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evstostuff · 5 months

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Is it over now - LN4

lando norris x fem!reader

summary: your situationship with lando ended 10 months ago… or did it? based on taylor swift’s "is it over now"

warnings: toxic behavior, cheating, smut, p in v, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise (with slight degradation)

a/n: you have no idea how long it took me to finish this and idk the word count but its long and filthy. Also this gif does things to me… just the way he looked that day🤌🏻 the curls the beard the cheekbones

masterlist | taglist

You knew he was gone. He left exactly 113 minutes ago. His flight had taken off 44 minutes ago. Angrily you turned around in your bed, kicking off the blanket and staring at the blank spot next to you where only three hours ago, Lando’s curly head had laid.

Since then you slept with each other. Again. And had a terrible screaming match. Again.

You knew it was for the better to let him go, you were toxic, your relationship, if you can call it that, had been from the very start two years ago when you drunkenly slept with each other after a celebration party.

Since then it’s been one hell of a ride. Neither of you were very good at the whole relationship and communication thing, so naturally your relationship was based on an endless circle of being somehow happy, until one of you screwed up, you fought, left and ended up in each others bed minimum three days later.

Some might say this behavior exhausts but for the two of you it was what made things exciting and addicting.

His touch, his lips, his body, HE was addictive.

But since the last time you broke up, things had changed. Lando had gotten a new girlfriend, something that made you mad as hell.

He knocked on your door last night, storming in and pinning you to the wall before violently attacking your lips with his.

But that wasn’t what made you mad, this was a rather regular occurrence any time one of you got a new partner. What made you mad was that when he woke up the next morning he didn’t stay like he usually would. He jumped out of bed, calling the previous night a 'mistake' and something that 'shouldn’t have happened'. On top of that he blamed you.

Naturally that resulted in your neighbors, once again, hearing a thirty minute screaming match which ended in you kicking Lando out of your door with the words "Don‘t ever call me or knock on my door again, especially not when you realize she can’t give you what you want!!" "I promise I won’t!!" "Oh you are a lying traitor!!".

You hated that even though he was gone for good now, he still wouldn’t leave your mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Fast forward to almost 10 months later. Mason, your very nice colleague picked you up from your office. You met on one of your threehundreds of awkward blind dates your friend had arranged, finding out that you actually worked for the same company. However that didn’t make the date any less awkward, because you mostly talked about work. But at least you kind of found a good friend now. You haven’t spoken to Lando since that night. To be perfectly honest, you didn’t think he actually wouldn’t come back.

"Hey, ready for that coffee?", he smiled.

You grabbed your bag and joined Mason. Together you walked to the cafe you‘ve been going to ever since the first time. You noticed he was a bit nervous for some reason, but you didn’t dare ask why, deep down you didn’t care but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself of anyone.

"Two latte‘s to go, please", Mason placed your order. While you waited you pulled out your phone to check some new messages from your friends.

"Lando Norris spotted with yet another model", Mason read the most recent headline when he opened twitter. "Can you believe that guy, huh?", he huffed.

"I bet she’s got blue eyes", you huffed and shook your head when Mason showed you a picture of the blonde girl with blue eyes who basically looked like your clone. "Predictable." "What?", Mason asked confused. "Oh nothing, I happen to know all his girls literally look the same", you fake smiled but thankfully Mason didn’t notice. For some reason he didn’t know about Lando and you when you met and you were rather happy about keeping it that way.

Sure Lando and you never paraded each other around on Instagram, you never actually were together long enough to feel comfortable with announcing your situationship, but you have been spotted together multiple times in the paddock or at parties.

Mason didn’t need to know about the boy who still kept you up some nights.

Your coffees were placed in front of you, making you look up and hesitate for a second. "Here you go", the waiter smiled and for a few seconds you saw Lando in front of you.

The dark brown curls, the green eyes and lord that smile, it reminded you of him.

"Thanks", Mason replied on your part and grabbed the coffees. "You good?", he asked. You simply nodded, still a little in your thoughts.

"Okay good because I’ve been wanting to ask you something", he said, glancing to you. "Hmm?"

"We‘ve been going on these take out coffee dates for almost 10 months now, and I remember how beautiful our first one was, the blind date. So I’ve been wondering, would you like to be my girlfriend?", Mason asked, glancing down at you to catch your reaction.

You looked at him with a blank face and simply nodded. "Uh-hmm", you muttered, your mind still some place elsewhere, more specifically at one of yours and Lando‘s good nights, with his head between your thighs.

"That’s great!", Mason called happily and brought you into a hug.

"Uh-hmm."

"I think we should go out tonight and celebrate this!", Mason spoke excitedly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Mason told you to invite a few friends as he did the same so you decided to ask your two best friends to come. And same as you, they were never one to turn down an invitation to a night out.

"So, you’ve been acting a little weird ever since we’ve been here", Mia pointed out, taking a sip from her drink. "Mason asked me to be his girlfriend", you dryly replied, making Mia almost spit out her drink again and Laura shockingly turn her head towards you.

"What?!!", they called in unison. You nodded, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, did you say yes?", Laura pressed, both hers and Mia’s eyes staring you down intensely.

"Uh-hmm", you gave the same answer as to Mason a few hours prior. "That’s- uh great", Mia stuttered over her words for a bit. Her and Laura look each other before Mia looked away.

"Fine, if you won’t say it I will. Finally!!! I’m so damn happy you finally completely moved on from Lando and found someone who treats you better than that piece of junk", Laura started rambling and just in that moment your eyes locked with the devil Laura has been talking and you’ve been thinking about.

No fucking hell. That couldn’t be true.

How can it happen that after 10 months of not running into Lando once while clubbing, toady was the day where it happened?

"We both weren’t great in that relationship", you muttered, slightly defending Lando without even meaning to, your eyes still locked with his.

An arm wrapping around your waist pulled you out of the staring contest. "Hey babe", Mason whispered in your ear and placed a sweet kiss to your temple. You internally cringed at the nickname and the rotting sweet gesture.

Laura’s eyes sparkled at the sight of you, while Mia caught your annoyed looking gaze. She was always the one who understood you and Lando the most out of all of your friends. Maybe because she was such a sweet and genuine human that she believed both of you could change for each other or probably she simply understood how attached you grew to each other that no matter what, that bond wouldn’t break.

And judging from the fact how Lando and you captivated each other just moments ago, that bond also didn’t break in the last 10 months apart.

"We’ll go take a smoke, you wanna come?", Laura asked but you shook your head. Ever since the whole thing with Lando started you never touched a cigarette again. He didn’t like it, it was unhealthy and being with someone who doesn’t smoke made you smoke less as well, until you stopped completely.

"You should really enjoy life a little again", Laura replied, knowing your reasons to quit smoking.

"Maybe I’ve just come to the realization that I don’t need to poison my lungs to enjoy life", you simply answered, rolled your eyes and turned away.

"Can you get me something to drink?", you asked Mason who was still gently rubbing your waist, actually only wanting to bring some distance between the two of you. "Uh yeah sure, what do you want?", he asked. "Just bring me anything", you replied, stepping out of his embrace as a sign for him to get going.

He nodded and turned around but not before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You cringed internally.

"Y/n?", his voice suddenly spoke behind you, making your whole body freeze. Lando’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you in, something he did quite often when you were 'together'. "What are you doing here?", he whispered and you immediately felt your legs weakening. You had no idea why your body immediately reacted to him and you hated yourself for it.

Lando only smirked when he noticed you wobbling a little and gripped your waist tighter. "Missed me?", he muttered, placing a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, making your eyes flutter and your body lean back into his.

"300 days later and you still react to my touch like that", he smirked.

"He really can’t give it to you properly, I can see that from the way he was holding you", Lando snorted, making fun of Mason and you didn’t feel the slightest need to defend your boyfriend because you knew Lando was right.

"You shouldn’t", you warned Lando before hearing someone clear their throat behind you.

Lando dropped his hand from your waist and his gaze darkened when he saw Mason standing behind you

Said boy pulled you into a possessive hug.

"Hey, babe", he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple before handing you your drink.

You sniffed before realizing it was Vodka Coke. A smirk made its way on Lando’s face when he saw your drink and your reaction. You knew he knew that you hated Coke.

"And you are?", Mason let his eyes wander to the curly headed boy in front of you. "Lando", he muttered, ignoring Mason who held out a hand for him to shake. "Okayyy", Mason whispered. "You wanna dance?", he then turned to you. You simply nodded and accepted his hand that led you into the crowd of people.

Mason pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Isn’t that the guy with all of those girls?", he asked, leaning closer to your ear so you’d understand his words over to loud music.

"Lando Norris, yes", you nodded, interwinding your fingers behind Mason’s head. "Do you know each other?"

Flashbacks of Lando and you floated your mind. Driving along the French Riviera in his McLaren, the occasional stop to get in a quickie, or the sneaking away from his engineers to meet in his drivers room. And finally, him peacefully sleeping next to you on that one damned night, his curls a mess on his head, his torso bare with a few red marks on his back from your activities before and his beautiful eyes shut.

"No", you simply replied before placing your lips on Mason’s to get him to stop asking questions.

Mason more than happily gave in, letting his hand wander down to your ass, gently rubbing it. You kissed him harder, wanting him to be a little bit rougher as well, to firmly grab you and not just delicately touch you.

But instead he backed off.

"Woah, what’s gotten into you today? This is totally not like you!", he stated with a confused smile, which made you even angrier. Of course this was like you, he just didn’t know you well enough.

"I’ll be in the restroom for a second", you rolled your eyes before leaving him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

You pushed open the heavy door to the women’s restroom, being thankful that no one was there before putting your hands on the marble counter and leaving your head hanging.

Until the locking of the main door made your head shoot up. And to be perfectly honest, you half expect him to follow you in here.

"What happened to your newest toy?", Lando smirked, leaning against the now closed door. You rolled your eyes and didn’t reply.

Lando pushed himself off the door and walked closer to you until he stood directly behind you, looking at you through the mirror. "Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby", he warned.

"Now tell me what happened to that guy? Realized he couldn’t give you want you want?", Lando smirked, quoting your words from the night you last saw each other. You shook your head, not wanting to give into him.

"Come on baby, I saw your face. You didn’t like the gentle touches in the middle of a club dance floor, admit it!", he dared you.

"'Newest toy', what do you think of me? That I slept around with everyone that was in a 1 mile radius of me?", you ignored his words and stared at him through the mirror.

"Did you think I didn’t see you? There were flashing lights", you huffed. "Maybe I wanted you to see me and please baby, don’t play all innocent", he whispered, still standing behind you but coming dangerously close now.

"At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight unlike you!!", you called.

"Oh baby, don’t you think I‘ve heard the rumors? About your hips…", Lando stepped forward and let his hands trailed over your hips, "and thighs…", he let them wander further down to your thighs, gently rubbing the exposed skin. You let out a sigh at the familiar feeling and closed your eyes in pleasure, "and those whispered sighs", he smirked and quickly turned you around before lifting you up on the bathroom counter.

"Exactly rumors", you breathed, before he smashed his lips on yours.

Lando’s hands immediately grabbed your legs, opening them so he could stand between them. Then they went to your waist to pull you in closer.

Lando groaned at the feeling of you finally back in his arms.

His hands kept scanning over your body, squeezing your boobs which made you throw your head back and let out a deep moan.

"Been waiting to get my hands on you again for so long, baby," he breathed heavily, speaking into your skin as his fingers fumbled open the top of your blouse. His lips trailed over your exposed chest and stopped just under your collarbone, sucking the fragile skin between his lips.

"You’re saying you missed me?", you teased, trying hard to push the words out before another moan interrupted you. Lando grinned and ripped open the buttons of the white silk blouse, allowing your tits to spill out.

Lando swore he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes.

His lips attacked yours again while his large hand worked your bra covered boobs.

Your eyes fluttered, feeling that all too familiar ache in your core while the large size of his palm against you, made you think of those thick, veiny fingers between your thighs.

Your hips pressed against his, feeling his hard cock against you, making you smirk.

Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself against him, faster, harder. His one hand tightening around your waist and his head falling forward on your shoulder.

"Admit it, darling", you whispered into his ear. You could tell me was holding back a moan, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to break that thread.

You wanted to make him snap, an evil smirk brightening on your face as you moved your hips faster.

While he closed his eyes, you took the opportunity to fiddle with the metal belt around his hips, opening it along with the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Can’t wait, can you, you desperate little whore", Lando smirked, watching you push down his jeans and slide your hands inside his boxers to grab his cock.

Lando's head fell back with a groan as you started pumping his hard cock.

"Missed your hands, darling", he groaned, holding on to your waist tighter when you trailed your finger over his swollen tip before pulling your hand back, tracing them down his abdomen.

"Please, Lan", you begged, knowing your whispered words would make him weak. But he’s been playing this game just as long as you were.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, quickly stroking up to your clothed core. A heavy moan escaped your mouth.

Lando caressed the inside of your thighs while his lips traced down your neck, leaving a few marks here and there.

His finger pushed your laced thong to the side before lightly gracing your pussy, making your hips buckle into his hands. "Lan-", you moaned. An evil smirk spread on his face. "Now who’s desperate?", Lando whispered, repeating the action twice, pulling away way too quickly.

"I hate you", you breathed, throwing your head back before grabbing his wrist and holding it in place.

Lando shook his head but finally gave in and dipped the tip of his finger inside you. Your grip on his wrist tightening. "M-more", you slightly pleaded, trying your best not to sound too desperate but failing miserably.

