#FanF1ction
Text
playing cupid.
Carlos Sainz x Reader
[Warnings: Mentions of sex and some curse words. There are some inaccuracies, such as in this short story, Carlos has an apartment in Milan]
Word Count: 9.7K
You're in this situationship with Carlos Sainz—no fuss, no drama, just sex. But then your dads become friends, and Sainz Sr., with a soft spot for you, decides to introduce you to his son, whom you've been... acquainted with for a while. To make things more interesting, he's on a mission to play Cupid, all while Carlos enjoys the thrill of keeping your little secret, playing along with his dad.
this was a request!
always feel free to request and if i have some free time, I'll try to write something 🫶🏼
“Apparently, our dads met”, you say, rolling off Carlos's lap, still flushed and your breath ragged. The soft bed cushions your fall as you curl up beneath the deep blue blanket that usually adorns the foot of Carlos's bed, but this time is just part of the mess.
Carlos studies you with a faint frown, tousled hair spilling over his forehead. He looks incredibly handsome, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. If it weren’t for the late hour and your impending early morning, you would consider straddling him again. However, it’s nearly 2 a.m. and you need to be at the atelier by 9, so you just wish to sleep.
“Really?” There’s an undertone you don’t quite understand.
“What?”
"You just killed the mood.” He lays back on the bed and turns to face you. His hands seek out your shoulder, and his nimble fingers begin tracing delicate patterns on your skin, a clear indication that he’s not ready to let the night end just yet. “Mentioning my dad right after I cum inside you? Not exactly what I expect.”
“I just remembered it, and now I know you’ll get your hands off of me and let me sleep.”
“Oh, that’s not what I was expecting, as well.”
You pout, mocking him. “Poor you,” he rolls his eyes and falls dramatically against his pillow. “I’m just expecting a good night of sleep because some of us have work to do during the week and not just on weekends.” He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know that sometimes you work during the week.”
Carlos opens his mouth to retort, but he doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. In an instant, he sits up, looming over you, and seizes both your wrists, pinning them against the headboard. With his other hand, he's ready to tug the blanket over your form.
"Don't you dare tickle me, Carlos Sainz. Or I swear to God—"
"What are you going to do?" Carlos interrupts, his mischievous grin returning. As you lock eyes with him, you realize there's very little you can do, and oddly enough, you're entirely fine with that. Except,
"Spit in your face."
His playful smirk remains as he leans in closer, his voice a sultry whisper. "Spit in my face, huh?” he taunts, his fingers inching closer to your sides. “Think I’m going to risk it.”
"Sainz,” you squirm under his touch, desperately trying to maintain your composure. But he’s already grinning, and his fingers are approaching your sides. “I'm warning you..."
And suddenly, it's too late. He pounces, his fingers dancing across your sides, and you burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter, some of them louder than you expected them to be. Carlos knows all your ticklish spots, and he exploits them shamelessly. It’s been what…? Four months since you first slept together. By now he knows your body better than any guy ever did. And honestly, you’re not sure what to feel about that.
"Carlos, stop!" you manage to gasp between laughter, trying to wriggle free from his grip. It's a futile effort as he continues his relentless assault, determined to elicit every giggle and squeal he can from you.
Finally, he relents, his laughter joining yours as he releases your wrists. You pant for breath, your cheeks flushed from both the laughter and the earlier efforts. You take the opportunity to jump out of bed. “You’re the worst. I gotta pee.”
You disappear into the bathroom, to pee, clean yourself and try to comb your hair, and by the time you go back to the bedroom, you’re expecting him to be asleep. But you find him awake. His eyes shine brighter when you go through the door, and he watches you with a tender smile as you enter the bed and curl against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.
The warmth of his body against you is comforting.
"I think I'll let you sleep now," he voices low in your ear, as he pulls over the comforter and covers you both.
"You better.”
Carlos's chest rises and falls rhythmically beneath your cheek as you nestle closer. You can hear the faint hum of his heartbeat, and it lulls you into a peaceful state. He smells like Bleu de Chanel and the lingering traces of your passion. With every breath, you inhale the essence of the man who has woven himself into the fabric of your life, in more ways than one.
Just as you're about to close your eyes and drift off to sleep, it hits you like lightning—the visit your mom mentioned, the whole reason you brought up his dad’s name.
You nudge Carlos gently, rousing him from his half-asleep state. "Just remembered something."
Carlos doesn’t even open his eyes. "Hmm?”
“My dad invited yours over,” you were not sure if you should be excited or nervous. Not for the visit itself, but for Carlos’ reaction to the idea of you meeting his dad.
After all, you had just been sleeping together, barely leaving your apartments, except for that one time he took you out to dinner, and that was probably because it was your birthday and perhaps Carlos would feel bad about just booty-calling you and ignoring the whole birthday thing.
“Well, that’s a nice way to introduce you to him.”
“What?”
Carlos just pressed you closer to him, like you weren’t practically glued together already. "It's okay, cariño. They’ll love you. Now sleep."
It all started at Milan Fashion Week when Carlos was representing Ferrari at an event. You were there, lurking in the shadows, taking in the magic of the fashion show. Your mentor had gotten you there, a favour you'll always be grateful for. There's a lot you can't remember about the event, about the whole night to be fair, but you remember the man awkwardly sitting in the front row. Fashion is not his thing, you thought. You kind of knew that. You kind of knew him.
He drives for Ferrari, he's handsome, he has a thick Spanish accent and hair I would pay to touch.
And that was more than enough to make you introduce yourself at the end of the show. From there, making out in a club took a little more than two hours. To his bed, just a little bit more than that.
You continued to see each other, booty-calling each other when you were feeling horny, bored, or just lonely. Your situationship was a good deal for both parties. No strings attached, which you enjoyed because you had little time and no patience to make any kind of effort to actually maintain a relationship. And Carlos, well... he was also busy as hell, so... all good. So you never went on dates, never needed to put on expectable amounts of makeup for over-the-top dresses. Except for your birthday, when he decided to take you out, and you had to make the effort. But that was your birthday.
Other than that, you would only leave your apartments to go get food at a 24-hour store or McDonald's. You remember that one time you wanted gelato and Carlos took you to his favourite place in Milan, but... other than that, it was just sex. Okay, just sex and marathons of Game of Thrones and House of The Dragon (that led to more sex) and some cooking too. You once taught him how to make your nana's lasagna and how a true Italian bruschetta is done. And a few days later, he cooked you his mom's carbonara—not a real carbonara, not at all. And, let’s be fair, he often brought you pizza from your favourite place in Milano and expensive bottles of wine.
But… “That’s a nice way to introduce you to him”?
You were not expecting that at all.
The idea lingered in your mind all night, and you woke up thinking about it too. You left his apartment while Carlos was still in the shower, just shouting goodbyes while you gathered your stuff and ran to the atelier. He would be out of town for a couple of weeks, away at some races, and you would have time to figure out how your parents met and when said visit was going to happen. All good.
Turns out you didn't have as much time as you thought.
That afternoon, your mom calls you, excitedly recounting their amazing trip to Canada and how much fun your dad had at the race. So, that was where they met. She also shares her plans about taking your brothers to Monza in a couple of months. You nod absentmindedly, your attention more focused on the magazine in front of you than on her words. It's often like this.
Your dad travels for work and actually works. He's a sports manager, deeply passionate about football and motorsports, especially Formula 1. Lately, he's been leaning more towards the latter, especially since he's contemplating retirement. On the other hand, your mom, an ex-model who married a well-off man, has chosen to focus on being a wife and a mother, a role she fulfils with dedication. So, when they’re back home, dad has work to do, contacts to keep and your mom has… well, more than enough time to tell you everything.
"And your dad and Sainz met at the golf course, you know?" your mom continues, her voice full of admiration. "A charming young man. He was golfing with his dad too. Your father had to tell them you refused to join him on the greens."
"In that, he's absolutely right."
"So, they kept talking. They even played together, I think. And he mentioned we were going to the race, and Sainz suggested he could call, and he'd arrange a garage tour. We met him at the paddock, but we ended up not getting the tour because there were already enough guests in there, but… Isn't he just amazing? And so incredibly handsome, piccina. So handsome."
You cringe inwardly at your mom's thirst for Carlos, unable to shake the image of her ogling your... friend. But you hum in response, unable to voice your discomfort because the next moment, she's raving about a dress she bought for you and the amazing designer she met in New York just before returning to Milan, and that topic steals all attention.
But just before she’s about to hang out, you remember why she called you in the first place.
“Mom, about the visit you mentioned? The dinner?” you interject and she chuckles; you can almost envision her rubbing her temples.
"Oh, silly me. I actually called you to discuss that," she sighs. "He's coming to visit us this weekend! You have to come home and meet him; he's really looking forward to getting to know you."
"Doesn't he race this weekend?"
"The young—Since when do you care about F1?"
"I don't. I just—” You quickly think of something, but you’re not quite sure if you want to tell your mother that you’ve been fucking Sainz. The younger one. Of course. “I saw something on Twitter."
"Oh, I see. Well,” she clicks her tongue. “It's his dad who's coming. Weren’t you listening? And his mom. We invited them both. Your dad wants to take him to the club and network a bit and you know… I’m always down for making friends and Reyes seems like a lovely woman. She wasn’t there, but I’ve heard about her around. Even her name is super elegant. Isn’t it?” Once again, you hum, frowning, thinking about the movie where you just found yourself in. “So, please, come home.”
“Noted. So, this weekend?”
“Yes. Do you need Dad to pick you up tomorrow after work?”
You move in your seat. “I’m just so busy with work right now, mom. The new collection and—” She cleans her throat and you just nod to the empty room. “Okay. Yes, please, tell Dad to pick me up.”
Of course, the second you hang up you text Carlos. He’s probably busy, it’s Thursday so he’s doing interviews or something, and, as you expected, he doesn’t reply to your text right away. Despite everything, he doesn’t take too long.
Not surprisingly, he’s very nonchalant about it all.
hot wheels guy: just tell them we know each other, no big deal
hot wheels guy: and we’ll tell them more when i’m back
But, yeah… You can’t help but frown looking at the phone. He’s golfed with your dad, met your mom, met again with your dad and he’s not even feeling weird about it all?
you: hm? no?
hot wheels guy: why not?
you: you went golfing with my dad!!!
hot wheels guy: and?
hot wheels guy: how would i guess he was your dad?
you: how many Y/LN do you think there are in milan?
you: he told you he’s from milan!! there are not a lot of us in here
hot wheels guy: do you have any idea of how many people i meet every weekend?
you: 🙄
hot wheels guy: stop being a brat
you: 🙄
hot wheels guy: i don’t see a problem in golfing with your dad
hot wheels guy: is that supposed to be weird?
you: YES !!!!
hot wheels guy: stop being dramatic
hot wheels guy: if they say anything, tell them you know me
hot wheels guy: if they don’t, don’t
you: they will
hot wheels guy: so you know what to do
Friday’s dinner went exceptionally well, with conversations flowing effortlessly between food and wine, despite the inevitable sports-centric discussions that seemed to dominate the evening. Your brothers were beyond ecstatic to have Carlos Sr. as a guest in their home. They'd had their fair share of famous athletes sitting at the family table, but never had they been as excited as they were when Carlos Sr. entered the house. As a result, you found yourself somewhat on the sidelines, listening more than speaking throughout the meal.
And you were grateful for that.
The same didn’t happen on Saturday. Your dad took the morning to showcase some of your work and discuss your future prospects in the fashion industry with both Carlos and Reyes. In what you think was a gesture of gratefulness, Reyes displayed a lot of interest in your little atelier, located by the pool, in what used to be a shed for the gardener. So, you spent the morning around there, talking with them about fashion and business, and then joined them for lunch in one of your dad’s favourite restaurants.
Let's be fair, you have an extraordinary way with words and a charm that makes your mother proud. It was easy for you. By the time dinner came, you were already adored by the Sainzes. Without making an effort, you found yourself talking about art and travel, and letting Sainz Sr. explain to you the magic and the challenges of Dakar.
However, it isn’t until the next morning that you find yourself alone with him.
You both sat down for breakfast on the patio, and he’s now engrossed in reading the newspaper, while you’re drinking your cappuccino and doing your best to ignore the fact that the man sitting in front of you is, in essence, your… fuckbuddy’s dad.
There’s the usual “good morning” and the “hope you got some rest”, to which the guest always has some lovely comment to say about the bed, or the room, or the house in general. It’s an amazing guest house, you have to admit. And Sainz is no expectation. You exchange a couple of pleasantries and he’s back at reading the news, so you let your guard down.
