riddle-me-im-sirius - Tumblr blog

riddle-me-im-sirius · 2 months

Text

—seven days.

max verstappen x manager! reader. not beta-read. not edited.

here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

part 1. part 2. part 3.

For Christmas in 2019, Max got you an apartment near his in Monaco. It was on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wanted to get you the unit a floor below his. You declined quickly, insisting that you were very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you were besties with most of them and actually thanked them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you could not afford therapy and this was a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he had told you. If you didn't know any better, you’d have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max would never ever win an argument with you. He knew that. You knew that. The best he could do was come to a compromise, a compromise that was usually tailored to suit whatever you wanted.

So you got that small loft apartment two buildings away, good for one person only. It was easy to clean and it was cheap, Max already said that, which made you happy because you could set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift was already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why couldn't he be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’d even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents would buy you an apartment.

It had only been three years since the keys were passed on to you and people said three years was enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment didn't even feel like home, only a place you’d sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening. Home was that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home was Abuelo's old farmhouse in the country where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home was the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that had been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home was the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home was the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home was your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown. Home was not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home was not Monaco.

And it was not like you stayed long in that place either. You were always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needed your presence. You didn't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home once a break was graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you were going to be flying off to Texas. That means you had six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it was not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max had been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thought.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hated children but P is an exception. P brought the best out of Max. Max got the chance to act as the father he never had. It was heartwarming to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream worked wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately said after opening the door. You kind of expected that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looked……fine? His sweater and shorts looked absolutely neat and comfortable and his hair was a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He didn't even look like he was crying.

You fake gasped, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile played on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home for work purposes but you still could not help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter it. Max’s penthouse was fifteen times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly were no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what would happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you handed him the warm styro cup to which he accepted gratefully. He uttered his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You made your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slid the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who had followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he said, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glanced at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walked probably caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels were the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consisted of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2020, you bought another pair to replace the old one. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you asked, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinked, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” was your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifted into something else as Max finished his coffee and cake. You spent the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He gave you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content. You had opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie was beginning to get real scary but you did not want Max to think you were a coward so you acted like you were disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudged Max with your foot, who swatted it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You showed him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever was friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stared at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurled a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action caused your center of gravity to shift and before you knew it, you were falling from the couch. Your first reaction was to grab Max and you did, but then Max didn't expect that you’d grab him so now, you’re both falling.

You groaned.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flipped you off.

He ended up following your advice though and called Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco.

Except Max sent you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles was the one who answered the door when you knocked. He looked genuinely surprised when he saw you and you deduced that Max didn't tell him that you were coming.

“Babe, who’s that?” you heard Alex’s voice behind Charles and you lit up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughed and hugged you back. The sound of her laughter was as pretty as she and God definitely had favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world really was unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you couldn't even bring your personality to the table because you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you looked up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You rolled your eyes and slowly pulled away from the hug, gsze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replied, smiling sweetly and ugh, you wanted to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you could do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles said, pointing at Max, who was still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You rolled your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raised a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you looked him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrowed, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch went great. Charles and Alexandra loved your cooking. Max had asked for seconds. Somewhere down the line, champagne was served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you were sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it was a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun wasn't too harsh.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra said. Somehow your conversation had drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replied Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You gave him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gave him hives so he was definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles mused and his words got you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaimed.

But yeah, Charles was right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and you immediately caught each other’s attention. He was kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You had similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….worked so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics joke and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers were always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was at Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you couldn't even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he could finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo was devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you were hoping that at least, in 2022, you’d finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs would be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it didn't happen. The job wasn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you had chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turned to you.

“Of course,” you said honestly. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you emptied that bottle of champagne and once the sun had begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You were soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you wouldn't forget anything.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprised you.

“No.”

His face dropped as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you were not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continued staring at him, he sighed.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You kept your eyes on him as he made dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you sighed.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blinked. He blinked back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walked into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, locked the door behind you, leaned your back against the door, and slowly slid down until your ass met the cold bathroom floor. You slapped a palm against your forehead and pursed your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max was too adorable back there and this was not doing good things for your heart.

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 3 months

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Paint the Town Red | MV1

summary: when the biggest rumour of the season turns out to be true, how will it effect the bond between you and your best friend?

note: hello! I am alive, I promise. The past few weeks have been wild and I'm slowly returning to be with you all! This is also my first ever SMAU, so PLEASE be gentle with me!

F1 ✔

Liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, sebastianvettel, and 704,201 others

F1: BREAKING: Y/N Y/L/N to join Scuderia Ferrari in 2024!

The race-winner from Alphatauri will end her current contract with the Red Bull family after a record-breaking two seasons together. Y/L/N is the first driver to win four consecutive sprint races as well as setting phenomenal wins in Monza and Silverstone

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landoleclerc: FINALLY! she's getting some good recognition and deserves this seat so SO MUCH!!!!!! 😭

scuderiaferrari: welcome home, Y/N ❤️🏎️

pitstopboxbox: I can't believe the rumours were true lmao, who agreed to this?

y/ntauri: @pitstopboxbox she's so much better than half the grid, she deserves this more than anyone else 🤷🏻‍♀️

alphataurif1 ✔

Liked by yourusername, yukitsunoda0511, redbullracing and 404,359 others

alphatauri: After two seasons together, Scuderia Alphatauri and Y/N Y/L/N will be parting ways at the end of the 2023 season.

Y/N has always been a valuable and loved member of our team; as the first woman in Formula One racing to score points on the grid, we are more than proud of all we have achieved together. She will always be a loved and appreciated member of the Red Bull Family. We wish her every luck in her future at Scudeira Ferrari.

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redbullracing: thank you for everything, Y/N! 💙❤️

lechairalonso: you all never deserved her, we know what was said about her! Y/N TO FERRARI!!!!!!!!

scuderiaferrari: we'll take good care of our girl! ❤️

yourusername ✔

Liked by danielricciardo, gerihalliwell, carlossainz55 and 695,481 others.

yourusername: After an incredible two years and discussions with Franz Tost, Christian Horner and Adrian Newey, I have come to the decision to leave Scuderia Alphatauri at the end of the 2023 season.

Racing has and will always be an incredibly huge part of my life; I will forever be grateful for the opportunity given to me by Alphatauri and the passion and energy I have been able to put into one of the most important things in my life. Franz has been a leader and a legend, Yuki my best friend and the entire team here and back home are phenomenal.

Whilst I am sad to leave behind a legacy created, I am proud to take my next steps into the future as a Scuderia Ferrari driver. This has been a dream of mine ever since I was a child and I cannot wait to fufill the wish that my younger self desired for so long. I want to thank everyone for your love and support along the way and I hope to make you all proud.

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ynarmy: onward and upwards! we can't wait to see your NEXT adventure! 🏎❤️

yukitsunoda0511: I'll miss you forever, keeping your seat warm always! 🤍

redbullsupermax: ain't no way Y/N is winning anything now, this was her best bet as a woman lmao.

sainztsunoda: @redbullsupermax PLSSSS and ur PFP is literally a cheater lMAO 😂😭

f1gossip

Liked by landonorris, ynverstappenarmy, scuderiapapaya and 24,503 others.

f1gossip: Has the Y/L/N transfer to Ferrari caused issues already? Eagle-Eyed fans among the sport spotted that Three-Time World Champion, Max Verstappen, has UNFOLLOWED Y/N.

The two have been known for having an incredibly strong relationship on the grid and Verstappen has mentioned to the press multiple times that he believes Y/N would be a suitable driver for Red Bull. The two have known one another since their racing in Formula 3. Has this move to Ferrari caused strain on this friendship?

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oconredflags: there's no way that something like this could split them up? they've been friends for SO long? 😭❤️

ferrarilover1655: nah I'm sorry, max is salty that she's moving onto better things. she has every right to be happy and he should be supporting her

vettellovers: @ferrarilover1655: she's literally moving to FERRARI. WORST MOVE EVER. 😂😂😭

astonalonso: LANDO IN THE LIKES BRUUUUUUH. 👀👀

scuderiaferrari ✔

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, sebastianvettel and 849,204 others.

scuderiaferrari: The future is red. Say hello to the SF-24, designed and built in Maranello.

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raybans: we're painting the town red in 2024!

yourusername: 🏎️❤️

vettelschumacher: Y/N is going to be the greatest thing that's happened to this team in SO long

liked by charles_leclerc

sffanpage

liked by papayasainz, beforrealistic, maranellomadness and 56,301 others.

sffanpage: Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N at Maranello for the SF-24 Launch today! Y/N visited the museum before the official launch and the two were seen leaving the event at the same time after stopping to speak to fans!

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papayasainz: they look like they'll make SUCH a good team? They had so much banter during the launch I LOVE LOVE THE VIBE ❤️😭❤️😭

louisaferrari44: @papayasainz RIGHT? when Charles was welcoming her too and they were giggling when Fred came on, ICONIC 😅

ferrariofficialfanpages: we've need something fresh for so long and I'm so excited that this is happening 🤍❤️🏎

supermaxredbull: I give it 2 races and she'll be done lmao

yourusername ✔

Liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, f1 and 703,402 others.

yourusername: The SF-24 is here and I am so excited! Such a beautiful car built by an incredible team. I hope I can do you all proud this year!