"I’ve missed watching you react to me like this, still the very same as the first day", he said, pushing a second finger inside you to stretch you out. A high pitched moan left your throat and your hand let go of his wrist to grip the edge of the marble counter.

His lips were still traveling along your half exposed upper body, one hand pulling down your left bra cup, making your boob spill out before he took your nipple between his lips.

"Lando- I-", you moaned loudly, thanking heaven that he locked the door when he came in and gripping the counter tighter, your knuckles almost turning white.

He pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness, before you felt his hand trying to get your thong off. You lifted your hips a little to help him, watching as he pushed your underwear in the back pocket of his trousers.

"You should see yourself, darling", Lando smirked mockingly, his fingers being welcomed by her glistening pussy as he traced them along your slit.

"So desperate for me", he cooed, watching your eyes close and a frown forming on your forehead as you moaned.

"It’s funny how eager you are for everything I give you, baby", he chuckled humorless. "You won't call for months and now you want my cock inside of you?"

You whimpered at his words, all while he slowly inserted his finger inside you again.

"Lando- oh my- please", you continued whimpering and pleading, making Lando smirk. "What is it, baby? You're gonna have to tell me exactly what you want, you know how this works", he cooed into your ear.

He was teasing and you knew that, you have experienced it multiple times before. You didn’t want to give into him but damn his long thick fingers and how they felt inside you. You mind already playing images of him fucking you till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

"C’mon", Lando demanded firmly. "You've always been mouthy with me, even earlier, so why are you being quiet now, huh?"

"Lan- lando please, more", you whined, while moving your hips on his finger to get some sort of relief. "I just need more, please", you begged slightly, your eyes closed and not wanting to look at the winning smirk on Lando’s face.

"But you already have a boyfriend, mylady", Lando reminded you with an evil grin. You shook your head, the mess of your hair whipping around. "N-no", you tried to deny as he added a second finger.

"Just wanna cum, please- fuck!", you muttered as Lando curled his fingers inside you.

Lando, completely ignoring you, continued with his question. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I want your cock- so bad, just fill me up- fuck, Lando- fuck me, please- I-", you begged, your eyes tired but glistening in desperation and lust. "Jus’ wanna- want you to fuck me hard and fill- uhh- I wanna be full with you please, please Lando", at this point you didn’t even care anymore that you sounded like a desperate slut.

You’ve gone 10 months without seeing Lando in person, of course you had your fair share of fucks but you couldn’t pretend that any of them came even close to pleasuring you the way Lando was able to.

"Such a needy girl", he tsked before wiping you tears away, that you didn’t even notice had started falling down your cheeks. You clenched around Lando’s fingers, loving the way his voice sounded in your ear.

"Oh you want to cum?", Lando looked at you with a devious smile. "Do you think you deserve that?" Before you could reply, you felt his lips pressing against yours, his tongue gliding between your lips without being met with a lot of resistance.

He hummed in satisfaction, tasting the alcohol from the drink you previously had on your mouth before he pulled away, only to let his tongue trail from your lips, over your neck and down to your chest as he sucked on your skin, leaving a dark purple mark on your breast. You were too far gone to realize anything until the sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your nipple shocked you out of your daydream.

"I asked you a question, baby", Lando hummed, licking over your hardened nipple. You blinked down at him, seeing a little blurry. "W-what?"

His grin was wickedly evil as he looked up at you. "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated but didn’t give you time to reply before slamming his cock inside you.

You gasped loudly, grabbing the back of his neck for leverage and letting out a strangled cry as Lando continued to fuck into you at high speed.

There was truly no one who could fill you up like he did.

The sound of his hips clashing against yours and both of your strangled moans were the only thing left to hear in the restroom. You felt your pussy clench around Lando’s cock, making him moan into your shoulder. He moved his fingers from rubbing the side of your waist to your clit, touching the already sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing it as you cried out.

"God! Fuckin- hell- ohh!"

"I think God is the last person to help you right now, darling", Lando chuckled but got interrupted by a moan as your walls clenched around him again. You felt yourself nearing your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

"Fuck, baby you’re so tight", he moaned. "You have no idea how much I missed this tight fucking hole, perfectly clenching around my cock like this- ohh", Lando spoke in a light whisper, rubbing eight figures on your clit.

Your legs shook as you felt your orgasm approaching, your walls tightening. "Fuck, Lando, I- shit, I- I’m cumming!", you let out a breathy moan once more before clenching one last time. Your vision going blurry while your pussy kept throbbing around his cock.

"Lando, please I need-", you winced at the oversensitivity when he kept pounding into you. "Time", you breathed through a moan, gripping the back of his neck tighter as you felt another orgasm approaching. All while Lando never stopped fucking into you even when you came for a second time in a row.

The overstimulation leaving you as a sobbing mess. "Lan- lando, it’s too much! I- I can’t- fuck! 'm cumming, Lando-", you cried, tears streaming down your face, you head falling forward on his chest, not having the ability to keep it upright anymore.

"Yeah? You’re cumming again?", Lando mocked you, rocking his hips a bit slower.

"But I missed you so much, haven’t you missed me?"

"I- missed you- fuck! So much- so fucking much", you cried, your walls repeatedly clenched around his cock.

"Fuck! Lando!", you called pathetically when he started to pick up his pace again and relentlessly started hammering inside you, chasing his own orgasm.

You couldn’t do anything apart from moan, cry and clench around him, feeling another orgasm approaching as well.

"Shit- I’m so close", Lando groaned as a whisper, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips on yours. "I’m cumming- baby- I’m-", he whispered against your lips. Your body already going limp against his as you felt him filling you up with his cum.

A deep and breathy moan left his lips as he slowed down his pace. You felt the sticky liquid dropping out of you and running down the inner side of your leg.

Lando whipped it up with his finger and held it in front of your mouth. Without hesitation you took his finger inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and closing your eyes at the taste of his cum on your lips.

Lando gently rocked his hips again, making you whine. "Not again, Lando- please I- I need a minute", you winced, feeling way too overstimulated after cumming so many times in a row.

"Shh, baby it’s okay, just tryna fuck my cum back into you, to make sure it stays there until I can go back inside you again", he reassured you, before slowly pulling out, making you gasp and wince at the feeling of emptiness.

Exhausted you placed your head on his chest and closed your eyes while he held your waist.

"So did you find something greater in all those models’ beds?", you said with a dumbfound smirk forming on your lips, your mind still hazy while trailing your fingers over his bare chest. You felt his chest vibrating as he laughed and shook his head with a smirk. "Oh baby, I think you know exactly that nothing compares to you!"

You chuckled and lifted your head as he reached over to the paper towels and started cleaning your inner leg up a little. "What do we do now?", you asked, a hint of insecurity in your voice, as the reality of your situation came crushing down on you. "Well, I for damn hope you won’t go back to that milk boy", Lando chuckled, reaching for his belt to close his trousers again after tucking his cock away.

You stayed silent, your blouse still halfway open, your body too tired to move. Lando looked into your eyes before reaching to cover you up again. "You wanna come to mine?", he asked while closing the last button of your blouse.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting out of the club without Mason seeing you turned out easier than expected, however something you didn’t expect were people hanging around in front of the monegasque nightclub.

As soon as you opened the door, you already heard yours and Lando’s name being called and saw at least ten phones recording you.

Well, now Mason knows anyway, you thought while Lando grabbed your hand tighter and pulled you to his car quickly. Both of you waved a few times while passing the fans but stayed silent for the short walk. Lando opened the door for you before jogging around to get to the drivers side.

You snuggled into the seat of his familiar car, that wore his familiar scent and when Lando started up the car, he put his familiar hand on your thigh. You took a deep breath, you might be toxic but how damn good does this familiarity feel? It might just cancel the bad parts out.

Lando’s fingers drew circles on your thigh and he smirked when he noticed you opening your legs a little bit wider, an invitation to move his fingers up further.

His hand scooted up, pushing the material of your tight miniskirt away and gently tracing along your inner thighs.

"Baby careful or you’ll ruin the seat", he whispered sarcastically. He didn’t give a damn if you actually did and you knew that because this wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

"Lando-", you quietly whimpered when you felt his fingers come dangerously close to your core, still feeling the sensitivity of the multiple orgasms he had given you merely twenty minutes ago, but backed off just before touching you. "Shhh, baby", he spoke, keeping his eyes on the road while entering the tip of his finger.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you sunk down the seat a little. Without having to see, you knew Lando was smiling.

He pushed his finger further inside and immediately followed up with a second one. You quietly moaned at the pleasure.

"Already so fucking wet for me, baby", he spoke. "My good girl", he purred moving his finger faster inside you.

You moaned at his words and the way his fingers stretched you, making you see stars. "L-lando-", you whispered but got interrupted by another moan when he scissored his fingers. Your eyes shot open and you grabbed his arm tighter, your fingers most likely leaving marks on his skin.

You started moving your hips up to meet his fingers, chasing your own release in the passenger seat of Lando’s sports car.

But Lando suddenly slowed down and almost pulled his fingers out of you completely leaving you empty and whining. "L-lando - plea - ahh- please, baby", you couldn’t form proper sentences while his fingers traced your clit.

"Shh, no baby, you’re not coming until we’re home", he gently whispered, making you furrow your brows. He slid both fingers back inside you and picked his pace up again, making you gasp before an idea came to your head.

You let go of his arm and reached over the middle console and started palming the slight bulge in his trousers.

Now it was his turn to let out a surprised gasp. "You are playing a dangerous game, baby", he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. You simply giggled and squeezed his clothed cock through his pants.

Lando twisted his fingers inside you, making you stop your movements and close your eyes. You hectically tried opening up his belt and trousers before sliding your hand inside his boxers, stroking over his tip that was already leaking pre cum.

"Baby-, I’m driving remember", he rasped, his finger still moving inside you but your main focus now laid on his cock in your hands. "It’s not like this is the first time", you breathed and started pumping his cock.

You could see how much he was fighting to close his eyes, which made a sadistic smirk form on your lips.

Because you were too focused on him, you didn’t see that you were already in front of Lando’s apartment.

He slid his fingers out of you and pushed your hands off him as well. "Let’s go!", he sternly said, getting out of the car and walking towards the entrance of his apartment building already, his trousers still opened.

You smirked and left the car as well, hurrying behind him. As soon as you got to the elevator, Lando reached for your hips and smashed his lips on yours again.

His hands moved to your ass and squeezed it playfully.

When you heard the familiar bling of his apartment elevator, he didn’t even look. Lando just moved you backwards out of the elevator, still kissing you. You fumbled his key out of the back pocket of his jeans and opened the door as soon as you got there.

Lando grinned and pushed you against the door to open it up completely before attacking your lips once again, kicking the door shut with his foot.

"Where you wanna go?", he muttered between kisses and moans. "Here is fine", you said breathlessly and pointed to the couch. Lando smirked, remembering what had happened on this couch, remembering catching you making out with a random dude after one of your fights.

"Was it over when he unbottoned your blouse?", Lando smirked, opening your blouse button for button, before pushing it off your body.

You smirked when you realized where he was getting at. But two could play that game, you had also caught him with a random girl on his exact couch.

"Was it over when she laid down on your couch?", you replied with the same smirk, only standing in your lace underwear and walking backwards to sit down on his couch.

Lando moved closer in only his trousers. He placed his strong arms on either side of your head and leaned down so his lips were almost touching yours.

"Was it ever really over?"

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evstostuff · 7 months

Note

You can write about y/n giving Charles a blowjob and then someone catches them just in time

Forbidden Fruit

Paring: Sainz Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warning: 18+, language, in public, male receiving, female masturbation, no sex, mention of violence.

Word count: 1,383

Note: Hiiii sorry this took a while. Once I got into writing this, it all came flowing to me. I hope you like it!!

Charles watched you like a hawk.

His green orbs scowled at any man, daring them to even try and get close to you. Each man ran the opposite direction once they felt the fiery gaze of the Monegasque.

Charles’ attitude was if he couldn’t have you, no one could. You were his team mates younger, innocent sister. Carlos had already made it explicitly clear that you were off limits the first time he caught him staring far too long at the luscious curve of his sisters ass.

“I swear to god Charles, if you touch my sister I will make you regret being alive.” Carlos’ words ran through his head.

Charles gulped the remainder of his drink as you approached him.

Gorgeous as ever, dress clinging to ever single curve of your body, Charles eyed every inch of you.

He was quickly snapped out of his lustful gaze by a harsh shove.

“What is your problem Leclerc?” You crossed your arms over your chest, causing your cleavages to be more prominent.

Charles’ eyes darted to the swells of your breasts before dragging them away to focus on your sharp features.

“What do you mean?” He questioned.

“What I mean is that every single male that has paid the slight bit of attention to me, all of a sudden runs away the minute they look over to this booth, which is where you have been for the past hour.”

You took a deep breath as you locked eyes with the monegasque.

“So I will ask you again, what is your problem Leclerc?” You poked your finger to his chest, feeling the heavy thuds of his heart.

Charles gulped as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, leaving it glossy and kissable.

His eyes darted around the room, checking who was around.

No Carlos.

Softly, Charles moved a few strands of your hair behind your ear and away from your neck. He brought his lips closer to you.

“You really want to know what my problem is?” His voice was deep and commanding.

You nodded your head, hyper aware of Charles warm breath hitting the sensitive skin on your neck.

