Carlos Sainz - Blog Posts

These men are too pretty

Lewis at the Met🫶🫶

You know what I need? I need a bunch of the drivers to go next year, a whole ass group of them; and I need them to be dressed to the nines

✨🎀2024 Miami Grand Prix🎀✨

Predictions

- Podium: Sainz, Verstappen, Norris

- Riccardo in the points

- Stroll DNF

- Sargent P16

- Hamilton P5

- Leclerc P4

- Driver of the Day: Norris

- Hail Mary Prediction: Verstappen DNF, Norris P1, Riccardo P2

Honestly thinking about grid changes for next year makes me cry, like… i love my boys and i dont want anyone to leave

Today’s Thought: Danny Ric’s Pronunciation of Nico ULLKINBERG

I’m living for silly season

Over the years the McLaren youtube channel has given us liquid gold of driver content🫶

I know they are grown ass men that I have no affiliation with but I keep thinking of them as “my boys”

My life is so complicated being in love with so many guys who will never know I exist *insert dramatic fainting*

✨🎀2024 Shanghai Grand Prix🎀✨

Review:

- HOLYYYYY

- that was a great race

- amazing job from lando

- lance stroll…man… that was a bit of a big oops

- alonso giving us all a heart attack mid race

- ferrari what the heck

- GG every body I’m going to bed

✨🎀2024 Shanghai Grand Prix🎀✨

Predictions:

- Podium: Redbull, Mclaren, Aston Martin

- Driver Of The Day: Zhou Guanyu

- Danny Ric scores his first points

- One of the Ferraris DNFs

Hail Mary Prediction

- Hamilton wins the whole thing

✨🎀race week🎀✨

Shanghai 2024

- so excited for the first sprint of the year

- hoping for a double ferrari podium

- always praying for a papaya p1

- ALSO daniel, just daniel, love him and always want the best for him

I mean go Red Bull but like I wish both Ferrari were on the podium… maybe with a certain McLaren driver as well

is carlos sainz jr officially the love of my life?? stay tuned

Status Update

reading F1 fanfics and listening to rap music 😎🥵

CHARLES GOT PODIUM ONE I REPEAT CHARLES GOT PODIUM ONE

Carlos Sainz x Black!Reader: ReFound 2

The preparations for baby Sainz had been made and today was the day he decided to meet his parents. Y/n had been living with Carlos and Rebbeca for the past one month, wanting her to be close and that came in handy as her water broke this morning.

Carlos held her up as they slowly walked around to get her dilated while they waited for the midwife. Carlos Sr and Reyes went about setting up the bedroom where Y/n would give birth as Ana and Blanca made her a fruit bowl to keep some energy.

When the mid wife arrived and checked her over while Y/n complained of something sliding down to her opening, it was noted that she had been fully dilated and the baby's head was in her birth canal.

Y/n spent the next 5 hours alone in the bedroom with Carlos as she was moving all over the place, mostly in a squat trying to push. Carlos held her throughout the whole process, whispering encouraging words to her as they rocked while she beared down deep, finally getting their baby's head out. Carlos was so amazed as he kept rubbing the head that was obviously full of jet black hair.

After a few more minutes of rest they went back to the routine of pushing with the contractions and breaking when it stopped as they were instructed and with a few more pushes, the little Sainz slid right out into the palms of his father's hand with a healthy cried that was heard from the outside of the room where everyone else waited to give them privacy.

After an extra hour alone with their newborn, Carlos placed Y/n on the bed to rest as went out with their son to be introduced to his family. As soon as the new human was in sight everyone started gushing at how cute he was, yet no one was allowed to hold him due to the rule imposed that he would not be held by anyone but his parents until he was at least 4 months old.

"What are you both gonna name him?" Rebbeca asked quietly as she looked down at the infant in his daddy's arms. "We're not sure yet, I'm waiting for her to wake up and then we'll decide" Carlos responded not looking up from his baby. As I'd on cue, Y/n started shifting before her eyes fluttered open.

"Careio?" Y/n blindly patted the space next to her, finding it empty as she jumped up. "Hermosa, he's here no worries" Carlos gently pulled her back to the bed, placing their son into her hands. "My son" Y/n cried as she looked at her baby who fluttered his eyes open at the sound of his mommy's voice. "That's what we're naming him?" Carlos asked her causing her nod shyly, Rebbeca giggling at her cuteness as they all hugged, confirming the little Sainz's name.

