he looked into yours again. "I didn't expect you here again," you say, allowing him to take your coat so he could drape it over your shoulders. "I needed an excuse to be the one to pick you up instead of Teto," Carlos admitted shamelessly, making you suppress a smile as you locked the door and walked through the hall with him. "What did you tell him?" you ask, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to make the doors close. "I told him I wanted to drive you to the restaurant and drop you off after, so he didn't have to worry about his tight schedule today," Carlos said. "So, you're just doing him a favour?" you were pushing it a little, eyebrow raising while he took a step closer, eyes gliding over your face with a glint of amusement. "He's doing me a favour, actually," he mutters, fingerstips brushing over your chin before he presses a kiss to your cheek, too close to your lips.
"You look breathtaking," Carlos compliments you effortlessly, while you started to feel hot all over, a sweat threatening to break out under your dress. You force yourself to not shy away, holding his eyes until the elevatordoors open again, and he wanted you to step out first. His car is parked in front of the entrance of the building, lights flashing as he unlocked the doors. Carlos opens your side for you, and you look at him as he walks around the car to sit down behind the wheel. He had always been like this, charming, a gentleman, kind, and you don't want to feel special now, but you couldn't ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the comfortable tension that rested between you while he steered the car onto the road. "You still like to read?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Yeah, I do," you reply. "I switched to easier reads, something relaxing on the brain when I come back from work."
Carlos looks over at you briefly with a nod. "There's no one...," his voice falters slightly, fingers sliding over the leather of the steering wheel before he continues speaking. "Are you seeing anyone?" he blurts out, making you raise an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, it's a stupid question," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's okay. I'm not dating anyone currently. Are you?" you ask. "No, I'm not," Carlos says, relaxing a little further into the leather seat. The rest of the ride is filled with chatter, catching up step by step after not seeing each other for a very long time. Carlos stopped the car in front of the restaurant, a valet opening your door for you, but it didn't take long before he was by your side. The soft press of his hand on your lower back guided you through the restaurant, to the table where Borja, Guzman and Roberto were already seated. Teto's eyes glanced from you to Carlos, a small grin curling his lips before he spoke up to welcome you to the table.
You kissed your brother's cheek before introducing yourself to the others, sitting down on the booth side of the table, where there was space left next to Carlos. You easily fell into conversation with the other's that were a part of team 55, learning more about what they were all doing to support Carlos and help him prepare for the new season. The food was great, as was the wine, of which the second glass of red caused your cheeks to heat up, a comfortable buzz filling your mind. You were far from drunk, but the liquid courage was sure helping when you caught Carlos' eyes again. Teto was rambling on about something, and you had stopped listening a long time ago. There was a small smile on his lips, his fingertips brushing over your clothed knee under the table. "What's this chemistry between us?" you ask softly, brave enough to let your nails tickle his muscled underarm.
You briefly look over at the other side of the table, seeing everyone's too busy to notice the two of you anyway. "It's always been there," Carlos muttered. "You've always been more than just somebody I was destined to meet," he says. "I didn't know Shakespear was one of your fifteen names," you reply, gnawing at your bottom lip before letting go of it. "Carlos..." he swallowed a groan at the way your honey eyes zoned in on his, darting between his mouth and his eyes for a couple of seconds. You were dangerously close to him. "I need to go to the restroom," you say, standing up and disappearing into the back of the restaurant. You weren't sure where the courage came from, but the dilation of his pupils, the subtile touches of his fingertips, his sweet words, made it all worth to tease him a little. You went to the restroom, washed your hands and checked your appearance in the mirror before leaving.
A soft laugh escapes your throat as an arm wraps around your waist, caging you in the dark corner. Carlos' hands curl around you, his lips finding yours. You're breathless with the way he kisses you, body heat seeping through your dress, your fingers nestling in his knitted sweater. "Teto's suspicious," he drawles against your mouth, not giving you a chance to reply as he kisses you again. "You haven't been exactly subtle," you whisper against his lips. "Me?" Carlos protest, large palms squeezing your waist. "You were looking at me with your pretty eyes, begging for a kiss," he teases, pressing his lips against your chin. "I'm no better than a man when a beautiful woman looks at me like that," his voice rasps in your ear. "They're ordering dessert now, I'll come back in five minutes," Carlos said, stepping back to move into the men's room. You smooth out your dress again, moving your fingers through your hair before getting back to the table again.
Teto's eyes were sparkling when you sat down again, a boyish grin on his lips. He wasn't saying anything, but he knew. You knew he knew, which is why you didn't respond either. Carlos came back after a few minutes, as if nothing had happened, and you all ordered dessert. After the last course, Carlos got up to pay while Teto got your jacket. He held it while you slipped your arms in the sleeves. "Si hay alguien en quien confío contigo, es Carlos. Pero si te hace daño, le romperé el cuello," your brother said, moving your hair from under the collar and turning you around to face him. "Sigues siendo mi hermana pequeña," Teto hummed, squeezing your arm. "I love you," you said, patting his chest to let him know you'd be fine. "And he loves you," Teto softly said when you both looked up to find Carlos waiting for you. He gave you a gentle push in his best friend's direction, a nod and a tightlipped smile delivered to Carlos like a message of a thousand words.
He opens the door of the car for you, getting behind the wheel without a word and driving off. "I think the people in your team are very nice," you start. "You should meet Gigi soon as well, he's my trainer. Borja helps me during the off-season, but Gigi was assigned to me by my team," Carlos says. "Borja told me about your cycling plans tomorrow," you nod. "Yeah, we're making quite the laps here during training camp." You didn't care about training, because your fingers were itching to tear his jacket off his body, get rid of the sweater and snack on this man like no tomorrow. Carlos parked his car in one of the spots in front of the building again, walking you up to your floor and remaining in the doorway like the gentleman he was, hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans. "Tell me..." you start, licking your lips before you stood barely ten centimeters apart. "Does this training schedule of yours allow you some late night cardio?"
Carlos does the thing with his jaw again, and he nearly looked liked he was zoning out while staring into your eyes, chocolate hues changing into smoldering ambers as his mind takes over, jeans tightening and a hand reaching up to lean against the door of your apartment behind you. "It's been fortyfive minutes since I last ate something, so it's good for burning calories," he says, lips brushing against yours. "In another fortyfive minutes I'm allowed a post-dinner snack..," he adds, his other hand finding the dip of your waist again. "y/n..." he's so close, he's radiating heat and sex and desire, and you feel yourself holding a breath, almost fearing he was going to tell you he didn't want to stay, that he was going to leave. "There's no way back if you let me in your apartment tonight," Carlos warns. "Because I won't be able to stop myself if you kiss me now." It was all you needed to know to tip your head upwards and let your lips crash in a hard kiss.
It was addictive, knee-weakening and caused your mind to spin, clutching onto his jacket while dragging him through the door. Carlos pushes your coat off your shoulders, a shiver running up your spine at the cold air that suddenly reaches your body. You nearly stumble over it through the hallway, and he was just in time to catch you before you could twist an ankle on your heels. "We have all night," he mouths against your lips, lifting you up with ease. The seams of your dress protested as your legs curled around his hips. "Tell me where to go," Carlos breaths. "Depends on where you want to fuck me," you reply, as breathless as he was. "I don't remember you having such a smart mouth," he replies, backing you up against a door in the hallway to which you pull the handle down. "Shut me up then." Carlos reaches your bed in a couple of steps, dropping you on the mattress. You reach for the zipper of your dress, dragging it down and tugging the material over your head.
Adoration fills his eyes as he looks down at you, admiring the beautiful woman you've become. You sit up on your knees, reaching him halfway as he leans down to kiss you again, large palms moving over your arms while your fingers find the hem of his knitted sweater, tugging it upwards to make him get rid of it. The small lamp on your nightstand was switched on, bathing him a golden glow when he reached the back of his neck and pulled the piece of clothing off, dropping it next to your dress on the floor. Your lips parted with a soft breath as you shamelessly oggled his body, the hard planes of his chest, his abs, the v-lines that dipped into his jeans, the happy trail disappearing below his belt. The muscles felt as rock solid as they looked when your fingers brushed over his biceps as his hands curled around your waist and pushed you further up the mattress, your head falling into the pillows while he claimed his place between your thighs.
"Carlos..."
His head lifts to look at you, hair messy atop of his head, looking so deliciously rumpled as his lips were parted, swollen from making out with you. His fingertips brushed over your bare skin, toying with the waistband of your panties on your hip. "It's been a while for me," you admit. Carlos nods slowly, understanding what you were trying to say. "That's okay," he says, feeling your legs curl around his, your naked legs scraping against the denim of his jeans. He's heavy on top of you, a comfortable heavy as a large part of his weight still leans on his arms next to your head, mouth dipping down to taste the skin on your neck, which he had been dying to kiss all night already. His nostrills caught a whiff of your sweet perfume, the scent, so feminine, causing his mind to spin. Carlos left hot, wet kisses down the slope of your neck, teeth biting gently here and there, his hot breath ghosting over your skin and making you squirm beneath him.
His hand found the clasp of the strapless bra that covered you, unhooking the sides and revealing your tits to him. "You're so pretty," he groans, one hand finding the swell of your tits, mouth finding one of your nipples and letting his tongue roll over the hard pearl. You clenched around thin air at the thought of his mouth going further down your body. It caused the heat to reach your neck, your panties to stick against your pussy, and he had barely done anything. One of your hands disappeared into his hair, pushing his head further south. A small grin shows up on his handsome face as he looks up at you, fingers teasingly tugging down your panties, to stroke the skin of your hips, but not yet revealing your wet cunt to him. "¿Es ahí donde me quieres?" he hummed, full lips dropping another kiss to your lower abdomen, teeth leaving a playful bite on your hipbone.
"Need your mouth on me," you huff, already feeling like you're struggling to breathe. Carlos' fingers brush over your clothed clit, watching you jolt slightly at the sensation. He watches you intently, groaning as he feels the wet patch of material from where your sticky wetness was leaking from your pussy. He makes a show of it, watching you squirm, head cocking sideways when a small pout shows up on your face. "Carlos," you whine, your fingers moving through his hair in a way that nearly makes him want to purr, and he turns his head to kiss your palm, finally getting rid of your panties. Firm hands part your legs, another grunt escaping when he looks at your puffy cunt. You gasp as his mouth suddenly covers your mound, tongue firmly and determind with its first swipe over your clit. He works your leg over his shoulder, fingers pressing into your thighs to keep you spread open for him.
He growls at your taste, his tongue continuing to flick lazily over your clit, making you feel breathless and already desperate for a release. Your nails scrape over scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair, making him moan against your pussy. He found a perfect balance between slow, teasing kitten licks and harder, firmer circles of his tongue, making your body tense in the best way possible while he made out with your cunt, eating you like he hadn't been at the same dinner table with you barely two hours ago. "You're so wet," his voice rasps, mouth pulling away from you. You almost want to protest, but your unspoken words are shut up by his fingers slipping inside you slowly. Carlos eases them in till his knuckles, flicking his palm upside, curling his fingertips and drawing more pretty sounds from you. His eyes are dark and hot as he looks up at you, watching your head toss back and your fingers clutch the sheets of your bed.
He had always been protective of you, looking out for you, down bad for you - his best friend's little sister. In his mind, you've always been his, and he could finally claim you. The thought made him feel so possessive, territorial, and it drove him crazy. You felt out of breath as his tongue was back on your clit, sucking the nub of nerves between his lips before he flicked the muscle over it again, firm and hard shapes of 55 drawn over it. His ears - and his ego - were rewarded with multiple fucks and gasps of his name, watching you cum on his tongue and his fingers as the coil in your lower abdomen snapped. Delicious, warm pleasure rolled up your spine and spread through the very ends of your nerves, a blissed out expression visible on your face. Your doe eyes looked up at him as he got up on his knees, leaning on your elbows while you watched how he unbuckled his belt, unzipping the denim and stepping out of his jeans.
The itch between your legs was far from satiated when your eyes dropped to the outline of his cock in his Calvins, which he soon freed from his briefs. Thick and hard, large tip leaking some pre-cum already. The girth of it, with the veins and ridges, the size of it, as you looked his cock from the tip to the base. Your heart pounds against your ribs again as he hovers over you, spreading your thighs wider to make more room for himself. The head teases your pussy a couple of times, rubbing over your clit and spreading your stickiness over it before he lined himself up and pushed in. The stretch hurt so good, making your nails bite into the hard muscles of his shoulders, body tightening and almost fighting him. His lips brushed over your cheek, leaving a kiss on your earlobe, telling you to relax and take him. Soft breaths and pants escape from him as he sheats himself fully inside you, feeling you clench him, gripping him as his hips pull back to move forward again.
His cock spreads you further open, easier this time, your wetness making obscene squelching noises as your pussy sucks him in, grunts filling the room as you're so deliciously tight around him. A hand on your thigh keeps your thighs firmly spread, toes curling at the way his cock slides into you again, the tip brushing against your cervix in just a way that made you lose touch with reality. Each thrust pulled a moan from your throat, higher-pitched each time because of the force of his hips driving into yours. The frame of the best starts to protest, squeaking as he fucks you harder into the mattress, the pressure inside your lower abdomen building again. "So pretty on my cock, baby," Carlos mutters in your ear, groaning when your nails bit into his back, your head tossed back, lips partening with more sounds he wanted to hear. You were so warm, so tight, so wet around him. It made his brain spin, feeling drunk, fuzzy, chasing a high he so desperately craved.
It wasn't his own high he chased, he needed to see you cum on his cock, he needed to watch you crumble and fall apart underneath him, your name on his tongue alongside a prayer. He sat back slightly, hands curling around your hips to drag your cunt over his cock over and over again, watching you squirm and whither, jolting with pleasure when his thumb rubs lazy circles on your clit. Dots cloud your vision as your orgasm crashes into you, making your legs shake and your fingers tremble, struggling to find something to hold onto. Carlos buries himself deeply inside you, his seed spilling inside you. You feel so incredibly full still, aftershocks shooting up your spine and making you feel warm all over. Your lips collide in a hard kiss again, but it softens after a couple of seconds, breaths mingling before he pulls back to look into your eyes. "You're incredible," Carlos says, fingers caressing your cheeks.
His eyes dart over your face before they find yours again, a small smile showing up on your face. "Stay the night?" you ask, turning to your side as he rolls off you. Carlos pulls you into him, turning his head on the pillow to look at you. "Can I stay longer?" he asks in response. "And take you on a date?" he continued, causing your smile to widen. "My sixteen-year-old self is screaming now," you let out a small laugh. "You've had a crush on me for ten years? I thought for fiteen at least," he smirks, making you swat his chest. "I've always had a crush on you. I thought it had gone away, but I was wrong," you say. "I thought I would always be Teto's little sister to you." Carlos shook his head. "You've always been more to me than just Teto's little sister," he says, his hand comfortingly rubbing over your back. "Come on, let me take you out for dinner and come over to Monaco when you can," Carlos said. "We'll take it slow and see."