“They want what is mine.”

You gulped as Charles gently ran his fingers down your neck and over your collar bone.

“Charles..” You whispered.

“I am not yours.”

“Answer me this then Y/N, how wet is your pussy for me right now?” His hand wrapped around your neck, causing you to gasp.

He was right, you were desperate for Charles. Just being in his presence had you clenching your thighs together.

“Answer me Y/N.” His grip tightened as he forced you to look at him.

“I’m so fucking wet for you Charles.” Your purred.

Charles’ eyes darkened with lust, they were no longer the bright crystal green that you were so used to.

Without another word Charles grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the club. You followed him through the twists and turns of the hallways. The music faded the further you were led away from the main room but the bass still rumbled through your body.

Charles dropped your wrist and turned to you, eyes dark and unrecognisable.

“Y/N.” He whispered as he stepped towards you.

You took a step back, hitting the wall.

“Charles.” You whispered back eyes locked on his.

The tension radiating around you. Your body was on fire. Desire rushing through your veins as you watched the man in front of you devour you with his eyes.

Charles stepped forward again and caged you against the wall. His body flush against you so you could feel how hard he was under his jeans.

You moaned at the friction.

“Fuck I wanna hear more.” Charles groaned.

Charles grabbed the back of your thigh and wrapped your leg round his waist. The rough material of his jeans rubbed against the thin lace that covered your pussy.

“Charles.” You moaned.

“Jesus Y/N you are going to be the death of me.” Charles sighed.

Charles’ words went straight to your core. You were desperate for him to the point you truly had no control over yourself. You pushed yourself off the wall and shoved Charles back against it.

“Let me show you how true what you just said is.”

You made quick work of undoing the buckle of his belt and dipped your hand into his boxers to feel him completely solid for you. Slowly, you ran your fingers up his length, to the tip which was leaking pre-cum. Charles’ hips bucked into your hand as a small whimper escaped his lips.

As you continued to pump him, you ghosted your lips over his, along his jawline and to his ear.

“How badly do you want to cum in my mouth?”

Your lips grazed his neck, as Charles slowly became putty in your hands. His pulse throbbing against his delicate skin.

“So fucking badly.” Charles moaned.

You took Charles’ member fully out of his boxers and sunk to your knees.

In that moment you were lost in the euphoria he was causing without even touching you, a moan slipped from your lips at the sight in front of you. He was the perfect mixture of length and girth. Your mind was running wild with the thought of him being inside you and how good he’d make you feel.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock and around the tip to collect the leaking pre-cum.

The sight above you was heavenly. Charles’ head tipped back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his thick neck tense as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with his deep breathes. Without hesitation you wrapped your lips around his member and sunk him further down your throat. You bobbed your head up and down with little resistance from your throat. Charles was a mess. Sweat glistened across his brow as he watched you suck his soul out from within him.

Sensing Charles was watching you, you fluttered open your eyes an looked up at him through your eyelashes. Something snapped inside of you. You gripped hold of Charles thigh as you guided your free hand down to your core. It was soaked, leaking through the pretty lace.

Your fingers found your clit causing a moan to erupt from the back of your throat. The vibration caused Charles’ eyes to open and hips to buck.

“You tell me you’re not mine but here you are pleasuring yourself whilst sucking my cock.” Charles smirked down at you.

His hands wrapped your locks into a makeshift ponytail.

“Be a good girl and make yourself cum.” His grip tightened in your hair as he guided your mouth up and down his cock so you could concentrate on getting yourself off.

It didn’t take much until you felt the familiar coil form. Moans fell from your mouth around Charles’ cock as you reached closer to your high.

“Let go for me Y/N.” Charles moaned.

The coil snapped. Pleasure washed over your body as you grabbed onto Charles’ thigh for dear life. Your moans rippled through Charles’ cock and throughout his body. The sight of you cock drunk and orgasming sent Charles over the edge. His grip harshened in your hair.

“Fuck Y/N I’m gonna cum.” Charles groaned as he tipped his head back in ecstasy.

You sucked Charles dry of his cum. The milky warm fluid hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed as much as you could and rose to your feet.

Both of you readjusted yourself and looked at each other.

Charles reached out and swiped his thumb at the corner of your mouth. He gently tapped it on your bottom lip, signalling for you to open up. You did as you were told and sucked his thumb clean of his cum that had leaked out of your mouth.

“You look so beautiful sucking my cock and playing with yourself.” Charles held your face as he gazed into your eyes, thinking about how he was a dead man walking now he had lost all restraint.

“What the fuck did you just say about my sister Leclerc.” Carlos’ voice boomed down the corridor.

“You are a deadman.” That was the last thing Charles heard as Carlos’ fist collided with his face.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #formula one smut #formula one imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut #carlos sainz jr #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula one

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evstostuff · 8 months

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This is nasty as hell but imagine Pierre teasing shy driver!reader all the time, and the entire grid being on a TV show, Pierre and reader having sex like 5 minutes before airing, realising she's nasty af, her being plugged up and him watching her squirm throughout the entire show knowing that no one's suspects a thing.

IM SORRY HDKFLSK HIS LATEST POST IN HIS SUIT GOT ME FEELING SOME TYPE OF WAY

Corrupt

Paring: Female Reserve Driver Reader x Pierre Gasly

Warning: 18+, language, sex toys ish, clit stimulation, female receiving, no sex, dirty talk, French pet name.

Word count: 1,368

Note: So this request has taken me forever I am so sorry!!! I hope you like it. I have switched it up a bit but its along the lines of you request.

“Pierre…”

“Oui mon cherie”

“What are these?” The silver balls chimed together as you let go to dangle them in front of Pierre’s face.

His sky blue eyes widened in embarrassment.

Pierre tried to grab them as you hid them behind your back.

“Pierre come on tell me.” You whined, dodging the drivers grabby hands.

“Y/N no it’s nothing.” His cheeks were stained with a pink flush of embarrassment.

Raising your eyebrows you chuckled.

“Fine.” Pierre rubbed his hands over his face.

“They are simulation beads, they are meant to go inside you. I wanted to suggest we use them eventually.”

You were completely engrossed in the idea of Pierre wanting to explore with you.

Running the beads through your fingers you clenched your thighs together, the thoughts of something new enhancing the lust you already had for Pierre.

“I wanna try them.” You whispered.

Pierre watched every part of you, completely fascinated with your existence. Your relationship was very casual, a needs must basis. From his first day at Alpine meeting you as their reserve driver, he always thought you were a beautiful person but something about the innocence you radiated whilst holding such a corrupt item made Pierre want to completely destroy you.

He wanted to watch you squirm and whimper his name.

“Fuck it.” Before you knew it the Frenchman had you pinned against the dressing room wall with his lips moulded to yours.

His fingers twisted with yours, taking the beads out of your hands.

Your body sensitive to Pierre’s touch, reacted to every brief brush from his fingertips.

A slight nip of your bottom lip had your hips bucking into Pierre’s strong figure, begging for some relief from the pent up lust coursing through your veins.

Pierre’s hand slipped down to your ass, squeezing your cheeks roughly causing you to moan into his mouth.

“Jump Y/N.”

You jumped with the help of Pierre’s grip on you ass and wrapped your legs round his waist. Lips still locked together, you laced your fingers through his hair and tugged at the ends, causing delicious grunts and moans to echo from the back of Pierre’s throat.

Pierre wondered over to the dressing table and gently placed you down. His fingers ghosting over your thighs as he slowly kissed across your jawline and down to the most sensitive spot on your neck.

“Please do something Pierre.” You moaned.

His fingers ran over your core, the slight pressure sending pleasure throughout your body.

You pushed your hips forward hinting to Pierre you wanted more.

“Oh desperate for my fingers again like the little slut you are?”

All you could do was moan at Pierre’s degrading words.

“Answer me Y/N.” Pierre’s hand wandered around your neck and gripped tightly forcing you to hold the Frenchman’s eye contact.

“I need your fingers again Pierre, please. I need you.” You begged.

A deep growl came from Pierre, clearly turned on from how needy you were for him.

Without hesitation, Pierre dipped his two fingers into your panties and circled them around your clit.

Pleasure coursed through your body. Pierre watched as you tilted your head back in pure ecstasy as he continued to play games with you. The pace he was swirling his fingers over your clit had you almost screaming, constantly changing from slow with more pressure to quick attacks building your orgasm up left you a complete mess.

“You going to be a good girl and cum for me?” Pierre whispered in your ear.

Your pussy clenched for him as you nodded you head franticly.

“Cum for me mon cherie.”

On command you lost every last ounce of control you had. Your body jolted as the pleasure Pierre had given you took over your whole being.

“Good girl” Pierre cooed as he placed his hand over your moan silencing the moans of his name.

He held you as you came down from your orgasm high.

“Fuck Y/N you came hard.” Pierre groaned.

Both of you looked down at the mess you had left on the dressing table, you arousal had soaked your panties and had leaked onto the surface leaving it glistening.

The pair of you fell into a comfortable silence as you caught your breathe and composed yourself.

“Y/N do you trust me to try something?” Pierre asked whilst fiddling with the simulation beads that were left on the side.

You gulped “Yes I trust you.”

“I want you to have these inside of you whilst we do this interview.” Pierre ran the beads over your bare thighs, making you shiver.

Pierre continued to tease you with the beads. He ran them over your clothed cunt.

“Take your panties off Y/N.” Pierre demanded.

You lifted your hips and slipped the drenched cotton down your things from them to drop down the rest of your legs to the floor.

“Good girl, now move forward and spread your legs.” Pierre’s eyes flicked down to your dripping cunt.

You did as you were told, moaning as the cold air hit your core.

The beads were dragged up your thigh and between your legs. The cold metal balls ran gently through your folds, gathering all of your arousal. Your hips bucked at the strange sensation.

“Need them nice and wet.” Pierre groaned as he held the balls up to the light.

“Hmm think they need to be wetter.” The Frenchman gathered his own spit and spat it out onto the balls in his hand.

“Wetter I think, come on mon cherie spit.” Pierre moved his hand just under your chin and gave you a little nod.

You let your spit coat the balls in his hand.

“Perfect.” You watched Pierre mix all the liquids together, lubricating the balls to make sure they were ready to go inside you.

Pierre knelt down, eye level with your cunt.

“Just relax Y/N, this will make you feel so good.” Pierre cooed as he licked up your inner thigh.

Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal near your entrance. Pierre slowly inserted the toy giving you time to adjust.

“Fuck, your pussy is taking it so well.” Pierre praise made your pussy clench.

A pornagraphic moan fell from your lips at the new sensation of the beads being fully inside you.

“I’ll be keeping those.” Pierre giggled as he picked your panties up from the floor and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans.

You didn’t even have it in you to protest as you were dazed in a cloud of continuous pleasure as every movement resulted in a new wave of pleasure running through you.

“Five minutes till we are live Pierre.” Someone knocked on the dressing room door.

“Oui, I’ll be out in a second.”

Pierre helped you off the dressing table, resting his hands on your hips as he steadied you on your feet. He grabbed you Alpine team top and denim skirt from the floor.

You quickly popped your clothes on with small gasps of pleasure as every movement caused you to clench round the foreign object inside of you causing Pierre to smirk at you.

Both you and Pierre met Esteban at the side of the stage.

“Hey Y/N, you excited for this interview?” Esteban wrapped his arm round your shoulder and pulled you into him.

You locked eyes with Pierre’s as they darkened with jealousy. The look he gave you was fair from a typical look of jealous, it was a promise of what he was going to do to you later for being so comfortable with Esteban touching you.

You squeezed your thighs together and a moan erupted from you. Quickly you tried to cover it with a cough.

“You okay Y/N?” Esteban patted your back to help with your fake cough.

You gave him a weak smile and nodded.

“Please welcome to the stage Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly and Y/N Y/L/N from the BWT Alpine Formula One Team.” The crow erupted with cheers.

Pierre grabbed your wrist just before you walked out “You are not going to be able to walk tomorrow after I am done with you mon cherie.”

#pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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evstostuff · 9 months

Text

fill her veins — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [3.5k] summary: your friend’d had you in all the different ways. fast and hard, deep and bone rattling but this was his favourite. lazy, slow and deep. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, friends with benefits, porn without plot, lazy sex, unprotected (piv) a/n: to the anon that dropped this concept in my ask box, I hope you don’t mind that I took the idea and ran with it. I have so many drafts to finish but this just wouldn’t leave my mind. consider this as a thank you for all the amazing love you’ve poured me with lately, I love you guys so much!! lmk what you think of this!

Lando has an odd taste for trashy reality tv shows. He claims that he doesn’t, that he usually puts them on for background noise but he always ends up settling down on the nearest flattest surface; Eyes glued to the screen. It’s funny, it’s not something you’d expect and most of all, you don’t really mind it. Because he doesn’t care if you don’t pay any attention to it, as long as you’re either in his lap or spooning him.

He’d texted you earlier tonight and you hadn’t expected it, not really. You figured that after the long weekend in Belgium, he’d be ready to travel where the wind took him without any worry about the next weekend where he’d have to show off his best side and bring home a win for his team. Lando had talked about the Maldives and even Singapore, hinting at you coming with him but you’d been quick to shut him down, claiming that your life couldn’t be put on hold. Because it couldn’t.