The Sainz Secret: Carlos Sainz Jr x Black!Caribbean!Reader

Today is a very important for Carlos as it is his home race, but also the time that he finally gets to see his son after the last visit three months ago. He woke up feeling excited as he called the mother of his child to make sure that she was safely arriving. "Hola mi amor, are you two almost landed?" Carlos asked making the woman chuckle on the other side of the line. "Yes 'los, we are a about an hour away, we watched the race, and I must say that you did very well in FP1." she countered making his smile widen. "I have to go now; they'll take you straight to me when you arrive so no worries. Give him a kiss for me, yeah?" was the last thing that Carlos said before the signal went off and the call ended. He sighed before heading out for the press conference before the official singles interview.

Time had pass, yet Carlos seems to become more irritated with each passing minute as he anticipated his son's arrival. unbeknownst to him, Y/n and his son had already arrived at the track and were a few feet away from him. "Daddy!" everyone in the paddock heard the toddler scream midway his dad interview, as he thrashed around before the woman placed him down and he ran straight for his dad.

"Hola mi hijo" Carlos chocked up with tears in his eyes as he hugged his baby close to his chest. The toddler returned the hug just as tight while Y/n stood taking pictures of them. "Come here, don't stay far. How are you?" Carlos asked the Y/n. "I'm doing good, just glad that I got him to see you." she replied lowly that the microphones were unable to pick up her voice. "Alright, you go with Charles and I'll finish up here and meet you in the garage." Carlos informed her with a kiss to the forehead as she was then led to the garage by Charles who cracked joke along the way.

"Okay, Carlos I see you have company now. He is so cute, is he yours?" the interviewer asked as Carlos started blushing. "Yes he is, This Matteo Sainz, he is three years old. You all never meet him because his mom lives outside of Europe so I rarely see him. This is his first full weekend with me." He gushed proudly as his son started playing in his hair as his interviewer smiled widely at the curious toddler.

The interview ended and Carlos went to get his family together where they all went home to relax after a tiring flight and a hectic race weekend, enjoying the unity before they had to leave to go back home in the Caribbean far away from him again.

CARLOS P6 IN QUALIFYING! Plus my brother saying he was gonna fuck Q2 only for Sainz to immediately get the best time.

P9 FOR CARLOS. bit disappointed but it'll be better next time, either way, Lewis was a diva and that was awesome

P6 FOR CARLOS! FINALLY SOMETHING GOOD. Fingers crossed the race doesn't go bad.

P8 FOR CARLOS!! I'm not even mad that he lost two positions because the amount of overtakes he did was awesome. He was going fast.

SAINZ P6 IN QUALI!!

OMG CARLOS DID SO GOOD IN FP1 AND FP2. Let's hope he's in the points this time

Carlos wtf was that. 10 second penalty and p20 :(

I am crying

Praying to all the Gods above that Carlos stays in the points tomorrow or else I might scream

Hey everyone! hoping this gets to the right audience, but i wanted to show someone my f1 bookmarks that i have made and i think they look pretty! please say something if you’re interested in owning some of them, thanks.

making more in the future..

guys i low-key wanna start writing about the f1 grid. should i do it?

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! 🫶

put my mind at ease / pretty please

{carlos sainz jr x fem!reader x charles leclerc}

in which charles needs comfort and reassurance in the aftermath of a break-up, and finds solace in you and carlos.

18+ only; warnings under the cut

warnings: threesome smut with brief mentions to past threesome fucking (involving mirrors and roughness), fucking while emotionally vulnerable, handjobs (m/m, f/m), oral sex (m and f receiving), spit as lube, dirty talk, taking instructions / semi-free use, hair-pulling, hints of cum swapping (if you squint), unprotected sex, cum being pushed back inside, masturbation.

written in fulfilment of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge - dirty talk

word count: 6k

—

Charles shows up unannounced on the doorstep just before dawn - disheveled, eyes weary with a cynicism you hadn’t seen before despite all his years in racing.

He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t offer his customary kiss on the cheek. All he says is, in a broken, high voice, “she’s gone,” and there’s nothing else to say after that, really, because this break up had seemed almost a foregone conclusion for weeks now. Your eyes widen at the pain you hear in his voice, but you’re not surprised - it’s an incredibly difficult life to keep pace with, and there’s no one to blame for wanting different things in life.