Thank you to everybody who came out to support the team; I feel so welcome and loved and I cannot wait to begin this season on a high! Forza Ferrari! ❤️🏎

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f1: we can't wait to see you on track in red!

ferrarifans16: SHE'S HERE! OH MY GOD SHE LOOKS SO GOOD AND I'M NOT READY!!!!!

charles_leclerc: welcome to the family! ❤️

liked by yourusername

maranellomadness: Y/N IS ABOUT TO REVIVE US ARE WE ALL READY?????

charles_leclerc ✔

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, landonorris and 894,402 others

charles_leclerc: SF-24 Launch was incredibleeeee 🤩

Thank you to all the fans and the love in Maranello today, I can't wait to get behind the wheel and bring us some memories and points. ❤️

view all comments

yourusername: forza charles! ❤️

liked by charles_leclerc

sffanpage: good luck this season Charles! we can't wait to see you bring home all the points!!

vettelalonso: CHARLES IN RED WILL ALWAYS BE MY ROMAN EMPIRE 😍😍😍

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 3 months

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ღ speed drive ღ

the stories of the rich girl racing in formula one; dubbed by everyone as the barbie of the grid.

@angsthology @cashtons-wife @darleneslane

ღ this barbie is a race car driver

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 5 months

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Sneak peek of my next oneshot (Lestappen x reader)

Including: driver!reader, smut and rivals to lovers

«Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.»

So, what do we think? hmu on the asks or dm! :)

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 6 months

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Haunted | LH44 (patreon preview)

― Pairing: Ghost!Lewis x fem!reader ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (fingering and dirty talk); mentions of cheating; description of horror situations and stabbing (but not too graphic).

✷ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon masterlist ✷ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece) or buying me a coffee

It was a cursed house.

The tale was that a rich man used to live there. He was beautiful. So beautiful the whole town knew who he was. He was also warm and compassionate, he would help old ladies with bags, walk the neighbor’s dog, share his famous coffee whenever he had the time, and help the young boys with driving classes. But his beauty was also his curse because someone’s wife fell in love with him, and as the saying goes, there are two things you cannot hide properly: a cough and a burning love. It wasn’t even a week after the man noticed how his lady would eye the town’s treasure. It was possible the young gentleman didn’t know about this infatuation, but the woman’s husband knew and it was enough for him to stab the man to death in the most brutal way. Rumor had it he tried to get up and walk, but he could only make it to the door of his room, his body collapsing and succumbing to death minutes after agonizing with his own blood. The houses were far one from the other, but his screams were so loud some of the neighbors heard them even after he passed away, haunted by his pleas they moved.

The house went for sale, and someone even bought it a year after the crime, but they did not last for a week, the ghost of the dead man haunted the place day and night moving things, opening and closing doors, as if inviting whoever was there to leave, and when his requests were not obeyed, he would riot. In the night, his screams would get louder, he would grab their feet, play with the TV’s remote, boil water, and let the windows open.

They say he’s an angry ghost, a miserable one because he never got to experience true love. He was killed before he could, and so he closed himself on the house he took so much care while in life. His garden was the most beautiful one. Full of dark roses, and big trees, but once he died so did the flowers. It was like everything rotted.

Yn sighed thinking about the story an old lady told her when she went to get groceries. The woman went as far as advising her to leave the house, the money be damned. But of course, Yn wouldn’t do it. The house cost money for her and her husband, Eric. And besides, she had always been curious about ghost stories. Never truly believed how dangerous it could get.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this little preview! You can have early access and read this full piece on my Patreon (here). This will be published publicly here by the end of the month 🤍

If you liked this piece and want to have early access to it along with exclusive access to others, make sure to subscribe to my patreon!💘

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @scorpiobleue @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @f1kota @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @dearxcherry @peachiicherries @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @soph1644 @cixrosie @nichmeddar @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 7 months

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Dark love affair

Introduction

The drivers who are dark and obsessed with her :

Carlos Sainz

Charles Leclerc

Pierre Gasly

Daniel Riccardo

Lando Norris

Max Verstappen

Lewis Hamilton

Fernando Alonso

Yn Yln

The sweet innocent interviewer

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 7 months

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HONEY (ARE YOU COMING?) ☆ MV1

pairing: Max Verstappen X female!oc

sumary: When she wants something, she takes it. Even if “it” is the current World Champion of one of the most expensive sports in the world.

notes: first fic, so don’t mind if is a piece of shit! English is not my first language, let me know if you see some mistake ;) and probably i’ll make a part two.

maxverstappen1

Jimmy’z Monte-Carlo

Liked by yoursister, yourusername and 827,167 other people

maxverstappen1: 2️⃣6️⃣🎉

see all the 176,278 comments…

yourusername’s add a new insta story

pics from instagram and pinterest

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 7 months

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Down The Road (F1 x Reader) SMAU

>> Down The Road 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Synopsis : The history of F1 racing is about to change this year with a new female contender, and she's not a driver that the men can easily handle.

EP : 00 ─── 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ───

𝐼 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒

Y/N, the first female F1 driver (And Cinephilia)

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Fact 1 : Y/N is the first woman and the youngest rookie in the current F1 race.

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Fact 2 : Global Ambassador for Prada and Calvin Klein.

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Fact 3 : Movie Lover (Big Fan of Fast & Furious Franchise)

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Fact 4 : There’s a secret rumor that Y/N is a lesbian (but in fact, you’re bisexual)

𝙏𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚𝙙 (in the next chapter)

A/N : Please let me know if you want to read more. I'd be very encouraged to read replays from you all.

Cr. https://x.com/FilmUpdates/status/1704624724624777231?s=20https://x.com/RealLyndaCarter/status/1704218185325502506?s=20https://x.com/havparadise/status/1703963788490534996?s=20https://x.com/21metgala/status/1704838038977667575?s=20

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 7 months

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deal - cl16 (series)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.

Trope: Roomate!AU - slow burn

Update Schedule: every Sunday

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen*

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 8 months

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Black Light 11

Warnings: noncon, namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The first time is supposed to hurt, right? It’s not always romantic, often clumsy, sometimes awkward. It wasn’t most of those things but you don’t know how to describe it. You lay staring at the ceiling, trying to untangle the riddle between your legs.

The faint tingle plucks at you. There were moments you were begging for more, others when you were praying he’d stop. It all blends together in a confusion jumble. You don’t know exactly how it felt or how you feel.

The steady ebb and flow of his breaths and low gristly snores whisper hotly into your scalp. You lay in discomfort, arms still bound behind you, though the gag droops down around your neck. You wiggle and struggle to roll over, facing August and his abnormally serene features. Really tired himself out, didn’t he?

What does it mean? You did all that and now he’s sleeping in your bed. Naturally…

You grunt and crush your hands under you as you sit up. You groan at the knot beneath your shoulder blade and the strain of muscle along your arms. God, you’re all cramped up.

You stand and gently pad around the room. It’s not very late at all. The alarm clock shaped like a lime beams out 10:37pm. Hmm, you would’ve thought him a night owl considering his line of work. Thinking of, shouldn’t he be outside a door barking at coeds?

You leave the room and scurry down the hall. You take your time on the stares, nervous you might fall over, and get down to the first floor. You go into the kitchen and flip on the light with your nose. Good thing your parents won’t be home, you don’t expect you could explain the belt around your wrists or your nudity.

You go to a drawer and turn your back to it. You slide it open and feel around blindly. You find a knife and angle it carefully in your fingers. You like the belt but your hands are throbbing.

You saw at the braided leather for a while. It falls away and the buckle clinks on the tile loudly. You gather up the remnants and toss them in the trash. Ugh, you feel better.

You go back upstairs, hoping to cover yourself up in something cozy. You enter the room and turn on the lights, eliciting a grumble from the man in your bed. Augusts rolls onto his back with his usual growl.

“Turn it off.”

You ignore him and go to your dresser, sliding open a drawer and pulling out your favourite nightie. The one with the little hearts all over it. He snarls again as the bed frame creaks and you turn to face him with the nightie, the knife poking up in your right hand. He sits up as his muscles tense across his chest.

You shake your head at him and open the top of the nightie to step into it. You shimmy up the fabric awkwardly, carefully not to poke yourself with the knife.

“I need to be able to see, sleepy head,” you chide.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, barrelling towards you. He surprises you as he chops at your wrist and you drop the knife as you recoil and catch the nightie before it can slump back down under your chest. You slide the straps up and let out a whine.

“What was that for?”

He bends and picks up the knife, pointing it at you, “don’t threaten me.”

“What? No, I… I used it to cut the belt. I just forgot–”

“Stupid girls shouldn’t play with knives,” he pokes you with the tip.

“Neither should you,” you stick out your tongue and step back, “god, that’s dangerous, you know?”

He gives you a look, that look you’ve got a million times before. As if what you’re saying is stupidly obvious and it is. He needs to put that down.

“Anyway, I was going to make some hot chocolate,” you shrug and turn back, “so do you want some? I have white or milk chocolate–”

“No,” he snips and lowers the knife.

“Coffee?” You offer, “tea?”

You sweep out of the room as you hold up a finger, thinking. Where did you– You dip into the bathroom as you pass it and retrieve your phone. You sense him behind you, not close, but following you.

“What are you doing?” He grits out.

“I told you, hot chocolate.”

“Give me the phone.”

“No,” you keep on, hopping down the stairs as you key into the phone.