But he’d gone home, spending exactly three hours with Max before the fucker abandoned him to hang out with his girlfriend and Lando was bored out of his mind when the flat got too quiet, so quiet that he could hear the neighbours flushing their toilets. Then you’d sent him a funny video of cats and Lando had responded with an ‘are you home?’ after laughing himself silly to the video.

Keep reading

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evstostuff · 9 months

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Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

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evstostuff · 9 months

Text

Carlos grabbing your ass . That’s it.

Not necessarily in a sexual way , just needing to have his hand of your ass.

Laying down on the couch watching a movie while on your belly ? His hands are on your bum.

Dancing together at a party ? One of his hands is definitely way too low to be considered on your waist.

Having to walk behind you to pass the room ? Immediate squeeze to the bum.

Overall , he loves you ass.

Don’t even get me started on a sexual level.

Always spanking and marking you ass.

Carlos definitely loves doggy because he can watch how your ass jiggles each time he thrusts into you.

Oh oh , I can also see him LOVING to bite you bum. Leaving little teeth marks on your plush skin.

Also , the praise is on another level

“You have such a pretty ass cariño”

“I love watching it turn red because of me”

“You like that sweetheart ? Me marking your plump ass ?”

“So soft love”

And cumming on your ass hmmm delicious. Def one of his favs.

Not to mention after he would love taking care of it. Softly caressing the red skin , and applying lotion to it.

Another one of his favorites would be sleeping on your ass. Or just laying on it.

Reading ? your bum is his new rest cushion. Sleeping ? best pillow in the world.

Safe to say , Carlos is an ass man and I will die on this hill.

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evstostuff · 9 months

Text

This had me on my knees😩😮‍💨

reckless feeling 🂱 cl16

genre: 18+, literally pwp, canon compliant, fem!reader who is max’s gf (oops i do not condone cheating tho!)

word count: 2k

You don’t know how it happened but somehow you find yourself sneaking off to the bathroom with Charles while your boyfriend receives his championship trophy.

a/n … hihi! my first fic hence why its so shit so would love feedback LMAO this is literally my first time fully writing something since school so bare w me pls. anyways enjoy ig :))

warnings … penetrative sex, cheating, public sex, dirty talk (degradation and praise), unprotected sex, rough ish sex? idk

After just over a year absorbed into the lifestyle of a ‘Formula 1 driver wag’, it was at this point you truly began to wonder what it was you were doing here. The annual FIA prize-giving ceremony was happening around you, and despite the number of glasses of champagne you had downed as ‘liquid courage’, you couldn’t feign interest beyond a few tight-lipped smiles and absentmindedly clapping whenever the crowd did so. Not that anyone noticed, of course. Your boyfriend had just won his second championship. You should be over the moon. But it didn’t seem as if Max even cared for it. Sitting beside you, his attention was divided equally between whispered conversations with Christian Horner and something on his phone. To anyone else, you may as well have been a stranger assigned to the seat beside him, but his hand on your thigh brought you some comfort, you supposed. Minimally affectionate and hidden. Exactly how Max liked it.

“What’s so funny?” attempting to include yourself in the seemingly hilarious conversation between Max and Christian, earning you blank gazes from both parties. “Nothing, babe. You wouldn’t get it. racing stuff, you know?” Yeah. Got it. Thanks a lot, babe. The scoff that left your lips, punctuated with a roll of your eyes, was lost on the two men, and so was the way your eyes landed naturally on the man seated directly in front of you. Green eyes stared back at you with a knowing smirk that, if you had not been seated, would probably cause your legs to give out. His brown hair was neatly combed for this occasion, accentuating his crisp suit featuring a Ferrari emblem. You’d pretended to pay enough attention to Max’s conversations tonight to assume the man undressing you with his eyes in front of you was Charles Leclerc, runner-up in the championship. If you knew Formula 1 drivers looked like that, you’d have paid much more attention to the season.

Realising you’d been staring and subconsciously checking him out, Charles sent a wink in your direction. Cheeks burning and your throat suddenly dry, you reached for your champagne glass before noticing it was empty. Chuckling at your attempt to play it cool, Charles pushes his full champagne glass across the table towards you, which you happily accept, brushing your finger against his in this exchange. A large sip of champagne was needed to distract you from the way your thighs clenched at the feeling of Charles’ skin on yours right next to your boyfriend. Max had never caused you to feel like this, especially not from such a small interaction.

”You alright?” Geri caught your attention with her hushed whispers. Your fingers clenched around the base of the champagne glass to quell the dizziness in your head. “Yeah, um, thanks. I just need to go to the bathroom.” Nodding back at Geri, you place the champagne glass back on the table before excusing yourself to the bathroom. “Be quick. Max will be on soon.” She offers you a smile as you walk behind her, but her words don’t seem to reach you as your eyes connect with Charles again. Seeing him follow you with his eyes and place his glass down as you had done before made your heart race beyond belief.

Walking into the bathroom much faster than you had anticipated in these heels, you sigh in relief at the empty bathroom as everyone was in the main hall watching the awards presentation. And yet, the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing didn’t alarm you, neither did the feel of someone turning you around and crashing their lips on you. Lips kissed yours beyond any kiss shared between you and Max. Your arms wrapped around his neck, allowing your fingers to thread through his hair as his own wrapped around your waist. The feel of his cold rings on the heat of your open back caused a gasp to fall from your lips, a gasp that Charles took advantage of by deepening the kiss and leading you backwards towards the sink. His hands wandered from your lower back to your ass before giving it a light squeeze, inviting you to wrap your legs around his torso as he placed you on the sink, him standing between your legs.

His lips moved to a place on your neck that had you throwing your head back for more. Eyes fluttering, you catch a view of the pair of you in the mirror, but the moment Charles’ hands ran up your thighs, scrunching the material of your dress and pulling your red lacy panties down with it, your undivided attention was on this man. If you could form any coherent thoughts, you would laugh at the irony of wearing red lingerie, but you couldn’t at this moment. He did everything confidently and did not care if someone walked in and saw. He wasn’t ashamed. Not even when his hands crept up higher up your thigh, where you needed him the most. The way he watched your reaction to everything he did through half-lidded eyes was enough to bring you over the edge, but once his fingers attached to your clit, you knew this boy would be the death of you.

”Please, Charles”, you whimper, causing him to chuckle at your desperation. “Aw, baby. Max not pleasing you enough?” he mocks. You bite your lip and shake your head. He could ask you simply who Max was, and you wouldn’t even be able to answer it the way Charles touched you like this; there were no thoughts beyond how he was making you feel. The moan that fell from your lips when he inserted a finger into you was almost pornographic. Charles had to stifle a groan of his own, feeling the tightening pressure in his pants becoming close to unbearable.

”Good girl”, he rumbled lowly as your hips grind towards his fingers, clearly desperate for more the way your slick was dripping out and making a mess of the counter. He inserts another finger inside of you, and the way you clench around his fingers has him clenching his jaw to maintain the little composure he has left. The thrusting of his fingers and the musical quelch they make in this bathroom turn you on beyond belief. The thought of someone— let alone Max— catching you like this, on the verge of an orgasm from the skilful fingers of his rival, sent you into a mind-numbing orgasm, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his fingers as lewd noises left your mouth.

Before you even had a moment to return to reality, Charles dragged you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. “Fuck. been thinking about this pussy all night.” The distinct sound of a belt unclasping and a zipper being pulled down had your back arching on the counter. The coldness of the counter biting into your hips perfectly contrasted with the fire burning within you, sending your emotions on overdrive. He drags the tip of his cock along your slit, coating it in your slick before pushing it inside you without any warning. His eyes flit from where your bodies are connected to the reflection of your face in the mirror. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your lips sealed together to conceal the symphony of moans threatening to leave your mouth. Charles was drunk on the view of seeing you take his cock like you were made for him. All tight and wrapped around him like a present on Christmas day.

He pulls out and thrusts back in again, his hand firmly gripping your hips, which you will surely be bruised by this and the way your body sways forwards from every thrust. You struggle to adjust to his size, larger and girthier than Max by a large margin. The way he’s stretching you out so perfectly has you throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts. One of his hands leaves your hips and goes to rub your clit in small circles, causing a moan from you that was much louder than you expected. Immediately you brought your hand to your mouth to muffle the moans, but Charles gripped your hair and pulled you up, letting your arms fall down to the counter to support you.

”Nuh uh. Don’t hide your moans. I want Max to hear what it sounds like to actually please you” his hand wrapped around your throat, adding slight pressure to it while speeding up his thrusts. The volume of your moans increased exponentially, thankful for the loud crowd on the other side of the bathroom door. He holds your neck so your faces are so close as he drops some of his spit into your mouth and tells you to swallow. You do as he says and stick your tongue out to show him after, to which he chuckles. Charles could tell you to do anything at this moment, and you would comply with absolutely no hesitation.

”You’re such a good girl for me, hmm. Letting me fuck you in the bathroom while Max is getting his award. I bet you want him to walk in, huh?” your head shook, but you couldn’t deny the way your pussy clenched around him at the thought of Max walking in on you in this compromising position. He pushes even deeper inside of you, your legs trembling from how sensitive you were from your last orgasm.

”Fuck Charles—” you say, leaning your head back on his shoulder, not missing the way he groaned and sped up his pace when you moaned his name. “I’m gonna cum. Please, Charles,” you plead, but he already knew you were close by the way you tightened around him.

”Cum for me, baby” Almost on cue, your body trembles and shakes around him. His grip on your body tightens to hold you up; you’d be a puddle on the floor without it. He doesn’t cease his movements, however. Your finishing moan is disrupted by his vigorous thrusts that seem to be speeding up, if possible, yet shallower. You can tell he is close too. The way he pants out your name and beads of sweat fall from his gorgeous face.

”Inside me, please”, you beg, seeing the way his grip on your hips tightens and his eyes darken in the reflection of the mirror. He paints your insides with his cum, continuing his thrusts, pumping you full of his cum. You sigh at the feeling of it warm inside you and shiver at the loss of contact when he pulls out of you.

”Please put your hands together for your 2022 Formula 1 world champion, Max Verstappen” The presenter’s words echoed through the bathroom walls as the gravity of the situation dawned on you and Charles.

—

Sitting back at the table as inconspicuously as possible, Max sent you a glare beyond words but still placed his hand on your thigh affectionately before his head snapped to Charles, taking his seat on the other side of the table. His hair and suit were messy and crumpled. A stark contrast to the perfectly polished Charles merely a few minutes ago. Doing nothing to subdue his messy state, he slumps in his seat with his legs spread out and reaches for a new glass of champagne that must have been placed in front of Charles’ seat when we were gone. Sipping the champagne, he maintains eye contact with Max and me, sporting a cocky smirk. If Max didn’t notice you leaving right before Charles or both of your absences when he received his award, he definitely notices now. Max wasn’t an idiot. He knew. He didn’t know all the details, of course— he didn’t know that you were full of his rival’s cum to the point where it could be dripping out of you, soaking into your dress and into the seat. He didn’t know Charles had your panties stuffed into his suit pocket. And he didn’t know that this was the most interest you’d shown in anything regarding this sport. But he knew enough.

#charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #f1 #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #formula one smut #formula 1 imagine

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evstostuff · 10 months

Note

Urghhh my life…I want this. No I NEED this😩

1 with Carlos or 5 with Fernando. Or maybe both if you can find inspiration 🤭

CS55 x 'You say you want to get over me?” “Yes.” “So why haven’t you?” “Because it’s you. Because whatever you do, I’m gonna come back to you, no matter what. And I’m trying so hard not to do that but… It’s you. It’s just you. You’re the reason why I can’t get over you.'

I'm in love with the smooth operator, your honour.

You knew the fifth shot was a bad idea. By the ninth? Your mind could barely correlate the link between your feet and the floor.

You hadn’t been to Monaco in so, so long. The last time you came was on vacation with your ex boyfriend; it had been a weekend of walks, champagne, slow dancing and secret sex on his teammates boat. Charles would never forgive you for that one, his precious yacht had been christened in more ways than one.

Charlotte had caught you by storm; a few phone calls and a promise of a night out so incredible, it would render every other evening numb, you’d been on a plane instantly, falling into your close friends arms, surrounded by a gaggle of girls, cooing about how you were glowing after…recent events.

The night in question had been what Charlotte promised; loud music, screams and cheers whilst dancing in a group, even chatting to the occasional stranger about the busy streets. However, one cocktail had turned into two, two into three…it was always a slippery slope where expensive drinks and shots were involved.

The brunch you had all booked for the next day seemed well out of question.

Three of the girls had already vanished; presumably heading home with different men, possibly with one another. Charlotte was gossiping with two girls sat on a table. She’d beckoned you over, but instead you’d wandered away; drunken mind mesmerised by lights.

You would have probably wandered right out into the cool streets of Monaco, if a body hadn’t collided with yours. A light whine emitted from your lips, looking up, ready for a drunken apology to stumble out of your lips. Instead, your mouth hung open, breath caught from seeing those brown eyes. Those you were oh-so-familiar with.

“Carlos.” You whisper, a slight sway still in your step. You had to be drunk, blackout drunk, to be seeing the figure of your ex-boyfriend stood in front of you. Frozen in your spot, the trance was broken when a figure appeared from behind him, eyes brightened to see you.

“Hey! Charlotte mentioned you were with her!” Charles calls out, grin resting on his face. “I came to get her- Carlos is visiting us for a few days.”

Your mind couldn’t put the pieces together in that moment. Charlotte, your supposed best friend, had made sure you came to visit whilst Carlos was in Monaco. If you didn’t know her better, you’d say she was playing matchmaker, even after your intense speech of how adamant you were to get over the spaniard.