You cupped his face to kiss him again, swinging a leg over him, planting your palms on his chest to straddle him. "I'll think about it during round two," you whisper in his ear, rewarded with a grunt and his hands tightening around your hips again.
smut (18+) p in v, unprotected sex, ungodly amount of teasing, wearing carlos' shirt (with his initials and him going feral), him fucking you for the first time after the last triple header, carlos deliciousness, cum play
For the first time in months, it was a warm, sandy breeze that woke you up instead of the shrill alarm on Carlos' phone. You could barely get your eyes open at first, burying your face further into the soft pillow. The heat under the duvet was nearly suffocating you, with his warm body sticking against yours, his breath fanning over your neck. You felt yourself drifting off to sleep again already, listening to his soft snores after you had freed yourself from his desert hot embrace, one of your legs tangled in the sheets and finally cooling down. You hum contently, fingers curling into the thin cover as you sunk into a new dream. Your movements had woken Carlos up, and it didn't take long before you felt his big, warm body against your back again. You groaned at the heat, yet the goosebumps rose upon your skin when his lips trailed down the slope of your neck, leaving soft kisses in their wake.
A shiver ran up your spine when he kissed the skin under your ear, his scruff tickling a little. "Amor..." Carlos' voice rasped. "Don't move away from me," he complained, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you firmly against his chest. "You're so hot," you hum. "Thanks," he replies, not doing anything to put more distance between your bodies. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met," he says, continuing the kisses to your skin, his hand moving under his button-up you're wearing, gliding over your stomach, your ribs, up your chest. It feels so free to know that he doesn't need to be anywhere soon. That you can wake up and spend the morning together, instead of him rushing into the shower and being picked up by Gigi to leave and drive a car on a track somewhere in the world. In the upcoming weeks, he was completely yours.
And you were his.
You were always his, but from his point of view, he didn't show you that often enough.
"I'm so thankful to have you by my side," Carlos speaks up again, his big, brown eyes looking into yours when you turn to face him. His large palm glides from the front of your body to the small of your back, over your ass and finding your bare thigh, lifting your leg over his hip. The corners of his lips curl upwards when you cup his cheek, your thumb rubbing back and forth over his handsome face before moving through his messy hair. "I'm so proud of you, Carlos," you mutter. "And you're going to look so good in Williams blue," you add, making him laugh a little. Your lips connect in the most delicious kiss ever, your arms wrapping around his neck, bodies flush together. You can feel his abs against your stomach, his hands groping at your thighs, pulling you even closer. You moan against his mouth when his hips roll into yours, his body pushing you further into the mattress when he hovers over you, settling between your thighs.
His tongue licks against your lips, fingers disappearing under his shirt once more, thumb flicking over the hard pearls of your nipples. "I missed this," he groans, nipping on your jaw before his head nuzzles into your neck again, a mix of your perfume and body lotion making him dizzy. "I'm sorry I neglected your needs," he apologizes for something he didn't need to apologize for. You understood he needed to fully focus on his last races for Ferrari, especially when the constructors title was in sight. "I intend to fully make it right," Carlos speaks against your skin, looking up at you as his hard cock rests against your inner thigh, covered by a pair of black Calvins. His hair was sticking everywhere, messed up by your fingers. His hands ran over your body, fingers itching to get between your legs, his strong shoulders tensing. The view was enough to ruin your panties. "Mhm," you nod, already losing the ability to speak in full sentences.
He started his slow torture by unbuttoning his shirt that was covering you, fingertips lingering briefly on his initials that were stitched into the front. There was something so territorial about you wearing anything that showed off you were his. Whether it was a shirt with his logo, a cap with his racing number, or a necklace with a simple golden 'c'. He took so long to undress you, you whined in dismay. Carlos kissed the pout on your lips before his mouth drifted to your tits, licking your nipple before sucking it between his lips. His palm kept it warm when he moved to the other, teeth gently scraping over it to make you squirm. You were sure your panties were a sticky mess by the time his fingers were even near the elastic waistband, a sheen layer of sweat covering your forehead and chest. "You're so sexy," he groans as your back arches for him. "Baby, I need you," you huff, the heat between your thighs becoming unbearable.
Without another word, his mouth drops on your lower abdomen, leaving hot, wet, open-mouth kisses over the lace of your thong. Your fingers grip the duvet underneath you as he licks your covered clit, the friction shooting a delicious surge of pleasure up your nerve system. Carlos repeats the action a couple of times before quietly spitting some saliva on your clothed pussy. In combination with your slick, the lace and cotton soon got drenched, sticking to your pussy and outlining it in such a pornographic way. His cock pulsed against the material of his underwear, abs clenching at the sight of your body convulsing when his thumb started to rub circles on your clit through the soaked panties. Two of his fingers simply pushed past the lace covering your cunt to slip inside you. "Fuck..." he cursed under his breath as he felt how slick and warm you were, more of your wetness messing up your panties as he slowly finger fucked you to the most heavenly orgasm.
You knew that nothing could ever compare to the stretch of your pussy around his cock, and while you already felt overstimulated and loosing touch with reality, you couldn't deny the neediness that remained. Carlos' fingers slipped out of you, a string of your stickiness briefly connecting to him before he rubbed it over your sensitive clit. He didn't take any effort to take off your panties now either. He freed himself from his underwear, groaning as he stroked himself once or twice. Your mouth watered at the sight of his fist wrapped around his fat cock, the tip leaking pre-cum, veins bulged up. Your eyes nearly rolled back at the mere thought of having him inside you, but he postponed the moment a little longer as he nuzzled his cock between the lips of your puffy cunt, burying himself under your panties and taking the elastic band into his hand as he started to fuck his fist. Each time his hips rutted forward, his cock slid up your pussy and over your clit, the head bulging under the drenched material of your panties.
Within a couple of seconds the most obscene sounds filled the room as his cock became slick with your juices, the fat tip prodding against your clit. You were on the edge of another orgasm and he wasn't even inside you. Heat rose to your face as you watched his abs contract, his thumb rubbing over the veins of his cock. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen, and while he was incredibly good at making you cum by penetration, the sight of this in combination with the friction on your overstimulated clit was enough to let you spiral into second orgasm. Your thighs trembled, attempting to close around his hand, but he pinned one of them down to the bed as he continued to fuck his fist and bullying your nub of nerves. You watched him cum on you through hooded eyes, moaning at the sight of his body tensing and then releasing in the best way possible. Sticky ropes of cum covered your panties and your pussy, your clit was throbbing from the stimulation.
Carlos barely gave you a second to recover as he pulled your panties aside and gathered his seed with his cock that was still hard. He pushed into you without a warning, filling you up, stretching you out and causing your vision to cloud with dots. All oxygen was sucked out of your lungs as he fucks his cum into you, hovering over you and caging you in to give you something to hold onto. Your nails claw at his back while his fingertips press into your thighs to hold them open, to keep your pussy spread for him while his hips rut into yours mercilessly. "Carlos, it's so good," you manage to blabber. "So good," you breathe. "Yeah? Gonna cum for me again?" his voice rasps in your ear, hot moans and low grunts following. "Missed this pussy, mi reina." He bites into your neck gently, soothing the sting with his tongue. Your ankles lock behind his back, nails digging into his muscled shoulders as white-hot pleasure nearly knocks you out. His cum fills you this time, his cock pushing deeply between your walls before his hips stop moving.
His lips brush over your neck again, kissing your shoulder before his head drops there. A sigh escapes him, a satisfied, spend sigh. Your hand roams over his broad back before it finds his thick hair in the nape of his neck, finally feeling like you're coming down to earth again. Carlos waits a couple of minutes before he pushes himself up, slipping out of you with a soft grunt. He looks at the mess the two of you made, both of you covered with sweat and your mixed juices. "We should get cleaned up, order breakfast and then go again," he proposes with sparkling eyes, massaging your inner thigh before he effortlessly lifts you up. "Sounds perfect, but..." you look up at him as he sets you down on the floor in the bathroom while starting the shower. "Only if you fuck me like that again." Carlos' eyes darken again, fingers tracing your cheek. "I wasn't planning on doing anything else today, mi vida."
pairing : carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader
kinktober day 16 - lingerie
summary : spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos
warnings/notes : swearing, a bit of plot, smut, spit, nipple play, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, anal sex, mention and use of sex toys, gagging, praise kink, explicit photography (with consent of course)
word count : 5.7k
a/n : sorry if this took so long, i was so busy these past few days
main masterlist | kinktober masterlist | taglist form
Y/n walked through the front door, arms laden with shopping bags. "I'm home!" she called out cheerfully, expecting Carlos to greet her. When there was no response, she assumed he must still be asleep after his training session this morning.
Humming to herself, Y/n made her way to the kitchen, setting her purchases down on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door, bending over to grab a bottle of water.
Suddenly, strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her back against a firm chest. Y/n let out a startled yelp, heart leaping into her throat as she spun around.
Carlos grinned down at her, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well hello there, beautiful," he purred, voice low and husky. "Welcome home."
Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling back. "You scared me half to death, you jerk," she laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "I thought you were asleep."
Carlos chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on Y/n's hips. "Oh, I was sleeping like a baby...until the bank called to ask if my credit card had been stolen. Apparently, someone went on quite the shopping spree today."
Y/n bit her lip, trying to look innocent. "I may have gone a little overboard," she admitted sheepishly. "But you know how it is when the girls drag you out shopping. One minute you're just browsing, and the next you've maxed out three credit cards."
Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused. "Eight thousand dollars at Sephora? What exactly did you buy, love? The entire store?"
Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "Maybe. But you should see the new eyeshadow palettes I got! They're to die for."
"And don't even get me started on Victoria's Secret," Carlos teased, his hands dipping lower. "Fifteen grand? I think that's more than the GDP of some small countries."
Y/n giggled, playfully swatting Carlos' chest. "C'mon, don't be such a killjoy! I got it for you!"
Realizing how that sounded, her eyes widened and she backpedaled quickly. "Wait, no, that came out wrong! I didn't buy you lingerie to wear, I swear!"
Carlos raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Really? Because I have to say, I'm a bit interested in this... development."
"No, no, nothing like that!" Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "I just figured you'd like seeing me in some of the new sets I got. You know, for your viewing pleasure and all that."
She bit her lip, a coy smile playing on her lips. "I'll model them for you after dinner, if you'd like. Give you a little private fashion show."
Carlos' eyes darkened, his gaze raking over her appreciatively. "Mmm, I think I'd like that very much, amor."
After dinner, Y/n led Carlos to their bedroom, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I have three sets to show you tonight," she purred, her hands sliding up his chest. "And I think you're going to like them very much."
She disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment before emerging in a stunning white lingerie set. The bra was all lace and delicate straps, barely containing her ample breasts. The matching thong was equally skimpy, hugging her hips and leaving little to the imagination.
"What do you think?" Y/n asked, doing a slow spin. The white lace contrasted beautifully against her golden skin, making her look like a naughty angel.
Carlos' eyes darkened with lust, his hands flexing at his sides. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You look gorgeous."
Y/n smiled, pleased by Carlos' reaction. "Thank you, baby," she purred, giving him a quick smile before sauntering back into the closet to change into the next set.
A moment later, she emerged in a stunning blue satin ensemble. The bra was a plunging push-up style, making her breasts look even more voluptuous than usual. The high-waisted panties hugged her curves, the satin smooth and cool against her skin.
"What do you think of this one?" Y/n asked, striking a pose. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. "I thought the color would bring out my eyes."
Carlos' mouth went dry at the sight of her, his cock already starting to harden in his shorts. "It does," he managed, his voice strained. "It brings out how fucking sexy you are."
Y/n chuckled, her eyes flickering down to the growing bulge in Carlos' shorts. "Whoa there, big boy," she teased, sauntering closer to him. "We've got one more set to go. You need to calm down before you explode."
She reached out, trailing a finger along the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat of his skin. "Although," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "I can't blame you. I'd be pretty excited too if I had a sexy girlfriend parading around in lingerie."
Carlos groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his hands settling on her hips. "You're killing me here."
Y/n grinned, giving his bulge a little squeeze before stepping back. "Patience, Carlos," she said, placing a peck on the corner of his lips. "The best is yet to come."
With that, she turned and headed back to the closet to change into the final set, leaving Carlos aching and wanting.
Y/n emerged from the closet for the final time, and Carlos' breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a soft baby pink set, the color he loved most on her. The bra was a delicate lace bralette, barely containing her full breasts. The matching thong was equally sweet, a tiny bow adorning the front.
"This one's my favorite," Carlos said hoarsely, his eyes devouring her. "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n."
Y/n smiled, pleased by his reaction. She did a little twirl, the fabric riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. "I'm glad you like it," she purred, walking towards him. "I picked it just for you."
She stopped in front of him, looping her arms around his neck. "So, what do you think of the whole collection?" she asked, pressing her body against his. "Did I do a good job?"
Carlos nodded, his lips brushing against Y/n's skin as he spoke. "Mhm," he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding down to grip her hips.
He pressed his mouth to her abdomen, trailing kisses across her soft skin. "Turn around for me, hermosa?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see the back again."
Y/n shivered at the command in his tone, and the way he took charge. She obeyed without hesitation, slowly turning in a circle so he could admire the view.
The thong rode up as she moved, revealing the curve of her ass and the tiny pink thong nestled between her cheeks. Carlos groaned, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze.
Carlos' eyes darkened with lust as Y/n turned, revealing the tantalizing view of her ass barely covered by the thin pink thong. "Dios mio," he breathed, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze. "Can I rip it off?"
"Carlos, no," Y/n protested weakly, even as a thrill raced through her at his intensity. "I just bought this a few hours ago."
But he was already moving, his large hands gripping her hips and spinning her back around. In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric of the thong and ripped, the sound of tearing lace filling the room.
Y/n gasped as the flimsy garment gave way, Carlos tossing it aside carelessly. He pushed her back onto the bed, crawling over her with a predatory gleam in his eye.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his hands roaming over her bare skin. "I can't wait to ruin you."
Y/n whined as Carlos manhandled her, his rough treatment sending a thrill through her body despite her protests. "Carlos, c'mon," she pleaded, even as her hips bucked up against him. "I really liked that set."
Carlos just grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. "Sorry, baby," he purred, nipping at her earlobe. "But you look even better out of it."
He kissed down her neck, his hands sliding under her to unhook the delicate bra. With a flick of his fingers, the clasp came undone, and he tossed the lacy garment aside.
Y/n's breasts spilled free, and Carlos groaned at the sight. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, cupping the soft mounds in his hands. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to tease a pebbled nipple.
She arched into the touch, a moan escaping her lips. "Carlos," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Please..."
Carlos paused, looking up at Y/n with a raised eyebrow. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Are you asking me to stop ruining your pretty lingerie?"