Carlos is the one who pulls him into his chest, his arms wrapped tight around Charles’ back as his palm fits over the back of his neck in a caress that’s part affection and part comfort. Charles does not cry but he melts into the hug without any resistance, shoulders going slack, a soft groan emerging as he finds security in the space of Carlos’ arms - like the closing of heavy gates, the pulling over of the shutter blinds. You press a kiss to Charles’ soft cheek and taste the remnant salt of his tears.

“I’m so sorry.” His words are muffled into Carlos’ chest, “I didn’t know where else to go. I couldn’t sleep.”

“You came to the right place,” Carlos soothes, his voice dropping into a special sort of tenderness that he reserves for Charles alone, “we’ll always take care of you, Charles.”

Charles nods, whimpering his gratitude. On the paddock, he’s usually the picture of beaming confidence and giggles that teeter on the edge of adorable. Now, in the arms of your lover, he looks a shadow of himself - a tiny thing, crouched and curled up into something quite vulnerable.

“What do you need?” You rub at his back, as Carlos brings him in the house and shuts the door. “Can I make you something to eat?”

Charles shakes his head. “I just didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

And so Carlos gives him the faintest nod of understanding, and scoops him up in his arms to tuck him against his chest, shushing Charles when he squirms and tries to protest. The sight of him cradling Charles like that, up the stairs, is so ridiculous and sweet at the same time, it could almost be mistaken for something they’re forced to do for media content. But here - it’s real, and there are no cameras, no video cuts. Charles eventually lets himself be coddled, and burrows his face into the corner of Carlos’ shoulder, surrendering himself fully. You nip over to the kitchen to make some hot tea, and when you carry it into the bedroom, Carlos has Charles laid on the loveseat in your room, a face towel dipped in warm water in hand as he presses it softly to his face, wiping away the dried tears and despair off his face as much as he can. Charles closes his eyes and looks something closer to bliss.

“Here,” you hand him the cup once Carlos is done, “be careful,” and Charles takes small, restorative sips with a tiny sigh. When his eyes eventually open, they are dreamy and glassy with unshed tears. He’s never looked prettier like this - his heart on his sleeve, eyes full of trust and wistful longing. Carlos has gone to wring out the towel, bringing a change of clean clothes from his own stash.

“Arms up,” he says, and Charles obeys so that Carlos can reach for the hem to take off his shirt, and you avert your eyes from the smooth planes of his chest and torso because it feels wrong to ogle at him when he’s this emotionally raw. You hear him snag open the button of his dark jeans and refuse to give in to the temptation to look down, as you help him pull on the loose shirt that smells like Carlos and clean laundry, while he tugs on the jogger pants himself.

Carlos gives him an appraising look, as if surveying your handiwork. A yawn emerges on Charles’ face, making him look years younger. “Right,” Carlos says, clapping his hands definitively, “off to bed now.”

Charles nods, and lets himself be led by Carlos’ warm hand clasping his own. He gets in the bed and Carlos shifts him to the middle with his strong arms, fluffing pillows and pulling the duvet around him until he’s enveloped in a cocoon of softness. There’s something quite alluring about watching Carlos shift him so easily, as if he weighs nothing, but you steel yourself against indecent thoughts, wanting to be wholly there for Charles without any selfish agenda. You allow yourself a quick look at him, relieved to see that there’s finally a smile on his face, although his eyes still hold traces of sadness that one night in your shared bed will not cure just yet.

He holds out his arms, almost child-like. “W-will you come to bed with me?”

It’s nice - being wanted so openly, to be sought out as a place of comfort and safety. Carlos nudges you to go first, and you climb in, slotting yourself at Charles’ side as he curls up against you and makes appreciative little sounds as you brush his hair back to kiss his forehead. He drapes a hand over your waist, making himself comfortable in the crook of your neck, as Carlos slips in quietly to the other side to spoon him. Charles sighs when Carlos presses to him fully, his body a tanned bracket to Charles’ paler, smoother one. You reach out to stroke Carlos’ shoulder and his mouth quirks up in a smile of affection for you, even as his arm slings itself over Charles’ torso, keeping him safe and warm, and most of all, loved.