“Yeah- she’s-“ You can’t get your words out, too drunk to comprehend any form of communication. Charles nods to his friend, silently hoping despite it all, he’ll stay with you whilst he goes to find his own intoxicated girlfriend.

Carlos is nothing, if not a gentleman. Gently, he rests a hand on your lower back. The warmth radiates through the sheer silk of your dress. He thinks you look beautiful like this. Hair messy, makeup smudged, the lines on your face from how much you had been laughing alongside your friends.

“Let’s get you outside.” He speaks above the thump of the music deeper inside the club. “You need some air.”

The cold air dances across your skin the moment the two of you step out from behind the heavy doors. Carlos is already tinted a light shade of red from being inside the room for less than five minutes. His eyes scan over you, arm held out as you tentatively cling to it, stumbling like a baby’s first step.

Carefully, the man leads you away from the direct entrance, giving you some space between the crowds of people. The cold air and movement gives into a sudden wave of nausea. Your body can’t control it, leaning over to the side of the road, trying your hardest not to make a mess.

A gentle sigh is heard from behind you, soft hands holding your hair back, a warm hand on your shoulder. The comfort, you don’t deserve it.

You eventually pull yourself back up, turning to thank the man in question. However, before you can say anything, one arm is resting around your waist, keeping you from stumbling, the other is resting on your cheek, his thumb gently stroking over you.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He murmurs, eyes soft, seeing the girl he cares so deeply for in this position. “Why?”

“Trying.” You mumble in response. “Trying to stop thinking about you.”

Carlos isn’t aware of Charlotte’s plan. When she had mentioned going out with you that evening, he had thought you were in Monaco as a happy accident. He had intended to come and see you, maybe ask if you’d like to go out for a drink. Maybe when he did, he’d change the idea to coffee. Alcohol didn’t seem to be the best idea anymore.

“You say you want to get over me?” He mumbles, face closer to you, trying to find some emotion in your eye.

“Yes.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Because it’s you. Because whatever you do, I’m gonna come back to you, no matter what. And I’m trying so hard not to do that but… It’s you. It’s just you. You’re the reason why I can’t get over you.”

The sudden explosion of words from your hazarded mind causes a trigger inside you. Tears begin to litter your lower lash line. Carlos has always hated seeing girls cry, especially those he cares about. Without thinking, he pulls you into his chest, quiet hushes, one hand brushing across the back of your head.

“Don’t get over me.” He pleads, his own voice cracking. “Don’t. Because I could never get over you.”

#cs55 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos #sainz #f1 imagines #f1

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evstostuff · 10 months

Text

All day, every day!!!

carlos sainz, you are the sexiest mf on the grid

#carlos sainz #f1 #carlos sainz jr #austrian gp 2023 #formula 1

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evstostuff · 10 months

Text

Summer Days

Pairing: Lando Norris x Bestfriend!Reader

Rating: R

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, lando lovessss your breasts, slight corruption kink, FLUFF, Lando starts to see you more than a bestfriend, you're clueless half the time, spitting (listen don't judge), etc.

Requested: Yes/No

Words: 5.5K

Request: no but imagine- best friends with lando. you’ve spent the entire day with him & his pals on a yacht enjoying the day. the sun starts to go down & theres a beautiful sunset. you & him have never crossed the boundaries before but you do suddenly& unexpectedly so you make out & it leads to you riding his thigh on the yacht under the sunset 🌅 i just- neeed!

ooooh best friend lando hearing you have a sex dream about him omfggg can he do this to me pls

A/N: Feeding you babies with Lando smut after those pictures and just the overall vibe he’s been giving. This is a beast my god

"Come on. It'll be fun!" Lando whines.

Neither of you will understand how the young Brit found himself on your couch begging you. He was currently giving you puppy dog eyes, puffing out his bottom lip and fluttering those ever-changing hazel eyes at you. You try your best to ignore it, knowing that if you gave in, it'd only be giving him an inch, and Lando is the type of person to take that inch and make it a fucking yard.

"Lando, I said no. I have classes, homework, and...I don't want to." You groan, putting your dishes away. The boy was trying to get you to come on a week-long yacht trip with him and some other friends. "Please? Come on, Y/n, you're the only one I really want there." He whines, flinging himself on the floor, gearing up for a tantrum.

"Then why even invite Max and the others?" You turn, rolling your eyes, and turn back around, ignoring how Lando is acting. "Because Max wants to take his girlfriend out on my boat, and then she invited some people, so I needed to invite others, and it spiraled out of control." He groans, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, already feeling the headache that was to happen.

"Lando, just saw you have Mclaren thingies to do." You shrug, putting up the last dish and padding into the living room. You step over your childhood friend and sit on the couch. "Mclaren thingies? Jesus Y/n. Do you even know what I do?" He asks, sitting up suddenly and giving you a playful glare. "Drive in circles?" You ask, cringing when you see Lando's face fall.

"Oh my god! The heartbreak! The betrayal. Just rip my fucking heart out already and end this suffering!" He cries, holding his chest, withering on the floor, being dramatic. "Grow up, Lando. So, Formula 1 doesn't interest me. Is it that bad?" You ask, turning on some new murder documentary.

He sits back up and stands, blocking your view. You groan, staring at him. "YES! You're my best friend! We're supposed to support each other, and you're over here sending me off to be bored to death by fake tits and even faker personalities." He yells.

"Lando, it won't be so bad. Maybe you'll find a new girlfriend." You shrug, pausing the TV, knowing he won't move. Lando snorts and rolls his eyes. "Please, I'm good right now, besidesssss." He whines loudly, flinging his body into the couch and placing his head in your lap. On instinct, your fingers tangle into his curls, gently pulling them the way he likes when stressed.

"Besides what, Lando?" You mummer hitting play on the TV. Lando turns, lying on his stomach, and buries his face in your stomach, taking deep breaths. You smile, feeling the muscles in his body relax. "I want you there, please? We're sailing to some nice Island, and they're getting off the boat when we arrive. So they won't even be there half the time." His voice muffled. You giggle from the ticklish feeling of his breath on your skin.

You sigh, flinching when you feel Lando's lips curl into a smile against your skin, your shirt having raised slightly. "Fine. Fine, I'll go." You groan, knowing you'll either regret this or never want to fucking leave. "Good. Can I stay the night?" He whispers, voice growing thicker, sleep taking hold of the worn-down driver.

"Don't even have to ask." You whisper back, turning the volume down on the TV.

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The sun beats down on you as you sit on the sun deck, watching Max, his girlfriend, and her friends pour drinks, laughing as Lando tells them a story. You weren't shy by any means, just weary of new people.

You know Max very well, how couldn't you? He lived with Lando in Monaco and was always there, being his friend when you couldn't be. Max looked after you and even came and sat down to talk to you. He knew you would only occasionally socialize with them as they weren't your crowd.

Max smiled, kissed your cheek, and told you to enjoy the quiet, as Lando would probably be up later to annoy you. You laughed and joked back at him that he'd return to Max if you didn't give him attention.

Looking back down, you smile, seeing everybody having a good time. You turn around and see a good spot to lay in the sun and get some tanning done before arriving on the Island. It was day 3 of the trip. Lando was busy being a host, so you saw little of him, especially since this was a rather large yacht to own.

You remove your cover, revealing a pretty black and orange patchwork bikini. The top was drawstring and held together in the middle by this golden ring, showing off your middle cleavage as you got the top smaller so it'd be tight and not fall off.

Time passes before your alarm goes off, telling you to roll over. Reaching around, you untie the strings and then unclasp the back, letting it fall loose, but if you needed to sit up could easily hold it to your chest, not showing anything.

"Y/n?" You turn your head and see familiar curls bounce up the stairs. Lando comes into view and smiles. At this moment, Lando was so damn lucky he was wearing sunglasses. His eyes are traveling and memorizing every inch of your body. How your back dips and curves, your skin tans nicely in the sun, and how relaxed you look your true self.

"Here you are. You okay?" Lando asks, making sure you aren't dehydrated or sunburnt. "Of course, everyone was drinking. So, I came up here to get some quiet. You okay?" You ask, leaning up a little.

Lando's throat tightens, seeing the dips of your breasts, the way you're so comfortable with him that you don't shy away from him. Lando knew you weren't big on showing off your skin. He also knew you've never really been naked in front of someone, so being comfortable enough to do this was a massive show of trust between you two.

"Yeah." He clears his throat, shaking his head, trying hard not to stare. "We're stopping here for the night and dock at the Island for 2 days. Max said he and the others will fly back, so it'll be you, me, and the crew for the rest of the trip." He says, sitting in a chair next to the recliner you're lying in.

"That'll be nice. I know you're reaching your social limit." You mumble, hand rubbing his knee, making him smile. He moves his hand and lays it on top of yours. "I am, with this group especially. Drinking and partying all day." Lando drops his head, sunglasses dipping slightly, his eyes a brilliant green and blue clashing.

"Let's get something to eat." You groan, reaching around to tie your suit, but fail. "Let me." Lando stands and moves, straddling the recliner. His fingers ghost your back, skin shivering as you get goosebumps. Lando can't help but smirk, biting his bottom lip as he clips and ties everything back together.

"Let me up, you ass." You giggle, Lando's hands wrapping around your waist and helping you up. Moving around each other, you both settle on your feet, smiling at one another. "Come on, let's get some food." Lando grabs your hand, pulling you along as he maneuvers around the yacht and staff.

When you both step into the kitchen, the staff smile and wave. You do the same, making your way to fix your own food. "I can cook if you need me to, Mr. Norris." An older man says, smiling gently at the two of you. "No, please, we're fixing something small, and you're all working hard. Just carry on and ignore us." Lando smiles, the kitchen busting back to life.

"Sit." Lando points at a counter. You hop up on the counter, watching Lando move around the kitchen, fixing sandwiches. "So..you learned how to cook?" You ask, knowing Lando wasn't the best cook. "Yeah. Since I'm traveling everywhere and don't have you to cook for me." You slap him on the back of his head, giggles erupting from his mouth. "I needed to learn how to cook. I'm no chef, but I know my way around the kitchen." He plates two grilled chicken sandwiches, one with vegetables and the other with bacon, cheese, and everything else.

"Guess you have the vegetables?" You ask, hating that he was going through a diet right now. "Yeah, but that's okay. It's good." You both cheered with your sandwich, giggling at the ridiculousness of it. Biting into it, you moan, the burst of flavors exploding on your tongue.

Lando freezes while biting into his and eyes you, the sound you made going straight to his blood. He groans quietly, turns, and bites entirely into his sandwich. "God, Lando. So good." You moan, unaware that your words send a fire into his ears, burning them. "M' glad." He mumbles, mouth full.

You finish the rest of your sandwiches silently, except for the bustling kitchen. Taking your last bite, you swallow and smile at Lando. "Hey, wanna go jetskiing?" You ask, the yacht having stopped moving a while ago. "Sure." Licking his fingers and then his lips, Lando's hands wrap around your waist and lift you off the counter, leading back to the main deck.

Stepping on the deck, Max yells at both of you that they're taking the boat to a mini island off the main island's coast. Lando yells back to be careful and that you and he are going jet skiing. You notice two but have no idea how to drive.

"Lando?" You ask, tapping his shoulder. He turns to face you, seeing your uncertainty. "Want to ride with me?" Lando asks, not even needing to be told what was wrong. "Please?" You plead softly, thanking the staff member that hands you a lifejacket.

"Y/n, you never need to ask. I'll keep you safe." He smiles, zipping up his life jacket, the salty wind sending his curls crazy, almost like dancing worms. You snort a laugh, trying to figure out your life jacket. "Stop. You're doing it wrong." Lando's fingers stop yours and pull them away.

Blinking, you soak in Lando's appearance. His wind-tossed hair, his normal olive skin, slightly more profound, a little pale white sticking out around his hips. His eyes sparkling, alive even, and the weight around him seemed lighter, even happier.

He is attractive. It wasn't a shocker that people loved him. You noticed he was good-looking, but not enough to change your view of him. "Ready?" You blink, seeing him staring at you. He has a cheeky smirk on his lips, which has you rolling your eyes. "I wasn't." You groan. "Wasn't what?" He asks, acting clueless.

"Checking you out. I wasn't. Just...you seem....happier." You try to find the right words. His smile wavers before it comes back, covering his entire face. "Because I have my best friend with me. Why wouldn't I be happier?" He asks, fingers playing with the zipper on your life jacket.

"Alright, stop." You blush slightly, thankful you are in the sun, and can blame it on that, not his words. "Show me the need for speed." You joke, making fun of him after his video of being a fighter jet pilot.

"God, will you ever stop teasing me for that?" He asks, sitting down on the jet ski. "Never. It was golden, and as your best friend, I'll always make fun of you for it." He shakes his head, waiting for you to get comfortable. "Wrap your arms around my waist, Y/n. I don't want you getting hurt in case we hit waves." He instructs. "I'll be fine like this, Lando." You groan, hands lightly holding his waist.

He makes a noise, and the engine roars to life under you. Launching forward, you scream, arms wrapping tight around his waist. "You asshole! Did that on purpose!" You scream in his ear as the wind whips around you. He doesn't reply, paying attention to what is before him. Lando didn't want to go crazy fast like usual, you were with him, and he wanted to be safe so you wouldn't get hurt. Lando drives around for a while before slowing down, parking the jet ski next to the boat and the person tying it back up.