“Give–”

“I’m just changing my status, take a chill pill, old man,” you toss over your shoulder as you get to the bottom of the stairs, “what do you think is better; taken or it’s complicated?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you are holding a knife so maybe the latter,” you suggest as you continue on to the kitchen. You hit save as you blindly go to the stove and move the kettle onto the burner with one hand. “Done.”

“Done what?” He sneers as he fills the doorway with his large figure, naked and shameless. You give him a look and grab your father’s apron from its hook. You approach him and hold it out.

He glares at you and puffs. He snatches the apron and throws the knife into the sink. He ties it around his waist so you can’t see the silly moniker across the front; Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’.

You put your phone on the counter and open a cupboard. He gets closer, looming just behind you. You take out the jar of cocoa mix and glance back as he squints at your phone.

"We're not dating," he growls.

"Um, okay, that's not what it seems like to me."

"I mean it, that wasn't–"

"Look, you call it what you want, going steady, a situationship."

He's silent. He huffs through his nostrils and backs away from your phone.

"Crazy…" he mutters.

"Pardon?" You grin in his direction.

"I have to get to work," he enunciates clearly as he shakes his head, "uh, bye."

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riddle-me-im-sirius · 8 months

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playing cupid.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: Mentions of sex and some curse words. There are some inaccuracies, such as in this short story, Carlos has an apartment in Milan] Word Count: 9.7K

You're in this situationship with Carlos Sainz—no fuss, no drama, just sex. But then your dads become friends, and Sainz Sr., with a soft spot for you, decides to introduce you to his son, whom you've been... acquainted with for a while. To make things more interesting, he's on a mission to play Cupid, all while Carlos enjoys the thrill of keeping your little secret, playing along with his dad.

this was a request! always feel free to request and if i have some free time, I'll try to write something 🫶🏼

“Apparently, our dads met”, you say, rolling off Carlos's lap, still flushed and your breath ragged. The soft bed cushions your fall as you curl up beneath the deep blue blanket that usually adorns the foot of Carlos's bed, but this time is just part of the mess.

Carlos studies you with a faint frown, tousled hair spilling over his forehead. He looks incredibly handsome, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. If it weren’t for the late hour and your impending early morning, you would consider straddling him again. However, it’s nearly 2 a.m. and you need to be at the atelier by 9, so you just wish to sleep.

“Really?” There’s an undertone you don’t quite understand.

“What?”

"You just killed the mood.” He lays back on the bed and turns to face you. His hands seek out your shoulder, and his nimble fingers begin tracing delicate patterns on your skin, a clear indication that he’s not ready to let the night end just yet. “Mentioning my dad right after I cum inside you? Not exactly what I expect.”

“I just remembered it, and now I know you’ll get your hands off of me and let me sleep.”

“Oh, that’s not what I was expecting, as well.”

You pout, mocking him. “Poor you,” he rolls his eyes and falls dramatically against his pillow. “I’m just expecting a good night of sleep because some of us have work to do during the week and not just on weekends.” He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know that sometimes you work during the week.”

Carlos opens his mouth to retort, but he doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. In an instant, he sits up, looming over you, and seizes both your wrists, pinning them against the headboard. With his other hand, he's ready to tug the blanket over your form.

"Don't you dare tickle me, Carlos Sainz. Or I swear to God—"

"What are you going to do?" Carlos interrupts, his mischievous grin returning. As you lock eyes with him, you realize there's very little you can do, and oddly enough, you're entirely fine with that. Except,

"Spit in your face."

His playful smirk remains as he leans in closer, his voice a sultry whisper. "Spit in my face, huh?” he taunts, his fingers inching closer to your sides. “Think I’m going to risk it.”

"Sainz,” you squirm under his touch, desperately trying to maintain your composure. But he’s already grinning, and his fingers are approaching your sides. “I'm warning you..."

And suddenly, it's too late. He pounces, his fingers dancing across your sides, and you burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter, some of them louder than you expected them to be. Carlos knows all your ticklish spots, and he exploits them shamelessly. It’s been what…? Four months since you first slept together. By now he knows your body better than any guy ever did. And honestly, you’re not sure what to feel about that.

"Carlos, stop!" you manage to gasp between laughter, trying to wriggle free from his grip. It's a futile effort as he continues his relentless assault, determined to elicit every giggle and squeal he can from you.

Finally, he relents, his laughter joining yours as he releases your wrists. You pant for breath, your cheeks flushed from both the laughter and the earlier efforts. You take the opportunity to jump out of bed. “You’re the worst. I gotta pee.”

You disappear into the bathroom, to pee, clean yourself and try to comb your hair, and by the time you go back to the bedroom, you’re expecting him to be asleep. But you find him awake. His eyes shine brighter when you go through the door, and he watches you with a tender smile as you enter the bed and curl against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

The warmth of his body against you is comforting.

"I think I'll let you sleep now," he voices low in your ear, as he pulls over the comforter and covers you both.

"You better.”

Carlos's chest rises and falls rhythmically beneath your cheek as you nestle closer. You can hear the faint hum of his heartbeat, and it lulls you into a peaceful state. He smells like Bleu de Chanel and the lingering traces of your passion. With every breath, you inhale the essence of the man who has woven himself into the fabric of your life, in more ways than one.

Just as you're about to close your eyes and drift off to sleep, it hits you like lightning—the visit your mom mentioned, the whole reason you brought up his dad’s name.

You nudge Carlos gently, rousing him from his half-asleep state. "Just remembered something."

Carlos doesn’t even open his eyes. "Hmm?”

“My dad invited yours over,” you were not sure if you should be excited or nervous. Not for the visit itself, but for Carlos’ reaction to the idea of you meeting his dad.

After all, you had just been sleeping together, barely leaving your apartments, except for that one time he took you out to dinner, and that was probably because it was your birthday and perhaps Carlos would feel bad about just booty-calling you and ignoring the whole birthday thing.

“Well, that’s a nice way to introduce you to him.”

“What?”

Carlos just pressed you closer to him, like you weren’t practically glued together already. "It's okay, cariño. They’ll love you. Now sleep."

It all started at Milan Fashion Week when Carlos was representing Ferrari at an event. You were there, lurking in the shadows, taking in the magic of the fashion show. Your mentor had gotten you there, a favour you'll always be grateful for. There's a lot you can't remember about the event, about the whole night to be fair, but you remember the man awkwardly sitting in the front row. Fashion is not his thing, you thought. You kind of knew that. You kind of knew him.

He drives for Ferrari, he's handsome, he has a thick Spanish accent and hair I would pay to touch.

And that was more than enough to make you introduce yourself at the end of the show. From there, making out in a club took a little more than two hours. To his bed, just a little bit more than that.

You continued to see each other, booty-calling each other when you were feeling horny, bored, or just lonely. Your situationship was a good deal for both parties. No strings attached, which you enjoyed because you had little time and no patience to make any kind of effort to actually maintain a relationship. And Carlos, well... he was also busy as hell, so... all good. So you never went on dates, never needed to put on expectable amounts of makeup for over-the-top dresses. Except for your birthday, when he decided to take you out, and you had to make the effort. But that was your birthday.

Other than that, you would only leave your apartments to go get food at a 24-hour store or McDonald's. You remember that one time you wanted gelato and Carlos took you to his favourite place in Milan, but... other than that, it was just sex. Okay, just sex and marathons of Game of Thrones and House of The Dragon (that led to more sex) and some cooking too. You once taught him how to make your nana's lasagna and how a true Italian bruschetta is done. And a few days later, he cooked you his mom's carbonara—not a real carbonara, not at all. And, let’s be fair, he often brought you pizza from your favourite place in Milano and expensive bottles of wine.

But… “That’s a nice way to introduce you to him”?

You were not expecting that at all.

The idea lingered in your mind all night, and you woke up thinking about it too. You left his apartment while Carlos was still in the shower, just shouting goodbyes while you gathered your stuff and ran to the atelier. He would be out of town for a couple of weeks, away at some races, and you would have time to figure out how your parents met and when said visit was going to happen. All good.

Turns out you didn't have as much time as you thought.

That afternoon, your mom calls you, excitedly recounting their amazing trip to Canada and how much fun your dad had at the race. So, that was where they met. She also shares her plans about taking your brothers to Monza in a couple of months. You nod absentmindedly, your attention more focused on the magazine in front of you than on her words. It's often like this.

Your dad travels for work and actually works. He's a sports manager, deeply passionate about football and motorsports, especially Formula 1. Lately, he's been leaning more towards the latter, especially since he's contemplating retirement. On the other hand, your mom, an ex-model who married a well-off man, has chosen to focus on being a wife and a mother, a role she fulfils with dedication. So, when they’re back home, dad has work to do, contacts to keep and your mom has… well, more than enough time to tell you everything.

"And your dad and Sainz met at the golf course, you know?" your mom continues, her voice full of admiration. "A charming young man. He was golfing with his dad too. Your father had to tell them you refused to join him on the greens."

"In that, he's absolutely right."

"So, they kept talking. They even played together, I think. And he mentioned we were going to the race, and Sainz suggested he could call, and he'd arrange a garage tour. We met him at the paddock, but we ended up not getting the tour because there were already enough guests in there, but… Isn't he just amazing? And so incredibly handsome, piccina. So handsome."

You cringe inwardly at your mom's thirst for Carlos, unable to shake the image of her ogling your... friend. But you hum in response, unable to voice your discomfort because the next moment, she's raving about a dress she bought for you and the amazing designer she met in New York just before returning to Milan, and that topic steals all attention.