You’ll let him stay for as long as he wants, of course. Until he’s ready to leave and face the outside world and all the speculation that comes with a public break up. But until then, you’re content to have him parked between you and Carlos in this enclosed, private little space. There are no other onlookers - no one to scrutinise what goes on between the three of you.

“Close your eyes, Charles,” Carlos whispers into the base of his neck, and you can feel the subtle shiver that runs through Charles’ body when he feels his hot breath against the sensitive skin of his nape, “you’re safe here with us now.”

Charles starts to speak, but you cup his face and run your thumb along the soft curve of his bottom lip that trembles slightly. “You’re ours, Charles,” you say, “we’re not leaving you ever.”

He nods slowly, never taking his gaze off you as he presses the lightest kiss to your thumb, and you feel the sweetness of the gesture warm you entirely. “I want to forget,” he whispers, a flash of pain flickering in his eyes as memories of the past year flood through his mind, unfettered. “I wasn’t ever good enough.”

He doesn’t say for her, but you hear it all the same - his unspoken disappointments and failings - and your heart aches for him. He looks weather-beaten and defeated - lost in the midst of a perpetual storm.

“You’re good, Charles,” Carlos says, and Charles brightens at his praise, even if he doesn’t fully believe it all the time, “always so, so good, and more than enough. For us.” He leans in to kiss his cheek, affectionately nuzzling his face with his nose and Charles leans into the tender affirmation so readily, lifting his pretty eyes to yours without dropping his gaze even for a bit.

Your heart leaps in your chest involuntarily, because he’s looking at you with this weighty yearning that you’ve never seen before - like he’s hoping for salvation, a lifeline, and you feel utterly and completely done for. In the glow of Carlos’s night lamp, Charles looks ethereal, other-worldly when his eyes rove over your face, you feel the irresistible pull of him drawing you in.

“Charles,” Carlos’ voice holds an edge of warning, recognising the trajectory Charles is tugging you towards, and Charles stills, as if instinctively obedient to the authority he hears in Carlos’ voice that’s both firm and full of concern.

Your eyes dart to your boyfriend’s dark, searching ones, and he says to you, “he’s vulnerable, sweetheart.”

And Carlos is right, as he always is. As much as you want to, you can’t take advantage of Charles like this - when he’s in the post-break up brain fog and still caught in the emotional upheaval that comes with it. You feel something like shame flood your cheeks, and vow to put to rest each filthy thought that emerges when you look at Charles right in front of you.

“I don’t care,” Charles insists, a mix of stubbornness and heartbreak in his words as he snuggles in closer. “I want to forget.”

Not just the breakup, you think, watching the mix of emotions play out over his face. He’s not just sad about the end of a relationship, but he wants to heal from the entirety of the past year’s struggles. His failures and frustrations with the car, with the team… with himself. He’s hoping a good fuck would constitute erasure.

You glance over at Carlos, his face mirroring the concern you feel.

“Charles.” Carlos says, and your skin prickles at his tenderness surfacing. He nuzzles into the back of Charles’ neck, his lips inadvertently skimming over the sensitive skin there, and you watch as Charles’ eyes slide half-closed, his mouth parting at the sensation. Heat coils inside you as you see this unravel in almost slow motion - the hitch in Charles’ breathing as Carlos slides his hands over his torso and holds him impossibly close and tells him in an especially sultry, teasing tone, “we really, really shouldn’t…”

Charles moans softly at that, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip - and you know it’s a game now - that he likes the challenge of being told no, loves the taste of forbidden things when he’s snatched them up for himself out of sheer stubborn determination. He wants this more, now that he’s told he can’t have it.

“But I want to,” there’s the faintest shudder that runs through his body and you feel it because he’s pressed right to you, his impatience diffusing into the surrounding air. “I-I won’t ask for anything else.”

Carlos hums in reply, non-committal, but he doesn’t stop the trail of his mouth over the slopes of Charles’ neck and shoulders, and you can just imagine the feel of his stubble over all that smooth skin - addictive and incendiary.

Charles arches so that more of his skin presses to Carlos’ lips, and you can’t blame him for wanting that lush mouth everywhere. When he shivers at a particularly sweet spot that Carlos has traced over with his tongue, Charles’ hips brush up against yours, and there’s a jolt of heat that rushes through your blood at the contact.

He’s already hard, and embarrassed by the prospect, if the flush over his cheeks is anything to go by.