Y/n bit her lip, shaking her head. "No," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not asking you to stop."
A slow, wicked grin spread across Carlos' face. "That's what I thought," he purred, his lips curving into a smirk.
He continued his journey down her body, his kisses growing more heated as he went. He nuzzled the soft skin of her belly, his stubble rasping against her sensitive flesh.
Lower and lower he went, until his face was level with her pelvis. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. "I'll buy you another pair of this set tomorrow," he promised, his voice muffled against her skin. "But for now..."
Carlos dipped his head between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving into her folds with sensual, deliberate strokes. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, the way she writhed and moaned beneath him.
"Carlos, baby," Y/n gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "So good, god you're so good."
She ground against his face, her hips bucking as she chased her pleasure. But Carlos wasn't having it. He pushed her hips back down, holding her in place.
"Calm down, mi amor," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. "I've got you. Just relax and let me take care of you."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. But she forced herself to still, trusting Carlos to bring her to the heights of ecstasy.
Carlos rewarded her obedience with a long, slow lick, his tongue swirling around her clit. He alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, building her pleasure steadily.
Carlos continued his assault on Y/n's pussy, his tongue delving deep, savoring every inch of her. He wasn't rushing, wasn't devouring her like a starved man. No, he was taking his time, committing every taste, every texture to memory.
The way she dripped onto his tongue, coating his taste buds with her essence. The little gasps and moans she made, music to his ears. The way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, her body surrendering to his touch.
He was messy, spit dripping down his chin, smearing across his cheeks. But he didn't care. All that mattered was Y/n, her pleasure, her satisfaction.
Carlos kept his mouth firmly planted between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving deep into her soaked folds. God, she was so wet, her arousal coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.
He moaned against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His nose bumped against her clit with each thrust of his tongue, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing with need.
Y/n's legs slowly wrapped around his head, her heels digging into his back as she pulled him closer. "Fuck, baby," she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair. "Keep going, it feels so good. Like that, just like that."
Y/n's moans grew louder, her hips rocking against Carlos' face as he devoured her. She gasped as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance, circling the sensitive flesh but not quite penetrating.
"I want more, Carlos," she whimpered, her voice high and needy. "I want your fingers inside."
Carlos obliged, slowly pushing one finger into her tight heat. He groaned at the feel of her, hot and wet and perfect around him. He pumped his finger in and out, curling it to hit that special spot inside her.
Y/n keened, her back arching off the bed as he fingered her. "Yes, yes, just like that," she chanted, her walls clenching around his digits. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
Carlos thrust his middle finger deep into Y/n's pussy, the longest digit providing the perfect stretch. She moaned loudly, her legs shaking as he pumped in and out, curling his finger to hit her G-spot with each stroke.
Her body seemed to be at war with itself, her legs trembling and threatening to close, but her pussy clenching greedily around his finger, silently begging for more.
Carlos could feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around him, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, adding a second finger and rubbing her clit with his thumb.
"That's it, baby," he growled against her skin. "Cum for me. Let me feel you."
Y/n's body tensed, her orgasm building slowly but surely. It took a few moments, but when it finally hit, it crashed over her like a pile of falling bricks.
Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. It was as if they were in a soundproof room, her moans echoing off the walls, filling the space with the symphony of her ecstasy.
Carlos worked her through it, his fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. He lapped at her clit, drawing out her climax until she was a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.
Finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Carlos gently withdrew his fingers, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh.
Carlos continued his worship of Y/n's body, his lips trailing kisses up and down her trembling thighs. He took his time, savoring the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips.
Then, unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head back between her legs, his tongue delving into her soaked folds once more. Y/n gasped, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.
He ate her out with fervor, his tongue swirling around her clit, dipping into her entrance, lapping up her essence. Y/n shook beneath him, her hands fisting in the sheets as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught of sensation.
Carlos could feel her getting close again, her walls fluttering around his tongue, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge once more.
Y/n's hands fisted in Carlos' hair, tugging him closer as he devoured her. "Baby, you feel so good," she panted, her hips rocking against his face. "Keep going, don't stop."
Carlos growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving deep, lapping at her walls, flicking rapidly over her clit.
Y/n's thighs began to tremble, her body tensing as her second orgasm approached. "Carlos, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." she gasped, her words dissolving into a high, keening moan as she came undone.
Carlos worked her through it, his mouth never leaving her pussy, prolonging her pleasure until she was a boneless, satisfied mess beneath him.
Y/n came again and again, her body shaking with the force of her orgasms. Carlos gentled his touch, his tongue lapping softly at her sensitive flesh as she rode out the waves of pleasure.
He pulled back, pressing tender kisses to her trembling thighs. "You're so pretty when you cum," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "The way you shake, the sounds you make... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
Y/n whimpered, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Carlos' words, combined with the feeling of his lips on her skin, sent a fresh surge of arousal through her.
"More," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need more, Carlos. Please..."
Carlos trailed kisses up Y/n's body, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Can you take more, mi amor?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're already shaking so much..."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. "Yes," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "I need more, Carlos. Please, I can take it. I want it all."
Carlos grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "As you wish," he purred, his hand sliding down to palm her ass. "But first..."
He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming her, tasting himself on her lips. Y/n moaned into the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, her body arching into his touch.
Carlos' hand slid from Y/n's ass to her lower back, his fingers tracing teasing patterns on her skin. "The panties would look pretty with that buttplug I got you," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "You know, the one with the pink heart gem?"
Y/n nodded, a shiver running through her at the mention of the toy. "I was planning to use it soon," she admitted, her voice breathy with anticipation.
Carlos smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "It's such a shame though," he purred, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the cleft of her ass. "I already ripped the panties."
Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily at the touch. "Carlos," she whimpered, her voice a mix of need and frustration. "You're such a tease."
"All part of the fun, mi amor," he chuckled, his fingers continuing their maddening dance. "Now, where did I put that thing?"
Y/n pointed to the nightstand beside the bed. "I think it's in there," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Your side."
Carlos released her, rolling over to rummage through the drawer. He pulled out the pink heart-shaped buttplug, holding it up triumphantly. "Found it," he grinned, crawling back over to Y/n.
He ran the smooth metal over her lips, letting her taste the cold surface. "Open up, baby," he instructed, pressing the tip to her mouth. "Get it nice and wet for me."
Y/n parted her lips, taking the buttplug into her mouth. She sucked on it, her tongue swirling around the base, coating it liberally with saliva.
Y/n looked up at Carlos through her lashes, her eyes wide and innocent, the buttplug still nestled between her lips. She sucked on it slowly, sensually, her cheeks hollowing as she applied suction.
"Fuck, you're so cute," Carlos groaned, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight. "Such a good girl, getting your toy all wet for me."
He reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her plump bottom lip. "That's enough, mi amor," he murmured, gently withdrawing the buttplug from her mouth. "Time to put it to better use."
Y/n whimpered softly, her eyes following the movement of the toy as Carlos positioned it at her entrance. He pressed the tip against her, applying gentle pressure, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.
Y/n moaned as she felt the cool metal of the buttplug pressing against her sensitive skin. Carlos watched her face intently, gauging her reaction as he slowly pushed the toy inside her.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice low and encouraging. "Just relax and let it in. You're doing so well."
She continued to whimper, her hands fisting in the sheets as the buttplug stretched her, filling her in a way she hadn't experienced before. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and as Carlos twisted the base, the pink heart-shaped jewel nestled snugly between her cheeks.
"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Don't you look pretty with your new toy."
Carlos helped Y/n onto her hands and knees, admiring the way her ass jutted out, the buttplug nestled snugly between her cheeks. He ran his hands over her curves, spreading her open, exposing her most intimate parts.
"Can I take a picture, mi amor?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "I want to remember this moment forever."
Y/n hesitated, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Mhm," she murmured, nodding shyly. "But... but don't show anyone, okay?"
Carlos chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to the small of her back. "Of course not, baby," he assured her. "These pictures are for me and me only to enjoy."
He grabbed his phone, snapping a few shots from various angles, capturing Y/n in all her vulnerable, exposed glory. Each click of the shutter sent a thrill through him, the knowledge that he was the only one who would ever see these images, that he had her complete trust.
Carlos groaned, his eyes roaming over Y/n's exposed body. "Fuck, you're so pretty baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire.
He quickly shed his shorts and boxers, his hard cock springing free, bobbing between his legs. He moved behind Y/n, gripping her hips, holding her in place as he teased the tip of his cock against her entrance.
He rubbed it back and forth, catching on her clit with each pass, making her gasp and shudder. "Look at you," he purred, his fingers digging into her hips. "So wet and ready for me. I can't wait to be inside you."
Y/n whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. Carlos chuckled darkly, continuing his maddening tease, keeping her on edge, making her ache for his touch.
She panted, her hips wiggling back against Carlos. "Carlos, I want more," she pleaded, her voice high and needy.
Carlos smiled, pushing just the tip of his cock inside her. Y/n moaned, her walls fluttering around him, trying to draw him deeper.
"That's it, baby," Carlos purred, reaching around to wiggle the buttplug. Y/n cried out, her body shaking as the toy shifted inside her, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine.
Even with just the tip inside her, Y/n was moaning like she was in a porno, her body responding to every touch, every tease. Carlos grinned, loving the effect he had on her, the way he could reduce her to a writhing, desperate mess with just a few well-placed touches.
Carlos grabbed a fistful of Y/n's hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail. "This pretty mouth of yours needs to shut up this time around, okay?" he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You were so loud earlier, we already had noise complaints last week because of you."
He reached for her ripped panties, balling them up and pressing them into her mouth. Y/n's eyes widened, a muffled whimper escaping her as he tied the fabric around her head, effectively gagging her.
"There," Carlos purred, admiring his handiwork. "Now you can scream all you want, and no one will hear you."
He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching her, filling her completely.
Y/n's muffled moan was music to his ears, her body clenching around him, welcoming him home.
Y/n's back arched as Carlos filled her, her fingers digging into the pillow in front of her. Despite the gag, her moans were still loud, her pleasure evident in the way her body moved, the way she rocked back against him.
"Shh, baby," Carlos chided, his hand coming down on her ass in a gentle spank. "Be quiet now."
He repeated the action, alternating cheeks, the sting of his palm mixing with the pleasure of his cock inside her. Y/n whimpered, her hips jerking with each impact, her moans muffled but no less intense.
Carlos grinned, loving the way she responded to him, the way she surrendered to his touch, his control. He continued his steady rhythm, pounding into her, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.
Carlos looked down, groaning at the sight of Y/n's pussy, so wet and stretched around him. "Fuck, you're taking me so well, baby," he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving into her harder.
His hand found the buttplug, wiggling it, teasing her. He pushed it halfway out, then twisted it, pushing it back in, making Y/n's body jerk and shudder.
"That's it, take it all," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock, take the plug, let me fill you up."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling, torn between the pleasure and the slight discomfort of being so full. But Carlos didn't let up, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his own release.
Carlos cooed softly, his voice a stark contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. "So cute, baby," he murmured, reaching around to pinch Y/n's nipples, rolling them between his fingers. "You always look so pretty in pink."
He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her. Y/n's body jerked, a muffled moan escaping her as the buttplug shifted, pressing against her walls.
Carlos grinned, loving the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she responded to him. He could feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her.
"Gonna cum," he grunted, his hips slapping against her ass as he chased his pleasure. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Fuck, you feel so good."
Y/n's body was weak, her muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself up, of taking Carlos' relentless thrusts. But fuck, it felt so good, the pleasure consuming her, overwhelming her senses.
She moaned around the panties in her mouth, the sound muffled but no less desperate, no less needy. Her pussy clenched around Carlos' cock, her walls fluttering, trying to draw him deeper, hold him closer.
Carlos could feel her tightening around him, could hear the desperation in her moans. He knew she was close, could feel her body tensing, preparing for release.
"That's it, baby," he growled, his hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Cum for me. Let go, let me feel you."
Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She shook and trembled, her moans rising in pitch, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice.
Carlos groaned, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his cum. "You're taking it so well."
He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. They stayed like that for a moment, both panting, both trying to catch their breath.
Slowly, carefully, Carlos pulled out, watching as his cum dripped from Y/n's pussy. He reached for the buttplug, gently removing it, tossing it aside.
"You did so good, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."
Y/n turned in Carlos' arms, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I want more," she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.
Carlos grinned, his hand sliding down to cup her ass. "Anal?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
Y/n bit her lip, nodding shyly. "Yes," she breathed, her body already trembling with anticipation. "I want to try it, with you."
Carlos' grin widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Are you sure, baby?" he asked, his tone gentle despite his eagerness. "We can take it slow, go at your pace."
Y/n nodded, her resolve strengthening. "I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "I trust you, Carlos. I know you'll take care of me."
Carlos guided Y/n to sit on his lap, her back pressed against his chest, her legs spread wide. "I'll take the plug out," he murmured, his fingers trailing over her skin. "And I'll help you, every step of the way."
Y/n nodded, leaning back into him, trusting him completely. Carlos reached between her legs, his fingers finding the base of the buttplug. Slowly, gently, he pulled it out, the metal sliding free with a soft pop.
She moaned, her body clenching at the sudden emptiness. Carlos soothed her with soft kisses to her neck, his hands rubbing her thighs. "Shh, I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll go slow, just relax."
He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers generously. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?" he said, his tone serious. "Your comfort is the most important thing."
Carlos circled Y/n's entrance with a slick finger, gently pressing in, breaching her slowly. Y/n whimpered, her body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion.
"Breathe, baby," Carlos coached, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. "Relax for me."
He worked his finger deeper, curling it slightly, searching for that special spot. When he found it, Y/n cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.
"There," Carlos purred, rubbing the spot firmly. "Does that feel good?"
Y/n nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Yes," she gasped, her voice strained. "It's so intense, but so good- Fuck..."
Carlos added a second finger, stretching her slowly, preparing her for his cock. He scissored them, gently, carefully, watching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort.
Carlos continued his gentle ministrations, his fingers moving in and out of Y/n's tight heat, curling and stroking, finding all the sensitive spots that made her gasp and moan. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, murmuring words of praise and encouragement.
"You're doing so well, baby," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her clit. "Taking me so perfectly. I'm so proud of you."
Y/n whimpered, her body trembling under his touch, under his words. She felt so full, so stretched, but it was a good ache, a pleasure she'd never known before.
Carlos could tell she was getting close, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, his thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit.
"Cum for me, mi amor," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let go, let me see you cum"
Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking wildly, her inner walls clamping down on Carlos' fingers.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her voice high and breathy. "Oh god, Carlos, it's so much, it's too much-"
Her words dissolved into incoherent babble as the pleasure consumed her, her body shaking and trembling in Carlos' arms. He held her tight, his fingers still moving inside her, drawing out her climax, making it last as long as possible.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, his lips brushing her ear. "Ride it out, let it take you. You're doing so fucking well."