Then, unexpectedly, Carlos Sr. turns his attention from the newspaper and directs it squarely at you. Grey eyebrows lifting at the same pace his eyes fill with a weird glint.
“I would love to introduce you to my son,” he says, and a faint frown tugs at your lips as words form in your throat, only to wither away unspoken. "I'm not implying anything," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice, "just that I believe the two of you would get along well."
You respond hesitantly, "Oh, I know him."
"I know you know him," he laughs, and you realise that something might have gotten lost in translation because when he talks again he says, "But what I mean is that you should meet. I'll make sure to introduce you two next time we're all in town."
And well, you feel too embarrassed to correct him, so you just smile and mumble an “I can’t wait. Excuse me”, before getting up from the table and sprinting up to your room.
you: great news. your dad wants to introduce us
you: what do i do?
He takes a couple of hours to text back.
hot wheels guy: why didn’t you tell him you know me already?
you: i tried to!
The next time you’re all in town happens one week and a half from there, when Carlos is finally back in Italy after a few races and a couple of days in Madrid. And, because the universe is a pain in the ass, you’re swarmed with work to the point you’ve been falling asleep right after dinner, even before the time Carlos usually rings you up.
It’s a terrible schedule.
You’ve been waking up at 5 am to be by the seamstress at 7, to have some work ready to show at 9 am, between your mentor’s arrival at the atelier and the time he leaves for some meeting or brunch with models somewhere in Milan. Somehow, during that interval, he has time to break your work to pieces, destroying it (and destroying you in the process) with criticism. Critique leaves you on the verge of tears, and by the end of the day, you’re a mess—stressed, irritable and utterly exhausted. Not to mention the ever-present sexual frustration, with vivid dreams of a certain Spaniard leaving you hot and bothered in your sleep.
The perfect recipe for a restless night.
Apparently, Carlos got to Milan on Wednesday, because that night you woke up at midnight on your couch, a half-empty glass of wine by your side, your unfinished sketches scattered before you and three missed calls from Carlos, accompanied by a series of texts. Thursday, the same happened. The texts were nothing too dramatic, just variations of “u up?”, “cmon its 10 pm”, and “you can’t be asleep”.
On both days, in your half-sleep haze, you manage to reply as you shuffle your way to your bedroom something similar to “sory, talktomorrw”.
And then Friday arrives, and your calendar pings with the reminder that in one hour your dad will be picking you up for dinner. You’re sitting on your vanity and already dreading the day your dad decided to go to Montreal.
You’re not feeling it.
Firstly, you have to slather on a ton of make-up just to feel decent. Your dark circles are as pronounced as ever, you’re skin is pale and your acne is acting up, probably all due to the lack of sun, sleep, rest of any food that isn’t reheated pizza or store-bought noodles.
So, yes, the prospect of dinner and being introduced as Carlos’ whatever doesn’t exactly lift your spirits.
The anticipation gawns at you as you finish getting ready. You can’t shake the feeling of unease, a nagging doubt that you’re about to step into a situation that might be more than you signed up for. Carlos’ dad seems nice enough, and his mom absolutely adores you, but this is different, especially because his dad is expecting to introduce you and well… you’re way past that.
As you stare at your reflection, you take a deep breath and remind yourself that this isn't just about you. Your brothers are looking forward to meeting Carlos, and your dad seems genuinely excited about his friendship with his dad. So, you summon a smile, albeit a forced one, and decide to make the most of this evening, even if you're not entirely sure what to expect.
Yeah. Scratch that. The dinner is about you.
As you approach the restaurant, a different sense of anticipation washes over you. It feels like a scene from a movie where you're about to meet an arranged husband. The Sainz family stands by the door, engaged in lively conversation. Reyes waves at you when she sees you making your way to them.
Your eyes naturally gravitate toward Carlos. Firstly, because you kind of miss him. It’s been a while since you last saw him and there’s no point in looking for comfort somewhere else, so you are, let's say… slightly needy. And secondly, because he’s clad in a baby blue button-up and pristine white pants. A vision. You're only human, after all, with eyes and perhaps a few too many hormones.
In summary: You’re fucked. Dinner will be fun.
From your back and close to your ear, a whisper arises. “Be nice,” your mom says. As you turn to her, her lips are curling into a wide smile. “Carlos! Reyes! Such a delight to see you both again. And, Carlos,” she turns to the younger one, “it’s an absolute pleasure to finally see you in a more personal environment.”
You take a deep breath.
Your brothers, bursting with energy, practically race each other to get to Carlos, almost taking you down in the process. He skillfully engages them in conversation, a grin playing on his lips, until your mom intervenes.
"Now, now, boys. You'll have plenty of time to chat," she chuckles. Your mom swiftly moves your overeager brothers and offers an apologetic smile to Carlos. "Apologies, they're just excited.”
“No problem,” he says, in Italian, something he doesn’t do often when he’s alone with you. He claims he still needs to learn dirty talk in Italian. You love to teach him by whispering it into his ear. More than that, you love watching his face as he slowly grasps their meaning.
Your dad, then, approaches him for a way-too-manly handshake, but a warm smile reigns on his lips. “Carlos, great to see you again.”
“Thank you, sir. Likewise.”
In the meantime, you went to Reyes. She graced you with a compliment, a kiss on the cheek and the promise to visit your atelier in the near future. Then, it’s time for her husband, and you’re already wearing your best smile because that man is beaming as he’s watching you.
“My dear,” after two kisses on the cheeks, he slightly turns to Carlos. “So nice to see you again. Son,” he calls, and Carlos turns to you, his smile radiant, his eyes sparkling under the warm, ambient lights of the restaurant. “Let me introduce you to Y/N.”
"You're even more beautiful than my mom described," he remarks, his words catching you off guard. You manage to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, opting instead for a faint smile. “My dad has shared so much about you. Couldn’t wait to meet you.”
A surge of mixed emotions washes over you. On one hand, there's a twinge of frustration that he didn't tell his family about your connection, correcting your mistake and saving you from embarrassment. Yet, as his adoring gaze meets yours, it's hard not to be swept away by his warm compliments.
“Oh,” you murmur, feeling something shift inside you. Your own words surprise you, leaving you momentarily at a loss. "Thank you. Likewise."
Unknown to you, you echo almost exactly what Carlos had just said to your dad. The similarity draws a chuckle from Senior, who seems to find the exchange quite entertaining. Carlos chuckles as well and motions to the restaurant with his head.
“Should we?”
As the evening progresses, you can't help but steal glances at Carlos when you think no one is looking. You catch his eye occasionally, and he responds with subtle winks and sly smirks that send shivers down your spine. It's almost like a secret language only the two of you understand. He’s sitting in front of you, of course.
“Piccina,” your mom calls. “Why don’t you tell Carlos about your job?”
With a smile, you turned to face Carlos. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity, and you have to take a second before answering. He’s no stranger to your job. Not at all. Sometimes he even lands a helping hand, providing some foot massages while you’re working through tight deadlines and he doesn’t take “no” for an answer when he asks if he can come over.
So you simply say, “I’m a fashion designer.”
“Oh,” it’s the polite oh, not the filled-with-curiosity one. You know he’s about to say something stupid when his tongue peeks through his lips and the corner of his lips starts raising, moulding his mouth in a smirk. “So you just play dress-up for a living?”
Laughter bubbled up from one of your brothers, earning him a scolding look from your mom. They’re just nine, which makes them fifteen years younger than you. Fondly referred to as "an accident" by your parents, they were the light of your life, even if they were quite the whirlwind.
“And you, Carlos, you just play with cars on the weekends?” Carlos's eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked down, a chuckle escaping him. Sr. Carlos wore a pleased smile, and a delightful warmth settled in your belly.
"Some might find it hard to believe, but we do manage to squeeze in some actual work during the week," Carlos chimed in, earning a laugh from you. "Have you ever been to a race?”
“No, and I don’t intend to.”
"The boys are the true racing enthusiasts,” your dad chimes in. “The girls prefer to stay at home, or walk around when we travel for a Grand Prix.”
Turning to you, Carlos's eyes danced with mischief. You remembered a previous conversation where he'd tried to persuade you to attend the Italian Grand Prix, just a few weeks away. Wanting to stop him, because he’s so predictable that you just know what he’s about to say, you try to change the subject.
“Talking about races, are you playing on doing Dakar again next year, Signore?”
Carlos dismisses your question right away. "I think your perspective might change once you experience a Grand Prix firsthand.”
And this time, Carlos Sr. joins him. "Why not extend an invitation for them to visit the garage? I'm sure the kids will love the opportunity. And, Y/N, I’m sure you’ll find it all exciting. You seem like a curious girl.”
Carlos beamed. "Consider this an invitation. I can't wait to have you all there.”
Your brothers practically have a collective stroke, their young minds struggling to process the idea of visiting Carlos in the garage. As for your dad, despite his time in the paddock, had never had the chance to visit the Ferrari garage, so, despite keeping his composure, you know how much it means to him—he’s undeniably the most fervent tifoso you'd ever known.
With a grateful smile, you spoke up. "That's incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”
Carlos leans comfortably against his Alfa Romeo parked in easy reach of your dad’s Audi. Your brothers are sleeping in the back seat, while your parents conclude their chat. They’re getting along well, which is weird but comforting to some degree.
You shoot Carlos a serious glance. “How much longer are you going to keep up with this little thing you started?”
“Me? May I remind you that you were the one who didn’t tell him we met?” You roll your eyes at his words and grab the door knob. “Wait. Don’t you see he’s trying to set us up?”
“And?”
“Play along. Let him have it.”
There's a moment of silent understanding, the shared secret between you adding an extra layer of intimacy. Despite it all, you crack a smile.
“You’re so childish.” You say. “You’ll be the one who’s gonna tell him.”
“I’ll tackle that when we get there,” Carlos assures. And slowly, a playful glint shines in his eyes. “Should I swing by your place on my way home?”
“No way. I have work tomorrow, a lot of work to do and I can’t afford to be tired to do it.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You can stay at mine, then. And I could drive you to work. It’ll give you an extra thirty minutes of sleep.”
You chuckle, impressed by his attention to detail. “You don’t even know where I work.”
“Of course, I do,” he assures.
That’s new. “Well,” you take a deep breath and discreetly hand him over your apartment keys. “I won’t ring the bell because the old lady on my floor will listen and I think she’s spying on me. I’ll call when I’m there.”
As you're about to bid him goodnight, your dad's voice calls out from a distance, catching Carlos's attention. He waves warmly and flashes a friendly smile, which Carlos mimics.
“Golf on Sunday?” your dad asks.
Carlos's eyes light up with enthusiasm. “Absolutely! Can't wait!”
You can't help but interject, “Golfing with my dad, again? What the heck are you doing?”
Carlos grins. “Finding a golfing partner, since someone here,” he gestures playfully at you, “refuses to join me. And unfortunately, my dad isn't always around in Italy to tag along.”
You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Alright, Sainz. Nice to meet you. See you soon.”
He drives you to work and to your surprise, he actually knows where that is. How? You can’t tell. Apparently, he also remembers that you bring breakfast for your mentor on Saturdays because just before he drops you off, he offers to join you for a few minutes, just to pick up breakfast with you.
“Since you’ve got no time to eat with me, I’ll just tag along and annoy you for ten minutes more.”
You let him enter the coffee shop with you and he hovers on your back while you order two moccas and two brownies to go with it. Your mentor is not picky, and this Saturday breakfast tradition only started because you wanted to thank him for granting you a few hours from his weekend to help you with your designs. Technically, it’s not work, but it’s just as demanding.
You can feel Carlos’ breath against your hair, and the faint smell of his cologne, still hanging in his shirt from the previous night. This morning, the buttons are undone, and the sleeves are folded up. His hair is tousled and his beard is imperfect. Yet he’s the most handsome man around.
“First time picking up breakfast together,” he says as you’re walking towards the door. “Is this the equivalent to marriage in your dictionary?”
“Don’t make me regret all the past decisions I’ve made.”
“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head. “What could I possibly make you regret?”
“Simply the fact of accepting to be introduced to you,” You let an exaggerated sigh leave your lips. “I’m living the nightmare all over again.”
Just before leaving a kiss on your cheek, he whispers. “Didn’t sound like a nightmare when I made you come thrice last night, baby. But go off.” He then kisses you on the cheek. “Have a good day.”