Your mind floods with the last time you let him fuck you - so many months back, when he’d taken a break from his relationship so he could be singularly focused on winning a world championship. He’d been eager to fuck, and it hadn’t taken much convincing on yours and Carlos’ part to agree.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d been allowed to share you with Carlos, after all.

Charles had been rough - urgent. Frantic from the thrill of qualifying in pole position, and greedy to vent his victory in the best way he knows how - with his long, elegant fingers fisted in your hair, hips rocking into you as he watched the movements of your bodies in the full-length mirror propped strategically against the bedside wall, while Carlos lay under you, cock trapped and dripping between your belly and his as he kissed the muffled groans that ripped right from your throat.

Months later, you still have dreams about that night.

In bed now, there’s none of that frantic aggression - Charles is all soft wanting. You want to ask him how long it’s been for him, but you know the answer instinctively when you see the way he responds to the lightest of touches - as your fingers trail down his bare chest, over the flat of his nipples. How he melts into every caress with sheer pleasure inscribed all over his face, eyes half-lidded, almost drugged.

He’d been touch-starved for too long.

His eyes flash up at you, and he leans in as close as Carlos’ arms around him will allow, and mouths the most pitiable “please” you’d ever seen.

The plea twists at your heart, and you can’t bear to break his heart all over again by saying no.

“Carlos,” you say, holding Charles’ gaze fully.

“Hmm?” He says, absently, his mouth busy with the planes of Charles’ shoulders.

You cradle Charles’ face in your hands and he nuzzles into them with an almost feline-quality. “I wanna take care of him.”

Carlos nods. “Me too, carino.” He pulls away, propping himself up on his arm to gaze at Charles, whose dreamy look makes him skirt the line of innocence and looking completely, utterly fuckable. You must’ve licked your lips, your overt hunger and desire for him so clear and on open display, because Carlos nudges Charles closer into you so that your faces are right within perfect kissing proximity.

You share a breath with him, hovering in this liminal space before the kiss, feeling a growing surge of protectiveness over him.

“Kiss me.” He begs, and you hesitate, until Carlos nods, giving you all the encouragement that you need to lean in and press your lips so gently into Charles’, his face cupped in your hands as you pour into him an intimacy of want that he misses so much. You feel him smile into the kiss, lips nipping at yours. You stroke his cheekbone, feeling the world tilts on its axis when you open your mouth to let him lick his tongue against yours. He whimpers at the contact, wanting more as his hands wrap around your waist and pull you flush to his body so he can kiss you back with fervent longing. His lips are so fucking soft, imbued with the salt of his tears and a desperate yearning to be loved for everything he is and accepted in spite of everything he’s not. You keep the kiss deliberately slow, sucking his bottom lip softly, your thumb now at his sharp jaw as you kiss like you have all the time in the world to explore his mouth. When he moans, you can’t tell if it’s from the kiss, or the way Carlos has taken to licking down his spine, his tongue flicked playfully at the indents at the base.

Charles’ eyes flutter from the heady kiss you share, and when he pulls away from you, he murmurs, “I want to…”, and slides his hand under your shirt, ready to touch you, to please you.

“Wait, Charles.” Carlos says, and Charles stills at the sound of his firm, gentle tone, afraid that he’s overstepped somehow.

Carlos turns him in his hands to get him on his back, and lays a hand directly in the centre of his chest, as if to tame his racing heartbeat. He gives Charles a slow, smoky smile and the Monegasque visibly relaxes, his own hand coming up to cover the one Carlos leaves on his chest.

You give Carlos a look that’s pure desire across the planes of Charles’ chest. “He looks so pretty, doesn’t he?”

Carlos nods, giving you his own lascivious look that’s filled with such perfect understanding that you smile, realising what you both want is colliding into perfect harmony.

“Charles,” Carlos rubs at the centre of his chest, “we’re going to take care of you.”

It’s not a request. It’s a promise.

His eyes grow wide, and the people-pleasing side of him wants to say no, because he’s not here to be served without giving back and paying his dues somehow, but all his protests are pointedly ignored. Carlos’ hand slides out of his grip and down his chest, his deliciously muscled torso, before moving over the waistband of his slacks, the yearning evident in his eyes.

His hand stills at the edge, right bellow his belly button, and Charles inhales sharply, realising what his teammate is about to do.