Carlos gently turned Y/n's face towards him, his eyes locked on hers. "Look down, baby," he instructed softly. "See? It's all the way in."
Y/n's gaze followed his, her eyes widening as she saw the slight bulge of Carlos' cock inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. "I feel so full," she whispered, her voice awestruck. "I can feel you everywhere."
Carlos grinned, his hands sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts. "That's because you're taking me so perfectly," he praised, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Every inch of you is wrapped around me, squeezing me, hugging me tight."
Y/n moaned, her hips shifting slightly, the movement sending sparks of pleasure racing through her. "It's so big," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "But it feels so good, Carlos. So right."
Carlos couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Y/n riding him, her body moving with a wild abandon, her eyes filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Her hair was a mess, falling gracefully over one shoulder, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open, drool leaking from the corner.
She was a vision, a goddess, and she was all his.
Carlos gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements, helping her chase her pleasure. He watched as her body tensed, her walls clamping down around him, her moans rising in pitch.
"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Ride me, take what you need. Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, so perfect, so mine."
Y/n's body shook, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She was close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Her body tensed, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she gasped, her voice strained, her eyes wild with pleasure.
Carlos could feel her tightening around him, her walls fluttering, clenching, trying to draw him deeper. "Keep going, baby," he urged, his hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. "Let go, cum for me. I've got you, I'm right here."
Y/n threw her head back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her. Her body shook, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice, milking him, trying to pull him over the edge with her.
Carlos groaned, his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up, fuck-"
As their orgasms crashed over them, Y/n's body spasmed, her movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated. She fell forward, her chest pressing against Carlos', her face nestling into the crook of his neck.
Carlos' arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his cock still buried deep inside her, throbbing with the aftershocks of his release. "I've got you, baby," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I'm here, I'm right here."
They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in sync. Carlos pressed soft kisses to Y/n's hair, her forehead, her cheek, murmuring words of love and praise.
"You did so well, mi amor," he whispered, his voice low and tender. "You took me so perfectly, gave me everything. I love you so much, Y/n. So fucking much."
taglist
for all posts; @nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore @nitiii @livsturnioloo
tags: smut/pwp, brazil gp '24, praise kink, hair pulling/playing, cowgirl position, spanish speaking!reader, affection
a/n: five dnfs at the brazil gp! i feel honestly so bad for them! it's nothing a little smutty fan fic won't fix! so welcome readers to the dnf club <3
"carlos." you said as you took your lover's hand and leaned in to him. he got out of your hand and wrapped his strong arm around you. by instinct you placed your hand on his chest and looked at him, "i'm sorry."
victory last week turned into a dnf this week. and you knew that the odds of him taking home the wdc were next to none. he still wanted his last few races with ferrari to be special. so every mishap hit harder.
he held you by the small of your back and silently kissed your cheek. and you knew what you had to do when you got back to the hotel that night.
you got to the hotel before he did. he had to sit through press and try to keep a grasp on sanity before he could slink back to the hotel room. you had dinner ideas for him to help soften the blow of the results.
dressed in one of his t-shirts that hung a little loose around the shoulders, and wasn't long enough to obscure your bright blue panties. you had your hair pushed back with a fabric headband with cat ears on them. it wasn't the ideal sex goddess look, but it was comfortable enough while you started to pack up for the trip to las vegas.
the door to the hotel room opened and you greeted your lover. but you were soon met with his weight against you. his size pressed against you almost had you toppled over onto the bed. you managed to lie down on it gently instead of a full faceplant.
"how are you, honey?"
he mumbled something in spanish, he wrapped his strong arms around and kicked off his sneakers before he dragged you into bed. the words in his first language continued. you pouted at them, you spoke spanish quite well and were able to easily pick up on what he was saying.
"it should've been better." "i should've been better." "i'm sorry, my love." and the one that curled in your stomach was, "i need to be with you. need to feel you."
his large hands climbed up under your shirt and you did him the favor to take it off all together. his lips found your heated skin and his hands rested at your sides as you both were tumbled into bed together. the covers kicked to the bottom as his hands then got to the waist of your shorts and pulled them down. "i need you." he said.
you ran your fingers through his dark hair, you could tell the hungry expression that crossed his face. how he looked at you, the kind of gaze that made you take control. he'd be good for you as repayment for such a failure on the track.
repentance.
you got on top of him in just your bra and panties. your hands splayed across his chest as you looked down at him. heat heavy in your cheeks as you said, "let's get you out of all of this. you don't need to wear ferrari, not when it's just you and i." you leaned in as you pulled his t-shirt up, "you can wear my kisses instead." then got the shirt up over his head.
he chuckled lowly, "i'll wear your kisses forever."
you stripped him the covered his face in kisses. you felt your affection towards him grew. the thump in your chest and you admired his nude body. you looked at him with love and continued to move against him. you teased his cock a little. he shuddered with want and when you pulled his thick hair a little, he moaned.
"you're so good for me, carlos. always have and always will be. you'll get them next time." you said as you sank down on his cock.
he moaned and held onto your hips as you started to move up and down. you never took his cock out of your sweet pussy but your movements still made carlos feel the shudder of excitement run through him. he whined, "i want to make you proud."
you replied, "you always do, carlos. even when you dnf, i still feel so proud of you. you're the best man for the job and whatever team you're on, you'll race them to victory." you yanked his hair a little more as you rode him. you wanted him to feel better, more confident. you hated when he beat himself up and wanted to do everything in your power to make sure that he was okay.
and that meant riding him. taking his cock so well that that he forgot all about the race. you pulled on his hair a little more as you moved against his cock. you rode him and he held onto your sweet hips.
"please." he panted, "it feels so good. i love you."
you giggled in response, you kissed his jaw and replied, "i love you too. anything for you, my love. you do so well, might as well get some loving in there as well. make you feel good despite the loss." you captured his lips once more and the two of you moaned against one another.
the movements picked up pace and you held onto his dark hair a little tighter. you feel the throb in your chest as the pleasure curled in your gut. you could feel the tension in your thighs from your movements, but kept going.
carlos knew he was lucky to have you. beyond lucky, the type of luck that allowed him to get onto the ferrari team. whatever higher power was looking down on him. gave him his two wishes, to race in formula one and to find a woman who he could love forever. and would love him too.
you pulled away from the kiss and looked down at him. you cupped his face for a moment, you spoke to him in spanish, "you did so good today. i know you think it was a failure. but." you kissed him on the face, "you raced beautifully. you always race beautifully." then quickened your kisses across his face.
he blushed a little bit and replied, "i always race for you. you fuel my soul." carlos loved you, obsessed with you in certain ways. but not in a way that cruel or hurtful. if he got to be by your side at any occasion, he would take it.
that was why he wanted to make you proud.
the kisses continued, they grew heavier with the more you moved. carlos' hands explored your sides, it made you shudder with want. it was incredibly hot between you two. the air of the hotel bedroom grew and you felt sweat down your back.
even with the kiss broke, you gazed into his dark eyes and your pace onto quickened. you laid chest to chest with him and moved his head by his hair to kiss him deeply on the lips. he moaned into it. you couldn't get enough of him. it was a deep need you had in your soul for him.
and he carried the same feeling for you. he groaned, "i love you. so much." he groaned through a tense jaw as you went as fast as you could go.
you could feel the strain on your back from the position and simply over doing it. but you didn't care. not at that moment. you only wanted to feel good. and the promise of immense pleasure for the both of you kept your hips moving in a way that made the both of you only get louder.
you were thankful that the headboard was sturdy enough to not slam against the wall, you didn't want that noise complaint come morning. carlos took you by the back of the head and kissed you deeply on the lips as he felt the course of pleasure through him.
it was undeniable, the heat between you two. it always had been and as the kisses got heavier, your pace got messier. and soon the feeling became overwhelming. and you tensed up around your lover, hands in his hair as you gave it on last tug before you came around his cock.
he groaned and held onto your hips once more, he moved you up and down his cock. your praise was loose on your lips as you told him how amazing he was, and how much you loved him. that your heart raced for him and you yearned for him. his pleasure with yours. he couldn't hold out much longer and with a few more strokes of his cock he pushed all the way inside of you and finished.
both exhausted, you laid on top of him. your hands on him as you tried to compose yourself. and instead of your hands in his hair. his hand was in your hair. he wasn't rough with his touches however, instead lightly stroking your strands as you laid curled up in one another.
you looked up at him and said softly, "next week will be your week."
and carlos smiled as he leaned down to kiss on the forehead, "it'll be our week."
come the next week in las vegas. carlos had a renewed sense of confidence. this would be his race to win, he'd make you proud and end the season on a high note. when the lights went down, it was show time. and carlos knew that he could get another victory. <3
cs55 - "Dime, princesa... have you ever been fucked properly?"
smut (18+) size kink, age gap (10 years)
The smokey, sweet taste of an old fashioned lingered on his tongue after the first gulp. The glass felt icy between his hot fingers in the hot club. Charles was bouncing back and forth to the music, three glasses of champagne down and sipping on a mojito as he was watched by his teammate with a small grin. Carlos liked parties every now and then, but celebrating a Ferrari win was always better when he was the one with the biggest trophy in his hands, when he was the one who stood on the top step op the podium, and when the Spanish anthem played first, followed up by the Italian. But Charles deserved this one. Carlos took another sip of his drink, finding the glass nearly being empty already. They had been chatting when they entered the club, but Charles had eyes for his girlfriend now only.
Alexandra nearly felt guilty, he could see it in her eyes as she looked at Carlos apologetically over Charles' shoulders while his fingers were curled around his waist like he didn't want to let go of her anymore. "Tu le laisses être la troisième roue du carrosse", Carlos caught a few words of what she said to her boyfriend, making Charles lazily look over at his teammate. "Il est assez beau pour se trouver une fille", he said, making Alexandra giggle before he left a teasing kiss on her shoulder, the two of them disappearing further between the dancing people. Carlos chuckled, not surprised they left him. He was still surrounded by the guys from his garage, who were filling their glasses with the huge bottle of champagne the club had brought to their table as a gift after their one-two.
Carlos made his way back to the bar, slipping onto one of the high chairs in front of it. "It's never fun being the two in the one-two, is it?" your sweet voice made him look up. His eyes quickly scanned you up and down, lingering on the teasing, glittery end of your dress, coated with tassels, that just finished beneath your ass. "It's still better than being third," he replied, watching you slide onto the chair next to him, legs crossing at your knees. "That's a lie," you laugh, the sound surprising him. He gets a good look at your face for the first time, eyes sparkling under the low lights of the club when you look back at him. "Second never feels good enough anyway," you say. It took him a minute, but he recognizes you now. You had caught his eyes after the show you gave with the other Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders.
You had bumped into him after the race, apologizing to him with a flirty smile and then congratulated him with his trophy. His eyes glide over your appearance again, this time no blue, cropped shirt and a small white jacket. No cowboy boots on your feet and no white shorts. The tassels on the end of your dress were teasing him again, and he was sure if the material would lift a little higher on your skin, he would discover what you had, or hadn't, underneath it. Your left knee was a little bruised, and without a though, his hand reached out to brush his fingers over it. You inhaled sharply at his warm touch, looking at his large hand that covered your knee. "You got this from the asphalt?" he asked. "Yeah, landing was a little rough," you replied. "It looked smooth," Carlos said.
"You looked better on the podium," you reply, making him chuckle. He flagged the bartender down to get the two of you a drink. It's your turn to look at him, at the blouse that was unbuttoned from the top, revealing a glimpse of his strong chest. The material pulled taut around his shoulders and his biceps, forearms exposed by his rolled up sleeves. His jeans fitted his thighs well, and your eyes darted between your petite form and the way he took up so much space. Carlos' eyes were still on you when you lifted yours back to his face. "I never introduced myself," he spoke up again, his hand extending towards you. You slip your hand into his, liking the way he repeated your name just to taste it on his tongue. "Your team's not here?" he asks, making you shake your hand and sip your cocktail. "Just some of them, but they're on the dance floor," you said. "I saw you and wanted to come and talk to you," you add.
A small grin curls his lips, his hands reaching for the chair you were sitting on, pulling you closer to him, between his thighs. "Hard to hear you over this music," Carlos covers up with a weak attempt. You're amused, he could see it on your face. He's endorsed by how pretty you are, feminine features drawing him in, you look young, but at the same time you're a woman, not a little girl. "I get it, you turned thirty, didn't you?" you tease, making him scoff and sip his drink, twirling a couple of tassels of your dress around his fingers. "Hearing problems, back aches, struggling joints..." you gnaw at your bottom lip as your nails following the seam of his jeans that runs from his knees to his upper thighs. "Cariño, actúas como si hubiera cumplido 70 años," he says, catching your hand in his. "We're ten years apart," you reply.
A flicker of hesitance moves over his face, as he didn't expect you to be that young. "Don't worry," you add, leaning forward a little, your glossy lips brushing over his ear. "I like doing good things for the elderly," you say, seeing his eyes darken when your hand reaches up to wipe the lipgloss from his ear. "Aren't you a funny little thing," Carlos replies, and he meant it. He liked the witty remarks, he liked your hand on his arm, he liked the teasing look in your eyes. You continued the conversation as if nothing had happened, as if you hadn't referred to anything, but you had him where you wanted him, with his mind trailing off and constantly thinking about what he could do with you. You moved even closer to each other, your legs slotted perfectly between his thighs. His cologne was intoxicating, just like your touch was to him when your nails tickled the skin of his chest his shirt left exposed.
You unlocked a new feeling of desire inside of him that made him want more, more, more. His fingers dancing over the inside of your knee wasn't sufficient anymore, the brush of your lips over his ears didn't fulfil anything anymore. The touch of your hands on his biceps was needed somewhere else. "Isn't it way past your bedtime?" he asked, and you swore you were so close together, you just had to tilt your head to kiss him. "Are you going to put me to bed, sir?" you hum, moving the hand on your thigh a little higher, letting him feel the damp lace of your thong. "Eres increible," Carlos says, pressing a kiss just beside your lips. "Come." He pushes his chair back and leaves some cash on the counter for the bartender, his hand on your lower back ushering you towards the exit. "My hotel is a block away," he says once you're outside.
Your heels click on the pavement, struggling to keep up with his long strides. Your hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked down at you with a question mark on his face. You tugged him down to smash your lips together, making him groan against your mouth. His hands slotted around your waist, and he chased after you when you pulled away. "Stop rushing," you say finally. Carlos steals another kiss from your lips. His fingers slip between yours, his steps less fast this time. The walk to his hotel and the elevator ride up to his floor was a blur, as his hands were everywhere, his mouth following the curve of your neck to the straps of your dress, barely able to find time to fish the key card of his room out of the back pocket of his jeans. "I want this off," you breathe, your fingers curling into the material of his shirt as soon as you're inside and the door falls into its lock behind you.