"We're done already?" You ask, catching your breath. "I want to swim." He smiles, unzipping his life jacket. Suddenly he runs and jumps into the water. The water splashes all over you, making you scream, but you soon laugh seeing him come up. "Help me?" Lando asks, holding his hand out.

Not expecting him to do it, you grab his hand. Of course, you're proven wrong when he uses his weight to pull you into the water.

Bursting out of the water, you glare at Lando, who laughs loudly. You splash water hitting him in his open mouth, leading his laughs into sputters. "Traitor." You snap, pulling yourself out of the water. Lando stops laughing, drinking you in. The way you pull yourself out of the water, the droplets of the water moving down your skin. Damn, you are gorgeous.

"Dinner is going to be served soon. I heard back from your friend, and he said they're eating at the smaller island and won't be back till the morning to dock at the main island." a staffer says, pulling Lando out of his thoughts, who nods.

"Let's get ready." Lando drags himself out of the water, both of you going separate ways.

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Lando decides to wear something relaxing to dinner. It was just the two of you, so why dress up. Wearing khakis shorts and a white shirt held together by one button, hair pushed back, still drying from the earlier swim.

Setting up the table, he hears your steps. "Hey, dinner will be served in a few. I hope you're hungry for...fuck." Lando's voice dies off, seeing you step onto the open-air deck.

You decided to wear a white mesh cover, the air still warm, not wanting to wear something restricting like Lando. What made him so shocked was you chose not to wear a bra. He's seen your breasts before; you two grew up together.

"Bra?" He squeaks, making you laugh at his face. "It's hot, and I'm still wet from earlier. So I decided not to wear a bra, besides I normally don't wear a bra around you anyways." You shrug; Lando drops a knife, quickly grabs it, and hits his head on the table.

"Oh god! Are you okay?" You laugh, rounding the table and making sure he is okay. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just surprised me; you don't normally.....do this." He knew you didn't wear a bra when you wore his sweatshirt or baggy clothes.

Lando was never affected like this by you until recently. It was driving him crazy. Maybe the sun or he was lonely, but he just smiled at you, forgetting these thoughts.

Sitting down, you both talk about your lives giving each other updates. Lando talking about this season's troubles, and you talking about school and how much it weighed down on you. Dinner gets served, but you both keep talking, eating in between, drinking wine, and enjoying each other's company. Hours pass, and you giggle crazily. The wine and the sun have gotten to you.

"Y/n, let's get you to bed, love." Lando sighs, having paced himself with the wine, unlike you, who let loose and enjoy yourself. You make some noise in the back of your throat. Lando shakes his head, helping you stand up. "Can I sleep with you?" You mummer dropping your head into his neck.

Lando thinks it over and decides it would be best if you get sick. He can help you. Sauntering to his cabin, you trip and stagger, but Lando's hands are pressed into your back, keeping you upright. "Here we go." He whispers, voice muffled by your hair.

Opening the cabin door, he gently guides you to his bed, laying you down. "I'll be right back, love." Lando had a habit of calling you nicknames while tipsy. He wished he could call you them sober but just couldn't. He comes back, almost tripping over his feet, when he sees your cover half over your head, breasts on display.

Rushing over, he pulls the cover back down, eyes closed, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. "Lando...help me." You whine, squirming below him. He walks around, reaches for one of his shirts, and walks back over. "Love, stop. Don't pull your cover-up, okay? I will help you change, but my eyes will be closed. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He explains, which has you giggling drunkenly. "Lan, I don't care. I trust you." He freezes. Hearing those words send a chill down his back.

"I'd never hurt you, ya know?" He asks. "I know. You're my best friend, Lan. I love you." You smile at him, chest going still, and then breathe at an even pace. He moves slowly, removing your cover, and quickly covers you with his shirt.

Moving around the cabin, he removes his shirt; khakis soon follow, leaving him in his boxers. Lando climbs into bed with you, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his chest. He sighs in content when you bury your face in his chest. "Good night, my love."

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Waking the next morning, Lando wakes to you moving around. Your back was pressed against Lando's chest, which was expected, except you're moving around a lot.

"Love? Everything okay?" Half asleep, he leans on his arm but sees you're still asleep. You wither again, Lando hisses, holding your waist down. "Dammit...no." He groans, getting up and cursing, seeing what your moving did to him. Lando climbs out of bed slowly, careful to not wake you. "I'll be in the shower." He whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He returns after a cold shower and his problem taken care of, seeing you still asleep on your back.

He chuckles, grabbing his clothes, he starts to get dressed. "Lando." You moan softly. "Did I wake you love?" His voice is soft as he turns towards you but raises an eyebrow seeing you still asleep. "Fuck....right there." You whimper again, chest heaving up and down, then settling back down.

Confusion hits Lando, what in the world is going on. Stepping forward, he touches your cheek, which causes you to whimper and lean into his touch. "Lando...fuck yes....please...let me cum." You whine, tossing and turning now. "Holy shit." He jumps back, shocked at what is happening. You're having a sex dream about him, and here he was listening to it. "Upstairs...need to go upstairs." He mumbles, quickly throwing his shirt on and out of the cabin before you wake.

You groan, rubbing your eyes as the sunlight causes a throbbing pain behind your eyes. "Never drinking that much wine again." Hand slaps back down, feeling the now empty spot next to you. "Lando?" You sit up, seeing the mirror fogged up, and the fresh smell of his body wash.

"Gone." Throwing your legs over the bed, you stand, only to stop seeing that you are currently wearing one of Lando's shirts. The events of last night were foggy, but you remember trusting him and him saying he'd never hurt you. "So embarrassing." You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Shaking it all off, you grab one of Lando's dress shirts. It was a lovely white, throwing it on top of your chest, leaving you in bikini bottoms as you headed upstairs searching for Lando and the others. Muscles aching from the hangover, you go up the 3 flights of stairs and reach the middle deck, where your meals have been served.

"Rise and shine, gorgeous, feeling better?" You flinch, covering your ear from Max's yelling. "I thought you'd be on the Island longer." You whimper, the pounding in your head getting worse. "Came back early for breakfast. Lando told us you were hangover." He motions to the Brit whose back is to you, not even saying hello or good morning. Oh god, what happened last night.

Sneaking up behind him, you slowly wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your head to the middle of his back. "What happened last night? Did I say or do something?" You whisper, hands pressing Lando closer to you. Lando's back tensed, he could feel your naked chest through whatever shirt you were currently wearing, and all he could hear in his head was your moans, moans for him.

"What? Oh no. Nothing happened, just a small hangover." He grumbles, his larger hand covering yours. "Are you sure? Your friendship means everything to me. I just want to ensure we're okay." You whisper back, making sure the others can't hear you.

Lando turns around, his face covered by his sunglasses, but if you could see them, they'd be the size of saucers. After last night, then your sex dream about him, and now you're wearing his shirt. Lando was a dead man.

"Lan?" Bringing him out of his shock, a small smile tugs at his lips. Placing a quick kiss on your forehead, you relax. "We're okay, love. I promise. Now, get some food to help your hangover. You drank more than me." He turns you gently, patting your ass.

You blush as you go to the breakfast buffet grabbing all the food you love. Sitting down, Max lays out the plan for the day. You watch the horizon seeing the gorgeous Island off the coast of Italy. It's beautiful as you enjoy the clear water and how the vibe of the Island was reaching here.

"So what do you think, Y/n?" You jump, hearing your name. A few snickers are heard as you turn to Max. "Oh, um, I'm not feeling well from the wine. So, I'm gonna stay on the boat for the night. I know the rest of you staying and then going to Italy, but I'll join you tomorrow." You ramble, trying to think of a good excuse.

"Alright." Max drawls, turning towards Lando, and nudges him. "Guess that means you and Y/n have the boat to yourselves again." Max teases, which has both you and Lando blushing. Max sees this and quickly changes the topic. He was secretly happy for the both of you. Max always knew Lando had secret feelings for you, but watching the two of you discover those feelings is something he was really enjoying.

Max had already hatched a plan. He knew the two of you would've already stayed on the boat. So he told the chief what to do, and the rest would be up to you.

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You lay on one of the benches enjoying the soft breeze. The sun was at its highest peak. Your hangover was getting better, the headache a dull throb instead of the pounding from this morning.

Lando was sitting in the shade, having brought his gaming consoles, and was playing some game. He kept close to you, wanting to ensure you were feeling better. "Lando?" Yawn turns his name into a weird sound, with him looking at you.

"What's wrong?" Worry laces his voice as he pauses the game. "Can I take a nap?" You roll off the bench walking over to him. Lando swallows thickly, seeing how the shirt hung off your body and how you looked so goddamn relaxed. At this moment..he wished you were more than his best friend, god you looked like his wife.

"Why are you asking me to take a nap?" Turning his head back to the TV, trying to shake the image of you wearing his ring on your finger. "Causeeee." You whine and stand right next to him. Without noticing, you start to play with his curls, a habit you started to do when you both were younger. "Cause why?" He whispers, pausing the game again as he looks up at you.

"Just....this is stupid." Pulling your fingers out of his hair, Lando reaches up, lacing them together as he watches you blush with shuffling feet. "Y/n, you can ask me for anything. You know that, right?" Sighing, you nod your head working up the courage to ask him. "Can I take my nap on your chest?" You rush it out so quickly that Lando has difficulty hearing you. But he understood what you're asking.

"Come here." He moves to the couch, pulling you along with him. Laying down, he gets comfortable before letting you lie down. He groans softly, feeling your weight press on him, your chest pressed against his lower chest and stomach; he curses slightly, seeing your stomach lying on his dick. "You okay?" Giggling as he takes deep breaths, calming down, his arms wrapped around you, controller resting on your lower back.

"I'm fine, love. Take your nap." He whispers, unpausing his game, turning his head as he games. Sighing, you move around some more before settling down, listening to the slow thrum of his heartbeat. The sounds of the waves hitting the boat, his heartbeat, the game, it all pulls you down into a peaceful nap.

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The staff lays the dinner on the table facing the island and the sea, and the sun slowly sets. You'd been asleep for a while; Lando had taken pictures setting one as his wallpaper. He, too, even drifted off until the staff started to set up.

Gently shaking has you yawn, waking up as Lando's soft voice pulls you out of your sleep. "Come on, they're setting up dinner." He whispers, kissing your temple and helping you get up. "M okay." You grumble, rubbing your face to wake yourself up.

Lando leads the way to the bench and has you sit down. He plates your food for you, watching you wake up. Fully awake, you both eat the food silently; when you sigh, you look at Lando. "Max, set this up, ya know." You whisper, not oblivious to everything your shared friend is doing.

"I know.....Hey, um, can I confess something to you?" Wiping his mouth, he turns to look at you, worry in his eyes. "Sure, what's up?" You ask, taking a sip of some water. "You had a sex dream about me." He blurts. You sputter around your glass, spitting out the water.

"What?" You choke as Lando stares at you, face red as he tries not to die a little. "When I woke, you were withering around, making me...hard. It was an accident. I went to shower and came back, and you moaned my name, then you, um.." He stops covering his face as you stare at him in shock. "You um......moaned my name again...then begged me to let you cum." He choked out the last sentence, the nail in your coffin.

"Oh god.....Lando...I'm sorry." You whisper wanting to fling yourself off the boat from embarrassment. "Y/n, it's okay. Listen, it happens to everyone; we're close. It happens all the time." He admits, which has you calming down, his fingers rubbing your knee in a comforting way. "Not to me, Lando. I'm not the most....experienced person." You groan, flinging yourself onto your back.

"What? Y/n, you've had...people before, right?" Lando still remembers the dick of the last person you were with. "Yeah, I've dated Lando. But....not....ugh, I've had sex maybe twice, but didn't enjoy it." You admit. Lando's hand freezes on your knee, staring at you as you hide your face. "So? You've never what? Experimented?" Be careful how he asks this question. "Yeah. All I've ever had is, I guess, what people call vanilla married sex." You grumble, sitting up, legs in his lap. "There's nothing wrong with that, besides-" He stops when you scream and jump up, straddling his leg as you look over the edge.

"Lando, sea turtles!" You cry, having never seen them before. His hands go to your waist, ensuring you don't fall. You giggle and rock back, putting pressure on his tight that has him freezing. "Y/n." He whispers when you rock forward to see the turtles again, only to freeze when Lando forces you back down on his thigh

"Lando." You mumble, looking down at your childhood friend. Reaching up, you slowly pull the sunglasses off, blocking you from seeing his star-like eyes. When you take them off, your breath disappears. His eyes bore into yours, a brilliant mix of amber and green look all over you, freezing where your lips and his leg meet.

"Wearing my shirt, no bra.....how innocent you look like this. Like an innocent little housewife." He mumbles, moving a hand from your waist to where you meet. "Lando....what." You whimper when you feel his thumb press gently on an area with you nearly folding over on top of him. "Fuck...have you ever been touched here before, baby?" He asks, voice soft as he gently rubs a slow circle on the same spot. "Lando....why..why does that feel good?" You whisper, having never man touched you like this before. You've tried yourself but never seemed to have gotten it right.

"Because it's me." He laughs, which has you slapping his chest but whimpering when his nail digs into the fabric, making you forget everything. "I wanna do something. Are you okay with that?" He asks softly, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. "Yes, Lando. It's you...I trust you." You whisper, fingers tugging his hair.