“Can I touch you? Is this okay?” Carlos asks so gently, and there’s a breathless silence that hangs between them because it’s almost weighty, this choice he offers to Charles to have him touch him in places you know Carlos has dreamed of for longer than he’s cared to admit. Charles dips his eyes down to Carlos’ hands - wide, long fingers that are just perfect for everything filthy he wants to do, and so he nods hypnotically, trying to keep his eagerness in check, as Carlos reaches in and draws his cock out slowly to the tune of Charles’ gasp. He doesn’t take his eyes off Charles’ face when his hand moves instinctively, making twisting, teasing strokes that gradually build up into a rhythm that gets Charles panting, flushed.

It dawns on you that it’s the first time he’s ever touched Charles like this. All the times he’d shared your bed with Carlos - he’d never been this overt with his affection, never touched him like this because you were always the one in between them.

It’s so hot.

The strokes look so familiar in pace and intensity - you’d know them anywhere because you’ve seen them in your very own bedroom. He’s touching Charles the exact way Carlos himself likes to be touched - the curved motions of his wrist, the slow teasing up and down strokes, thumb gently caressing the underside of his tip, his eyes watching closely for how good it’s making Charles feel.

Charles sucks in a breath when Carlos dips down to pool his saliva in his mouth, allowing it to drip over the tip of his cock encased in his fist. He makes a move to spread all that spit over his cock with his hand, lubing it up and making the strokes easier, the sensation more intense. You feel pure lust pour through your body as you watch Charles undulate, gripping sheets between his fingers, eyes blown wide with the ecstasy that you’ve seen every single time he’s close to coming.

“Carlos, merde!” His voice is pleading, strained, and Carlos looks so satisfied at his response that he slows his movements, holding Charles in a softer grip as he offers an element of mercy. Charles lets out a shaky breath, looking completely on edge and desperate to prolong the drug-like ecstasy of Carlos’ touch.

But you’re not that merciful, not when your body aches to have all of Charles.

You scoot forward to stroke the length of Carlos’ flexed arm, and his eyes flicker to you, reading the expression on your face instinctively.

“You wanna taste him, don’t you, sweetheart?” Carlos leans forward to press his mouth to yours as you nod, sinking into his kiss with thrilling anticipation for what he’s going to allow you to do. “What do you think, Charles? Are you going to let her suck your cock?”

Charles makes this noise that’s half moan, half strangled groan, as his eyes light up with an excitement that makes you even more eager for him. “Holy fuck. Yes. Please.”

You wrap your hand over Carlos’ hand that circles around the base of Charles’ cock, and drag the lightest brush of your tongue over the slit at the very tip. Charles shudders, unable to repress the urge to lift his hips up to chase the sensation of pleasure your tongue brings, and Carlos makes a hum of approval at his open display of hunger. Your eyes flit between Carlos and Charles as you lap your tongue over his sensitive head, laving at the parts of him that get him noisy for you. “Just like that baby,” Carlos soothes, “you can take him deeper, can’t you?”

You make an affirmative noise in your throat, parting your lips to take his cock in your mouth. Charles gets so flushed when his dick’s sucked, and Carlos loves watching this, grows hungry for it. “Good girl,” he says, and you moan at the back of your throat, knowing Charles can feel the vibrations course through his dick. You give him a faintly pitying look, and he sends you back one that’s full of agonised pleasure.

You reach for Carlos’ hand, guiding it up your cheek, into the strands of your hair, pulling your mouth off Charles’ cock long enough to whisper, “Carlos… please use me to help him feel good.”

Charles’ eyes bug out, and the sound Carlos makes is more animalistic than you’d ever heard him, but it’s thrilling, the knowledge that he gets off on this - that it’s hot for him too. He grips the strands in your hair with gentle firmness, before reminding you, “tap twice on my thigh if it’s too much, sweetheart.”

You swallow around Charles’ cock, nodding in eager reply as you place your hand on Carlos’ thigh for a reassuring squeeze.

And then, with the gentlest pressure, Carlos coaxes you to take as much of Charles’ cock as you can, watching you so closely for signs of discomfort, and feeling for the moment the tip of his cock hits the resistance at the back of your throat. You squeeze his thigh, and he knows, then, to stop. “Swallow around his cock, baby,” he murmurs, the words holding the most erotic undercurrent that sets your skin ablaze, “and roll your tongue under it. You know I love it when you do that.”