Carlos is too busy that night, and your Sunday is reserved for a family gathering. By Monday, you're back to your routine of nodding off right after dinner, so by the time Tuesday arrives, you’re already missing him. Not him—just his body in your bed, the sensation of his thick lips sliding down your navel and the sound of your name rolling off his tongue, wrapped up in that beautiful deep Spanish accent of his. You know he’s driving next weekend, so you spend all Wednesday staring at your phone, trying to summon a text from him.
When it finally pings, around 5 pm, it’s from your dad.
papà: heading to squash in an hour. up for a game?
papà: no use in saying no
papà: you already missed two weeks
you: 🙄🙄🙄
you: i’ll meet you there!
You were the one who introduced your dad to squash, and gradually, it evolved into a bonding activity for both of you. Words don't flow easily with him, and you’re not great at demonstrating feelings so it’s difficult to connect with your dad. On top of that, you moved out really early. Slowly squash became a great way to connect and have quality time with him, release some steam, and stay in shape.
“I’m surprised. You never mentioned that you play squash,” a voice chimes in from behind, and you can't help but let out a sigh when you turn around.
It's Carlos, donned in a stupidly tight turquoise shirt that perfectly hugs and draws the contour of his chest, and sporting the briefest shorts you've ever seen him wear. He smiles. He knows he looks hot.
“How could I?” You reply, trying to not showcase how weak your knees just turned. “We only met like… five days ago.”
Carlos chuckles. “You’re funny. Did I tell you that yet?”
“Hmmm. You haven’t had the chance, yet.”
Sainz Sr. approaches you both, moving at a leisurely pace, absorbed in his phone. When he looks up, his frown disappears and an adoring smile takes his lips. His hand rests on his son’s shoulder as he remarks, “Didn’t I tell you today would be a perfect day for a match?”
Carlos turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "You did. What a coincidence.”
"Indeed," you chime in. "May I challenge you, sir? My dad’s still on a call and I have no partner."
“Oh, Carlos can join you,” he suggests with a nod in Carlos’ direction. “I’ll wait for your dad. We have some matters to discuss. Carry on, you two.”
Of. Course.
As the two of you step onto the squash court, the competitive glint in Carlos' eyes is hard to miss. And the tension in the air is palpable, you feel it in your bones. But you take a deep breath and push it aside, focusing on the game ahead.
"Why the sudden cold shoulder?" Carlos inquires as you prepare to start.
You glance at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm getting radio silence from you��no calls, no texts. You're not picking up my calls, either. What’s going on?"
You roll your neck, trying to ease the tension. Yesterday you just collapsed onto your couch, once again. You were living in survival mode. And wouldn’t be there playing if it wasn't a long-standing tradition with your dad.
"Work's been keeping me busy," you shrug.
It's not entirely a lie. But it’s not totally true either.
Let’s see—you've been involved in this situationship for almost five months now, seeing each other sporadically, sometimes even daily, if Carlos is in Milan. Yet, it's all so casual. You can recall the day he mentioned introducing you to his parents, of course. As a matter of fact, that talk has been looping in your mind for the last few days, but… it was a joke. Right? Sure it was. Why would he want his parents to meet his... whatever?
You could have texted him earlier. You would have texted him a few weeks ago, before all this. You can’t quite figure out why you’re panicking and why you’re behaving like a rom-com character, but you are.
"Come on, that excuse won't stick with me."
“Too bad. Can we play?" You grip the racket, twirling it in your hands. You look back, at his dad sitting on the benches, watching you from afar. “Please?”
He lets out a sigh and nods. Finally, you think.
"Is this a date?" he asks, grabbing a ball from his shorts and meeting your gaze.
"No." You're firm, and once again, he frowns. "It's not. For one, you didn't invite me. We just happened to both be here. It's coincidental.” He laughs here, slightly tilting his head back. You both know it is not coincidental. “And two, that's not what we're doing."
He cracks a smile, almost teasing. "So, what are we not doing?"
"The dating thing. We're not dating."
"Aren't we?" He smirks, his tongue peeking out, licking his lips.
You shake your head. "Nope."
"Alright, cool. Just wanted to be clear on that," Carlos replies with a nonchalant shrug, though you detect a glimmer of amusement in his voice. He’s as annoying as he’s pretty.
The first serve is swift and precise. The sound of the ball hitting the wall reverberates through the court. You dive into the game, putting your all into each movement. It's a dance of strategy and agility. You’re exhausted, but you put on a fight, using banter as your weapon. On the outside, your parents are watching, and you can’t help but notice Sainz Sr. is thoroughly enjoying this.
Sweat starts to bead on your foreheads, but neither of you shows any sign of slowing down. He wants to win and well… you want to make him lose. As you play, you steal glances at Carlos, his concentration evident in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes, in the curse words he whispers under his breath, ones that frustration draws from him. You’ve heard them before. Oh, God, you’ve heard so much worse. But it all combined? This is a side of him you haven't seen before, and it's exhilarating.
After a particularly intense rally, Carlos manages to secure a point with a deftly placed shot. He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "You're not making this easy," he remarks.
You grin, determined. "Wouldn't want to go easy on you, now, would I?"
The court echoes with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the thud of the ball hitting the walls. Time seems to blur as you lose yourself in the rhythm of the game. He makes you laugh and shout insults in his direction, to which he laughs.
Finally, after a hard-fought match, Carlos clinches the victory. It's a close call, and you’re about to pass out. It’s a shitty mixture of disappointment and pride. Leaning against the wall of the court, you try toth catch your breath.
"You're pretty good at this," Carlos admits, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel.
"Yeah, well, I have to stay in shape to keep up with you," you quip.
He chuckles, "Am I that demanding?"
"Am I that demanding?" You repeat, forcing a Spanish accent and a deep voice. He chuckles and stands up straight. "Did your dad tell you to come here today?"
"Yes. For some reason, he really likes you. Like I told you he would."
You can't help but chuckle at Carlos's words. "Well, he’s certainly enjoying playing cupid. But hey, fun game.”
Carlos nods a genuine smile on his face. "Yeah, it was. Finally got to see you outside the flat. It's quite weird to see you with clothes at this point."
"Oh, God, you're such a prick."
He laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Can I drop by later today?"
You glance toward your parents, who are engaged in a lively conversation, and then back at Carlos.
"No. Early morning tomorrow. And I still have work to finish today.” You’re not lying to him, you’re lying to yourself. Even when he’s looking at you with puppy eyes, you don’t go back with your words. Instead, you stand up straight and fix your hair. “Should I expect to coincidently meet you somewhere else in the next few days?"
You know the answer to that question. You know he’s going to be away for two weekends. And you kinda know he knows you know, because when he answers, there’s the faintest smile on his lips.
"I'll be off for two weeks. Hungary and Belgium.”
"Good luck at those, then.”
“Really appreciate it.”
Yeah, so…. That night, Carlos texted you. Not a casual “u up?”, but a “it was so fucking unfair to see you in that skirt and not being able to fuck you in it” and naturally you couldn’t help but to let out an exasperated groan and promptly respond with a “come over.” So, twenty minutes later you were being screwed against your kitchen counter.
And now you’re on the couch, his head buried between your legs, eating you up like a starved man. Yes. You need to be fit to keep up with this man’s stamina. He’s that demanding. But you can’t complain.
It’s been like this. A lot of pleasure. And then a lot of peace of mind.
Afterwards, he reclines on the chaise lounge, scrolling through TV channels, looking for something remotely bearable. You go get your sketch notebook and use his torso as a pillow. He watches tv and you work, until sleep creeps over you and you fall asleep in his arms.
Five months of this. You can’t put a label on it, but you can’t imagine living without it.
Carlos only wakes you up to take you to bed, and that night he sleeps over, sprawled across your bed like a starfish, leaving you clinging to him to not fall over. In the morning, you make out in bed, lazy and sleepy. He fucks you in the shower, and then he’s off again. He texts you when he's at the airport, and once more when he lands in whichever country he's racing in. Meanwhile, you carry on with your everyday life—a bit more mundane than being fuckbuddies with a Scuderia Ferrari driver but just as busy.
As it became regular, you exchange a few texts while he's away. It's become a ritual—complimenting him on how handsome he looks after his sessions, and him requesting a selfie so he can return the favour. He sends you snapshots of random things that made him think of you, and if truth be told, you do the same. You share selfies as you stroll by the Ferrari store in Milan and send him memes (which sometimes require a brief explanation). Without fail, he sends you a good morning and a good night, and whenever you're awake, you make sure to reply.
And life happens for those two weeks.
It’s boring. It’s dull. It’s ordinary.
And then on a Monday evening your bell rings and you can’t help but leave your apartment and wait for him on the landing, right in front of the elevator, not caring if your neighbour is watching through the peephole.
“Missed me?” he quips, already unburdening himself of his backpack as he steps out of the elevator. Sunglasses perched atop his head, skin kissed by the sun, eyes wide like the moon. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.
“Never,” you jest, but it's a flimsy façade, quickly shattered as you pull him close, urgency coursing through you.
Damn, you've missed him. You crave him.
And he craves you too. He's straightforward in showing it.
After you both shower, you settle on the couch. You ask him about why he had two races that weekend and he teases you because you finally demonstrate an interest in F1, and only then, after you’re insulting him and threatening to not go to Monza, he actually explains to you how a sprint weekend works, but he’s being so nerdy and so adorable and his eyes are sparkling so much that you just get back in his lap and ride him again, but this time slower, and more passionate, like you’re feeling something materialise inside you. And you come on his lap, and he kisses you slowly, and you tell him you actually missed him.
For dinner, you agree on sushi and night falls while you’re watching The Office for the only-God knows-how-many time, curled up in each other and drinking wine.
Apparently, there’s a mandatory period of vacations in F1 and unfortunately, it doesn’t match your own. So, Carlos is away with friends and family, in boats and islands in the Mediterranean, and you’re torn between Roma, Venice and Milan, assisting in campaign photoshoots.
Your days are long, exhausting and you’re tired and wishing you could be suntanning somewhere in Greece, but you’re sitting on a train, pushing small talk with your colleagues so you won’t fall asleep and drool over yourself.
Until a notification pops up on your phone, and you drop everything you’re saying because there’s a small chance that is a photo from Carlos, or some text, or just a reminder of his existence. You mentally slap yourself. When did you get that dependent?
But it’s just an email. And it’s from your mom.
You frown.
She doesn’t usually use email. Nor is interested in art galleries in Madrid.
You read through the details and you notice something interesting. The invitation has been forwarded from none other than Carlos Sainz Sr. And it makes you laugh. You take a screenshot that you send to Carlos.
you: so, your dad's moonlighting as an art promoter now? did you fire him?
hot wheels guy: seems like it. he said he was going to invite you
hot wheels guy: and no, i didn’t fire him primarily because he doesn’t work for me
you: well it actually does sound interesting
hot wheels guy: so you’re coming?
you: perhaps
hot wheels guy: it’s a good chance for you to meet my sisters
you: don’t you have like a dog for me to meet, too?
hot wheels guy: two, piñon and oil
hot wheels guy: oli is a really jealous girl. i doubt she will like you
you: looking forward to meet them. and your sisters too, of course
hot wheels guy: and about me?
you: i already met you twice. don’t need another introdution
One week later, you’re in Madrid. Sainz Sr. arrives home while you’re talking with Reyes in the kitchen, while she cooks gazpacho for lunch. Oli is in your lap, licking your cheek as your fingers get lost in the small white waves of her fur.
“Hope you get here easily. Did you take an Uber?” Sainz says right after gracing you with a small hug and two polite kisses on the cheeks. Before paying, he also leaves a pat on Oli’s head.
“Carlos picked me up at the airport, actually.”
A pleased smile creeps across Sainz Sr.'s face, like a child in a candy shop. He glances over at Carlos, who's lounging on the couch, a few meters from you.
“She’s a guest.” He points out. You didn’t even realise he was listening to your conversation. You wonder if he was listening to what you and Reyes were saying before. “I wouldn’t have let her take an Uber.”
“You’re getting along well,” the dad points out. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
Between the art and the hushed corridors of the gallery, you often find yourselves alone. A stolen kiss in the quiet garden, where the fragrance of blooming flowers mingles with the electric charge between you. And then another, amidst the art, when the room empties and you’re left in the silence of creativity, where the only beauty that matters is reflected in the depths of his eyes.
He holds your hand and listens to your explanations about art and strokes and colour theory. And he calls you a nerd. Of course, he does. And you laugh and look at each other, and kiss again, not caring if there’s someone around.