"Later," he promises, the next kiss sucking the oxygen out of your lungs. He plants you on the edge of the bed, getting on one knee and placing your foot on his propped up leg. His fingers pry with the small clasp of your heel, and you look down at him with slightly parted lips. This man. He continues with the other shoe, dropping them on the floor beside him. Carlos' hands briefly rub the sore soles of your feet before pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle, getting up and towering over you again. You sink your knees into the carpet on the floor without question, working on the belt of his jeans and unbuttoning the denim. Your eyes flickered up to his, your heart was hammering in your chest as you unzip his jeans. He treats you to the slightest glimpse of his fit body, the v-lines tracing down his hips and dipping into his calvin klein boxers. You pull it down eagerly, watching his hard cock slap up against his lower abdomen.
You didn't miss the way he ran his fingers through his hair, leaning back slightly before watching you again. You keep looking at him while you slowly drop some saliva on his cock, your hand barely able to wrap around him fully to start stroking him. Carlos' eyes drop to your glossy lips, the most obscene images already travelling through his mind of the gloss smeared around the base of his cock, stickiness coating the skin around your lips. His hand finds the tight braid your hair is wrapped up in, making you yelp when he pulls your head slightly back. He groans as you take the tip between your lips, your tongue lapping at the underside as he slowly forces you down his cock. You gag at some point, unable to take him fully, but you don't pull back. Carlos' grip on your braid tightens, however he doesn't push you down hard. "That's it, baby," he grunts when you found a rhythm between the bobbing of your head and the movements of your hands.
He hears you gag, splutter and struggle and it feeds him, it feeds his ego as you moan around his cock, your thighs pressing together, desperate for some kind of relief. You pull back to gasp for air, nuzzling your cheek against his cock, and nearly came at the sight of your sweet eyes, your rosy cheeks and your red, bee-stung lips. "Carlos..." you whine, licking the side of his cock before feeling the weight of him on your tongue again. Your make-up was still in place, but your eyes were watering and your lipgloss was everywhere except on your lips. His abs tighten at the sound of your mouth taking him over and over again, and you gasped when he suddenly pulled you off his cock, a string of spit still connected. The tug on your braid told you he wanted you off the floor, and you sit on the bed again, looking up at him, awaiting till he'd say something. His thumb wipes away some of the mess around your lips. Carlos reaches for the buttons on his shirt, popping them out and shaking his arms out of the sleeves.
The matter-of-fact-striptease is not helping with the stress between your thighs, the stickiness of your pussy had already ruined your panties, and the heat barely became unbarable. His body looked as good, muscular, strong as you though it would be, with strong arms, broad shoulders that would devour you if he'd lean over you. Firm pecs, a strong back you'd rather sink your teeth and nails in. Right now. He stepped out of his jeans and underwear, kicking it aside before leaning over you as you'd imagine just seconds ago. "I want you to take that dress off. Can you do that for me?" he asks. "I want you to undress me," you reply, and a small grin curls his lips as he watches you lay back on the bed, stretching yourself out in a cat-like way that has even more blood flowing south. He catches your ankles, rushing you back to the end of the bed across the sheets, causing a giggle to escape from your mouth. His fingers find the small zipper of your dress on the side, zipping it down before grabbing the end and lifting it over your head.
You lean up on your elbows, only your panties covering you up. There's a glimmer of mischief in your eyes when you put your feet on his chest, pushing him away when he wants to grab your hips and rip the lace off you. Carlos' knees dig into the bed as he chases after you, stopping in his tracks when your slides down your stomach, disappearing into your thong. Your doe eyes stare up at him while two of your fingers start rubbing your clit, a soft whimper eliciting from your lips. You pout a little when he takes both of your hands in one of his and pins them above your head. His body hovers over you, nearly completely swallowing you, firm thighs between yours keeping your legs spread. "Dime, princesa... Have you ever been fucked properly?" his voice rasps. "Because I think the answer's no," he continues, letting go of your hands already, his fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your legs.
His words caused your breath to hitch in your throat. "I can't imagine boys your age can fuck you like you should be fucked," Carlos continues, his palm kneeding your inner thigh. "Tell me what you want," he says, tracing your pelvic bone, ignoring your throbbing clit and your soaking pussy that was clenching around nothing. "I want you to ruin me for any other man," you answer. Without a response, his head dips to capture one of your nipples between his lips, his fingertips finally dropping onto your clit and rubbing in firm cricles. Your head falls back with a sigh, a shiver running up your spine when his other palm explores more of your body, your stomach, your hips. He takes over completely, and you let him. Carlos' lips traces down the line of your stomach, his tongue replacing his fingers on your clit. His tongue strokes your pussy languidly before pushing inside you.
Your fingers sink into his hair, the precise way he flicked his tongue against you had you on the edge of an embarrasingly fast orgasm already, the stubble on his jaw and cheeks roughing up the skin of your thighs. It burned, but it hurt so good as his lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking it into his mouth before his tongue stroked between your folds again. Two of his fingers pushed past your entrance, spreading your pussy open for him, fingertips curling up and making your other hand clutch the sheets. Carlos looks up as you writhe against the duvet, moaning so prettily for him as he eats you out. "You taste so good," he growls, his mouth briefly lifting from your pussy to leave a playful mark of his teeth in your thighs. "Make me cum," you demand, pushing his head to your sopping cunt again. Carlos didn't protest as his hot mouth landed on your pussy again, licking, twirling and tongue-fucking you till you were a trembling mess.
Your walls squeeze his fingers that re-entered you, preparing him for how good you're going to feel around his cock. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck," you curse, your stomach snapping and the coil in your abdomen releasing. He leaves a few teasing kittenlicks on your clit, knowing how sensitive you were, before lifting his head from between your thighs. His fingers grab your jaw, a rough kiss pressed to your lips. You leaned up on your elbows again, feeling hazed, nearly drunk as he went to grab a condom. You were still coming down from the orgasm he gave you, but the sight of him rolling the latex layer down his cock made you feel hot allover again. "Sure you can take me, little girl?" Carlos asks, a mocking tone to his voice that makes you feel even smaller beneath him. He sits on his knees between your thighs, his cock tapping against your pussy with a heavy thud.
He released a low grunt as he slowly drags his cock through your folds till his balls rest against your clit. His thumb presses into your stomach where the tip lays. His scent makes your head cloudly as you feel his lips on your cheek again, and you automatically parten yours to kiss him again, but the kiss never came. "That's where you're going to feel me," his voice had dropped an octave, his hand guiding himself to your pussy and slowly, but firmly entering you. The stretch was insane, the burn made your toes curl, and your eyes rolled back when he filled you to the brim. Carlos leaned back to watch you, his cock pulsing at the wild look in your eyes when you caught his eyes again. He gave you a little bit of time to adjust before he took your left leg, the one you're lifting during the kickline when you were dancing, splitting you with his cock. The angle caused him to hit you deeper, and he hadn't even moved yet.
"This pussy feels so damn good," he grunts, finally moving, thrusting in and out of you with a firm pace, holding you down and pressing you deeper into the mattress. Your slick and warm walls invite him to push in harder, unlocking something primal and raw inside him that had him roling his hips firmer into yours. You were taking it so well. Carlos grew addicted to the way your head was tilted back, your eyebrows furrowed together, red, bruised lips parted with a constant stream of his name and whimpers that had him twitching in your pussy. The tip of his fat cock bruised against your cervix, your moans becoming higher-pitched the harder he fucked you. His pace never quickened, but his rhythm changed, the smooth thrusts causing your stomach to tighten again. "Carlos... F-fuck," you whine, fingers curling around his forearms, nails digging into his skin. "My name sounds so pretty when you moan it, darling," he replies. You cum again the second his fingers land on your clit, the white-hot pleasure clouding your vision with black dots.
The muscles in your leg are relieved when he drops it, his cock still moving in and out of you through your orgasm. The temperature had risen by a thousand degrees in the room, the sheets beneath you were a mess, and so was his hair. The raven hair was sticking everywhere, a sheer layer of sweat visible on his forehead. "Wanna ride you," you say, pushing his chest. Carlos doesn't protest, letting you flip the two of you over. Your palms press into his pecs, your hips lifting slowly, sinking even slower. Your nails carve into his skin again as you feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein. He moans, looking at the point where his cock disappeared into your pussy. You slowly let him slip out of you, grabbing the base of his cock to fuck yourself on the tip, letting it hit your g-spot a couple of times before you sink down again, taking him fully. "You're so hot," he breathes, fingers digging into your hips when you start riding him faster. His hips meet yours, the rhythm causing a delicious heat to spread through your body again.
Your slick is coating your thighs, a sticky ring of your cream had formed on the condom at the base of his cock. His eyes flickered between your face and your pussy, watching the way your hips swivel, causing his balls to tighten and the pressure to build in his lower abdomen. Carlos sits up to twirl your braid around his hand, dragging you down with him and holding you against his chest while he takes over. You plant your hands on the pillows, but there's no way you could have braced yourself for your next orgasm. The all-consuming pleasure makes your thighs tremble and your knees shake, and all you can do is sit back and take it, strangled cries leaving you as you're so overstimulated, it hurts, but just like everything else that caused pain tonight, it hurt so good. He spills his seed into the condom, his teeth biting down onto your shoulder. You whine as he slips out of you, and you roll off him.
"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning up on one elbow to look down at you. "I'm perfect," you reply with a small smile, sitting up as he gets up to throw the condom away. You hadn't felt awkward with him all night, but now you either had to leave or stay the night. "You can shower and get some of my clothes to sleep in," Carlos said, stepping into a clean pair of briefs. "I can go back to my hotel, it's fine," you say, brushing him off and reaching for your underwear and your dress. He stops you quickly, kissing you in a way that makes you dizzy again. "We'll deal with the rest in the morning, it's past two. Stay," Carlos says.
He wakes up to an empty other side of the bed, but you had left a note for him on his nightstand, with a lipsticked-kiss on the paper.
Call me when you win in Mexico x
And a week later? He send you a picture of his trophy after he won the race.
Summery: Everyone can feel their soulmate's injuries and pain since the age of 15
Warning: None??
AN: Thank you for all the ideas. I just changed jobs, and it's a full time office job, so it's very demanding 🙄🙃
Max Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Charles Ver., Lewis Ver.
Masterlist
Carlos Masterlist
The world is built on the idea that soulmates are connected through their physical pain. Everyone knows that if you're injured or in pain, your soulmates feel the exact same pain. This can be seen as a blessing or as a curse. In one way, you know when your other half is injured, but it also brings shared vulnerability. Some believed it was a form of protection, a way for soulmates to be in tune with one another, even if they'd never met.
Now, did you know about this from a young age? Yes, you did. Did that stop you from doing all those crazy things that caused you multiple injuries? No. You felt sorry every time, but you're just clumsy by nature. It was from the moment you could walk that you've been a klutz. Bumping into walls, tripping over your own feet, and misjudging the occasional stair, it was part of your life. Growing up, you've gotten used to the bumps and bruises that came with her natural clumsiness, but what took longer to adjust to was the knowledge that someone else felt them, too.
Your soulmate must be a saint because you've rarely felt any pain. Yes, through the years, there have been times when you felt real and strong pain, but it was few and far between.
In a world of soulmates that felt their soulmates through visceral pain, your soulmate did everything he could to never cause you pain.
And for as long as you could remember, you’d imagined what he might be like. Patient for sure, after all, he had to endure your countless scrapes and missteps. You wondered if he was the type to sigh and shake his head when he felt you stub your toe or if he was used to your clumsiness, so much so that it barely bothered him anymore. Whoever he was, you were grateful got him.
Your friends often teased you about it, especially when you had a particularly bad fall or ended up with an impressive bruise. “You really owe your soulmate an apology.” They would always joke. “He must be so fed up by now.”
You’d always laugh it off, but late at night you’d overthink. Did he really mind? Or was he out there somewhere laughing about it, too? What was his life like? Was he clumsy, too? You doubt it. He must be the complete opposite, composed and careful, someone who rarely felt pain unless it was coming from you. Maybe he was a doctor or an athlete, someone who needed precision and strength in his day-to-day life. Your imagination would always run wild, paining pictures of him in your mind. But no matter how many times you tried to envision his face, it remained just out of reach, like the hazy details of a dream.
The older you got the more curious you got, and it started eating at you. Who was he? Where was he? Some people met their soulmate early on, like your childhood friend who had found hers at eighteen. Others never found theirs at all, even though they shared the pain for their entire lives. You tried not to let it bother you too much, after all what could you do? If you’re meant to meet it’ll happen on it’s own time.
But still there was that nagging feeling every time you bumped your knee or accidently burned your hand cooking. You would wince and imagine him somewhere far away, gritting his teeth as he felt the same.
“Another one for you soulmate.” You muttered as you stumbled over a crack in the pavement.
For as long as you lived with the bond you’ve been the one giving the worst of pains, sending your soulmate injuries, most harmless, but you’ve also broken enough bones over the years.
It started as a dull ache, just beneath your ribs on the right side. At first, you didn’t think much of it, assuming it’s a muscle strain or maybe it’s something you’ve eaten. You shifted in your seat, pressing your hand against the spot as if to massage the discomfort away, but the ache lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.
Throughout the day the pain grew worse. What started as mild throb quickly became sharp, stabbing sensation, taking your breath away every time you moved, and you started to feel a fever coming. This wasn’t like the occasional bump or fall you’re used to, this is far worse than anything you’ve felt before. This is different, deeper, persistent and alarming.
By late afternoon, you couldn’t take it anymore, every breath felt like a knife twisting in your side, and no matter how you positioned yourself, it wouldn’t go away. Sweat was forming on your forehead as you tried to power through the pain, but something wasn’t right.
Could this be coming from him?
You never felt pain like this before, certainly not from your own body. Your chest tightened, if this pain wasn’t yours, then something is very wrong. The idea that your soulmate could be hurt, really hirt, it made your stomach churn. You could handle minor injuries, but this? This was different.
You rushed to the hospital, the ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. By the time you arrived, you were sweating and clutching your side, each movement like a dagger. You explained your symptoms to the nurse at the reception, your voice wavering with pain and fear,
They rushed you into an examination room.
“We’ll run some tests.” The doctor said after you told him your symptoms, his brows furrowed with concern. “It sounds like it could be appendicitis, but we’ll know more once we do an ultrasound.”
As the minutes dragged on, the pain sharpened, radiating into your chest. You clutched the hospital bed’s metal rails, your knuckles turned white as you waited. Nurses and doctors came and went performing the tests as quickly as they could. After what felt like hours the doctor came back.
“The tests came back normal.” He began, flipping through the papers in his hands. “There’s no sign of appendicitis, in fact, you don’t have an appendix.” That was news to you.
“What? I don’t have it? Is that normal?” You asked confused.
“It’s rare but it happens some people are born without an appendix.” The doctor confirmed, he didn’t seem too worried.