But just before she’s about to hang out, you remember why she called you in the first place.

“Mom, about the visit you mentioned? The dinner?” you interject and she chuckles; you can almost envision her rubbing her temples.

"Oh, silly me. I actually called you to discuss that," she sighs. "He's coming to visit us this weekend! You have to come home and meet him; he's really looking forward to getting to know you."

"Doesn't he race this weekend?"

"The young—Since when do you care about F1?"

"I don't. I just—” You quickly think of something, but you’re not quite sure if you want to tell your mother that you’ve been fucking Sainz. The younger one. Of course. “I saw something on Twitter."

"Oh, I see. Well,” she clicks her tongue. “It's his dad who's coming. Weren’t you listening? And his mom. We invited them both. Your dad wants to take him to the club and network a bit and you know… I’m always down for making friends and Reyes seems like a lovely woman. She wasn’t there, but I’ve heard about her around. Even her name is super elegant. Isn’t it?” Once again, you hum, frowning, thinking about the movie where you just found yourself in. “So, please, come home.”

“Noted. So, this weekend?”

“Yes. Do you need Dad to pick you up tomorrow after work?”

You move in your seat. “I’m just so busy with work right now, mom. The new collection and—” She cleans her throat and you just nod to the empty room. “Okay. Yes, please, tell Dad to pick me up.”

Of course, the second you hang up you text Carlos. He’s probably busy, it’s Thursday so he’s doing interviews or something, and, as you expected, he doesn’t reply to your text right away. Despite everything, he doesn’t take too long.

Not surprisingly, he’s very nonchalant about it all.

hot wheels guy: just tell them we know each other, no big deal hot wheels guy: and we’ll tell them more when i’m back

But, yeah… You can’t help but frown looking at the phone. He’s golfed with your dad, met your mom, met again with your dad and he’s not even feeling weird about it all?

you: hm? no? hot wheels guy: why not? you: you went golfing with my dad!!! hot wheels guy: and? hot wheels guy: how would i guess he was your dad? you: how many Y/LN do you think there are in milan? you: he told you he’s from milan!! there are not a lot of us in here hot wheels guy: do you have any idea of how many people i meet every weekend? you: 🙄 hot wheels guy: stop being a brat you: 🙄 hot wheels guy: i don’t see a problem in golfing with your dad hot wheels guy: is that supposed to be weird? you: YES !!!! hot wheels guy: stop being dramatic hot wheels guy: if they say anything, tell them you know me hot wheels guy: if they don’t, don’t you: they will hot wheels guy: so you know what to do

Friday’s dinner went exceptionally well, with conversations flowing effortlessly between food and wine, despite the inevitable sports-centric discussions that seemed to dominate the evening. Your brothers were beyond ecstatic to have Carlos Sr. as a guest in their home. They'd had their fair share of famous athletes sitting at the family table, but never had they been as excited as they were when Carlos Sr. entered the house. As a result, you found yourself somewhat on the sidelines, listening more than speaking throughout the meal.

And you were grateful for that.

The same didn’t happen on Saturday. Your dad took the morning to showcase some of your work and discuss your future prospects in the fashion industry with both Carlos and Reyes. In what you think was a gesture of gratefulness, Reyes displayed a lot of interest in your little atelier, located by the pool, in what used to be a shed for the gardener. So, you spent the morning around there, talking with them about fashion and business, and then joined them for lunch in one of your dad’s favourite restaurants.

Let's be fair, you have an extraordinary way with words and a charm that makes your mother proud. It was easy for you. By the time dinner came, you were already adored by the Sainzes. Without making an effort, you found yourself talking about art and travel, and letting Sainz Sr. explain to you the magic and the challenges of Dakar.

However, it isn’t until the next morning that you find yourself alone with him.

You both sat down for breakfast on the patio, and he’s now engrossed in reading the newspaper, while you’re drinking your cappuccino and doing your best to ignore the fact that the man sitting in front of you is, in essence, your… fuckbuddy’s dad.

There’s the usual “good morning” and the “hope you got some rest”, to which the guest always has some lovely comment to say about the bed, or the room, or the house in general. It’s an amazing guest house, you have to admit. And Sainz is no expectation. You exchange a couple of pleasantries and he’s back at reading the news, so you let your guard down.

Then, unexpectedly, Carlos Sr. turns his attention from the newspaper and directs it squarely at you. Grey eyebrows lifting at the same pace his eyes fill with a weird glint.

“I would love to introduce you to my son,” he says, and a faint frown tugs at your lips as words form in your throat, only to wither away unspoken. "I'm not implying anything," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice, "just that I believe the two of you would get along well."

You respond hesitantly, "Oh, I know him."

"I know you know him," he laughs, and you realise that something might have gotten lost in translation because when he talks again he says, "But what I mean is that you should meet. I'll make sure to introduce you two next time we're all in town."

And well, you feel too embarrassed to correct him, so you just smile and mumble an “I can’t wait. Excuse me”, before getting up from the table and sprinting up to your room.

you: great news. your dad wants to introduce us you: what do i do?

He takes a couple of hours to text back.

hot wheels guy: why didn’t you tell him you know me already? you: i tried to!

The next time you’re all in town happens one week and a half from there, when Carlos is finally back in Italy after a few races and a couple of days in Madrid. And, because the universe is a pain in the ass, you’re swarmed with work to the point you’ve been falling asleep right after dinner, even before the time Carlos usually rings you up.

It’s a terrible schedule.

You’ve been waking up at 5 am to be by the seamstress at 7, to have some work ready to show at 9 am, between your mentor’s arrival at the atelier and the time he leaves for some meeting or brunch with models somewhere in Milan. Somehow, during that interval, he has time to break your work to pieces, destroying it (and destroying you in the process) with criticism. Critique leaves you on the verge of tears, and by the end of the day, you’re a mess—stressed, irritable and utterly exhausted. Not to mention the ever-present sexual frustration, with vivid dreams of a certain Spaniard leaving you hot and bothered in your sleep.

The perfect recipe for a restless night.

Apparently, Carlos got to Milan on Wednesday, because that night you woke up at midnight on your couch, a half-empty glass of wine by your side, your unfinished sketches scattered before you and three missed calls from Carlos, accompanied by a series of texts. Thursday, the same happened. The texts were nothing too dramatic, just variations of “u up?”, “cmon its 10 pm”, and “you can’t be asleep”.

On both days, in your half-sleep haze, you manage to reply as you shuffle your way to your bedroom something similar to “sory, talktomorrw”.

And then Friday arrives, and your calendar pings with the reminder that in one hour your dad will be picking you up for dinner. You’re sitting on your vanity and already dreading the day your dad decided to go to Montreal.

You’re not feeling it.

Firstly, you have to slather on a ton of make-up just to feel decent. Your dark circles are as pronounced as ever, you’re skin is pale and your acne is acting up, probably all due to the lack of sun, sleep, rest of any food that isn’t reheated pizza or store-bought noodles.

So, yes, the prospect of dinner and being introduced as Carlos’ whatever doesn’t exactly lift your spirits.

The anticipation gawns at you as you finish getting ready. You can’t shake the feeling of unease, a nagging doubt that you’re about to step into a situation that might be more than you signed up for. Carlos’ dad seems nice enough, and his mom absolutely adores you, but this is different, especially because his dad is expecting to introduce you and well… you’re way past that.

As you stare at your reflection, you take a deep breath and remind yourself that this isn't just about you. Your brothers are looking forward to meeting Carlos, and your dad seems genuinely excited about his friendship with his dad. So, you summon a smile, albeit a forced one, and decide to make the most of this evening, even if you're not entirely sure what to expect.

Yeah. Scratch that. The dinner is about you.

As you approach the restaurant, a different sense of anticipation washes over you. It feels like a scene from a movie where you're about to meet an arranged husband. The Sainz family stands by the door, engaged in lively conversation. Reyes waves at you when she sees you making your way to them.

Your eyes naturally gravitate toward Carlos. Firstly, because you kind of miss him. It’s been a while since you last saw him and there’s no point in looking for comfort somewhere else, so you are, let's say… slightly needy. And secondly, because he’s clad in a baby blue button-up and pristine white pants. A vision. You're only human, after all, with eyes and perhaps a few too many hormones.

In summary: You’re fucked. Dinner will be fun.

From your back and close to your ear, a whisper arises. “Be nice,” your mom says. As you turn to her, her lips are curling into a wide smile. “Carlos! Reyes! Such a delight to see you both again. And, Carlos,” she turns to the younger one, “it’s an absolute pleasure to finally see you in a more personal environment.”

You take a deep breath.

Your brothers, bursting with energy, practically race each other to get to Carlos, almost taking you down in the process. He skillfully engages them in conversation, a grin playing on his lips, until your mom intervenes.

"Now, now, boys. You'll have plenty of time to chat," she chuckles. Your mom swiftly moves your overeager brothers and offers an apologetic smile to Carlos. "Apologies, they're just excited.”

“No problem,” he says, in Italian, something he doesn’t do often when he’s alone with you. He claims he still needs to learn dirty talk in Italian. You love to teach him by whispering it into his ear. More than that, you love watching his face as he slowly grasps their meaning.

Your dad, then, approaches him for a way-too-manly handshake, but a warm smile reigns on his lips. “Carlos, great to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir. Likewise.”