When you come back home, his sisters and parents are still in the living room, so you sit with them, still wearing your cocktail dress and Carlos still looking gorgeous in his tuxedo. You picked up churros on your way home, so you’re just basking in the serenity and the domesticity of it all. Conversations flow effortlessly, laughter weaving through the air. You share stories, revealing snippets of your lives to his family, like they’re slowly becoming yours.
Ana. Blanca. Oli. Reyes. Carlos. And your Carlos, who looks at you with a warmth in his eyes that is capable of melting every cell of your body.
You can get used to this.
You only spend one night in Madrid. You sleep over at the Sainz’s—Reyes didn’t let you consider a hotel, so she prepared one of the guest rooms in advance. Surprisingly, it’s not the first time you and Carlos sleep under the same roof without having sex, but it’s the first time you do so in separate beds. And you feel restless. You lay in bed, your gaze fixed on the wall as if by sheer will, it will become transparent and grant you a view of him sleeping—the contours of his face softened in serenity, his lashes grazing his cheekbones.
According to Google, Autodromo Nazionale Monza is exactly 39 minutes away from your flat by car. Which isn’t a lot.
You’re not sure what to wear, or what’s exactly going to happen.
It’s Friday. It’s his birthday. He looks gorgeous in the photos that everyone is posting. You just need to get to the track, meet your parents and take your family to the garage. It’s as simple as that.
But you haven’t seen Carlos for more than a week, and the idea of finally seeing him is consuming you.
So you dump your worries in your wardrobe. You search for the few Ferrari pieces you have in your closet and you put out an outfit, and make-up and pretend you’re just going to an event you know nothing about. Because that’s almost the case.
Between the small crowd and the electric atmosphere and the midst of the symphony of roaring engines, you spot your parents and your brothers—their eyes wide with wonder. They’re donning Ferrari shirts and hats, each one with a different number on their clothes.
This blend of family and racing feels strangely comforting.
There’s a guy waiting for you by the entrance, with your passes. You follow him. He asks about the ride to the circuit, if it's your first time, and you can actually relieve some of the anticipation with that small talk. But you’re taking so long.
The corridor leading to the garages seems to stretch endlessly, each step an eternity.
"He's in the garage, preparing for the session. You'll have to be quick," the man informs you, but his words are mere background noise. All that matters is Carlos, and he's waiting. That's all you need.
Stepping into the garage, the noise amplifies. It's a chaotic dance of technicians and engineers, each absorbed in their tasks. You scan the frenetic scene, searching for him, but his absence is louder than the noise.
“Carlos must be arriving. Boys,” he drops to your brothers. “Want to see the car up close?”
Of course, they say yes, and they follow the man. Your dad tags along and your mother? Well, she’s apparently very interested in the sport, as well.
The first Sainz you see is Carlos’ cousin, to whom you’ve been not introduced yet, but who quickly recognizes you. You introduce yourself, and he chuckles and you say you’re “Carlos’ friend”. And then Sainz Sr. appears, with Carlos right beside him, talking to a tall skinny guy.
And God. He’s a vision in that damned racing suit.
Time seems to slow as he approaches, and when he turns to you, his eyes light up with a radiant smile. The world fades away.
“Happy birthday,” is all that occurs to you.
And a “thank you for being here,” is all that he can say before being dragged away to the screens.
This time it isn’t Reyes or Sainz Sr., but Carlos who invites your family for dinner. It's an offer you simply can't refuse, and even though your brothers are practically nodding off from fatigue, the moment they step inside the Hotel de la Ville, and notice where they are, exhaustion seems to magically dissipate.
The entire day was amazing, but you’ve barely had a chance to be near Carlos. So, as he finally takes his seat across from you, the desire to kiss him simmers just beneath your skin, burning you whole. He's clad in his signature red shirt, his unruly hair falling playfully over his forehead. And he’s wearing white jeans, which makes the colour of his tanned skin intensify.
Caught in the act of admiring him, you see him move his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and swiftly adjust your position in the chair, refocusing on your dads’ intense discussion about the latest football market moves.
“Piccina,” your mother chimes in. “You never told me about the Madrid trip. The gallery. Was it nice?”
You glance at your mother and then at the whole table. Carlos has that playful twinkle in his eyes, clearly anticipating to hear you stutter as you try to talk about the exhibition. Well, you did pay attention to the art, of course, but what remains in your mind is the way Carlos’ eyes always managed to drift to you, no matter which room you were in.
“It was beautiful, Mom,” you reply, offering her a warm smile. “I’ve already told Carlos how grateful I am for the invite.” At the head of the table, Sainz Sr. smiles at you, with a simple yet approving nod. “The other Carlos tagged along with me. He got to learn a lot about art. Right, junior?”
Carlos leans to you, propping his elbows on the table, a trace of amusement dancing in his eyes.
"I have to admit, you managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting."
Thankfully, Sainz Sr.'s hearty laughter momentarily steals everyone's attention, giving you a chance to regain your composure. Your cheeks are warm, and from the feeling of them, you know they’re red. You managed to make even the dullest of rooms seem interesting. And he smiles, because he knows you badly you’re falling.
"Well, that's impressive,” your dad chimes.
And you're not sure if he's complimenting Carlos's smooth line or your ability to be a guide. So you ignore him and try to play it cool.
“So,” your mom continues, her hand resting on your arm, her curiosity fully piqued. "You two spent a good time together in Madrid?"
You share a subtle glance with Carlos before nodding. "Yes, we did. It was a great exhibition."
A brief hush falls over the table and you can’t help but feel like you’re under a microscope and everyone can see through you. Carlos’ gaze, steady and unwavering, is locked onto you, and you feel yourself softening, captured in his attention.
“Well,” Sainz Sr., who's been quietly observing, interjects with a warm smile. "It seems like you two have been getting along quite well."
Carlos chuckles and looks down, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glass. You both exchange a quick look, a silent understanding passing between you.
It’s time.
"Actually," you start, "we've been getting along really, really well."
Reyes leans in. "Oh? Do tell."
“We’ve been…” You hesitate, glancing at Carlos for support.
He meets your gaze. “Dating,” he completes your sentence with a confident smile. “We’ve been dating for a while now. Six, seven-ish months?”
Sainz Sr.’s eyes light up, and then he furrows his brows, clearly processing the information. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch the gears turning in his mind.
“That’s before—way before I… introduced you.”
“In my defence,” you chime in. “I did try to tell you we’ve already met before. Blame your son. He’s the one who decided to play with you for so long.”
“Well, this is… wonderful news.” Sainz Sr. beams. You steak a glance at Carlos, knowing he’s definitely going to tease you about how genuinely pleased you looked after revealing the truth. “So, seven months, eh? Okay. When’s the wedding? And when do I get Carlos the 3rd?”
I had so much fun writing this one!!! I used every little break at work to write this. It's a bit different than what I usually write, so all feedback is appreciated.
Thank you for the request! 🫶
#Carlos Sainz#Carlos Sainz Jr#Carlos Sainz x Reader#Carlos Sainz x You#Carlos Sainz Smut#Carlos Sainz Fanfic#Carlos Sainz Imagine#Formula 1 x Reader#Formula 1 x You#F1 x Reader#F1 x You#F1 Imagine#F1 One Shot#Driver x Reader#F1 Driver x Reader#Driver x You#F1 Driver x You#F1 Fanfic#FanF1ction
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Hello friends!! I have an upcoming fic where Lando is a Twitch streamer and I am in need of random usernames to fill out his chat! If you are interested in being one of those usernames, interact with this post (like/reblog/comment) to let me know that I can use yours!
Thank you in advance and more info under the cut if you want some context on the fic first:
Without too many spoilers, the fic features:
Omegaverse
Getting-together slow burn Maxiel (Omega!Max / Alpha!Daniel)
Established Piarles (Omega!Charles / Alpha!Pierre)
Established Carlando (Omega!Lando / Alpha!Carlos)
In-the-works Galex (both betas)
Other friendly faces from the grid & grid-adjacents
Max as a rescued omega from an illegal breeding operation
Lando as a Twitch streamer
Charles as a fashion designer
Others in the pack as part of the group that did the rescuing of Max
Found Family in the form of people who have technically kidnapped you, but make you feel safe and warm and loved
First chapter goes up on 3/18 and the chapter featuring the Twitch Chat goes up 3/28!
#f1 rpf fic#formula 1 rpf#fanf1ction#maxiel#piarles#carlando#espi writes stuff!#this is a chance to see your username in a fic if you want it!#honestly I don't think I can have too many usernames#and I can *try* to accommodate requests like username colors or messages but I make no promises
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Once Upon a Time in Mexico | Chapter Nine
Three months on from the French Grand Prix, life was going more smoothly, until yet another hurdle appeared. With your Dad coming to watch a race, the pressure was on to impress this weekend.
Word Count: 8.5k
Warnings: Some very mild smut
Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction, no-one is married in this alt-universe.
Three months had passed since your fateful meeting with the HR department and the Board and as promised, you and Toto had kept your relationship on a strictly need-to-know basis. Bar the interview with Christian, the media had not picked up on your relationship and it seemed as if ultimately no one really cared.
That being said, there were still only a few members of the team who knew the full truth as you had decided it just didn’t need to be addressed within the workplace. Time and time again you wished wholeheartedly that Lara wasn't one of them but thankfully she had dialled down the sassy comments. You still didn't quite trust her and you couldn't put your finger on why.
Since the French Grand Prix there had been several more races as well as the Summer break. You had taken this moment of peace and quiet to get to know Toto even better, away from the office, having travelled to Tuscany together for a short break at the beginning of the Summer. Things were going swimmingly and you were falling more and more in love by the day. Toto was keen for you to meet his two children and had suggested you take advantage of the impending end of the season to come to Austria and spend some time with them. You were apprehensive but hopeful that you would get along with them, although you weren’t holding your breath as they were teenagers at the end of the day.
During the shutdown, Toto had taken them on holiday to Costa Rica on an outdoorsy jungle adventure whilst you went to Portugal on a girl's trip. Those two weeks were the longest that you'd been apart since the beginning of your romance and you were happy to be right back at his side when racing returned.
Across the races that had transpired between France and Mexico, Mercedes had managed to claw back the points difference that had been lost and were now neck and neck with their arch rivals Red Bull. Toto was trying his best not to show it but you could tell that he was extremely stressed on behalf of the entire team and the manic energy flowing out of his veins was palpable by the time you touched down in Mexico City.
Fortunately, you had a distraction, your father was finally coming to a race weekend and you were looking forward to showing him what you did for a living. The only apprehension that you did have was the fact that you hadn't told any of your family about Toto, knowing that they would disapprove of the large age gap not to mention the fact that he was a divorcee with two children that you were still yet to meet. You hoped that you could keep your relationship under wraps in front of your father as successfully as you did with the team.
FRIDAY AM
One positive about Mexico City was that you and Toto were able to share a room without anyone from the team being aware of it. The way that the hotel was laid out, in various buildings around a compound, meant that you could easily get around without being spotted. This meant that you’d spent the last two nights in Toto’s rather impressive suite, cuddled up to your favourite man.
This particular morning you'd woken up to find the bed empty, guessing that your boyfriend had gone off to the gym as he often did in the morning. To kill some time you scrolled through your phone, grimacing at the barrage of emails that had already come in for the day. Just as you were about to scratch the surface of your inbox, the door opened to reveal a very sweaty-looking Toto.
“Y/N,” he said breathily, “You will never guess what I just saw.”
“I'm not sure if I've got the energy to guess right now,” you said, stretching and yawning as you sat up in bed.
“Well I was crossing the bridge from the gym back into our building and I saw Christian Horner walking out from the other section of the hotel,” he said excitedly, his demeanour much like a kid waking up on Christmas.
“Okay, I know you and Christian have a really special relationship but I'm not sure if that's that exciting,” you said, still half asleep and not thrilled with the idea of sharing a hotel with the nasty Red Bull team principal who had publicly outed your romance just a few months earlier, jeopardising your entire professional reputation.
“No no but don't you see?” said Toto, “Red Bull are not staying in this hotel. Why would he be here first thing in the morning?”
Now you understood why Toto was so excited, “Oh gosh,” you said, “I didn't think about that, weird.”
“Exactly,” said Toto with a wild look in his eye, “I'm going to ask at the front desk which other teams are staying here. I know Red Bull are on the other side of town but I think Ferrari are here.”
“Damn, I can't believe you of all people found some juicy gossip,” you said, now fully sat up and awake.