“But the pain, it’s unbearable, what’s causing it?” You asked and dreaded the answer you know the doctor is about to give you.
“The only answer we have is, the pain isn’t yours to begin with.” The doctor smiled sympathetically. His words hung in the air heavy. Your soulmate. He’s the one in agony, and you were feeling every excruciating second of it.
Carlos hasn’t been feeling the best the last couple of days, he thought he was tired from all the traveling and racing and training. It happens. But the moment he woke up he knew something was wrong, he had Free Practice today, so he just pushed through it. However throughout the day, he’s just been getting worse and worse. By the end of FP2 he knew he couldn’t just push it off, it wasn’t food poisoning, he was starting to burn up.
Carlos with his team went to the hospital so he’d get checked out. He sat hunched over in the waiting room, gripping his side as the pain flared up again, sharper this time. The medics had said it was appendicitis and a routine surgery, nothing major. But that didn’t ease the fear eating at the back of his mind. He’s used to pushing his body through physical discomfort, but never to the point of pain. But this wasn’t the type of pain you ignore.
He could feel the ache spreading and tightening like a vice around his abdomen. His hands were clammy, sweat was gathered on his forehead, and his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. He’s been through a lot through his life, the crash here and there, the pain of his soulmate breaking a bone, and stubbing her toes and all the random bruises she seems to get randomly. This felt like his body was on fire from the inside out, and it wasn’t just the physical pain that made his chest tighten.
It was her, his soulmate.
As long as he could remember, he had shared pain with you. The worst when you had broken your leg. And he’s grown accustomed to the random flicker of discomfort over the years, wondering what kind of person you are. He imagined you being clumsy, maybe even a bit absent-minded, but he never minded. In fact, it had always made him smile, knowing that somewhere out there, you were living your life and through those little jolts of pain you felt close to him.
But today, he was the one that was causing you pain, pain like you both have never experienced before. That realisation made him nauseous. How much of this were you feeling right now? Were you suffering as much as he was, lying somewhere clutching your side in agony?
Carlos wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the pain. He thought of you, his soulmate.
You walked out of the hospital room, walking slowly. Since the pain you were experiencing isn’t yours, pain meds will do nothing unless your soulmate takes some. You were clutching your side as you walked, not really paying attention, that and being the clumsy person that you are you bumped into someone while you were passing one of the waiting rooms. You stumbled before your knees hit the floor, hard. You winced, the same time someone else did.
“I’m so sorry are you alright?” An accented voice asked, you looked up to see a man with a moustache, he was dressed in red.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You replied instantly and took the man’s hand to stand up. You were unaware of the other Spanish eyes on you.
Carlos shared a look with his dad beside him, Carlos Sr. saw everything happen. He saw you fall and he saw his son wince when you did.
“Pinch yourself.” He muttered to his son, not taking his eyes off you.
“W-what?” Carlos frowned at his father’s words, but he didn’t wait Carlos Sr. pinched his son’s arm and you let out an ‘aw’ and held your arm where he pinched his son.
You frowned, not understanding what was going on with your soulmate.
“Are you hurt?” The man in front of you asked seeing how you held your arm.
“Yeah, soulmate.” He lets out an ‘ah’ in understanding.
Carlos’s eyes went wide when he saw you feel his pain, your hand went back to your side, the same he was holding, and even though he was still in pain he felt relieved, his heart much lighter and he couldn’t help but smile. His dad nudged him with a smile of his own. And Carlos stood up and went to his friend’s side. Gigi was confused why Carlos was coming his way, and why he was smiling when he had to go in for surgery in less than two hours. But he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at you.
You only noticed him when he came to stand beside the man you bumped into.
“Hi.” Carlos said simply and you frowned confused.
“Hi?” It came out as a question, you looked between the two men in confusion. “I’m sorry but i-“
You were cut off when you groaned as a wave of pain hit you, the same time as the stranger in front of you winced and held his side, the same side you’ve felt the pain. Gigi then knew what happened, and he too couldn’t help but smile, he looked at Carlos Sr. for confirmation and he just gave him a proud nod.
You looked at the new man who was holding his side, your heart skipped a beat. Is he? Could he? This is almost too good to be true. You bit your tongue slightly.
“Why are you biting your tongue?” The smooth voice of your soulmate asked, your eyes went wide, Carlos chuckled at the expression on your face. “Hi.”
“Hi.” This time it was breathless; your eyes didn’t move from his face as you took him in. He also was waring a red shirt, but he also had a hat on top of his head, covering parts of his face but your eyes met his, nonetheless.
“I’m Carlos.” Carlos said and put his hand out for you to shake.
“Y/n.” You said taking his hand, the rush you both felt is unexplainable. You felt warm, your heart was beating faster and you were tingling all over. “It’s really you.”
“It’s me.” Carlos said and you both didn’t let go of each other’s hand.
“Carlos, it’s better you go to your room.” Gigi said, once the nurse told them his room was ready. Carlos nods, but it takes him a few moments to let go of your hand and look away.
“Come on.” Carlos said and he leads you to his room following the nurse. Once the door is closed leaving the both of you alone, you turned to face him once more.
“I never thought I’d meet my soulmate in a hospital of all places.” You said and smiled.
“Really? With how much you like to hit the floor, it was more than likely.” Carlos teased, he took off his hat and ran a hand though his hair, it was so fluffy you wanted to run your hands through it.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” You mutter suddenly not meeting his eyes, feeling guilty for all the pain you caused him.
“Hey, I didn’t say I minded.” He said but you still refused to meet his eyes, so he went on. “Every time I felt your pain, I knew you were out there somewhere, living your life and that I wasn’t alone, even if once or twice the timing wasn’t the best, is till cherished it.”
“Really?” You asked meeting his hypnotizing brown eyes.
“Really.” Carlos confirms, his smile is sweet and kind and warm.
“What’s wrong with your appendix?” You ask your hand itching to touch where you know he feels the pain most.
“I have appendicitis, will go into surgery in an hour or so.” Carlos tells you and feels himself riddled with guilt, knowing you felt the pain of his illness. “Why are you here?”
“Came to check if it’s my pain or yours I was feeling.” You could see the guilt eating at him. “I rarely felt pain coming from you, you’ve always been so careful, and here I am falling every day.”
“Guess we balance each other out.” Carlos said and you smiled.
“Guess so… also I discovered I’m born without an appendix.” You suddenly tell him and smile up at him.
“So we’ll match then.” Carlos laughed at the coincidence. You both stayed silent for a long moment, just basking in each other’s presence. “There’s so much I want to ask you.”
“Me too.” You tell him honestly. “Like why are you wearing red? It looks like a uniform, same with the guy I walked into.”
“It kind of is a uniform, it’s team kit, we’re required to wear it.” Carlos says and runs a hand over the back of his neck, he’ll have to explain what he does to you.
“Like a sports thing?” You asked raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, exactly that.” You mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and you nod to yourself.
“What sport?”
“Formula 1.” You rack your brain over if you’ve heard of it before, Carlos saw the confused look on your face, he was about to answer your un asked question when someone knocked on the door. He called out for them to enter and in walked his dad and Gigi.
“You have to get ready.” Gigi said and Carlos sighed he was just starting to talk to you, you smiled at him.
“I’ll be here.” You promised and he nods.
“I’ll introduce you then. This is y/n, my soulmate.” He said is so proudly, smiling at you, a smile that you shared. “That’s Poerluigi, known as Gigi and this is my dad Carlos Sr.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you dad was here as well, it’s nice to meet you sir.” You say and go to shake his hand, Sr. smiles and shakes your hand.
“Nice to finally meet you.” Carlos Sr. said with a smile he gave you a quick one-armed hug while your hands were still clasped together. “Carlos has been anxious to meet you lately.”
“Papa.” Carlos Jr. warned his dad, he didn’t want any embarrassing stories to reach you before he even gotten the chance to officially sit and talk to you. Sr. winked at you and you giggled, Carlos gives you both a warning look, before you leave the room so they can prep him for surgery. Meeting your soulmate right before he has to go into surgery isn’t really ideal. The three of you were allowed to wait in his room once Carlos was wheeled out.
“So what exactly does Carlos do?” You asked, and that opened the flood gates. They told you about how Carlos Sr. is a rally driver, all his achievements and how Carlos decided to get into Formula 1, that he’s a driver for Ferrari. They showed you some videos of him on track, deciding not to share anything personal and leave it to Carlos to share and say what he wants to.
You in turn were asked about what you do, your hobbies, why you’re always getting bruised and just random talk. When Carlos is brought back in the room, he’s still unconscious, the doctor informed you that it went well and that he’ll recover in no time. Carlos Sr. went out the room to call his wife and inform her of Carlos’ well-being.
when Carlos wakes up, you’re all kicked out of the room for the doctor to check on him, before you’re allowed back inside. The doctor reconfirms that Carlos is okay and well and that he’ll be able to recover fast. Something he was happy to hear about.
“How are you feeling?” Carlos Sr. asked his son.
“Good.”
“I think the pain meds haven’t worn off yet.” You say, feeling not an ounce of pain through your connection. Carlos smiles at you and you smile back.
“You stayed.”
“Of course, I did.” You say with a pointed look, he’d be stupid if he thought you’re about to leave him when he’s going into surgery, no matter how easy it is.
Gigi takes a picture of both Carlos’s for Instagram, for the fans. He did manage to snap a few of you both, but those were private, for now at least.
“Where are you staying?” Carlos asked and when you gave him your hotel room, he laughed.
“What?”
“You were so close all along.” Carlos says and he smiles thinking about how even if he was okay, you properly would’ve met. “I’m staying there too.”
“Guess fate intended for us to meet one way or the other.” You smile at the thought, you’re mean to be, and you were bound to meet.
Carlos is required to spend the night, and his dad decided to stay with him. Meaning you and Gigi went back to the hotel, and agreed to meet in the morning so you could head back to the hotel together. In all of the rush of things, you forgot to ask Carlos for his number, but Gigi gave you his number for the meet up in the morning.
can you send me Carlos’ number? 😊
Gigi
Sure 😉
You ignore the winky face and save Carlos’ number once you received it.
Stop moving around so much 🤨
Soulmate ❤️
sorry, I can’t find a comfortable spot to sleep
ask the nurses for painkillers if you’re in pain
Soulmate ❤️
I’m alright, it’s not too bad
Do you feel pain? If you want I can take pain killers for you.
no I’m good, it’s alright
I can feel you
Soulmate ❤️
I can’t feel you
do you want me to pinch myself or something?
Soulmate ❤️
No, now the tables are turned.
I guess so
Soulmate ❤️
what?
im sad that you’re the one in pain
That’s my job in the relationship!
Soulmate ❤️
Relationship? 😏
You felt a blush cover your face; you want to cover your cheeks even though he can’t even see you.
I think that’s enough for today
you should go to sleep.
Soulmate ❤️
fine, I’ll let it slide
this time
see you tomorrow, hermosa’
see you tomorrow.
The next morning you meet up with Gigi, who had a bag of clothes for both Carlos’s. the drive to the hospital you spent talking about unimportant things. When you got to the hospital, Carlos Sr. took the bag and went to change, and Gigi excused himself to go get coffee.
“How did you sleep?” Carlos asked you.
“I slept alright, how about you?” You asked glancing to where they did the surgery.
“I slept better than ever, dreaming about you.” You couldn’t fight the blush and turned your head to the side, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling. “Don’t hide your face from me.”
Carlos moved so his feet were dangling off the bed, he wanted to walk up to you and pull you in close. He hasn’t been able to hug you yet, and he wants to desperately. Carlos puts his hand out and you walk closer to him, you put your hand in his and he pulls you closer. You’re standing between his legs; Carlos doesn’t wait and wraps his arms around you in a hug. You stand frozen for a moment before you lean into him, your arms much closer around him than his around you. But you lean your head onto on his shoulder.
“I wanted to do that since I saw you.” Carlos mumbles, his voice coming out right next to your ear, making you shiver.
“Only this?” You ask, now that you’re face is hidden, you found the confidence to say that to him.
“If we weren’t here, I’d show you all the things I want to do to you.” Carlos whispers and kisses right under your ear, you close your eyes basking in the feeling of him around you.
“Could have waited until I wasn’t here.” Carlos Sr. says coming out of the attached bathroom. You pull away from Carlos and your blush is back. Carlos only chuckles and rolls his eyes at his father.
Carlos changes and comes out, him and his dad start talking in Spanish, you sip on the coffee Gigi has gotten you checking your notifications on your phone. You look up when you feel the conversation getting a tad bit heated, Carlos is standing in a pair of jeans and his team kit his hat is on the bed.
“Why are you in your team kit?” You ask confused, Carlos Sr. moved his hand in your direction, indicating to his son to tell you what’s going on.
“I’m going to the race today.” Carlos said and you frowned.
“Why? Are they making you go?” You asked seeing no reason for him to be anywhere, but back in the hotel and resting until his flight.
“No, but I want to be there.” Carlos said simply and his dad muttered something under his breath.
“You just got a surgery not even 24 hours ago.” You say standing up.
“I know, but like I told papa, I want to go be there for the team, and I won’t be doing an media or anything, it wouldn’t be different than me staying in the hotel.”
“Doubt it.” Sr. mutters. You think for a moment, not liking this at all.
“Okay, but remember I feel your pain, at the first sign of it we’ll be out of there.” You tell him with a pointed look, daring him to disagree.
“Okay, fine.” Carlos says and Gigi smirks.
“I like this one.”
Both Carlos Sr. and Jr. walked to the motorhome first, and you and Gigi followed after, you had a Ferrari with 55 hat on, your head was done as instructed as you followed the man in front of you. There has been a dull pain in your side as the pain killers wore off, but it wasn’t too bad so you said nothing. Getting to the garage, Gigi sticks to your side and shows you around, Carlos is busy, which isn’t the resting he said he’d do.
Gigi soon introduces you to Alex, Charle’s soulmate, you both talk about your soulmates. Unlike you she knew about Formula 1 before she dated Charles, but her knowledge was limited before that. She was super nice to you, as she explained a few things about the race, she also pointed out where Carlos is in the garage. You may have known him for so little time, but seeing him work, showed you a different side to him. He’s very dedicated and clearly loves what he does.
You find yourself in the back of the garage in a staff only area, it’s like a cafeteria. Carlos was standing to the side eating from a plat in his hand while you talked with Charles and Alex.
Carlos drops his fork on the floor and in a reflex move he bends to pick the fork up. Your side suddenly flares up and you gasp clutching your side. Both Charles and Alex look at you in concern.
“It’s Carlos.” You tell them and move to get to your soulmate, when your clumsy self decides to hit the side of a table with your hip making you stumble and now hold your hip. Carlos curses and he moves to get to you only ending up hunched over from the strain he puts to his side.
“You both, need to stop moving!” Carlos Sr. says and goes to see Carlos and make sure he hasn’t popped a stitch or something. Charles and Alex were at your side pulling you up.