He groans, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and letting it fall open. Licking his lips, he presses soft kisses on your chest. "Fuckkk..." He drawls out, his accent getting heavy as his tongue traces over your skin, tasting and smelling him on you. It's driving him crazy.

Whimpering when you feel teeth nip at your tit, you look down, seeing Lando suck one into his mouth, looking up at you like a drunk man. He pulls away a string of spit attaching you two that has your body on fire. Seeing him like this, he smirks, seeing the look on your face.

"Y/n, ride me." He whispers, hands sliding down your body to your bikini bottoms. "What? Lando, you don't have a condom." Confused at what he means, Lando just chuckles and pulls down your bottoms which you eagerly kick them off. "Not my cock; you haven't earned that yet." He groans; how innocent you are. How these so-called men didn't fuck you properly, much less help you explore.

"What do you mean then?" You ask. Lando reaches down, spreads your lips, and settles you down on his thigh. "Lando?" You ask, worried about what he was doing. "Shhh, it's okay. You're gonna ride my thigh." He whispers, the sun bathing you both in oranges and reds. Nodding, Lando's hands grab your waist, helping you take a curious rock off your hips.

He bites his bottom lip watching the way you rock backward. He sees a trail groaning as you move forward again, this time more confidently. "Jesus, how gorgeous you look." He moans, bouncing his thigh, watching you gasp, fingers pulling his curls, making him pull his head back, watching the way the sunset shines on your face. Moving one hand away from your waist, letting you set your own rhythm as he pushes the hair out of your face.

Smiling like a drunk man, he pulls you down. "I'm gonna kiss you, show you how you should be kissed. How sweet corruption tastes." Lando mummers. You aren't able to answer as he swallows whatever reply he gets. The kiss was frantic and messy, claiming you in a way.

Biting your bottom lip, he sucks it into his mouth as he feels you move faster on his thigh. Unable to help himself, Lando pulls away and opens his mouth. "Swallow, sweet girl." He spits onto your tongue, making you moan as you swallow it without thinking the lust overpowering. Lando pulls away, hands leaving your waist and tangling in your hair as you ride him faster, tits bouncing hard, lips bruised from how Lando bites and sucks them.

"That's it, love. Ride my thigh faster." He growls, pulling your head back and leaving his claim on you on your neck. "Lando...mmm, feels weird." You mumble as Lando pulls from your neck. "Weird, how princess? Talk to me." He whispers, cock painfully hard behind his swim trunks, watching the way you're making a mess on his leg. "My...fuck....pussy, it's fuck..." You gasp, hiding your face in his neck, gasping against him.

"It's an orgasm, princess. Here this will help." He groans, licking his pointer finger and pressing on your clit, rubbing it. "Oh no, sto.....no don't fuck yes!" You scream, your hips no longer having a pace as you orgasm, your body shaking hard. Lando watches you orgasm, feeling his balls tighten, wishing he could bury his cock deep inside you. Feel the way you'd clamp down on him, almost milking him dry.

Sagging against him, you try to catch your breath, Lando whispering to you words of comfort. He moves, laying you down under him as he presses kisses everywhere. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" He asks gently, sucking one of your tits into his mouth. You sigh at the comfort, feeling all fuzzy as you try to come down from the high.

"Come to me whenever you feel like trying something new. You're my good girl, my sweet innocent angel. I'll show you what you're missing." Lando whispers in your ear, placing a soft kiss there.

"Deal." You whisper.

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evstostuff · 10 months

Text

Consequences To Your Actions

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warning: 18+, language, little bit of nipple play, no sex, bit of dirty talk, French petname, fingering, female receiving

Word count: 1,637….a sort of short one to ease me back in

Note: I just want to apologise for how crappy I have been with my writing. Really really hoping I can get back into it again.

A little bit of excitement for you guys...I have a mafia Carlos idea brewing at the moment so that should be interesting!!

My requests are definitely open so if you want something specific let me know :)

His eyes rolled.

He rolled them into oblivion.

You felt the anger bubble up inside of you. How could he be so stupid to roll his eyes with several cameras, interviewers and team staff.

His arrogance radiated, everyone could feel it.

Charles had finally got a podium. It was a massive boost to his confidence, hence the whole pompous act he had going on during the post race press conference with Max and Checo.

The press wasn’t paying him any attention and it was clearly eating away at his ego.

His eyes locked on yours. You scowled at him, expressing your distain for his attitude.

Your scolding stare did nothing but bought a smirk to spread across his lips.

His smirk had the desired effect. You could feel the moisture gathering in the lace of your panties.

You and Charles had a mutual agreement. No strings, just sex and keep it quiet. It was a perfect setup, both healing from past relationship wounds and travelling around the world with the same schedule. It satisfied you both. Due to the four week long break between Australia and Azerbaijan, you both hadn’t seen each due to family and work commitments.

The press conference had started to wrap up as you got a text from your boss asking you to come to her office.

Shit.

She must have seen Charles reaction. Notifications had started to flood in on all social media platforms, picking up on Charles’ little eye roll.

You stormed out of the media room with Charles following quickly at your heels.

“Y/N wait for me.” The Monegasque shouted after you.

Luckily the Ferrari hospitality wasn’t too far from the media rooms.

Charles’ fingers touched the bare skin on your arm. His touched burned deep into your skin and started to radiate through your body. You were snapped out of your trance as you turned and slammed into his muscular fireproof clad chest.

“What?”

Confusion flooded his features.

“Y/N…” He whispered.

“You know what Charles, you may have just got a podium after a shitty couple of races but it doesn’t mean you get to ruin everyone else day just because your ego got bruised due the conference.” Your words dripped with venom.

“I’m so sor.”

“Save your apology. Thanks to you I am about to get told off because you cannot control your actions and be mature.”

Charles’ face dropped as he studied your features. He had never seen you this angry before.

You turned away from him and rushed to your manager’s office.

The meeting consisted of you getting scolded like a toddler about how unprofessional Charles had been and that you should’ve prepared him properly for the conference.

Walking out of the hospitality building you looked at your phone. Two new messages from Charles.

Charles: I am so sorry Y/N, I acted like a dick and didn’t think how it would affect you.

Charles: This is not how I wanted this weekend to go after not seeing you for four weeks. I’m in my drivers room, come see me please x

You sighed. All the anger disappeared at his apology.

Slowly you made your way to his driver room.

His door was left slightly open. “Charles. It’s me.”

Your eyes scanned the Monégasque. His race suit still hanging off his hips, his fireproof top clinging to ever curve of his muscles. This is how you liked him, post race and untamed.

“I am so sorry Y/N. I wasn’t thinking at all about how my actions could reflect on you. Please forgive me.” Charles closed the gap between you to enclose your face in his large hands.

His touch sent shivers throughout you body.

All weekend the pair of you had struggled. You wanted nothing more but to be alone with Charles so that you could both forget about the pressures and demands of the job.

His eyes stared into yours. The green orbs begged more than his words did for forgiveness. You wanted to forgive him but something about this all seemed like it was far too easy for him.

“I don’t know Charles. That meeting was awful, she really laid into me. If you really are sorry, you’ll show me.” You held Charles eye contact as you detached his hands from your cheeks.

His hopefully eyes dropped into sadness.

“Actions speak louder than words Char.” You purred as you smirked up at him.

You watched Charles’ eyes wash with lust.

“Oh mon cherie, I’m going to show you how sorry I really am.”

He looked at you like you were his next meal. He played the game of cat and mouse too well. He closed the gap, you stepped back repeatedly until your back hit door.

Charles wrapped his hand around your neck and slammed his lips on your. The kiss was rough, filled with so much desire, it made your knees weak. You gave up all control to him and let his tongue roam your mouth as his other hand made it’s way down you body and to your skirt.

You were dripping. You arousal started to seem through the lace of your thong and down you thigh as Charles kissed and sucked all the right places on your neck. Your small moans bounced off the walls of his driver room.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me or you’ll get us caught.” Charles whispered in your ear as his fingers dipped into you panties and circled your clit.

He was right where you craved him. The pleasure washed through you. All you wanted to do was moan his name, tell him and everyone how good he made you feel.

“Take it off.” Charles grunted at you, eyes shifting to your shirt.

You did as you were told. The shirt was gone in seconds.

Charles chuckled.

“You that eager for me to see those pretty tits of yours.” Charles eyes were glued to your breasts as they rose with your heavy breathing.

The feeling of Charles’ fingers was staring to become overwhelming. He was pleasuring you but by god was he dragging it out.

Slow sloppy kisses along your neck.

Gentle nibbles on your earlobes.

Fingers circling your clit leaving you wanting him to do so much more.

“Char pl..please more.”

Your eyes locked, pleading for him to give you something. His free hand pulled a cup of your bra down.

You watched in awe as Charles’ tongue flicked over your hard nipple, causing you whimper at the pleasure shooting down to your core.

Charles fingers came away from your clit and down towards where your wetness was leaking. Without warning, he pushed one singular finger inside you.

“Charles.” You were getting impatient. The orgasm you craved was teetering on the edge.

One look in your eyes and Charles knew you were close.

Charles added a second finger. He started off gentle, curling his fingers against your g-spot.

You were a mess. Mascara streamed down your face due to the torture Charles was making you endure.

“I really am sorry mon cherie.” Charles whispered in your ear.

“I only ever want to make that pussy wet.”

The speed of his fingers increased.

“I want to always make you look this fucked every time I have my fingers inside you.”

He adjusted the angle of his fingers.

“I only ever want to hear you moaning my name and begging me to fuck you.”

Charles got faster. It was the perfect combination.

His possessive word caused your head to tilt back against the door as the the knot of pleasure in your stomach started to reach its peak.

“I don’t ever want to make you mad.”

You were so close. Charles could feel you clenching around his fingers.

“Cum for me mon cherie.” Charles whispered as he latched himself to your exposed nipple.

His words of encouragement pushed you over the edge.

“Fuuuck Char.”

There was nothing you could do, your whole body washed with pleasure as you throbbed around Charles’ fingers.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl.” Charles cooed, holding you steady as he continued to help you ride out your orgasm.

Charles just watched, dick completely hard against his race suit leaking with pre-cum.

A knock on the door interrupted both of your trances.

“Charles, it’s Pierre you ready to leave yet?”

“Shit what do we do?” You frantically pushed Charles away from you.

“Just go into the bathroom.” Charles picked your shirt up and pushed you towards the small bathroom.

You re-dressed and adjusted yourself whilst trying to listen into what the two drivers where talking about.

“Mate, why does it look like you’ve just had sex?”

You sniggered at Pierre’s question. Shit.

The door swung open.

“Hi y/n. Your mascara is a bit smudged” Pierre smirked.

You frantically rubbed at your face trying to remove the marks and hide your embarrassment.

“Erm thanks.” You smiled at the Frenchman.

“Well it’s about time you two did something about the sexual tension. It was really starting to make the paddock uncomfortable.”

Both you and Charles looked at Pierre in confusion. Both of you had tried to be discreet.

He rolled his eyes and tutted.

“I’ll meet you at the car Charles. Don’t be too long will you.” Pierre winked and walked off.

You checked in the mirror that you had removed the mascara smudges from your face and turned to Charles.

“Don’t ever piss me off like that again.” You pointed at him.

“You seemed to enjoy the apology though.” Charles smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Just because I enjoyed it doesn’t mean you are forgiven.” You cooed as you went to leave.

Charles grabbed your wrist and span you round into him.

“And how do I get you to forgive me?” He brushed your hair out of your face.

“Actually I have a few ideas, if you wouldn’t mind me trying.” He didn’t give you time to respond before his lips had captured yours in a heated, lust filled kiss.

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #formula 1 #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 2023 #f1 smut #formula one smut #formula one imagine #formula one drivers

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evstostuff · 10 months

Text

Masterpiece *chefs kiss*

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 9-10 years so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish.

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink.

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance.

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs.

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath.

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening.

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close. The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously.

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea.

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s okay. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs.

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?”

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most.

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder.

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood.

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt.

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face.

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you.

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?”

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick.

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

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evstostuff · 11 months

Text

Oh my heart just burst

Mini Sainz

Pairing: Dad!Carlos Sainz x Reader x Son Santi

Rating: PG

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnant reader, reader feels big because she’s so pregnant, dad carlos is adorable, fluff

Words: 2.7K

A/N: if anyone knows why I named their son, great minds think alike

"I'm a whale." You moan, annoyed, tired, just exhausted all around.

"You're not a whale. You're pregnant." Lando snickers as he walks past you, making sure you are as comfortable as someone who could be 9 months pregnant.

"Lando, I'm serious. I can't even see my own feet or anything." You whine, stabbing your fingers into your side to stop the sharp pain you feel, disappearing when you put pressure on it.

"Maybe, you shouldn't come to the Grand Prix." He ponders but stops seeing your harsh glare.

"It's his home race. Besides, I want to be around him." You huff, fixing the fan next to you.

9 months pregnant, and in Spain, it was not a good mix. It wasn't hot, just fantastic, but to you, it felt horrible. Never would you be pregnant in the spring or summer again. This was the last time.

"Yes. I know Y/n. You'll see him soon." Lando comforts you, pushing the fan closer as he watches some sign of improvement.

"Uncle Lando?" A small voice pulls Lando's attention from his best friend to his godson.

"Santiago? You should be taking your nap." Lando moves to the 5-year-old and picks him up with ease.