“I know,” said Toto, crossing the room to lean down and kiss you.
“Ew, Toto, you’re kind of sweaty,” you said, recoiling as he dripped on you.
“Well then I have to make you sweaty,” he said playfully.
Batting him away jokingly, you replied, “Should I be worried that you see one glimpse of Christian early in the morning and you're this horny?”
Toto laughed, “Maybe, I am actually going to go down to the reception and ask them now while it’s still quiet.”
“Sure knock yourself out, I'll be waiting for you here.” you said, bemused at his enthusiasm, “I might jump in the shower if you want to join me when you are back?”
“I would very much like that.” he replied, kissing you once more, “Right I will see you in five minutes.”
At that, he swiftly exited the room, on a mission to find out what was going on.
You couldn't help but laugh, Toto and Christian had a very strange and complicated relationship where they went from throwing relatively harmless schoolboy insults at each other to hitting below the belt as Christian had done at the French Grand Prix. Christian was an unpleasant character and wasn’t friendly with many of their counterparts, whereas Toto had a few more friends in the paddock. This meant that Toto typically took the high road and didn't retaliate but the French Grand Prix had shown Christian's true colours and he’d been looking for a way to retaliate for months.
Crossing the soft beige carpet of your suite to the bathroom you picked up the clothes that you'd strewn across the room last night as you'd made frantic love to Toto. You smiled as you picked up his crumpled white Mercedes shirt, thinking about how far you'd come in a relatively short time.
Having tidied, you’d barely made it into the shower when Toto returned, knocking on the bathroom door.
“Y/N, it’s me, can I come in?" he called out.
You laughed at his perpetual politeness, “Of course, it would be rude not to. How was your mission?”
“Successful,” he said with a smug grin as he stripped off his gym kit and joined you under the steamy water.
“Oh yeah?” you asked as you turned around to face him.
“Yes,” he said, so excited by his news he wasn't even distracted by the fact that you were fully naked and lathered up in the shower. “The woman at the front desk said it's only Mercedes and Ferrari staying here.”
“Ooh, that is juicy!” you said, “So he was either seeing someone from our team or someone from Ferrari at seven in the morning in their room?”
“Exactly,” said Toto, the wild look back in his eye, “And the best part is we know everyone who is staying here so we can figure it out.”
“Check you, Sherlock Holmes,” you said laughing, “What shall we do?”
Toto stepped behind you wrapping his arms around you and palming your breasts as if it would help him with his predicament, “I can think of a few things.” he said.
“You have a one-track mind, Mr Wolff,” you said, “I meant about this Christian situation.”
“I have some ideas,” he replied, continuing to caress your breasts absentmindedly, “I think maybe we invite the team out tonight. We conquer and divide, maybe you can ask Rosie as well. She seems to always be on our side?”
“It’s divide and conquer,” you said, creasing up as his attempt at an English idiom, “But if I ask Rosie, then George will know by extension and he's not great at keeping secrets or being discreet.”
“But he kept ours?” wagered Toto, “I guess you’re right, let's keep it to just us.”
“I reckon,” you said, “Besides, my Dad is coming. So I need to keep him entertained too.”
Toto's wandering hands stopped dead, “Oh shit, I had almost forgotten.”
“Really?” you asked.
“Kind of.” he said guiltily, “I hope he likes me.”
“How could he not?” you said, “And anyway as far as he is concerned, you’re just my boss.”
Toto’s hands began moving again, “Your boss who you let shower with you?”
“Oh yeah, do you not shower with our other colleagues?” you said with a smirk, grinding yourself back, pressing your ass against Toto’s growing semi.
“Can’t say I do,” said Toto, growling, his hands now roaming lower, towards your sweet spot. “Turn around,” he added commandingly.
As you turned, you leant up to meet his lips with yours, always a stretch due to your height difference.
“Mmm.” he said, “Let me soap you up. Get you all clean.”
“Always so diligent,” you said.
“It’s the job of a Team Principal,” he said dead seriously, squeezing shower gel into his large hands and starting to meticulously lather your behind.
“Oh, so you do this for everyone on the team?” you said with a smirk.
“Only the hot ones,” he said, working his hands up your back and around to your stomach.
“Oh, so Lewis too?” you said, laughing.
“You're such a nightmare,” he said, “I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” With that he bent down to kiss you once more, pushing his fully hard length into your stomach.
Just as you were starting to lose yourself in your lover’s arms, you were snapped out of the trance by a loud buzz.
“Fuck, what was that?” you said, as you jumped apart.
“I think it’s the door.” Toto said, stepping to one side, “I’ll go and check. God help whoever it is. Stay here.”
As Toto wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way out of the bathroom, you shut the water off and wrapped yourself in a large towel, padding over to where he’d left the door open just a crack.
“Rosie.” you could hear Toto saying, his tone surprised.
“Hi Toto, I am so sorry to bother you this early but I tried texting Y/N and heard nothing. There’s something you both need to see. I tried her room but figured she may be here with you but don’t worry, if not I can just show you.” Rosie rambled, clearly nervous.
“No, no come in, she’s just in the bathroom,” said Toto.
Guessing this was your cue to come out, you opened the door.
“Hey Rosie,” you said sheepishly, well aware of how it looked, with you and Toto wearing nothing but towels.
“I am so so sorry to have interrupted,” said Rosie awkwardly.
“It’s fine, we were just getting ready.” you said, “What’s up?”
Rosie sighed, “The press have got wind of you two, the Daily Mail has a photo of you kissing and they’re going to run it on Saturday.”
“Scheiße!” exclaimed Toto, sitting down on one of the lounge chairs in the living area of his suite.
“How do you know?” you asked Rosie, as you followed him through to the living area.
“We got a request for a comment from the journalist and I'm so sorry I only just picked it up because of the time difference,” said Rosie apologetically, as you paced up and down.
“Fuck, what are we going to do?” you said, stopping your pacing and turning to Toto.
“How should I know?” he replied, “You're the Director of Communications, that's why I hired you.”
“Touché,” you said “Well I think that what we should do is sit tight and see how this pans out. It might be a case that the story will be three-quarters of the way down the sidebar of shame and no one picks it up or thinks anything of it.”
“That's true,” said Rosie empathetically, “Sometimes these things don't take off in the sensational way that the journalists hope.”
“I certainly hope so.” said Toto, his tone serious, “But I know who will care about it.”
“Did they send the photo?” you asked Rosie.
“Yes, they did. Let me show you,” said Rosie, taking out her phone.
Glancing at Toto, you grimaced, wondering where this photo could have been taken. You hoped it hadn’t been in Tuscany as there was no denying it was a romantic holiday and you’d gotten carried away on your romantic picnics more than once.
“Here it is,” said Rosie, bending down to show Toto as he sat in his chair.
“Scheiße!” Toto exclaimed once again, “That was by the factory after we met with HR and the board.”
“Can I see?” you said moving closer.
“Sure,” Rosie replied, moving her phone across so that you could take a look.
Sure enough, it was blurry but it was undoubtedly you and Toto walking along the river bank after you had your meeting, cups of coffee in hand. To make matters worse, it wasn't just one photo, it was a series, one looking like you are deep in discussion, one with your hand on Toto’s chest and then the final one was him leaning down to kiss you.
You made a face at Rosie which she exchanged.
“Look it's obviously not great,” you said, “But honestly I think people don't care that much. Look at what happened after Christian tried to out us to Sky, no one cared. I just worry that the board will see this especially because it's near the workplace.”
“But do they know that it’s near the factory?” said Rosie, “It's not that obvious where that is if you don't know where it is. If that makes sense?”
“Robert will know,” interjected Toto, “I've taken him there for a coffee before.”
“Shit.” you said, “Although to the outside world, we're not wearing our uniforms it could just be any day.”
“That's true,” said Toto, “At least they can't say that we're bringing shame on the brand.”
“I'm so sorry guys,” said Rosie, standing back up and putting her phone away. “If there's anything I can do to help let me know. I’ll leave you alone now and again, I'm so sorry for coming to disturb you so early.”
Standing up from the chair, obviously feeling awkward about the fact he was only wearing a towel, Toto said kindly, “No, thank you, Rosie, I appreciate you coming to us. I'm sorry for not being so presentable this morning, I just got back from the gym.”
“Yes, thank you, Rosie, honestly it's good to have a heads up about things like this. At least we can start to think of a game plan,” you said kindly, “And again sorry that we're not quite ready.”
“Don't be silly,” said Rosie, “I'm just sorry that it was early and that I was the bearer of bad news.”
“It's okay, we'll figure something out,” you said as Rosie made her way back out of your suite. “Thanks again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“See you later,” said Rosie as she closed the door behind her.
“Are we ever going to get a break?” Toto asked as he sat down on the bed still only wearing a towel.
“Unfortunately, I think not,” you said, “If it gets to the Board again obviously I will go, please don't jeopardise your life for me. You've worked so hard for so long to build this team up, it would be stupid to throw it all away just because of something silly.”
“It's not silly when it's you,” he said very seriously, looking you in the eyes, his dark eyes flashing intensely.
“You know what I mean,” you said, settling down beside him on the bed and putting an arm around his shoulder.
“The thing I don’t understand is how there are so many photos. Why would a paparazzi be at the factory on a random Monday?” Toto said, leaning into you.
“I agree, it is suspicious. I am going to ask around and see if someone will name the source,” you replied, trying to reassure him.
At that, he managed a small smile, “Thank you. Do you want to finish in the shower and I'll come in afterwards? I love you but I'm not really in the mood now.”
“Don't be silly, we can still go together. We don't have to fill every moment with sex. I'm happy to just have a shower with you,” you said.
Toto flopped his head down on your shoulder in agreement, “Sure let's do it.”
FRIDAY PM
Having wrapped a successful Free Practice, you were now back in Toto’s hotel room, frantically deciding a game plan for the evening’s dinner. The news story Rosie had rushed to tell you about was due to come out in the early hours as it was running on Saturday morning UK time, and you just hoped no one would see it while you were all out. On top of that, Toto was still insistent on going through with his madcap scheme to find out what Christian was doing in your hotel that morning.
The team had been surprised by your sudden insistence to go out last minute on a Friday night but seemed enthusiastic about going for tacos and margaritas. You’d managed to convince most of the team to come along and ulterior motives aside, it was always nice to build some team spirit.
Crazy schemes aside, you also had to contend with the fact that your Dad was coming to join you for drinks after dinner, having landed in Mexico City that afternoon.
“So, what do I say to him?” asked Toto as he buttoned up his blue linen shirt beside you in the bathroom.
You sighed, “Nothing, you’re my boss, that’s all he knows. Say boss things.”
“I don’t like it.” said Toto, “But I’ll play along.”
“Good.” you said, kissing him on the cheek, “I just know he’ll be dramatic about his little girl dating a big scary man and we don’t need more drama this weekend.”
“Big and scary?” said Toto, raising an eyebrow, “I’m not sure I am big or scary.”
“Have you seen yourself?” you asked.
“You know what I mean.” he said, “I hope the team doesn't feel weird that I’m coming tonight.”
“I think you have a complex about this.” You said, “They love it when you participate.”
“I doubt this,” said Toto, tightlipped and unconvinced.
———
The atmosphere in the restaurant was jovial, with the team in high spirits after a successful Free Practice. It was a good turn out and Lewis and George had even joined for the evening, much to the team’s pleasure. Toto had been correct in his assumptions that people would be thrown off that he was joining you but it wasn’t long before the margaritas were flowing and they began to let loose, not worried about what their boss would think.
You’d divided up, working the tables to make sure you spoke to everyone in the team, casually dropping the fact that you were sharing the hotel with Ferrari here and there, hoping that someone might talk. It wasn’t long before you struck gold, with Bella.
“It must be nice being in the same hotel for once, no?” you asked, knowing that her husband, Gio, worked for Ferrari.
“Yeah, it almost never happens!” she said brightly, “Who do I need to speak to for us to always stay together?”
You laughed, before trying to subtly dig some more, “I guess the travel department but Ferrari would have to agree too. I’m not averse to it personally, I’d rather see them around than the Red Bull lot.”
Bella nodded in agreement before dropping her voice, “Yeah but do you not know about Christian Horner?”
“Huh?” you asked, playing dumb, “What do you mean?”
Bella looked around as if scared someone would overhear her in the loud restaurant, “He’s seeing one of the PR girls at Ferrari, Gio saw them a few weeks ago and he must have been in our hotel last night. We saw him creeping out this morning.”