In the meantime, you went to Reyes. She graced you with a compliment, a kiss on the cheek and the promise to visit your atelier in the near future. Then, it’s time for her husband, and you’re already wearing your best smile because that man is beaming as he’s watching you.

“My dear,” after two kisses on the cheeks, he slightly turns to Carlos. “So nice to see you again. Son,” he calls, and Carlos turns to you, his smile radiant, his eyes sparkling under the warm, ambient lights of the restaurant. “Let me introduce you to Y/N.”

"You're even more beautiful than my mom described," he remarks, his words catching you off guard. You manage to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, opting instead for a faint smile. “My dad has shared so much about you. Couldn’t wait to meet you.”

A surge of mixed emotions washes over you. On one hand, there's a twinge of frustration that he didn't tell his family about your connection, correcting your mistake and saving you from embarrassment. Yet, as his adoring gaze meets yours, it's hard not to be swept away by his warm compliments.

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling something shift inside you. Your own words surprise you, leaving you momentarily at a loss. "Thank you. Likewise."

Unknown to you, you echo almost exactly what Carlos had just said to your dad. The similarity draws a chuckle from Senior, who seems to find the exchange quite entertaining. Carlos chuckles as well and motions to the restaurant with his head.

“Should we?”

As the evening progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Carlos when you think no one is looking. You catch his eye occasionally, and he responds with subtle winks and sly smirks that send shivers down your spine. It's almost like a secret language only the two of you understand. He’s sitting in front of you, of course.

“Piccina,” your mom calls. “Why don’t you tell Carlos about your job?”

With a smile, you turned to face Carlos. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity, and you have to take a second before answering. He’s no stranger to your job. Not at all. Sometimes he even lands a helping hand, providing some foot massages while you’re working through tight deadlines and he doesn’t take “no” for an answer when he asks if he can come over.

So you simply say, “I’m a fashion designer.”

“Oh,” it’s the polite oh, not the filled-with-curiosity one. You know he’s about to say something stupid when his tongue peeks through his lips and the corner of his lips starts raising, moulding his mouth in a smirk. “So you just play dress-up for a living?”

Laughter bubbled up from one of your brothers, earning him a scolding look from your mom. They’re just nine, which makes them fifteen years younger than you. Fondly referred to as "an accident" by your parents, they were the light of your life, even if they were quite the whirlwind.

“And you, Carlos, you just play with cars on the weekends?” Carlos's eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked down, a chuckle escaping him. Sr. Carlos wore a pleased smile, and a delightful warmth settled in your belly.

"Some might find it hard to believe, but we do manage to squeeze in some actual work during the week," Carlos chimed in, earning a laugh from you. "Have you ever been to a race?”

“No, and I don’t intend to.”

"The boys are the true racing enthusiasts,” your dad chimes in. “The girls prefer to stay at home, or walk around when we travel for a Grand Prix.”

Turning to you, Carlos's eyes danced with mischief. You remembered a previous conversation where he'd tried to persuade you to attend the Italian Grand Prix, just a few weeks away. Wanting to stop him, because he’s so predictable that you just know what he’s about to say, you try to change the subject.

“Talking about races, are you playing on doing Dakar again next year, Signore?”

Carlos dismisses your question right away. "I think your perspective might change once you experience a Grand Prix firsthand.”

And this time, Carlos Sr. joins him. "Why not extend an invitation for them to visit the garage? I'm sure the kids will love the opportunity. And, Y/N, I’m sure you’ll find it all exciting. You seem like a curious girl.”

Carlos beamed. "Consider this an invitation. I can't wait to have you all there.”

Your brothers practically have a collective stroke, their young minds struggling to process the idea of visiting Carlos in the garage. As for your dad, despite his time in the paddock, had never had the chance to visit the Ferrari garage, so, despite keeping his composure, you know how much it means to him—he’s undeniably the most fervent tifoso you'd ever known.

With a grateful smile, you spoke up. "That's incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Carlos leans comfortably against his Alfa Romeo parked in easy reach of your dad’s Audi. Your brothers are sleeping in the back seat, while your parents conclude their chat. They’re getting along well, which is weird but comforting to some degree.

You shoot Carlos a serious glance. “How much longer are you going to keep up with this little thing you started?”

“Me? May I remind you that you were the one who didn’t tell him we met?” You roll your eyes at his words and grab the door knob. “Wait. Don’t you see he’s trying to set us up?”

“And?”

“Play along. Let him have it.”

There's a moment of silent understanding, the shared secret between you adding an extra layer of intimacy. Despite it all, you crack a smile.

“You’re so childish.” You say. “You’ll be the one who’s gonna tell him.”

“I’ll tackle that when we get there,” Carlos assures. And slowly, a playful glint shines in his eyes. “Should I swing by your place on my way home?”

“No way. I have work tomorrow, a lot of work to do and I can’t afford to be tired to do it.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You can stay at mine, then. And I could drive you to work. It’ll give you an extra thirty minutes of sleep.”

You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You don’t even know where I work.”

“Of course, I do,” he assures.

That’s new. “Well,” you take a deep breath and discreetly hand him over your apartment keys. “I won’t ring the bell because the old lady on my floor will listen and I think she’s spying on me. I’ll call when I’m there.”

As you're about to bid him goodnight, your dad's voice calls out from a distance, catching Carlos's attention. He waves warmly and flashes a friendly smile, which Carlos mimics.

“Golf on Sunday?” your dad asks.

Carlos's eyes light up with enthusiasm. “Absolutely! Can't wait!”

You can't help but interject, “Golfing with my dad, again? What the heck are you doing?”

Carlos grins. “Finding a golfing partner, since someone here,” he gestures playfully at you, “refuses to join me. And unfortunately, my dad isn't always around in Italy to tag along.”

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Alright, Sainz. Nice to meet you. See you soon.”

He drives you to work and to your surprise, he actually knows where that is. How? You can’t tell. Apparently, he also remembers that you bring breakfast for your mentor on Saturdays because just before he drops you off, he offers to join you for a few minutes, just to pick up breakfast with you.

“Since you’ve got no time to eat with me, I’ll just tag along and annoy you for ten minutes more.”

You let him enter the coffee shop with you and he hovers on your back while you order two moccas and two brownies to go with it. Your mentor is not picky, and this Saturday breakfast tradition only started because you wanted to thank him for granting you a few hours from his weekend to help you with your designs. Technically, it’s not work, but it’s just as demanding.

You can feel Carlos’ breath against your hair, and the faint smell of his cologne, still hanging in his shirt from the previous night. This morning, the buttons are undone, and the sleeves are folded up. His hair is tousled and his beard is imperfect. Yet he’s the most handsome man around.

“First time picking up breakfast together,” he says as you’re walking towards the door. “Is this the equivalent to marriage in your dictionary?”

“Don’t make me regret all the past decisions I’ve made.”

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head. “What could I possibly make you regret?”

“Simply the fact of accepting to be introduced to you,” You let an exaggerated sigh leave your lips. “I’m living the nightmare all over again.”

Just before leaving a kiss on your cheek, he whispers. “Didn’t sound like a nightmare when I made you come thrice last night, baby. But go off.” He then kisses you on the cheek. “Have a good day.”

Carlos is too busy that night, and your Sunday is reserved for a family gathering. By Monday, you're back to your routine of nodding off right after dinner, so by the time Tuesday arrives, you’re already missing him. Not him—just his body in your bed, the sensation of his thick lips sliding down your navel and the sound of your name rolling off his tongue, wrapped up in that beautiful deep Spanish accent of his. You know he’s driving next weekend, so you spend all Wednesday staring at your phone, trying to summon a text from him.

When it finally pings, around 5 pm, it’s from your dad.

papà: heading to squash in an hour. up for a game? papà: no use in saying no papà: you already missed two weeks you: 🙄🙄🙄 you: i’ll meet you there!

You were the one who introduced your dad to squash, and gradually, it evolved into a bonding activity for both of you. Words don't flow easily with him, and you’re not great at demonstrating feelings so it’s difficult to connect with your dad. On top of that, you moved out really early. Slowly squash became a great way to connect and have quality time with him, release some steam, and stay in shape.

“I’m surprised. You never mentioned that you play squash,” a voice chimes in from behind, and you can't help but let out a sigh when you turn around.

It's Carlos, donned in a stupidly tight turquoise shirt that perfectly hugs and draws the contour of his chest, and sporting the briefest shorts you've ever seen him wear. He smiles. He knows he looks hot.

“How could I?” You reply, trying to not showcase how weak your knees just turned. “We only met like… five days ago.”

Carlos chuckles. “You’re funny. Did I tell you that yet?”

“Hmmm. You haven’t had the chance, yet.”

Sainz Sr. approaches you both, moving at a leisurely pace, absorbed in his phone. When he looks up, his frown disappears and an adoring smile takes his lips. His hand rests on his son’s shoulder as he remarks, “Didn’t I tell you today would be a perfect day for a match?”

Carlos turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "You did. What a coincidence.”

"Indeed," you chime in. "May I challenge you, sir? My dad’s still on a call and I have no partner."

“Oh, Carlos can join you,” he suggests with a nod in Carlos’ direction. “I’ll wait for your dad. We have some matters to discuss. Carry on, you two.”

Of. Course.

As the two of you step onto the squash court, the competitive glint in Carlos' eyes is hard to miss. And the tension in the air is palpable, you feel it in your bones. But you take a deep breath and push it aside, focusing on the game ahead.