"Mama in pain?" He asks, resting his head in the croak of his uncle's neck, worried about his Mama.

"A little bit, buddy. But, it'll be okay when we see your Papa." The smile that covers the boy's face melts Lando making him even consider for a second having kids.

"Mama doesn't like being away from Papa. Should we call?" Lando snorts, knowing damn well that you didn't like your husband away from you this far in your pregnancy.

"No, we're about to leave anyways. Let's get you dressed, okay?" He asks the little boy nodding as Lando takes him to get dressed.

Lando returns with your first child, and you snort, seeing bright orange.

"Carlos is going to kill you." You giggle, seeing Santiago wearing a Mclaren shirt.

"Ehh, he owes me anyways. I'm taking care of a toddler and a very pissed-off pregnant you. I get the kid wearing my shirt." Lando shrugs. If you weren't so tired, you'd smack Lando into the next century.

"Help me up, you dick." You whisper, knowing Santiago is in his repeat everything he hears phase.

With ease, Lando moves beside you and helps you up, resting a hand on your back and stomach. Feeling a little thump against his hand, Lando smiles; the kid was going to be a trip.

"Alright, Sainz's, let's go!" Santiago squeals and runs to you but stops short, knowing you can't pick him up.

"Uncle Lando! Up!" Santiago declares, making the Mclaren driver smile, and you roll your eyes.

Arriving at the paddock, you wince, feeling that sharp pain again, but take a deep breath, and it goes away again. You knew you should be worried about those pains, but the baby wasn't due till the end of the month, so you still had a couple weeks before they were expected.

"Why does my family look like yours?" Santiago squeals and wiggles out of Lando's arms and rushes his father.

"Papa!" He screams, Carlos scooping him up before the little one can fall.

People liked to call Lando the second husband because he was always helping you. But he was your childhood friend, Carlos's best friend, and the godfather to your son. He was family.

"Ooh. Easy big guy." Carlos coddles, kissing his son's cheek before immediately handing him off to Lando and at your side.

"Corazón? Are you okay?" Carlos asks, seeing the discomfort on your face. But the moment he touches you, it fades away as you lean into your husband's body.

"Now I am." Carlos moves to support you on your side and walks you down to the Ferrari hospitality building.

"Why is my angel wearing a Mclaren shirt?" You snort loudly, seeing Lando chase the little boy, both matching.

"Lando dressed him. Besides, give him this one. He's staying in Spain to help us when the baby arrives." You touch Carlos's cheek, who just nods but already planning on how to switch the shirts later.

Getting to the building, you notice Santi isn't next to Lando and feel that panic, but it slams shut when you see a familiar brunette holding your son.

"No, Uncle Charles! Uncle Lando said we'd match today." Your son's cheeks puffed out; in that way, he pouts.

"You're a son of a Ferrari driver. You don't want to hurt your Papa's feelings, right?" He asks, which gets a slap on the back of his head from Lando.

"Don't manipulate the boy, you douche." While Charles lets out a string of curses, you watch the exchange, Carlos, paying no mind to keep an eye on you.

"Yeah, douche." The laughs stop as you all face a red-faced Santiago, who looks ready to cry.

"Santiago Sainz Vazquez de Castro." Wincing at Carlos's harsh tone, your son's eyes grow wide and watery.

"Apologize to Uncle Charles right now! You don't use that type of language. Do you understand me?" Santiago's bottom lip starts to wobble, and your heart breaks for your baby. Santi looked up to his father so much and rarely got in trouble with him. So when he did, this would make Santi cry.

"I'm sorry," Santi whispers, hugging Charles, who chuckles and pats the boy's back.

"It's okay, Santi. I know you didn't mean it." Charles kisses his head and sits down, dragging Lando away so Carlos can talk to his son.

Crouching down, you watch as Carlos turns Santi to look at him. They're twins, if anyone wanted to contest the father of your child, put Carlos and his side by side, and you've got a mini-adult Carlos before you.

"Santiago, why are you in trouble?" Carlos asks as Santi sniffles, wiping away his tears with his little hands.

"Because I said a bad thing to Uncle Charles." You try not to cry too. Fucking hormones. Santi rarely cried, so seeing his little face, red and tear-stained, you wanted to hold him close.

"And what do we not do?" Carlos sighs, holding Santi's tiny hands in his own.

"Say bad things that can hurt people." He mumbles, looking his father in the eyes. Carlos's tough father act breaks automatically seeing his little boy's face.

"Come here." Carlos pulls Santi into a hug and stands up, rubbing his back as Santi wraps his arms and legs around his father as best as he can.

"Let's get some cold air for your Mama, yeah?" Carlos asks, following you into the cold air.

"This is heaven." You moan, reaching a private area and sitting down as slowly as possible.

"Can we get a fan?" Carlos asks one of the workers, who eyes you and nods, going down to hunt a fan for you.

"Mama," Santiago whines, climbs onto the couch and puts his head on your stomach.

"Yeah, baby?" Fingers pushing back those gorgeous Sainz's locks, so happy he got Carlos's eyes and hair.

"Is baby being bad?" He asks, touching your stomach while Carlos sets up the fan to blow right on you.

"No. I'm just.....big." You groan, trying to stop the flash of pain on your face, but Carlos sees it anyways.

"You're not big. Stand up." Carlos helps you stand and moves to stand behind you.

Wrapping his arms below your belly, he starts to lift, and you practically melt right then and there as the weight is lifted off.

"If I could marry you again, I would." You moan, making Carlos smile, loving the pleasure that covers your face.

"Do me a favor?" You ask, Carlos nodding as he would do anything you'd ask.

"Of course, Y/n. What is it? Is it the baby? Is it time?" Mind running faster than he can keep up, but you cover his hands under your belly, soothing him instantly.

"Take Santiago with you." Carlos lets your stomach down slowly before facing you, confused as hell.

"Carlos, I can't give him the attention he needs right now. When the baby comes, we won't be able to pay much attention in the beginning. Besides, he idolizes you, Carlos. Take him to the garage, and let him sit on the pit wall. Let him run wild. Give him the best day of his life." You plead to look at your son, who watches the TV and squeals, seeing Uncle Charles beside his car.

"Santi? Want to spend the day with me?" Carlos asks; without an answer, Santiago takes off but stops and runs back. Getting on his tiptoes, he kisses your stomach and whines holding his arms up. Carlos lifts him up, and Santi kisses you before kicking his feet and taking off.

"Bye, Mama! Bye, baby! Be good!" He yells and takes off, Carlos cussing and rushing after his son.

Carlos catches up and swoops the boy up, making him squeal in delight as passersby smile at the father and son.

"Where to first, mi vida?" Carlos asks, tickling the boy, who laughs more.

"There!" Seeing the bright green that catches his eye, knowing who he wants to see.

"Want to go there?" He settles Santi in his arms and walks into the Aston Martin garage.

"Abeulo Fernando!" All the mechanics turn their heads, some laugh seeing who screamed that, as Fernando groans, hating being called that by the mini Sainz.

"Are you ever going to tell your son to stop calling me that?" Fernando asks, accepting Santi into his arms, who lays his head on his shoulder.

"No, because we all know it pisses you off." Carlos chuckles and watches how relaxed his son is.

"Where's Y/n? Has she had the baby already?" Before Carlos can answer, Santi does for his father.

"The baby is being mean to Mama. Mama said she's a whale. Uncle Lando said she wasn't but has a tummy like a whale Abeulo Fernando. Why is that?" The boy leaves the two Spaniards sputtering as he rattles off what he had heard this morning.

"Well...your little sibling is growing. Your Mama had the same tummy when you were there. But she doesn't have a whale tummy." Fernando laughs at Carlos's disbelief.

"Don't ever say she has a whale tummy. Okay, Santi?" Carlos presses, knowing the absolute mess the hormones would make you if your angel called you a whale.

"Abeulo Fernando? Are you going to win today? That'd be awesome if you did!" Lance laughs, walks past them, and claps Carlos's shoulder.

"Wearing a Mclaren shirt and wants Fernando to win. Are we sure that he's yours?" Lance laughs, making Carlos rolls his eyes and take Santi back.

"Okay, yeah, we're leaving." Carlos groans as Fernando and Lance make fun of him on the way out.

"Papa, you'd win anyways. It'd be cool for Abeulo Fernando to get the smaller win." Santi explains, Carlos promising he wouldn't cry hearing those words.

"Thank you, mi vida. Want to see Uncle Lando or Uncle Pierre?" He asks and sees his baby's eyes brighten.

"Uncle Pierre." Shocked at his choice, having thought by his reaction he'd pick Lando.

Walking closer to the paddock, Santi wiggles wanting to let down. "Okay, but hold my hand, mi vida." He urges, but Santi shakes his head no.

"I'm a big boy." He whines, and Carlos thinks this over and sighs, putting his hand on his back and leading him to Alpine.

"Well...look who is here." Pierre laughs and goes to pick up Santi like always, but the young boy steps away, confusing the French men.

"Uncle Pierre......is Kika here?" The young boy asks, face red and looking away.

"Umm.....yeah, she's over there." He points out the model watching the mechanics work on the car.

Santi takes off and tugs on Kika's pant leg, getting her attention as she melts, seeing Santi's smiling face, and picks him up.

"He picked you over Lando. If he was here, I thought he'd want to play with you and Charles. Guess...I was completely off." Carlos explains as Pierre laughs.

"Little man is growing up. Wanted to talk to Kika more than me. Actually....proud of him." Carlos glared, hating that his son already has a crush at age 5.

"Don't encourage this. Y/n will kill you." He watches Santi laugh as Kika walks around the garage and onto the pit wall so Santi can see the track.

"How is she? Charles and Lando said she looks.....ready." Pierre chooses his word carefully as Carlos is one to be very protective when it comes to you being pregnant.

"She should've stayed home, but everyone is here, so she's at the hospitality and can be somewhat comfortable," Carlos explains but stops the conversation when Santi comes running up with a smiling Kika behind him.

"Papa! Papa! Can we? Can we?" He asks as Kika pats his head and explains how she said that Pierre and her could take Santi for a couple nights when the baby arrives.

"Mi Vida, I thought you wanted to stay with Uncle Lando? It'll hurt his feelings if you change your mind." Santi ponders on it and looks at Kika.

"But...Papa.....I'm always with Uncle Lando." He whines, and Kika giggles while Pierre rolls his eyes.

"Okay, let me talk to Mama about it, and if. And I mean if she's okay with it. Uncle Pierre and Kika stay at the house with you and Uncle Lando?" He asks

Santi squeals and hugs his Papa, Kika's legs, then hugs Pierre, who smiles.

"Am I going to have to be worried about a 5-year-old stealing you now?" He asks Kika, who rolls her eyes and slaps his chest.

"Stop, he's adorable, besides it's hard to say no to those big brown eyes." Kika shrugs as Santi talks with a mechanic. Carlos checks his watch and curses, seeing he's got to get ready for the 3rd practice, and walks up to Santi, picking him up.

"Come on, Santi, we've got to go. Say, thank you to everyone." Santi yells his thanks as Carlos walks to the Ferrari garage.

Santi watched the world around him; Carlos knew his nap time was getting close, so he tried to keep the little guy awake until they reached the garage. Walking in, everyone cheers, seeing their youngest member, who just waves and buries himself into his Papa's chest.

"Alright, Mi Vida, I have to get ready now. But, I'm gonna give you to Uncle Charles. Think you can stay awake until I come back?" He asks, hoping he doesn't fall asleep.

"Yes, m big boy Papa." He whines from the movement of his Uncle Charles grabbing him.

"Try to keep him awake. If he falls asleep on you, you won't be able to escape." Carlos rushes and heads to get ready as Charles and Santi stare at each other.

"Wanna sit in my car?" He asks, seeing new energy come to the boy as he nods. Charles smiles and gently places the boy in the number 16 Ferrari as he crouches down, explaining everything.

Carlos returns and stops watching his boy be so happy to be here.

"Uncle Charles.....are Mama and Papa going to be busy with the new baby?" Carlos moves out of sight to hear what they're talking about.

"Yes, but that's why Uncle Lando, Uncle Pierre, Kika, and maybe I will be here in Spain to be with you," Charles explains, knowing Santi was brilliant and telling the truth was better for him.

"Is Papa going to be doing this with the baby too?" Santi asks, lowering his head.

"What do you mean?" Charles asks, confused about what the toddler is thinking.

"Papa and I do the races, but with the new baby.....they'll take my place," Santi whispers, and Carlos swears his heart stops as Charles takes a deep breath, unsure how to answer.

"Santi...you're me...you're Mi Vida. I promise to keep doing this with you when the new baby comes. No one..will take that away from us." Carlos promises as Santi stares at his Papa and nods his head.

"Papa?" Santi asks, making Carlos hum as he pats Charles back, who stands up next to his teammate.

"Can I take a nap now?" Carlos laughs and leans over, picking up his son.

"Yeah, Santi. You can nap now." Santi nods and lays his head on his father's shoulder before his cheeks puff out, and he falls asleep.

"He's asleep on you, man," Charles whispers, but Carlos waves him off.

"Let me enjoy this, man. He's growing up. Oh, did I tell you that he's got a crush on Kika?" Carlos asks as Charles busts out laughing. The two Ferrari drivers talking as Carlos holds his little baby close, soaking in this moment.

#carlos sainz f1 #f1 imagines #formula 1 #carlos sainz x y/n #pierre gasly #charles leclerc #lando norris

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