You tried your best to feign shock, “No way! Isn’t he married as well?”
“Yup.” said Bella, pulling a face, “Nice guy right?”
“Indeed.” you said, “His poor wife. Although, actually, scrap that, if I was married to him, I’d be encouraging him to go off and find someone else.”
Bella laughed, sipping her margarita once again, “Same to be honest. They’re all whispering about it at Ferrari. I think they’re worried he’s doing it for information.”
“Oh really?” you asked, trying to catch Toto’s eye to signal that you’d uncovered what he was looking for, “But what does this girl look like? I’m sure he’s just a horny old man.”
“That’s true, she’s much younger than him, pretty and a redhead, so just his type.”
“Oof,” you said, finally managing to catch Toto’s eyes and winking at him.
Never one to miss a trick, Bella whipped her head around to see who you were winking at. “I still swear he has a thing for you, you know.”
Playing coy, you laughed it off, “Nah, he’s just goofy.”
“You like that though,” said Bella cheekily.
“I do like him, but just as a colleague,” you said, “I’m glad he’s our boss and not that slimeball Christian.”
“Me and you both,” replied Bella.
Just as you raised your glass once more you clocked a familiar face coming into the restaurant, “Bella, you’ll have to excuse me, my Dad has just arrived!” you said excitedly, “I’ll just go and say hi and bring him around to say hello to everyone.”
“Ah lovely, I’m looking forward to it,” said Bella, turning to chat with her colleagues who were sitting on the other side of her.
Crossing the restaurant, you were nervous, your Dad had never visited you at work before and you weren’t sure what he’d make of your increasingly rowdy colleagues.
“Mi hija!” he exclaimed loudly as he spotted you making your way towards him.
“Papa!” you said, warmly embracing him. It had been a while since you’d seen your father, having only gone home for Christmas, “How was the flight?”
“Good thank you,” he said, “How are you? How was the free practice?”
“Good thanks, it went well. I’m excited for tomorrow and so excited you’re finally coming to a race.” you said, “Do you want to meet my colleagues?”
You’d spotted Toto immediately clocking your father and straightening his collar. You couldn’t help but smile, clearly meeting the parents was nerve-wracking at any stage in life.
“Sure,” replied your Dad with a wide grin, “I want to meet the famous Rosie.”
Smiling that he remembered your friend’s name, you clocked Rosie, lurking in the corner with George and a few other members of the press team. Making your way over you spied Toto getting up to come over and join you.
“Hey guys, there’s someone I’d like you all to meet, this is my Dad!” You said, “Dad, this is Rosie, George, Olivia and Emily.”
“Nice to meet you, we’ve heard so much about you!” said Rosie, immediately leaping up to say hello. George followed suit, shaking your Dad’s hand and exchanging pleasantries before a scared look in his eye told you that Toto was standing somewhere behind you.
“Hey Toto,” said George nervously, clearly not sure if your Dad knew about your relationship.
“Oh Dad, this is Toto, our boss,” you said, turning around to allow Toto to make his introduction.
“Hello, so lovely to meet you finally,” said Toto, flashing a grin as he shook your Dad’s hand, “Your daughter is a superstar.”
“Likewise,” your Dad said, clearly pleased by Toto’s words, “I know, you’re very lucky to have her.”
“Believe me I know it,” said Toto, looking over at you adoringly. “Can I get you a drink at all?”
“That would be great, I’ll come with you to the bar,” replied your Dad, slapping Toto on the shoulder, despite the fact he was a good foot shorter, “Mi hija, would you like anything?”
“Can I please have another piña colada?” you asked.
“Of course, can I get anyone else anything?” your Dad asked, turning back towards Rosie and crew.
“We’re good for the moment but thank you,” Rosie replied.
At that, you watched nervously as your Dad and Toto disappeared off towards the bar. Settling down beside Rosie and George, you checked that Olivia and Emily were deep in conversation before saying “Eek I’m nervous.”
“Does he know?” asked George.
“Nope, we decided it’s better to go with he’s just my boss for now.”
“Oooh.” said George, “Well you need to tell Toto to stop making googly eyes at you, he’s so obvious about it these days.”
“I think that will be the least of our problems after tomorrow,” you said furtively, glancing at Rosie.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” she replied kindly, “As we said, no one really cares.”
“Hmm,” you said unconvinced.
———
As the night went on, drinks were now freely flowing and you could see some of your colleagues were too far gone. The younger mechanics always pushed it too hard and you were worried they’d be hungover and grumpy for quali the next day.
Your Dad was deep in conversation with Rosie and George and you spied Toto leaning against the wall, chatting to the senior engineers. Making your way over, you gently tapped him on the arm.
“Hey Y/N, how are you? The guys were just saying how much they like your Dad,” said Toto.
“Aw that’s sweet, I think he’s loving it!” you said, looking over to where he was now dragging Rosie up to start dancing.
“I can see that,” replied Toto. “Do you think we should try and wrap things up?”
“That’s why I came over.” you said, “Shall I do our usual trick?”
“Good idea,” said Toto, winking at you as his companions looked blankly, “You’ll see,” he said, turning to them.
You smiled as you sauntered over to the bartender. Having booked the restaurant out entirely you could easily call it a night.
“Hey, I know this is unorthodox but do you think we could do a last call? I don’t want everyone to be hungover tomorrow,” you said.
“Sure,” said the bartender, “Although I think it might be too late.”
As if on cue, you spotted Mo falling over his chair as he tried to get up. Sighing, you replied, “Maybe.”
Rejoining Toto, who was now standing alone, checking his emails and looking grumpy, you discreetly whispered, “I have the juicy gossip by the way.”
He perked up immediately, “No one was cracking, who is it?”
“Good news, none of our lot.” you said smiling, “He’s knocking off one of the PR girls at Ferrari.”
“How did you find out?” he said, his eyes lit up.
“Bella,” you said with a smirk.
“This is good,” said Toto, “I can use this.”
“Jesus, you’re as bad as he is,” you said. “I’ll tell you everything later, yeah?”
“So you’re coming back to mine?” he said excitedly, just as the last call bell rang.
“Of course.” you said, “But we need to be careful with my Dad. And on that note, what were you talking about with him at the bar?”
“Just chatting,” said Toto, folding his arms smugly.
“Sure,” you said suspiciously.
———
Having rounded up the troops, the team were now merrily making their way back towards the hotel. Thankfully it was just a short walk and you were happy to see your Dad getting stuck in and chatting away to anyone who would listen.
Toto was walking ahead with Bono and Lewis, deep in conversation about the coming weekend so you rushed to catch up with your Dad.
“Hey stranger,” you said, looping your arm through his.
“How are you my love?” he asked, “Your colleagues are very nice.”
“I’m glad you like them, it’s my favourite part of the job.” you said, “They were all excited to meet you so I’m sure you’ll be spoiled all weekend.”
“Yes, George said I can sit in the garage.” your Dad said smugly, “And Toto, he’s quite something no?”
“Did he now?” you said laughing, “Well it’s actually my decision who sits in the garage as a guest so I’ll be having words with George. But yes Toto is lovely.”
“He is in love with you.” said your Dad, turning to you on a more serious note.
“Huh?” you asked, taken aback by his frank admission.
“He only has eyes for you.” he said, “When we were at the bar he kept glancing over at you. Trust me I know these things. You could do a lot worse mi hija.”
Feeling guilty that your Dad was right on the money you sighed, “Well then, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Your Dad smiled, “I knew it. Just be careful, he is a little old for you.”
Smiling, you replied, “I will be. He was so nervous to meet you.”
“I could tell,” your Dad replied, “He kept telling me how brilliant you were at the bar and that he hoped you would work together forever.”
You laughed, “How romantic.”
“I could tell what he really meant.” said your Dad dryly, “He will have to meet your mother though.”
“I know.” you said shyly, “I hope she likes him too.”
“Of course, she will. You look so happy mi hija, I haven’t seen you glowing like this in a long time.”
‘Thanks, Papa,” you said, kissing him on the cheek. “Just so you know, only a few of our colleagues know so please keep it quiet.
“Of course.” he replied, “It’s wise in the workplace.”
Having reached your hotel, it was time to say goodnight, “I will come and meet you in the morning and we can go to the track together?”
“Sounds good, sleep well and thank you again for inviting me,” he replied, grinning widely.
SATURDAY AM
Waking up on quali day, you were very content with how the following evening had gone. Toto had been thrilled by the fact that you’d confessed your relationship to your Dad and that he semi-had his blessing. Snuggling into Toto’s broad chest, you were so comfortable that you almost forgot the shitshow that was going to greet you when you checked your emails.
Leaning up to kiss Toto’s neck you could sense he was stirring awake.
“Morning,” you said, kissing him once more.
“Morning,” he replied sleepily, clutching you closer into his chest and kissing the top of your head.
Knowing that you had to face reality as quickly as possible like a band-aid being ripped off, you extracted yourself from Toto’s vice-like grip.
“No cuddles?” he said, now wide awake and put out.
“I need to check my emails,” you said, sitting bolt upright and reaching for your phone.
“Oh shit,” said Toto, rubbing his eyes.
“Indeed,” you said.
You didn’t have to look far to find the article, it was the top search result for Mercedes AMG Petronas this morning, the glaring headline reading “LOVE IN THE PADDOCK, MERCEDES TEAM BOSS TOTO WOLFF COSIES UP TO YOUNG COLLEAGUE.”
Groaning you scrolled down the article, they’d gone in heavy on the fact that Toto was two decades your senior and that he was your boss.
“What does it say?” asked Toto, sitting up in bed and putting on his glasses.
“The tone is not great,” you said, continuing to read. “But it’s not very long and mostly just the photos.”
“Okay, so what do we do?” Toto asked.
“I think we let it be, I’m sure it won’t go far,” you said, hoping you were correct.
“Fuck,” said Toto, now checking his phone.
“What’s wrong?
“Robert has put in a meeting.” he sighed, bringing his palm to his face.
“Shit, when?”
“After quali.”
It wasn’t often that Toto looked nervous but he was looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
“Look, like I said, if he gives you a hard time, I will go,” you said bluntly.
“I don’t want you to,” said Toto, equally as bluntly.
“He’ll push for it,” you said.
“I’ll push back.”
“I know you will,” you said, reaching across and putting your arm around Toto. “But like I said, don’t jeopardise this for me. It’s a job for me at the end of the day. You built this team, it is what it is thanks to you and I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if anything came in the way of that.”
Toto pondered silently, obviously mulling things over. “Let’s see.”
———
Unfortunately, as your colleagues had started to wake up, your phone had started to blow up with messages asking what was going on.
Omg, Y/N! I knew it. Hope you are okay, the Daily Mail is brutal.
It was Bella. Then came a message from Tom.
Sheesh Y/N, no wonder you’re always smiling these days. I expect a full juicy debrief asap.
Not having the energy to reply yet you turned your phone off, turning to Toto.
“Everyone is asking me what’s going on,” you said flatly.
Toto sighed, “Well maybe it’s time to come clean. I don’t like lies in the team.”
“I guess,” you said, laying your head on his chest.
“Look, I know that you still feel everybody's going to think that you're trying to sleep your way to the top,” said Toto, “But you've more than proven yourself at this point. No one can possibly think that. Just that you're crazy for going out with me.”
“I hope so,” you replied, “Stop saying that, people will think that you're the crazy one for going out with me.”
“As if,” Toto snorted, “They’ll be jealous of me.”
You rolled your eyes, “I doubt this highly.”
“Let’s wait and see,” said Toto, leaning over for a kiss, pinning you down in between his strong arms.
SATURDAY PM
Quali had gone even better than you had dared hope, with Lewis and George obtaining P1 and P2. Despite the sore heads from last night's shenanigans, drinks were flowing once more in the garage as the team celebrated the first front-row lockout of the season.
Nowhere to be seen, however, was your affable boss. Toto had slunk off to his office to take his meeting with Robert, barely raising a smile at your drivers’ valiant efforts. Now that your relationship was common knowledge, you felt in a way that a weight was off of your shoulders, however, now the pressure was on.
“Where’s Toto?” asked Rosie, as you stood nervously in the garage, not participating in the celebrations as you awaited his return.
“Long story,” you said.
Rosie looked a little shocked at your glum demeanour, “I hope everything is okay.”
“Thanks.” you said, “I’m going to head to my office for a bit, can you please keep an eye on my Dad?”
“Sure, no problem,” she said, looking concerned.