"Why the sudden cold shoulder?" Carlos inquires as you prepare to start.

You glance at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm getting radio silence from you—no calls, no texts. You're not picking up my calls, either. What’s going on?"

You roll your neck, trying to ease the tension. Yesterday you just collapsed onto your couch, once again. You were living in survival mode. And wouldn’t be there playing if it wasn't a long-standing tradition with your dad.

"Work's been keeping me busy," you shrug.

It's not entirely a lie. But it’s not totally true either.

Let’s see—you've been involved in this situationship for almost five months now, seeing each other sporadically, sometimes even daily, if Carlos is in Milan. Yet, it's all so casual. You can recall the day he mentioned introducing you to his parents, of course. As a matter of fact, that talk has been looping in your mind for the last few days, but… it was a joke. Right? Sure it was. Why would he want his parents to meet his... whatever?

You could have texted him earlier. You would have texted him a few weeks ago, before all this. You can’t quite figure out why you’re panicking and why you’re behaving like a rom-com character, but you are.

"Come on, that excuse won't stick with me."

“Too bad. Can we play?" You grip the racket, twirling it in your hands. You look back, at his dad sitting on the benches, watching you from afar. “Please?”

He lets out a sigh and nods. Finally, you think.

"Is this a date?" he asks, grabbing a ball from his shorts and meeting your gaze.

"No." You're firm, and once again, he frowns. "It's not. For one, you didn't invite me. We just happened to both be here. It's coincidental.” He laughs here, slightly tilting his head back. You both know it is not coincidental. “And two, that's not what we're doing."

He cracks a smile, almost teasing. "So, what are we not doing?"

"The dating thing. We're not dating."

"Aren't we?" He smirks, his tongue peeking out, licking his lips.

You shake your head. "Nope."

"Alright, cool. Just wanted to be clear on that," Carlos replies with a nonchalant shrug, though you detect a glimmer of amusement in his voice. He’s as annoying as he’s pretty.

The first serve is swift and precise. The sound of the ball hitting the wall reverberates through the court. You dive into the game, putting your all into each movement. It's a dance of strategy and agility. You’re exhausted, but you put on a fight, using banter as your weapon. On the outside, your parents are watching, and you can’t help but notice Sainz Sr. is thoroughly enjoying this.

Sweat starts to bead on your foreheads, but neither of you shows any sign of slowing down. He wants to win and well… you want to make him lose. As you play, you steal glances at Carlos, his concentration evident in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes, in the curse words he whispers under his breath, ones that frustration draws from him. You’ve heard them before. Oh, God, you’ve heard so much worse. But it all combined? This is a side of him you haven't seen before, and it's exhilarating.

After a particularly intense rally, Carlos manages to secure a point with a deftly placed shot. He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "You're not making this easy," he remarks.

You grin, determined. "Wouldn't want to go easy on you, now, would I?"

The court echoes with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the thud of the ball hitting the walls. Time seems to blur as you lose yourself in the rhythm of the game. He makes you laugh and shout insults in his direction, to which he laughs.

Finally, after a hard-fought match, Carlos clinches the victory. It's a close call, and you’re about to pass out. It’s a shitty mixture of disappointment and pride. Leaning against the wall of the court, you try toth catch your breath.

"You're pretty good at this," Carlos admits, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel.

"Yeah, well, I have to stay in shape to keep up with you," you quip.

He chuckles, "Am I that demanding?"

"Am I that demanding?" You repeat, forcing a Spanish accent and a deep voice. He chuckles and stands up straight. "Did your dad tell you to come here today?"

"Yes. For some reason, he really likes you. Like I told you he would."

You can't help but chuckle at Carlos's words. "Well, he’s certainly enjoying playing cupid. But hey, fun game.”

Carlos nods a genuine smile on his face. "Yeah, it was. Finally got to see you outside the flat. It's quite weird to see you with clothes at this point."

"Oh, God, you're such a prick."

He laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Can I drop by later today?"

You glance toward your parents, who are engaged in a lively conversation, and then back at Carlos.

"No. Early morning tomorrow. And I still have work to finish today.” You’re not lying to him, you’re lying to yourself. Even when he’s looking at you with puppy eyes, you don’t go back with your words. Instead, you stand up straight and fix your hair. “Should I expect to coincidently meet you somewhere else in the next few days?"

You know the answer to that question. You know he’s going to be away for two weekends. And you kinda know he knows you know, because when he answers, there’s the faintest smile on his lips.

"I'll be off for two weeks. Hungary and Belgium.”

"Good luck at those, then.”

“Really appreciate it.”

Yeah, so…. That night, Carlos texted you. Not a casual “u up?”, but a “it was so fucking unfair to see you in that skirt and not being able to fuck you in it” and naturally you couldn’t help but to let out an exasperated groan and promptly respond with a “come over.” So, twenty minutes later you were being screwed against your kitchen counter.

And now you’re on the couch, his head buried between your legs, eating you up like a starved man. Yes. You need to be fit to keep up with this man’s stamina. He’s that demanding. But you can’t complain.

It’s been like this. A lot of pleasure. And then a lot of peace of mind.

Afterwards, he reclines on the chaise lounge, scrolling through TV channels, looking for something remotely bearable. You go get your sketch notebook and use his torso as a pillow. He watches tv and you work, until sleep creeps over you and you fall asleep in his arms.

Five months of this. You can’t put a label on it, but you can’t imagine living without it.

Carlos only wakes you up to take you to bed, and that night he sleeps over, sprawled across your bed like a starfish, leaving you clinging to him to not fall over. In the morning, you make out in bed, lazy and sleepy. He fucks you in the shower, and then he’s off again. He texts you when he's at the airport, and once more when he lands in whichever country he's racing in. Meanwhile, you carry on with your everyday life—a bit more mundane than being fuckbuddies with a Scuderia Ferrari driver but just as busy.

As it became regular, you exchange a few texts while he's away. It's become a ritual—complimenting him on how handsome he looks after his sessions, and him requesting a selfie so he can return the favour. He sends you snapshots of random things that made him think of you, and if truth be told, you do the same. You share selfies as you stroll by the Ferrari store in Milan and send him memes (which sometimes require a brief explanation). Without fail, he sends you a good morning and a good night, and whenever you're awake, you make sure to reply.

And life happens for those two weeks.

It’s boring. It’s dull. It’s ordinary.

And then on a Monday evening your bell rings and you can’t help but leave your apartment and wait for him on the landing, right in front of the elevator, not caring if your neighbour is watching through the peephole.

“Missed me?” he quips, already unburdening himself of his backpack as he steps out of the elevator. Sunglasses perched atop his head, skin kissed by the sun, eyes wide like the moon. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.

“Never,” you jest, but it's a flimsy façade, quickly shattered as you pull him close, urgency coursing through you.

Damn, you've missed him. You crave him.

And he craves you too. He's straightforward in showing it.

After you both shower, you settle on the couch. You ask him about why he had two races that weekend and he teases you because you finally demonstrate an interest in F1, and only then, after you’re insulting him and threatening to not go to Monza, he actually explains to you how a sprint weekend works, but he’s being so nerdy and so adorable and his eyes are sparkling so much that you just get back in his lap and ride him again, but this time slower, and more passionate, like you’re feeling something materialise inside you. And you come on his lap, and he kisses you slowly, and you tell him you actually missed him.

For dinner, you agree on sushi and night falls while you’re watching The Office for the only-God knows-how-many time, curled up in each other and drinking wine.

Apparently, there’s a mandatory period of vacations in F1 and unfortunately, it doesn’t match your own. So, Carlos is away with friends and family, in boats and islands in the Mediterranean, and you’re torn between Roma, Venice and Milan, assisting in campaign photoshoots.

Your days are long, exhausting and you’re tired and wishing you could be suntanning somewhere in Greece, but you’re sitting on a train, pushing small talk with your colleagues so you won’t fall asleep and drool over yourself.

Until a notification pops up on your phone, and you drop everything you’re saying because there’s a small chance that is a photo from Carlos, or some text, or just a reminder of his existence. You mentally slap yourself. When did you get that dependent?

But it’s just an email. And it’s from your mom.

You frown.

She doesn’t usually use email. Nor is interested in art galleries in Madrid.

You read through the details and you notice something interesting. The invitation has been forwarded from none other than Carlos Sainz Sr. And it makes you laugh. You take a screenshot that you send to Carlos.

you: so, your dad's moonlighting as an art promoter now? did you fire him? hot wheels guy: seems like it. he said he was going to invite you hot wheels guy: and no, i didn’t fire him primarily because he doesn’t work for me you: well it actually does sound interesting hot wheels guy: so you’re coming? you: perhaps hot wheels guy: it’s a good chance for you to meet my sisters you: don’t you have like a dog for me to meet, too? hot wheels guy: two, piñon and oil hot wheels guy: oli is a really jealous girl. i doubt she will like you you: looking forward to meet them. and your sisters too, of course hot wheels guy: and about me? you: i already met you twice. don’t need another introdution

One week later, you’re in Madrid. Sainz Sr. arrives home while you’re talking with Reyes in the kitchen, while she cooks gazpacho for lunch. Oli is in your lap, licking your cheek as your fingers get lost in the small white waves of her fur.

“Hope you get here easily. Did you take an Uber?” Sainz says right after gracing you with a small hug and two polite kisses on the cheeks. Before paying, he also leaves a pat on Oli’s head.

“Carlos picked me up at the airport, actually.”