“You are clumsy.” Charles says with a teasing smile, and Alex hits his shoulder, giving herself the same pain, but it makes him stop.
“Made for each other you two.” Carlos Sr. says and you and Carlos meet eyes, you both smile and chuckle, this recovery is going to be harder than you both expected.
It took you two weeks to allow Carlos to do any kind of kissing, and still, you stayed away from his side when you did. Carlos had you in his home to get to know you while he was in between races. He just came back from a race that he won, first winner of the season, that isn’t Max. it took more than usual out of him, which was understandable. But now that he was cleared to race, here you were on his bed, him leaning on the headboard and you in his lap, kissing. I never felt this good. Every bite ever suck was felt by the two of you. It left you gasping and moaning for more. Both your lips are puffy and bruised, Carlos moves his lips to your neck in wet kisses before he finds your sweet spot that had you moving over him. He groans and starts sucking, so lost in the moment.
The next day you wake up first and head to the bathroom for a quick shower, Carlos hears the water and wakes up. He walks in the bathroom and stops when he sees himself in the mirror, he lets out a curse. You poke your head out hearing him curse.
“What’s wrong?” You ask and he turns to show you his neck, you burst out laughing. “
“But it looks good on you.” Carlos almost whined and you couldn’t help but continue laughing.
“Well did you come into here to stare at yourself in the mirror, or?” You asked raising an eyebrow before turning and getting back under the shower head. Carlos forgets all about the hickeys covering his neck, collarbones and chest. He did a number on you last night.
Let’s just say it was easier for you to cover them than Carlos. The next race, the fans spotted them fast.
“Looks like you had a fun night.” Jensen commented while interviewing Carlos with a knowing smirks on his face. “Wild girl?”
“Uh no, I wouldn’t sag that. I did them myself.” Carlos admitted his face warming up a bit. You watched the interview from the sides, your neckline and hair covering up all the bruises he left on you.
“Did them yours- oh, oh, congratulations, mate.” Jensen bro hugged Carlos, realising what he meant. “We all had to learn where to stop.”
You rolled your eyes bit still smiled, Carlos already knew where to stop, evident by the fact that more bruises ended right under his neckline.
It was all just a time thing, with your clumsiness and Carlos’s love of kissing. But your identical bruises caught on cameras, as well as you hitting something and Carlos reacting was a sign enough for everyone that you’re his soulmate.
“yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then”
guess - @eloves-writes
guess pt2
“you and carlos have been adamantly denying dating rumours for months, and a risky game of truth or dare reveals a secret you’ve been trying to keep”
the carlos sainz roast - @harrysfolklore
“it's carlos' 30th birthday and what a better way to celebrate it than roasting him”
kiss and tell - @its-avalon-08
series
a house, a home series - @vetteltea
“a loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. you've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you”
ready, set, match series - @spiderbeam
“you’re a professional tennis player. he’s a formula one driver. and after forming a budding friendship during the past months, you feel nothing could go wrong━━except, possibly, catching feelings for carlos”
the smallest man who ever lived series - @monzabee
“the one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, charles’, infidelity”
smau
future replacement - @edwardslvrr - smau
“the one where reader is a single mum who’s son got into karting when she catches carlos his attention on instagram after her son says he wants to be just like carlos sainz when he grows up”
big brown puppy eyes - @55szn - smau
“y/n causes chaos on twitter after being asked about her type...”
smooth operator - @chaostudee - smau
“y/n is a journalist just starting out her career in the motorsport industry, it's not long for her to find an attraction to a certain ferrari driver”
european getaway - @norrisainz33 - smau
“y/n goes on a vacation to spain and ends up meeting carlos sainz by chance. tho she has no idea her european fling is actually a very successful f1 driver”
admin looking for love - @no-144444 - smau
“why did alex albon feel the need to post you on his story as a ‘lonely woman looking for love’? and why did carlos sainz dm you after it?
light, camera, action! - @spiderbeam - smau
“in which a series of interviews between you and a certain formula 1 driver start to go viral”
who’s gonna know - @maplesyrupsainz - smau
“in which a certain someone is trying to catch your attention but you are otherwise preoccupied”
*these are part of my fic rec masterlist, please note none of these are written by me and the author of each story had been tagged! check out my f1 fic rec masterlist for other drivers!*
# 𝗖𝗦𝟱𝟱 ─── A GUIDE COOLING DOWN
MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3 . . . PATREON GUIDE
IT'S TIME TO GET AWAY from the singaporean heat. after the race, you and carlos decide to go off to a beach together. at least the wind and the ocean breeze is letting you cool off. carlos has other plans though.
────── original prompt req.
PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “We’ll only be caught if you’re loud”
PROMPTED TAGS . . . # degradation kink, size kink, just the tip
ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie, public sex, beach sex, it is not just the tip, established relationship, husband carlos sainz
WORD COUNT. . . # 1.5k
────── AO3 VERSION
After Singapore, both of you could afford getting cooler now. The heat after the race was manic, so you and Carlos are off to somewhere to cool down. Nothing extreme, really, you both decide to chill on the beach
Okay, sure, it wasn’t totally off the heat. But under the umbrella, Carlos relaxing right beside you, it is cool enough.
There were little to no people here. Both of you found a beach a few countries away from the crowd. And the wind is cool and refreshing, just the right amount to enjoy this day.
“Cariño (dear),” he says, slightly mumbling beside you. He’s on his chest, face on the chair and enjoying the coolness on his back. “Can you put some sunscreen on? I don’t think I put them on earlier.”
Sighing, you stand from your comfortable position. As you sit on the edge of his chair, you’re already regretting agreeing to go to the beach. “You’re making me your slave.”
“No, you’re my wife, and you love me,” he chuckles, “Please? I can put the cream on your back later too.”
Splattering the lotion on your hands, you get to massage it on your husband’s back. You can feel the tenseness of his muscles, the hard edges of his shoulders. The curve on this back was so good too.
He hummed. “I like that.”
“Good for you, amor (love),” you hum, trying not to get distracted. “Are you getting some on your front as well?”
“Actually—” Carlos sits back up on his knees, pulling you to lay down on his chair instead. “I feel cold without you beside me.”
“Carlos!” you half scream at him, mindful if there is anyone near you. You don’t see anyone. “I’m getting off.”
He laughs at your words and pulls you close, your hips laying on his lap. “It's been four weeks, cariño, you have to love me again.”
“You’re acting like an unfulfilled wife,” you say, “we’ve been together for more than four weeks. Way more than four weeks.”
“I am unfulfilled,” he says, pouting, “I am unfulfilled. So husband, please fill your wife?”
A laugh barks out of you. “God, you’re so stupid, Carlos.”
“And you love stupid.”
He leans down, immediately attacking your neck with his lips. It’s ticklish. You can’t help the giggles that come out of you. Carlos is gripping on your hips as you squirm underneath him.
His lips trail behind your neck, “I’ll just fuck you quick. Just give me a good moment.”
“You don’t think you can wait?” you raise an eyebrow.
He says, “I miss you too much. No one is here.”
“Just because that no one is here doesn’t mean—ugh. You, Sir, have an exhibitionist streak.”
He laughs and you feel it rumble in his chest. “You know I don’t like it when you say big words. I call it… Loving you publicly.”
“Jesus, you sap.”
Carlos pulls the string of your panties, your swimwear coming undone below you. The hit of wind on your pussy is shocking. You let out a shiver, shying your face away.
“Fucking hell…” you groan, feeling his trunks tent below you. The man isn’t even phases, acting like you’re fucking in the safety of your home.
“Just—fucking hell, just the tip. I don’t want to clean up, okay?”
He hums in response, which isn’t reliable at all. Before you could say more, he goes to kiss you. Shutting you up must be the quickest solution to him.
With hurried movements, he pulls down his briefs just so that he could let his cock out. You shiver as you feel it slap against you, moaning as you can already remember how it feels inside of you. Stretching you out, reaching deep inside you, twitching cum out—
Fuck. Carlos' finger caresses your vulva, feeling the wetness that’s gushing out your core. He puts his finger there, feeling it spreading it around.
Before you could tell him anything, he pushed two inside. “You’re still so loose,” he moans. He’s mumbling on your lips, smiling and kissing you hard. Pulling away briefly, he looks down to see where his fingers are. “Taking it good. You like it when I use you like this—”
“Carlos—”
“You know I’m right. My little wife is such a good slut for me,” he bites your lips, pushing his tongue against you with a sigh. His fingers speed up, rubbing inside of you that gets you to curl up. He swallows down your moans with a lick of your lips and a moan.
He spreads those fingers out, making sure that you could take even the head of his cock. You try not to think about if he’s actually just going to put the tip in. You pray so. The tissues in your bag next to the both of you are remembered. You have a short moment, thinking about ruining the mood a little to reach into it.
He doesn’t give you an option, pressing his feet down to the sand as he towers over you. His large body easily covers you, blocking you away from sight as his arms around your head. The tip of him is pushing in, he grunts as he feels you envelop him.
“Fuck… Carlos,” you moan, pulling away from the kiss to push your head back. There’s a stretch as he pushes in, letting you take an inch of his cock in.
“Shit, just get off,” you moan, reaching below him to work the rest of this shaft. He lets you, but he doesn’t lay there and take it. Holding you still, he fucks shortly into you, only keeping the tip in as requested.
“You wanted me like this?” he says, breathing heavily as he thrusts tentatively. “My cock fucking fills you up so much that you can’t even take anymore? Cariño, you’re drooling for me. You want my cock inside of you, not just this.”
Fuck. Your hand goes still and simply takes his thrusts, simply giving him an extra grip to fuck into. Carlos doesn’t seem to mind. He goes silent above you, focusing on getting off. With a free hand, he puts his fingers on your clit and starts stroking. You mewl, arching your back a little. The movement pushes more of his cock inside.
“Mi puta (my whore)” he groans, hips staggering a little. “So tight. I can feel you, amor. You’re so fucking tight.”
You debate about it again. Having to clean yourself up would be so tiring. But Carlos looks like he’s about to pass out if he doesn’t get his cock inside of you.
Wordlessly, you look away and twitch your head up. Carlos sees it, you know he does. Because the next moment, he has your legs propped up on his shoulders and his cock pushing in. You maon, but you quickly go to bite your lip.
“Come on,” he whispers, “Be quiet, amor. You said I will only take it quickly. Or do you like my cock too much?”
His groans are loud on top of you. “You like it when I fuck you good like this? Make you a whore where everyone can see? Fuck, amor, you’re tightening on me and you pretend to not like it.”
He fucks into you fast, the stroke of his cock short and yet hitting your spot every time. With a hand over your mouth, you keep yourself from being too loud. Out of embarrassment, you don’t even want to go ahead and check if someone is looking at you. It’s too fucking embarassign.
Yet here you are, legs spread for your husband in the middle of a beach. Nothing hides you from the rest of the world.
‘Showing his love publicly’, your ass. He’s hammering into your pussy harder than you do behind closed doors. This man loves taking you where everyone can watch. And you’re kinda into it too.
The constant pace on you puts you close, your orgasm imminent. You moan it out, “Carlos, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum…!”
“Fuck, yes! Take it!” He cradles you closer, pushing you chest to chest as he fucks you like a rabbit. It’s intense. You feel your lip bleeding from how much you’re trying to hold the noise in. He moans, “Can’t even keep quiet, not when I fuck you dumb like my puta (whore), agh—”
With a few more thrusts, you can feel him cum inside of you. Your inner walls are covered in his cum,not letting a single drop outside of your pussy.
He smiles, pulling himself up as he pushes his hair back. “I told you I’d put the cream on you.“
“Jesus Christ, Carlos!” You want to punch him. He only laughs and helps you clean up. It’s the least he can do after cuming inside of you like that.
When you leave the beach, the woman at the bar doesn’t make eye contact. You don’t try to force one either. Meanwhile, Carlos is happily behind you, carrying all of your things. Little shit.
🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . woooo! carlos sainz is back for another one . i actually have a good amt of carlos requests which is fun. alsooo announcement coming soon and i may be posting more . trying to post anyways . will be juggling requests n other fics 👍👍👍 . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.
──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan
you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡
Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Carlos x reader smut where the reader hasn’t really had good experiences in the past so Carlos shows her how it should have been! If not I totally understand!! Thank you :)
Anxious
Carlos Sainz x Reader; trust dynamics, unprotected piv (pls wrap it up), afab!fem!reader
A/N: Hey everyone! 💖 I just wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for all the love and support you’ve shown my stories! 🥹✨ It’s been an amazing journey, and I’m beyond grateful for how much this little corner of the internet is growing. A special thank you to those of you who reached out to let me know about the issue with the master list not working properly — your messages helped me fix it, and everything should be running smoothly now! I honestly can’t thank you enough for your patience and kindness. When I first started this account as a challenge from one of my friends, I never imagined it would grow into what it is today. I’m so happy to be able to share my stories with you, and I truly appreciate every single message, comment, and bit of feedback I receive. You all make this journey so much more special.Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this, and I can’t wait to share more with you! 🫶🏼
You stood at the airport, anxiously waiting for Carlos to emerge from baggage claim. You had missed him deeply during his two races overseas, and the excitement of seeing him again warred with your insecurities. What if he thought you were too clingy waiting here for him? But as soon as you saw his familiar form appear from the crowd, all your doubts vanished. You couldn't help but smile widely as he waved, closing the distance between you in just a few strides.
Carlos reached you, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness to see you.
"You waited here for me, hermosa” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and appreciation. "I didn't expect you to come."
Your heart fluttered in your chest as he spoke. He didn't think you were too clingy after all. You reached out to hug him, suddenly feeling a wave of relief and comfort in his presence.
Carlos wrapped his arms around you, his embrace strong and grounding.
"I missed you so much," he murmured, his face buried in your hair. "These races were the longest two weeks of my life."
You could feel the truth of his words in the way he held you, in the way his fingers gently caressed your back. He truly had missed you as much as you had missed him.
You had missed him so much it felt like a physical ache. Every night you would toss and turn, the covers feeling too cold and empty without him beside you. You missed waking up to the sound of his breathing, the feel of his arm around your waist. You missed his smile, his laugh, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered to him. Every minute apart felt like agony, each second ticking by like an eternity in his absence.
Carlos gently took you by the hand and led you towards the garage of the airport. As you walked, he suddenly pulled you a little closer to him, wrapping his arm around your waist. He spoke in a low, soft voice, a hint of his Spanish accent lilting through his words.
"I have a surprise for you, mi amor” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. You looked up at him, curious and intrigued, wondering what he was planning.
As you reached the garage, Carlos let go of your hand and opened the door to his sleek, black Ferrari. He gestured for you to climb in, a playful twinkle in his eye.
"Get in," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I want to show you something”
You climbed into the passenger seat of the Ferrari, the buttery leather smooth under your fingertips. You turned to look at Carlos as he settled into the driver's seat, wondering where he was taking you.