As you wove your way through the garage and down the paddock to your office you were a bundle of nerves. You loved your job almost as much as you loved Toto and it would kill you to give it up after the huge amount of work you’d put in over the last eighteen months. But in your heart, you knew you would never forgive yourself if Toto put his neck on the line for you as this was his team at the end of the day.
You grabbed an espresso before settling down at your desk in your office, desperately trying to distract yourself with your inbox. You could hear Toto murmuring next door but not loudly enough for you to pick out any words. Furiously typing a reply to an email, you heard his chair roll back and the door creak open.
A gentle knock on your door, “Y/N, I can hear you typing. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” you said, feeling awkward that he knew you had been trying to listen in.
Closing the door behind him, a serious-looking Toto crossed the space to sit on the sofa in your small office.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was that loud,” you said, embarrassed.
“No, not at all, I like it, I always know you’re close by,” he said, folding his arms. “Look, Robert is not happy with me but I managed to talk him around.”
“Really?” you said, eyes bright.
“Don’t get too excited, there is a but. He asked that you stay out of the spotlight, so no more press conferences, no more TV, no more media appearances, no more attending sponsorship events on behalf of the team.”
“That’s the but?” you asked incredulously, “Honestly, I’m fine with that.”
Toto smiled, “I know. But I pushed back.”
“Why?” you asked, eyebrows raised.
“Because whether you believe it or not, you are a huge asset to the team. I told him that you will continue your day-to-day role, and the fact that you are my girlfriend is incidental. And that one day you’ll be my wife and he’ll have to get used to it.”
Your mouth fell open. Wife? “Well, thank you, and he was okay with that?”
“He has to be,” he said bluntly.
At that you hopped up, making your way around your desk to lean down and give him a lingering kiss, his large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you down onto his lap.
“Toto!” you squealed, “This is my office!”
“I know, and I also know no one will be up here for at least the next ten minutes,” he said with a smirk, pulling your hips down closer to his, his hands creeping up your now untucked team shirt. Sighing, you gave in, kissing him back voraciously and running your hands through his hair.
With your luck, it was only inevitable that at that very moment, there was a knock on your door.
Leaping up, you straightened your shirt and Toto tried to fix his ruffled hair.
“Hello, Y/N, are you there?” It was Rosie.
“Hey Rosie, yes, sure come in,” you said.
As the door opened to reveal a startled-looking Rosie who had caught onto what she was interrupting, she stuttered, “I can come back later. I’m sorry…”
“No, don’t be silly, I was just leaving,” said Toto, getting up from the sofa and flashing a grin at your flustered colleague.
“Oh okay,” she said.
“See you later Toto,” you said.
“See you,” he replied, closing the door behind him.
“I am SO sorry.” said Rosie, “I need to stop interrupting you guys.”
You laughed, “Don’t worry, he was just updating me on the Daily Mail situation.”
Rosie looked sceptical, “Sure, sure. I just came up to check if everything was okay. You looked super sad in the garage. And before you panic, George is with your Dad.”
“Thanks, Rosie,” you said, “I was worrying, but it seems to have been for nothing.”
Appeased by your cheerful tone, Rosie replied, taking a seat on the sofa, “I’m glad to hear that, I knew Toto would handle it. He’s always been good at smoothing things over.”
“I hope so,” you said, gazing off into nowhere. “I guess I should head back down, and rescue George.”
“He’s fine, he’s loving the attention.” said Rosie, “You know what he’s like, a sixty-year-old man in a twenty-something-year-old body. They’re kindred spirits.”
You laughed, “That’s true.”
“I’m sorry again about this morning, when Toto opened the door in a towel I was mortified,” Rosie said, looking nervous.
“Oh gosh don’t worry, I think he was more embarrassed than you.” you said reassuringly, “And for the record, we genuinely were just getting ready.”
“Still embarrassing.” said Rosie, “Although for the record, damn, he’s in good shape. I always thought he would be but sheesh.”
Laughing, you replied, “He’s alright I guess. And you can talk, George with his washboard abs.”
“Let’s see how long they last into retirement,” said Rosie wistfully.
“Ooh things are that serious?” you asked.
“I hope so, he asked me about maybe getting engaged soon,” Rosie said, looking down at her feet.
“Oh my gosh, Rosie this is big!” you leapt up from your desk, “I knew it.”
Rosie looked pleased, “Let’s see.”
“Shall we head back down?” you asked, “I came up here to answer some urgent emails and managed to smash through them.”
“Sure,” said Rosie, standing up.
———
A few hours later, the team were wrapping for the evening in an attempt to get an early night ahead of the race. Your Dad had already gone back to his hotel to freshen up for dinner leaving you alone with Toto once again.
Wandering through the paddock you were conscious that rival teams were now aware of your relationship and you hoped they wouldn’t take too much notice. As you walked side by side you were suddenly greeted by a loud wolf whistle.
“Ooooh, look at the happy couple!” It was Christian Horner, looking smug as usual, swaggering up to you from within the Red Bull hospitality area.
“Good evening Christian,” said Toto frostily.
“Toto.” said Christian, nodding slightly, “Y/N. How’s wedded bliss? I heard you were getting frisky in the factory recently.”
Sensing Toto’s body clenching beside you, you tried to diffuse the situation in the only language that Christian would understand, sarcasm, “Yes, all day every day, right in the middle of the boardroom.”
“You’re a lucky bastard, Toto,” said Christian, “How does the phrase go, you’re only as old as the woman you feel?”
Toto looked livid, replying angrily, “Well I heard you’re fond of a little Italian.”
The blood draining from his face, Christian fought to compose himself before replying nonchalantly, “And?”
Toto’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not sure your wife would be thrilled by the news.”
Looking defeated, Christian threw his hands up before backing away, “You’re a sly bastard, I’ll give you that. Enjoy your evening.”
“And you,” you said through gritted teeth, Toto still raging beside you.
Making your way towards the car park you turned to Toto, “He really is a piece of shit.”
“One hundred per cent.” replied Toto, “I hate bowing down to his level but he went too far last time.”
Stroking Toto’s arm lightly you tried to calm him down, “Oh, you got him good this time. He’ll leave us alone now, I’m sure of it.”
Toto’s brow furrowed, he was unconvinced. “I hope so.”
“I know so.” you said confidently, “By the way, I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of who sold the photographs to the Daily Mail and every source is a dead end. I think it has to be someone at the factory.”
Toto’s eyebrows shot up, “At the factory.”
“Well yes,” you paused, explaining, “It’s not always a paparazzi who provide images to tabloids, sometimes they buy them from a private individual.”
“But who would do that?” asked Toto.
“I can think of someone,” you said.
“Lara?” he asked, on your wavelength.
“I think so. She’s been suspiciously nice to me recently,” you replied, having finally reached the car that would take you back to your hotel. Sliding into the back seat beside Toto, you turned to him, “How has she been with you?”
“The same as always,” mused Toto, covering your hand with his.
“I just don’t get her,” you said quietly, aware that the driver could hear every word.
“I know.” said Toto, “I will do some digging tomorrow if I have time.”
“Well it’s race day so don’t get too distracted,” you said. “We can find out next week when we’re back home.”
“True.” said Toto, “On that note, I wondered if you would like to come to mine for dinner on Wednesday next week?”
Surprised by his invitation as you were yet to go to his place in England, you replied, “Ooh yes, I’m curious.”
“It’s nothing special but I’d like to cook for you,” he said sweetly.
“I’d love that,” you said, looking at him lovingly, “And after you said that about your house in Monaco, I’m not sure if I believe you.”
Toto smirked, “No, the Monaco place is nicer. But this place is cosy.”
Already envisioning cuddling up on the sofa, you couldn’t wait.
SUNDAY PM
As usual, race day flew by at an alarming pace, with you feeling as if you’d barely sat down in the garage when the chequered flag was waving. It was a double podium finish with Lewis taking P1 and George P2, a success that meant Mercedes were now even with Red Bull as constructors.
The team were elated and Toto had rallied the team to meet in the garage post-race, your Dad included. He’d had the time of his life this weekend and fortunately for you, with your demanding schedule, the team had doted on him constantly.
Standing in the garage beside Toto, you could tell that there were once again some curious glances being shot towards you. As more of the team gathered, Toto made his way across to you, sidling up beside you and bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’m going to tell them.”
You turned to him surprised, “Are you sure, is it not kind of weird?”
“No, it will be fine trust me,” he said, winking at you and walking towards the bar.
“Gather around everybody, there are a few words I would like to say,” said Toto, immediately commanding the attention of the team, the chatter instantly dying down. “First of all, I want to congratulate each and every one of you for today’s incredible effort and the results. We are now equal with Red Bull in the Constructor’s Championship and have the possibility of overtaking them.” He paused as the team applauded and cheered, “I’d like to say a special thank you to Lewis and George for their drives today, as well as our engineers and technicians who worked so tirelessly to gain us these crucial tenths of a second.”
“Thanks guys!” interjected Lewis, who was standing on the edge of the garage, listening in.
“Yes, thank you, couldn’t have done it without you,” said George cheerfully.
Toto laughed, “And as always thank you to everybody else in the team who makes these weekends possible.” he paused before glancing over at you, “I am also sure that many of you may have seen the story in the press about Y/N and I. As we are a team, I do not want secrets and I wanted you all to know that it is true, we have been seeing each other romantically for quite some time now.”
Murmurs echoed around the garage as heads turned around to look at you. Shrinking back behind the hulking figure of Bono, you had never felt more embarrassed in your life, until Lewis broke the tension with a cheeky wolf whistle.
“Ooohhh, tell us something we don’t know boss,” he said with a glint in his eye. “Just make sure you invite us all to the wedding yeah?”
Toto blushed and continued, “I just wanted you all to know straight from the horse’s mouth… is that the right phrase?” he looked at you pleadingly.
“Yes.” you said laughing, “For once.”
The team broke into laughter as your boss often confused English phrases and you always ended up correcting him.
“Thank you. Anyway, now that is out in the open, I hope you will join us in celebrating this weekend tomorrow evening at the factory.” Toto was beaming, clearly relieved to have got the news off of his chest, “Again, thank you to every one of you, this weekend has been good.”
Applause followed before the team started to mill about, some staying to pack up and others rushing off to the airport to make their flight. Fortunately, you would be taking the jet a little later so had no need to run yet.
Making his way towards you, Toto was smiling widely, his dimples out in full force. “Well that was easy,” he said.
“Worst kept secret in the paddock if you ask me,” said Bono, turning to you both, “Joking aside, I’m happy for you both.”
“Thank you, Bono,” you replied, wrapping your arm around him, “I’m happy too.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” the engineer said, “Toto, this girl is special, you’re a lucky guy.”
“Believe me, I know,” said Toto, beaming down at you.
Through the throng of people your Dad emerged, walking straight up to Toto and slapping his hand on his shoulder, “Well that was interesting, young man.” he said.
Toto looked a little embarrassed, “I hope you didn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said your Dad, “If Y/N is happy, I’m happy. But you do need to come and meet my wife soon.”
“Dad…” you shot daggers at him, not wanting to make Toto uncomfortable.
“It would be a pleasure,” replied Toto. “Y/N is coming to Austria during the Winter break to meet my family so maybe we can come then too.”
“Perfect,” said your Dad, clapping his hands together and turning to you, “Your mother will be thrilled.”
Shaking your head, you couldn’t help but hope that this meant Toto was serious about your relationship. The casual comments about becoming his wife and the declarations of love pointed that way but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.
“Great,” you replied, “We’ll come in December sometime then.”
“Check with your Mother though!” said your Dad, backtracking slightly.
“Always,” you said with a wink, knowing full well that she ran things in the house.
“Right, well I think we had better head off no?” said Toto, conscious that you had a plane to catch.
“Indeed, you said,” leaning towards your Dad to say goodbye and thank him for coming. It had been a great weekend all around, both professionally and personally. As he bid farewell to Toto you had a newfound respect for your charismatic boyfriend. Your father was not an easy man to win over and he’d done it in a matter of minutes.
In the hubbub of the garage, what you failed to notice was the same pair of eyes that had watched you on and Toto the river bank, this time angry.
#formula one x reader#toto wolff fanfic#f1 x reader#fanf1ction#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#f1 fanfic
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danny ric in a crop top 👀
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>Ollie ""Bearman""
>Is the twinkiest little prettyboy in the history of Formula 1
What is with this false advertising?
I mean really.