A pleased smile creeps across Sainz Sr.'s face, like a child in a candy shop. He glances over at Carlos, who's lounging on the couch, a few meters from you.

“She’s a guest.” He points out. You didn’t even realise he was listening to your conversation. You wonder if he was listening to what you and Reyes were saying before. “I wouldn’t have let her take an Uber.”

“You’re getting along well,” the dad points out. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Between the art and the hushed corridors of the gallery, you often find yourselves alone. A stolen kiss in the quiet garden, where the fragrance of blooming flowers mingles with the electric charge between you. And then another, amidst the art, when the room empties and you’re left in the silence of creativity, where the only beauty that matters is reflected in the depths of his eyes.

He holds your hand and listens to your explanations about art and strokes and colour theory. And he calls you a nerd. Of course, he does. And you laugh and look at each other, and kiss again, not caring if there’s someone around.

When you come back home, his sisters and parents are still in the living room, so you sit with them, still wearing your cocktail dress and Carlos still looking gorgeous in his tuxedo. You picked up churros on your way home, so you’re just basking in the serenity and the domesticity of it all. Conversations flow effortlessly, laughter weaving through the air. You share stories, revealing snippets of your lives to his family, like they’re slowly becoming yours.

Ana. Blanca. Oli. Reyes. Carlos. And your Carlos, who looks at you with a warmth in his eyes that is capable of melting every cell of your body.

You can get used to this.

You only spend one night in Madrid. You sleep over at the Sainz’s—Reyes didn’t let you consider a hotel, so she prepared one of the guest rooms in advance. Surprisingly, it’s not the first time you and Carlos sleep under the same roof without having sex, but it’s the first time you do so in separate beds. And you feel restless. You lay in bed, your gaze fixed on the wall as if by sheer will, it will become transparent and grant you a view of him sleeping—the contours of his face softened in serenity, his lashes grazing his cheekbones.

According to Google, Autodromo Nazionale Monza is exactly 39 minutes away from your flat by car. Which isn’t a lot.

You’re not sure what to wear, or what’s exactly going to happen.

It’s Friday. It’s his birthday. He looks gorgeous in the photos that everyone is posting. You just need to get to the track, meet your parents and take your family to the garage. It’s as simple as that.

But you haven’t seen Carlos for more than a week, and the idea of finally seeing him is consuming you.

So you dump your worries in your wardrobe. You search for the few Ferrari pieces you have in your closet and you put out an outfit, and make-up and pretend you’re just going to an event you know nothing about. Because that’s almost the case.

Between the small crowd and the electric atmosphere and the midst of the symphony of roaring engines, you spot your parents and your brothers—their eyes wide with wonder. They’re donning Ferrari shirts and hats, each one with a different number on their clothes.

This blend of family and racing feels strangely comforting.

There’s a guy waiting for you by the entrance, with your passes. You follow him. He asks about the ride to the circuit, if it's your first time, and you can actually relieve some of the anticipation with that small talk. But you’re taking so long.

The corridor leading to the garages seems to stretch endlessly, each step an eternity.

"He's in the garage, preparing for the session. You'll have to be quick," the man informs you, but his words are mere background noise. All that matters is Carlos, and he's waiting. That's all you need.

Stepping into the garage, the noise amplifies. It's a chaotic dance of technicians and engineers, each absorbed in their tasks. You scan the frenetic scene, searching for him, but his absence is louder than the noise.

“Carlos must be arriving. Boys,” he drops to your brothers. “Want to see the car up close?”

Of course, they say yes, and they follow the man. Your dad tags along and your mother? Well, she’s apparently very interested in the sport, as well.

The first Sainz you see is Carlos’ cousin, to whom you’ve been not introduced yet, but who quickly recognizes you. You introduce yourself, and he chuckles and you say you’re “Carlos’ friend”. And then Sainz Sr. appears, with Carlos right beside him, talking to a tall skinny guy.

And God. He’s a vision in that damned racing suit.

Time seems to slow as he approaches, and when he turns to you, his eyes light up with a radiant smile. The world fades away.

“Happy birthday,” is all that occurs to you.

And a “thank you for being here,” is all that he can say before being dragged away to the screens.

This time it isn’t Reyes or Sainz Sr., but Carlos who invites your family for dinner. It's an offer you simply can't refuse, and even though your brothers are practically nodding off from fatigue, the moment they step inside the Hotel de la Ville, and notice where they are, exhaustion seems to magically dissipate.

The entire day was amazing, but you’ve barely had a chance to be near Carlos. So, as he finally takes his seat across from you, the desire to kiss him simmers just beneath your skin, burning you whole. He's clad in his signature red shirt, his unruly hair falling playfully over his forehead. And he’s wearing white jeans, which makes the colour of his tanned skin intensify.

Caught in the act of admiring him, you see him move his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and swiftly adjust your position in the chair, refocusing on your dads’ intense discussion about the latest football market moves.

“Piccina,” your mother chimes in. “You never told me about the Madrid trip. The gallery. Was it nice?”

You glance at your mother and then at the whole table. Carlos has that playful twinkle in his eyes, clearly anticipating to hear you stutter as you try to talk about the exhibition. Well, you did pay attention to the art, of course, but what remains in your mind is the way Carlos’ eyes always managed to drift to you, no matter which room you were in.

“It was beautiful, Mom,” you reply, offering her a warm smile. “I’ve already told Carlos how grateful I am for the invite.” At the head of the table, Sainz Sr. smiles at you, with a simple yet approving nod. “The other Carlos tagged along with me. He got to learn a lot about art. Right, junior?”

Carlos leans to you, propping his elbows on the table, a trace of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I have to admit, you managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting."

Thankfully, Sainz Sr.'s hearty laughter momentarily steals everyone's attention, giving you a chance to regain your composure. Your cheeks are warm, and from the feeling of them, you know they’re red. You managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting. And he smiles, because he knows you badly you’re falling.

"Well, that's impressive,” your dad chimes.

And you're not sure if he's complimenting Carlos's smooth line or your ability to be a guide. So you ignore him and try to play it cool.

“So,” your mom continues, her hand resting on your arm, her curiosity fully piqued. "You two spent a good time together in Madrid?"

You share a subtle glance with Carlos before nodding. "Yes, we did. It was a great exhibition."

A brief hush falls over the table and you can’t help but feel like you’re under a microscope and everyone can see through you. Carlos’ gaze, steady and unwavering, is locked onto you, and you feel yourself softening, captured in his attention.

“Well,” Sainz Sr., who's been quietly observing, interjects with a warm smile. "It seems like you two have been getting along quite well."

Carlos chuckles and looks down, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glass. You both exchange a quick look, a silent understanding passing between you.

It’s time.

"Actually," you start, "we've been getting along really, really well."

Reyes leans in. "Oh? Do tell."

“We’ve been…” You hesitate, glancing at Carlos for support.

He meets your gaze. “Dating,” he completes your sentence with a confident smile. “We’ve been dating for a while now. Six, seven-ish months?”

Sainz Sr.’s eyes light up, and then he furrows his brows, clearly processing the information. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch the gears turning in his mind.

“That’s before—way before I… introduced you.”

“In my defence,” you chime in. “I did try to tell you we’ve already met before. Blame your son. He’s the one who decided to play with you for so long.”

“Well, this is… wonderful news.” Sainz Sr. beams. You steak a glance at Carlos, knowing he’s definitely going to tease you about how genuinely pleased you looked after revealing the truth. “So, seven months, eh? Okay. When’s the wedding? And when do I get Carlos the 3rd?”

I had so much fun writing this one!!! I used every little break at work to write this. It's a bit different than what I usually write, so all feedback is appreciated. Thank you for the request! 🫶

5K notes · View notes

riddle-me-im-sirius · 8 months

Text

small touches pink cheeks, pt.3

charles leclerc x f!reader

pt.1 pt.2

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: part 3! ;) I'm so glad people are enjoying this series, its so fun to write so ty to you all!

summary: the start of the 2023 season, Bahrain in early march. you'd recently joined the sky team, working as a news reporter and interviewer for your beloved sport.it's your first week and a mix of nerves and anticipation swirl together in your stomach. you're giddy to finally meet who you’d be working with for the next few months… but what happens when an instant connection sparks up between the new girl and Ferrari's golden boy?

warnings: some cursing nothing crazy! just tensionnnn ugh slow burns ;)

word count: 2.4k

friday 3rd march, 2023.

after returning to your hotel room, the sun had already set and the moonlight was the only thing currently illuminating you as you stood there. thinking about what had just happened in the small timeframe you were at work. on your first day. you sat down onto the bed and sighed. its not like you weren't flattered that the world famous charles leclerc was, well what you thought, flirting with you. and of course he was undeniably handsome, yet having only just met there was something in the way he looked at you, which you had never seen before. and it made an odd feeling rise up in your stomach when you thought about it.

to try to get your mind off it, you started getting ready for bed. taking a nice warm shower and then doing all your skincare. your hotel was very nice, clearly the company you worked for had splurged out in hospitality for their employees and you were very thankful for it. with a small sigh you collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the day that you'd just had.

lying in bed you decide to check some of your socials, to see what some of your friends from uni and school were up to. you only told your closest friends about your job when you first applied, afraid that somehow you might jinx it. a small befell your lips at how much has changed in a matter of months.