Carlos started the car, the engine purring to life with a satisfying growl. He looked over at you, his gaze intense and heated, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
"Are you ready?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
You nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement in your stomach. You couldn't help but smile at his boyish enthusiasm, feeling the adrenaline already coursing through your veins.
Carlos grinned, the sight of your excitement fueling his own. He put the car into gear and peeled out of the garage, the speed pulling you back against your seat. The city lights blurred as Carlos drove, his hand on the gear shift, his eyes on the road. He navigated the streets like he owned the city, his movements smooth and confident. He didn't say much, but the smile never left his face, and you felt a sense of anticipation, like he was just waiting to reveal his surprise.
Carlos pulled up outside an elegant, modern apartment complex, a sly smile on his face.
"We're here," he announced, his voice low and smooth.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, wondering what he was up to. As he led you inside, you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "What are we doing here, Carlos?"
He looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I have something to show you," he replied, his tone almost mischievous.
You followed him into the apartment, your gaze immediately drawn to the stunning view of the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The space was open and airy, filled with natural light and tastefully decorated.
Carlos walked over to a set of keys laid out on the kitchen counter. He picked them up and held them out to you.
"These are for you," he said, a glint of something fierce and possessive in his eyes.
You stared at the keys in Carlos's outstretched hand, your mind struggling to process what was happening. You had never expected this - your past relationships had been filled with disappointment and letdown, and you had begun to believe that no man would ever treat you right. But here was Carlos, giving you keys to a beautiful apartment like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. "You... you did this for me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Carlos's gaze softened, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
"Of course, I did," he replied, his voice low and earnest. "You deserve to have a place that's just yours, where you can feel safe and comfortable. I want you to have a home, a place that's just as beautiful as you are."
Your heart ached at his words, the genuine sincerity in his voice making your throat tight with emotion. You had never had anyone treat you so tenderly, so considerately. It was overwhelming, too good to be true, but somehow, coming from Carlos, it felt perfect.
"I...I don't know what to say," you managed to stutter out, a lump in your throat.
Your eyesight blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. Your emotions were a tangled mess, gratitude, disbelief, and a profound sense of love fighting for dominance.
Carlos noticed your tears, and his expression softened even further. He stepped closer to you, his hand coming up to gently brush a tear away from your cheek.
"Don't cry," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "I just wanted to make you happy."
Carlos's heart skipped a beat as he watched tears stream down your face. He suddenly wondered if he had messed things up somehow. Maybe he had gone too far, maybe he had moved too fast. He stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, wondering if he had unwittingly hurt you.
"Hey, hey...please don't cry," he pleaded, his voice filled with concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, no, don't apologize," you reassured him between sniffles, your voice a little shaky from the tears. "You didn't upset me. It's just..."
You paused, trying to find the right words to express yourself. It was hard to put your feelings into words, especially when they were so intense, so overwhelming.
"It's just...no one has ever done something like this for me before," you finally managed to say, looking up at him through wet lashes.
Carlos's heart twitched in his chest as he heard your words. He suddenly understood why you were crying. It wasn't because he had done something wrong, but because he had done something right for once.
He reached for you, gently pulling you into his arms. "Oh, cariño," he murmured, his voice deep and warm. "You deserve so much more than what those other assholes gave you. You deserve to be pampered and cared for."
You buried your face in his chest, letting the tears continue to flow. He held you tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, his presence grounding and comforting.
"No one else matters but you," he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "And from now on, I'll make sure you know how damn special you are."
You looked up at him, your eyes still wet with tears, but now there was something else in your gaze - hope, gratitude, love.
"I don't know how I ever met such a man like you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.
Carlos smiled down at you, his eyes soft and warm. He gently brushed away the remaining tears from your face, his touch tender and caring.
"Hey, you didn't meet me, babe. I came in like a storm and swept you off your feet," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Carlos gently pulled you close, his arms encircling you like a protective shield. He could see the past hurt lingering in your eyes, could sense that the memories of your past experiences were still weighing on you.
"Cariño," he started, his voice quiet but firm. "I want you to forget about everything that happened before we met. All those men who didn't treat you right, all those crappy relationships...I want you to forget all of it."
"You know," you began, your voice soft and contemplative. "I know we've only been together for a couple of months. And I know things are moving kinda fast. But the truth is..."
You looked up at Carlos, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and conviction.
"I've never had someone treat me the way you do. This apartment, the way you care about me...it's everything I've always wanted but never thought I'd have."
Carlos listened intently as you explained the reason behind your overwhelming emotions.
He nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and determination. "I get it, love," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I know I haven’t been with you for long, but I want to show you how it’s supposed to be. You deserve nothing but the best."
He smiled faintly, his hand caressing your cheek. "And just so we’re clear," he added, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone, "I plan to keep spoiling you, whether it’s been a month or a year. You better get used to it, cariño."
You chuckled weakly, your heart simultaneously warmed and overwhelmed by his words. His determination to show you how a real man should treat a woman was both endearing and intimidating.
"You’re relentless, you know that?" you teased, trying to hide the flutter of your heart under a veneer of nonchalance.
Carlos grinned, looking unapologetic. "Who said you have to fight it? Just let me pamper you, cariño. I love seeing that smile on your face."
He cupped your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "Just promise me one thing, though," he said, his tone suddenly a bit more serious.
You arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the change in his tone. "What is it?" you asked, curious what request he was going to make.
He looked at you intently, his eyes locked on yours. "Promise me you'll let me show you what it means to be cared for, respected, and loved," he said, his voice a low murmur. "And promise me you'll let me be the one to give you all of those things. Can you do that for me, cariño?"
Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling the weight and sincerity of his request. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy to forget the past, to trust fully in someone again. But looking into his eyes, seeing the earnestness and adoration there, made you want to try.
"I promise," you replied softly, your voice steady and sure. "I’ll let you show me what it means to be loved the way I deserve."
Carlos’s face broke out into a blinding smile, his whole demeanor brightening at your agreement. “Good,” he said, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “Because I plan to make you forget all about what ‘love’ used to mean, cariño. I’m going to show you the real deal.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head at his confidence. "You really think you can erase my past experiences with just a few months of dating me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
Carlos’s eyes gleamed with determination and a hint of arrogance. “Hell, I’d give myself three weeks, max,” he replied, a cocky smirk on his face.
“But just to be safe, I’ll double that time frame. Four weeks, cariño, that’s all it’ll take to completely change your idea of how a relationship should work.”
You couldn’t help but laugh aloud at his bravado, finding his arrogant confidence strangely endearing. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you teased, giving him a playful poke in the chest.
“Ridiculously charming, handsome, and damn good at what I do,” he replied, his smirk widening into a grin.
He caught your hand as you poked him again, using the opportunity to pull you closer to him. “You can doubt me all you want, cariño,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “But give me four weeks, and I promise you, you’ll be begging for more.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the shiver that ran down your spine at his words. “Cocky much?” you muttered, but there was no heat behind your words.
He only chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “You love it,” he teased, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.
“You’re insufferable,” you said, struggling to keep a straight face as his breath tickled your skin.
“Insufferably handsome,” he corrected, closing the distance and capturing your lips with a possessive kiss.
Despite Carlos's constant assurances and reassurances, you couldn't help but feel nervous about being intimate with him. It wasn't his fault, of course; he was patient and understanding, never forcing you into anything you weren't ready for. But deep down, you still carried the insecurities and doubts from your past relationships.
The thought of being vulnerable, of opening yourself up to someone again, frightened you. You worried that you wouldn't be enough, that he would get bored or unsatisfied.
Carlos was acutely attuned to your every gesture, your every reaction. As he kissed your neck, he felt you tense up inexplicably, a subtle shift in your body language. He pulled away instantly, sensing that something was wrong. He looked at you, his eyes searching your face.
"Cariño?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "What's wrong?"
You tried to brush it off with a faint smile, but you knew he saw right through you. You averted your gaze, avoiding his intense stare.
"It's nothing," you mumbled, but even to your own ears, the words sounded dishonest.
Carlos didn't buy it for a second. He gently took your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Don't give me that," he said, his voice stern but not unkind. "Something's bothering you. Talk to me, cariño."
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of being intimately close with Carlos should feel exciting, blissful, not terrifying. But your past experiences still haunted you, their shadows cast over the present.
You couldn't shake the feeling that once he saw you without your clothes, once he saw all your flaws and imperfections, he would lose interest. It wasn't rational, you knew that, but the feelings were so deeply ingrained, so hard to ignore.
You tried to put on a brave face, to play it cool, but your body betrayed you. Your hands trembled slightly, and your pulse raced. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, giving away how nervous and insecure you truly felt.
Carlos noticed the subtle signs of your unease - the tremor in your hands, the flush of your cheeks - and his expression softened into one of understanding. He didn't push you, didn't make any suggestive comments. He just waited quietly, his eyes searching yours, giving you the space to voice what was on your mind.
Carlos studied you intently, seeing the mixture of desire and anxiety in your eyes. His heart clenched in his chest, a pang of pity for the pain and doubt that you had experienced in the past.
He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and soothing. "Cariño," he started, his voice a gentle murmur. "Can I ask you something?"
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You could sense the seriousness in his tone, knew that whatever he was about to ask was important. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his face.
"Promise me something first," Carlos said, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your skin. "Promise me you'll be honest with me, no matter what."
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You didn't know where this conversation was going, but you trusted him. "I promise," you whispered, your voice a little shaky.
Carlos nodded, seeming satisfied with your response. He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering, as he spoke his next words.
"Will you let me show you how it’s supposed to be?" he asked, his voice low and intense.
Your heart fluttered at his question, a mixture of excitement and nerves swirling in your chest. You wanted to say yes, wanted to give yourself over to him entirely. But the doubts still lingered in the back of your mind.
"I… I want to," you said, swallowing hard against the dryness in your throat. "But what if I disappoint you?"
Carlos's gaze softened, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and frustration. He took your face in his hands, his palms warm on your skin. "Cariño," he murmured, his voice firm but gentle, "you could never disappoint me. I see you, all of you, and I want you, every part of you."
Despite the time you had spent together, Carlos still couldn't quite wrap his mind around your patience and gentle nature. You were the soft to his rough, the kindness to his fast paced world.
He had expected you to grow impatient with his bad habits and tendency to push back, waiting for the moment when you'd finally had enough. But you never did in these couple of months. You stayed patiently by his side, always offering a calming presence and a gentle touch.
So now that he's got you all to himself for the first time, Carlos is afraid to scare you. That’s not to say he will only do strictly missionary, or slow, or anything like that, but Carlos knows he has preferences that would be too much.
Far too much.
Like the way he wants to fuck you so hard that his fingers leave bruises on your soft hips. How he wants to make you fucking cry from the pleasure, overwhelmed and trying to jerk your hips away from his brutal thrusts. But most of all, how he wants to wrap his hand around your pretty throat, wants to hear how your breathing cuts out while he fucks into your little pussy over and over again.
But he wants to make sure you feel safe, that you won’t get scared, or leave him like everyone else always seems to. It’s about you, and it’s about self-preservation. You’ve buried yourself under his skin, become an intrinsic part of him, and Carlos is sure that if you left now, he wouldn’t survive.
So tonight he fucks you carefully, in your brand new apartment, making sure you always feel good, because you always make him feel fantastic. He doesn’t need all of his filthy, primal fantasies met.
But sometimes, he can’t help but give in a little. Because Carlos knows, he has always been a selfish man.
You’re so good underneath him, soft and wet, pussy clutching desperately at his cock while he drives himself into you. Carlos can feel your back arching up off the bed with his hands on your waist, pretty voice wailing expletives and praises, and “oh, fuck Carlos, please. Fuck me harder, fuck, oh shit—”
And, almost absentmindedly, Carlos’s hand ghosts up to your throat, splaying a hand over it, feeling you swallow between your whines, your fluttering pulse. It would be so easy, so fucking easy for his fingers to just tighten—
“Carlos,” you suddenly whisper, far different from your pretty screams just moments earlier. Carlos’s hips stutter, his hand quickly trying to move from its place on your neck. But your hand wraps around his wrist, holding his hand where it is. His hand has gone limp, and he’s trying to hear, to smell if you’re scared, if he’s hurt you.
But your other hand goes up into his hair, forcing his head down next to yours as you whisper, heart beating obscenely fast, “I want you to choke me, Carlos. Please? Will you? I trust you.”
And Carlos nearly passes out then and there. You, sweet, loving, gentle you, want his hands around your neck, cutting off your breathing while he fucks you. He must have died, managed to get into heaven, something, because this is a fantasy, it has to be a fantasy.
“Are—are you sure, baby?” He manages to stutter out. “I don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”
But Carlos can practically feel the warmth of your smile, the comfort of your hand carding through his hair. “Of course I’m sure, Carlos. You won’t hurt me, I know it.” The hand on his wrist tightens, pushing his palm further onto your throat. “I trust you Carlos,” you murmur, “and I know I want you to choke me while you fuck me.”
Carlos’s mind goes blank.
His hand tightens around your throat, not restricting your breathing too much, but just enough that it’s just a little harder to get a full breath of air into your lungs. Strong, unyielding. Carlos’s hips slam into yours again, your pussy making obscene noises as his cock drives into your sticky cunt.
“Ah—” you barely manage to choke out, eyes clenched shut as he hits your sweet spot in only the way he can. Your legs tighten around his hips, the hand you had in his hair drifting down to his back, nails clutching into him as he fucks you like a bitch.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Carlos’s muttering. “Such a fucking slut, wanting my hand on your neck, baby.” Little, aborted whines are still escaping your throat, punched out of you while Carlos hammers into your pussy. “Been thinking about this for so long, fucking you like this, fuck. Wanted to choke out that pretty little voice, hear that heart beat so hard for me.”
Carlos’s big hand keeps clutching harder around your neck, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, until you can’t. You can’t fucking breathe, and Carlos is still fucking you so hard, and you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna cum—
Carlos can feel your pussy fluttering, needing to cum so bad. He can hear the moment your breathing cuts off as he leans down to whisper, “go ahead and gush around my cock, cariño.”
And your vision whites out for a moment, unable to scream with Carlos’s hand around your neck, just a choked, garbled sound escaping as you clench down hard around him.
Carlos can barely move with how tight you’re clutching him, how hot and wet you are, and he can’t hold back. He releases your throat, relishing in the way you suck air into your lungs around a gasp of his name, and shoots his cum deep into your pussy. It feels like he owns you, marking you as his, just as you own him.
You’re both breathing heavily as you cling to each other, trying to come down from absolute fucking ecstasy. Carlos is whispering little praises of, “you did so good, baby, so gorgeous, so mine,” and “thank you for letting me do that, hermosa.”
Carlos lays himself onto your chest, tucking his face into the crook of your neck while your hands run through his hair. Still so gentle, still so loving. Carlos presses little kisses onto your throat as you both drift off into soft, satisfied sleep.
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