#just look at him#I could have sworn ive seen him in a maid dress on twitter#if not he really should#ollie bearman#formula 1#f1#formula 2#fanf1ction#ferrari#femboys
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Fic Snippet
Working on a Lando/DJ and Oscar/Driver fic... here's a snippet of it
Although I loved my producer, Jon, the mans taste was hit-or-miss at even the best of times. And the horrific sounding song blasting in my ears was a strong miss.
I was often sent up-and-coming artist’s samples to listen to and judge what worked and what didn’t. My success meant people believed that I contained the knowledge of what songs would be successful and what songs…wouldn’t. And the song that blasted through my ears was immediately in the latter category. It sounded confused, like the artist had been set on an idea for the song and then told they had to do it a certain way by someone else. It lacked a theme, it lacked consistency. It needed something to tie it together. It was-
Ok, that was it! Now on my third run-through of the song I hastily grabbed my phone out of my pocket and changed the song despite my cold, shaky fingers. Fine, Taylor Swift it was then. Just at that moment a notification popped up on my phone from the man in question.
Jon: So??? What are your thoughts?
Lando: thumbs down emoji
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“the world's gonna know your name.”
A little cinematic-style manip for you Maxiel fans. <3
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In which Mark explores gender, masculinity and what that means for him | 6.4k
#mark webber#fernando alonso#webbonso#fic#fanf1ction#fanfic#i did it bitches!!!#i forced mark to confront gender!!
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It has been years since I had been on Tumblr. So long ago that it seems that they purged my account :( 10 years ago perhaps? I remember vaguely that my account was full of Kpop, Jpop, anime and manga fandom. Lol. Made a lot of effort to create gifs too...
Adulthood kicked in. I'm 32 now and I kinda grew out of the fandoms above. I mean... BTS making it on Dutch radio, who would've known?
Kids, I have €1500 worth of DB5K merchandise. It's not worth it. It's sentimental junk with no value anymore. I regret spending so much money on importing these stuff.
Ah well, new account, new interests. I've been following F1 since 2017. Someone reminded me on Reddit that I should go to Tumblr for some F1 grid smut. I love the sport, but I also like the silliness of the paddock and its drivers. A girl sometimes needs to fantasise for relaxation. Hit me up with some recs!
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snapshot.
Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] -
Word Count: 1K
you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.
(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼
The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.
You sigh as you open your eyes.
The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.
Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.
And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.
So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.
Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,
“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.
“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”
He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”
Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.
Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”
“You want a photo of my boobs?”
“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.
Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.
“The hair,” he directs.
This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.
When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.
A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.
You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.
“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”
You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.
His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.
"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."
The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.
And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.
His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.
His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”
The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.
"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.
You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.
"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."
Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.
"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.
"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.
Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.
Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.
You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.
But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.
You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.
You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.
"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."
"Please, come here."
"Not yet."
"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"
"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."
You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.
Climax is imminent.
You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.
When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.
"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”
“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”
As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.
As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.
“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”
Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible.
Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶
#Carlos Sainz#Carlos Sainz Jr#Carlos Sainz x Reader#Carlos Sainz x You#Carlos Sainz Smut#Carlos Sainz Fanfic#Carlos Sainz Imagine#Formula 1 x Reader#Formula 1 x You#F1 x Reader#F1 x You#F1 Imagine#F1 One Shot#Driver x Reader#F1 Driver x Reader#Driver x You#F1 Driver x You#F1 Fanfic#FanF1ction
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Wrote this today instead of working. Probably going to add more & edit before it goes to AO3.
Enjoy!
— — —
It was absurdly easy to slip out of the castle unnoticed. The guards didn't even look in his direction before he slipped out of the back gate.
Charles would be concerned if it wasn't massively to his benefit.
He enjoyed the fact that the Crown Prince's chambers overlooked the back garden. It was his favorite place in the whole castle and nobody questioned it when he said he wanted to go out there for some fresh air.
Luckily, nobody also questioned why his clothing looked a little bulky.
Once he got to the garden he stashed his fine silk outer layer and exited the castle grounds wearing more common, if nice, linen.
(He was very lucky that his chief of staff, Andrea, was used to his odd requests and procured the common clothing without question.)
(Honestly, people should start asking questions more often.)
The castle was stifling. The demands were endless and boring. Charles needed to escape, just for a little bit, for the sake of his sanity.
He'd probably be back before anybody even noticed he was missing.
So, for the first time in memory over the 22 years of his life, Charles was alone. No guards, staff, minders, teachers, companions, or anyone with him.
It was a liberating feeling. He could just go where he wanted, and he wanted to go to town.
As the Crown Prince, he was supposed to be preparing to rule for the benefit of his people. Unfortunately, he didn't know his people.
They all bowed and kept a respectful distance when Charles appeared with his father in their finery and crowns. They would downplay their needs or troubles and express their unending gratitude to the Crown.
Charles hated it. He wanted to know them, to hear their woes and do what he can with the resources of the Crown to help them. Improve their lives all across the kingdom.
So he had resolved to meet them. Little excursions where nobody would recognize him were perfectly safe. All he wanted to do was talk, browse the market, maybe have a drink in a tavern. Listen to the local gossip and see if there was anything he could do to subtly help.
As he slipped into the bustling town square, Charles felt alive. All around him were people, his people, going about their business without giving him a second glance.
Anyone who bumped or jostled him gave a quick "pardon me," instead of prostrating themselves in apology. It was wonderful.
Charles meandered through the streets with no goal in mind. He listened to the town criers and vendors hawking their wares, occasionally stopping to admire a simple piece of jewelry or purchase an apple to snack on as he walked.
He absolutely loved this. Being part of the people and exchanging pleasantries when they didn't know that he was a prince was lovely.
They treated him like an equal. Well, he was more than their equal. His job was going to be to work for them, after all. He just had to wear a grossly expensive crown when he did so.
Thinking about that crown reminded him that he probably needed to head back to the castle, but a delightful scent distracted him. He followed his nose just off the main thoroughfare to a bakery emitting the most delicious smells.
The sign out in front said Gasly's Baked Goods and Charles did not even hesitate before pushing the door open.
A small chime signaled his entrance and was instantly followed by a friendly shout, "One moment, please," from the man behind the counter.
Charles watched the man expertly lift the heavy looking large wooden spatula...thingy, shove it into the brick oven, and pull it out with freshly steaming loaves of bread on top.
The man quickly deposited the loaves on a cooling rack at his side and grabbed the bottom of his apron to wipe his hands while he turned around.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I get for you?" The man asked with a genial smile.
Now that he had a better look, Charles realized this man was much younger than he expected. He was probably only a year or two older than Charles, if he had to guess, and had the most stunningly blue eyes.
On top of that, his muscles made Charles feel weak in the knees. They were impressive and bulging out of the simple shirt and apron the man was wearing.
"Are you Gasly?" Charles blurted out, then covered his mouth in embarrassment as his face heated up.
The man's smile grew wider in amusement. "One of them, yes," he said, giving a little bow, "Pierre Gasly, at your service."
Charles was worried for a brief moment that the bow meant that the man…Pierre…knew who he was. When he raised his head, Charles saw no flash of recognition and that teasing grin would never be present on anyone that was actually bowing to him. That was definitely a relief.
“I’m Charles,” he started to introduce himself, and then panicked because he had not been intending on using his real name, and definitely couldn’t use his real last name, “uh…Norris. Charles Norris.”
It was the last name of one of his childhood friends, someone that he hadn’t seen in years and he hoped that it wasn’t recognizable.
There was a slight smirk on Pierre’s face when Charles gave his name. “Your parents followed the trend after the prince was born, Charles uh Norris?”
Charles felt his face heat up even more. That was an unfortunate side-effect of royalty. A good third of the males born in the year or so following Charles’ birth were also named Charles.
“I blame my maman,” Charles tried to come up with a cover story on the spot, “she…um…works in the castle. We do, I mean. My whole family. My father is a…military advisor. I study history and strategy. My younger brother wants to be a captain someday.”
That wasn’t technically false, but it was definitely stretching the truth.
“Very interesting,” Pierre looked at him as if he could see right through him and Charles wanted to die. This guy was turning his brain into mush and he felt like sinking straight into the floor.
“So, Charles uh Norris,” Pierre continued, his amusement physically palpable, “did you come here to regale me with your family history or can I help you with something?”
This was mortifying. Charles was actually going to crawl out of his skin and the red of his face was going to become his new skin tone.
“Yes, of course,” he said, probably a bit too loudly, “I need…bread.”
Pierre looked like he was about two seconds away from bursting into incredulous laughter. “Well, you have come to the right place. We have” he paused, gesturing broadly around the shop, “bread. Though I am a bit surprised. I thought the castle kitchens make their own bread, no?”
“They were…out,” Charles gave the world’s lamest explanation and had half a mind to just walk back out the door and never show his face in town ever again.
“Out,” Pierre repeated, raising one eyebrow skeptically.
Charles groaned in frustration and Pierre actually started laughing at him. He ran one hand through his hair sheepishly and offered a placating grin. “I’m sorry,” he said after the laughter died down, “I just…it smelled so good and I…I don’t…”
“–do this very often?” Pierre finished his thought for him and Charles gave a small, embarrassed nod.
The smile he received in return was much more understanding, much less teasing, and Charles felt a sliver of relief wash over his body. Pierre probably thought he was an ignorant rich kid that grew up in the castle.
He wouldn’t be very far off, in that regard.
“Well, what you were probably smelling were the loaves that just came out of the oven,” Pierre explained, “but we offer a variety of products that might fit your tastes. Do you prefer something savory or sweet?”
“Sweet,” Charles responded instantly. He always had a bit of a sweet tooth, much to his mother’s dismay, and enjoyed indulging whenever he got the chance.
Pierre gestured and walked over to another stand behind his counter that held a large tray, maybe half filled with croissants.
“These were made by yours truly this very morning,” Pierre seemed particularly proud of himself as he showed them off, “we have plain for two coppers each or six for a silver. We also have chocolate-filled and raspberry-filled, three coppers each or four for a silver. Over here–”
“I’ll take two chocolate and two raspberry,” Charles interrupted, not needing to see anything else. The croissants looked decadent and his mouth was watering just thinking about them.
A smile lit up Pierre’s face as he carefully selected four croissants and placed them into a nearby cloth bag. “Do you need anything else today?” Pierre asked as he handed the bag over the counter.
Charles shook his head and gratefully accepted the bag. He placed a single silver piece into Pierre’s outstretched palm and watched the strong fingers curl around it.
“Well, I appreciate your business, Charles uh Norris,” the teasing grin was back and Charles felt a faint blush return to his cheeks, “and I sure hope the castle runs out of bread again soon.” Pierre followed his statement with a wink that only served to make Charles’ heart stutter.
“Thank you,” Charles mumbled, too embarrassed to say anything else. He knew his face was red again as he turned to make the quickest reasonable exit out of the store.
It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard strong peals of laughter start up just before the door closed behind him.
Once he was back on the main thoroughfare, Charles pulled one of the croissants out of the bag and gave it a quick sniff. It smelled lovely, warm and inviting, just like the inside of the bakery, and he sank his teeth into the pastry.
Instant perfection hit his taste buds. The pastry itself was light and flaky, the chocolate rich and sweet, and Charles devoured it before he could restrain himself.
The raspberry one was just as excellent, the slight tartness creating a balance with the sweetness that was simply delightful. He did not care that he was ruining his dinner as he ate the other two on the short walk back to the castle.
It was stupidly simple to slip back into the garden unseen and he hid the bag where he had stashed his nicer clothes earlier.
Charles realized that it was much later than expected and rushed back to his rooms to change. He was only five minutes late to his afternoon tutor and he hoped that he didn’t have any chocolate or raspberry smeared on his face.
He was definitely going back to Pierre’s Bakery.
#f1 rpf fic#piarles#10 x 16#fanf1ction#Prince!Charles and Baker!Pierre#I'd be a lot more productive at work if I wasn't thinking about my fics#Or reading everyone else's lovely fics#also why am I writing new stuff instead of literally any of my WIPs???
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One thing I have to give to /r/bengals is how unapologetically horny everyone is for their players
#It gives me /r/fanf1ction vibes before that sub became boring I love hanging out there#The middle aged guy with a 'My ideal weight is Joe Burrow on top of me' mug? Legend#/r/eagles STEP UP YOUR GAME... WE LITERALLY HAVE THE HOTTEST QB IN THE LEAGUE#.txt
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f1 reddit is soon going to start shipping them
#f1 reddit is so funny sometimes#f1#they already write fanfics in the comment section#r Fanf1ction is just watered down Tumblr
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Made with <3 and naughtiness in my soul.
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