clicking onto instagram you notice you had a new follower, your instagram was public but you didn't have many followers anyways, only people who knew you closely followed you, so you were a little surprised. you definitely didn't expect this.

new notification- charles leclerc started following you.

your mouth dropped open in pure shock. how did he find you? when you introduced you only gave your first name, there was nothing else that said your full name. during both of your interactions with charles your name badge was shoved into your bag. with wide eyes you clicked onto his profile. fuck, of course you were already following him. before you began your new job you immediately followed every single driver on the grid, it was your job of course to know all of the gossip.

a small groan escaped your lips and you shook your head. he clearly had asked about you, how else did he find your instagram? jesus, this guy really isn't giving up. you weren't going to deny having a man like charles practically stalk you was flattering, but also added to your annoyance!

you only had a handful of posts on your instagram, most of them were you with our friends. a few of you by the beach somewhere, in a cute little bikini. of course you looked great. it was your second recent photo which caught your eye, you remembered the memory with a smile. it was a slideshow of pictures with you and your best friend luke, you two were both pretty drunk and did a small makeshift photoshoot in his apartment. you had also posted the pictures that same night, and boy did you look good. wearing a little dress that skimmed over the top of your thighs, the moonlight bounced delicately across your skin, accentuating your curves in the best way.

the first photo on the slideshow however was a picture of you and luke together, a selfie taken by you. your hand holding up the phone above you both, so you could see his hands wrapped tightly around your waist, you were smiling and pressing a friendly drunken kiss on his neck, while he laughed. looking back, the photo did really look like you two were a couple, but you knew that wasn't the case. he was one of your closest mates, and things never went further than that between you both, due to mutual respect for the friendship.

today you saw how possessive and jealous charles could get, if he had seen these pictures then you were a little terrified for tomorrow. he would obviously bombard you with questions and you were definitely not looking forward to it. with a dramatic sigh you rolled over to your side, placing your phone onto the table beside you and attempted to fall asleep.

saturday 4th march 2023 - qualifying day.

you awoke with your alarm blaring into your ear, and a pit in your stomach. of course you were excited to witness the first qualifying of the season, and your career. but there was someone you were hoping to avoid. hopefully today you would meet the rest of the drivers, and could be preoccupied by them and their quali results.

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

you arrived at the circuit with a smile on your face. you were determined to make a great impression to the rest of the drivers and prove that you were smart, qualified, and not in this business just for the ‘good looking’ drivers. you had on a pretty outfit, which made your confidence levels skyrocket, aiding you in setting a good first impression. light wash denim jeans hugged your body perfectly, with a little flare at the bottom and two red stars on the butt. red boots underneath tying in with the red stars on your jeans, and a pretty white top to tie it all together. maybe your outfit was a bit much for work, but this was the first race of the season, and you had to come in with a bang.

the circuit was even more packed than yesterday, fans eager to see where their drivers would end up on the grid. after pushing through the swarm of people you finally arrived into the sky hq, greeting everyone warmly you then sat down. your boss, then comes up to you, greeting you with a small polite smile and hands you a folder. he perches against your desk.

“morning y/n, amelie is going to be doing the post quali interviews today, i was hoping you could tag along with her after you finish some paperwork.” he motions down at the folder now in your hands.

“sure thing!” you reply back enthusiastically, a large smile on your face.

“good, and also great work with the ferrari drivers yesterday, i've had some great feedback from them, all good things!” he chuckles and then began walking alway to greet the other employees. so, charles has been talking about you. god, it's been one day. Rubbing your hands over your face to snap back into work mode, you then began working through the excessive amounts of paper from the folder.

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

you were finally done, it was around 12pm so you and amelie decided to go grab some food. there was still another few hours till qualifying, as it's in the evening today. after grabbing your begs you exit the small office and are hit with the warm days heat. you close your eyes for a moment, basking in how nice the heat feels on your face.

“okay, so you've only met the two ferrari guys, so i was thinking i could introduce you to some more of the grid? so you are more familiar during interviews?”her works quickly snapped you out of your relaxed state as you listened in cautiously. you were excited to meet some other drivers, you just hoped that charles wasn't around when you did. in the way she spoke you knew she wasn't really asking you, she was going to make you go either way.

“that sounds like a good idea.” you replied softly with a smile.

“perfect let's go, most of them just hang around their own hospitality areas, but if they're good friends they may be sitting together.” she explained, and you listened, nodding your head. she started walking down the paddock, first we passed the mercedes hospitality, but neither george nor lewis could be found.

“most likely they are having a meeting, or lewis is in his trailer.” she explained.

you simply hummed in agreement, your journey through the grid continued as you two walked by the red bull hospitality. you noticed max first, a group of men around him. they were all sitting at a table. then you clocked who they all were. max, charles, carlos, pierre, lando and daniel. they were all wearing their team's shirts paired with some jeans or simple trousers. they were all sitting outside due to the warm temperature, laughing at a joke one of them had said. you didnt realise they were all good enough friends to be able to sit and chat together. they hadn't noticed you and amelie at first, although you were sure if charles back wasn't facing you he would have spotted you instantly.

“jackpot!” amelie whisper shouted and motioned for you to follow her. you stay in your spot. suddenly feeling extremely nervous.

“you know i'm not feeling too good actually, i think i need to sit down. you go ahead.” she looks at you like you'd just kicked a puppy. eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

“no! come on it'll be quick, just introduce yourself, they are all so lovely i promise!” she's still lightly holding your arm and sending you a reassuring smile. yet you really didn't want to face charles right now.

“honestly amelie, its okay. i can meet them all later.” you spoke a little louder than anticipated, your words all rushing out at once. clearly one of the drivers had heard the commotion behind them because their conversation had also died down, and you could feel their eyes on you both. fuck.

before you could make any move to leaves, amelie turns around and smiles at the drivers politely. and lets go of your hand, which she was practically pulling you with. before either of you could speak max send you a smile and nods at you both. you were scared to even look in charles direction, so you quickly angled your eyes to the floor.

“amelie, y/n. how are you both?” max says, he then motions with his hand for you two to come over to the table.

“y/n is the new reporter for this season. she's going to be working very closely with the different teams, so you'll probably be seeing her a lot!.” max explains to the group. you nod shyly and then all of the men start introducing themselves one by one. politely extending out their hands for you to shake.

carlos smiles up at you and sends you a knowing nod, as you had already met. “good to see you again y/n”

“you too carlos.” you reply politely.

charles didn't say anything though. his eyes simply trained on you, you finally built up enough courage to look at him. he didn't smile this time. his eyes dark and piercing into you. the tension between you both was obvious to the rest of the group and amelie, who thankfully awkwardly cleared her throat and began talking.

“okay, we're off to grab some lunch, good luck for qualifying! great seeing you!” amelie says, a warm smile on her face, and you can tell why she is really great at her job.

the group of drivers all mumble out polite replies, and some small waves go around the group. all except charles. he sat there, arms crossed and a somewhat angry expression on his face. eyes switching between you, or the group of his friends. he'd been watching how they reacted when they saw you, and the way they looked at you. a pit of jealousy had formed deep in his stomach.

“good luck.” you smiled out, trying to maintain a polite expression on your face. as you both begin to walk away, you hear a deep familiar voice behind you. charles. he calls your name again. you pause, then quickly turn around, not wanting to appear rude or give an unpleasant impression to the drivers.

“could I speak with you? just for a moment.” he informs you. fuck, well you couldnt exactly say no.

“sure.” you indulge him, but your voice comes out a little snappy and annoyed. the group of drivers exchange some confused looks, and amelie awkwardly wavers behind, before informing you she'd meet you by the coffee stand, you send her a smile and reassuring nod and she's off.

charles begins walking through the paddock, and you awkwardly trail behind him. the tension filled silence just fuels your nerves even more, so you feel like you must say something before you explode.

“char-” before you could even finish his name he stopped you. and you then suddenly realised he'd stopped walking and you were both standing by his driver's room. another wave of nerves floods over your body. you know for sure you're not going in there with him.

he spoke your name, and it broke you out of your panicked train of thought. you look up at him but stay silent. awaiting what he has to say.

“i am sorry, if i've…” he pauses for a few moments as if he's searching for a good way to phrase what he's about to say. you're just shocked that he's about to apologise for something.

“if i've given you the wrong impression or anything. you have a boyfriend and I have a girlfriend.” another pause, and as he says those words you can tell that his ‘apology’ is half assed and clearly not how he truly feels.

“yesterday was a stressful day, so i am again sorry if i behaved rudely.” his eyes were trained to your face while he spoke, attempting to catch your eye but you were purposefully avoiding his gaze. his words annoy you even more. why is he apologising now? what after he thinks you have a boyfriend then he backs off? does he actually think i believe him?

“well thank you for your apology i guess.” you reply. trying to switch this conversation so you have the upper side. “but I don't have a boyfriend, and even if I did that wouldn't be my reason for staying away from you” with that you send him another sly smile and begin to walk away. feeling somewhat triumphant over what you've done. yet suddenly a hand wraps tightly around your wrist and pulls you back. your body slamming against his, his breath tickled against your ear as you hear his slow melodic breathing.

“it's rude to leave when the conversation is not finished. ma belle” my beautiful.

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

pt.4? ;0

tagged: @buendiabebeta @summerslike11 @fanboyluvr @elijahmikaelsonbitch @needtokeepfeelingsincheck @gaslysainz @hanniesdawn @erikasurfer @driveswiftly13 @tempo-rary-fix

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