You comply, letting your tongue glide along the underside of his dick and you feel an answering satisfaction when you feel it throb in your mouth. Carlos’ eyes flicker to Charles, a knowing smile on his face. “Feels fucking good, doesn’t she?”

“Fuck,” Charles breathes, gazing up at the ceiling for a brief moment to find his composure. “It’s too fucking good.”

Carlos grins down at you, loosening his fingers in your hair so he can stroke your scalp softly. “Look at how good you’re doing, carino. Swallow around him, hm? Let him feel the warmth of your sweet mouth.”

You squeeze Carlos’ thigh to signal that you’ve heard him, and his eyes grow hot, watching as you hollow your cheeks, his hand still guiding your mouth along the length of Charles’ cock, until his hips twist up into a helpless, instinctive thrust deeper into your mouth, and your eyes widen when you watch him lose control, tasting the precome that inadvertently drips from his tip - he’s so close to coming. Carlos pulls your mouth off his cock, and presses a hand to still Charles’ hip into the mattress. Charles shudders on the edge, reaching for Carlos’ firm wrist on his hip with shaky fingers, as if needing an anchor in this tempestuous storm. “Relax,” Carlos tells him coyly, before leaning down to kiss your wet, swollen mouth. You gasp when his tongue enters your mouth and licks inside, shocked at how bold he’s being tonight. “Tastes so good,” he whispers, and your cheeks grow hot with the certainty that he’s not just talking about you. “Think his cock’s wet and hard enough fuck you properly, love.”

It’s dripping with your saliva and his precum, a red flush from tip to bottom, and so hard against his flat stomach - enticing enough for your mouth to water. Carlos tips his fingers under your chin, adoration written all over his face when he tells you, “you look so beautiful like this, sweetheart.” His gaze dips to the wet patch at your underwear that sticks to you, outlining the soft lips he’s dying to taste. “All wet for Charles.”

“And you,” you remind him, diminishing any space for doubt in his mind and kissing him once again as your hand winds around his neck. “Always you, my love.”

He looks pleased, even though he’s confident enough to not need your assurance, you love giving it to him unabashedly. Carlos enjoys the kiss for an indulgent few moments before letting his hands take up residence on your hips so he can lift you over Charles’ lap. His lips skim your shoulder, as he comes up behind you to spread your legs wide. Charles rests his hands on your thighs, dragging you up until your cunt is pressed flushed against his cock, and you both let out twin sighs of almost-relief. Carlos reaches for a condom in the nightstand drawer, but you lean back to put a hand on his wrist, whispering, “baby… I think we trust him enough, don’t we?”

Carlos’ eyes grow dark as his mouth curves up with a sly smile. He’s never let Charles fuck you without protection before, although the idea has certainly been floated around so many times in your shared fantasies with him.

Carlos looks over at Charles, holding up the condom as an unspoken question. “Think my girl would love if you fucked her bare, Charles.” The ball’s in his court now - he can choose, of course.

In reply, Charles takes the condom from his fingers and tosses it to the floor - impatient and hungry to be on the same page. “Let me see her cunt,” he begs Carlos, who hooks two fingers into the edge of your underwear so he can pull it to the side. The delight in Charles’ eyes is unparalleled, as if you’re treasure to be thoroughly plundered. You’re wet all over, and the sight of it makes Charles groan and shift under you, rubbing the curve of his cock against your pussy.

You shiver, unable to repress the want that grows almost unbearable inside you. “Want him inside me, Carlos,” you plead, and he grunts, not wasting any more time as he takes Charles’ cock in his hands and you lift yourself up above him on your knees.

It’s past the point of no return now, and you recognise this moment of almost transgressive new intimacy that you’re sharing with Charles and Carlos alike. You turn to kiss Carlos, partly grateful that he understands you completely and loves sharing this with you, and partly to convey to him, with the soft, underlying tenderness of your kiss that you share with no one else but him - that you’re still his, fully and completely. That this does not erode your devotion to him - it only strengthens it.

Carlos presses the tip of Charles’ dick to your entrance - and so soft is his gaze that your heart squeezes in your chest. “Very sexy,” he says in affirmation, and before you can kiss him again, he wraps his other hand around your hip and pushes you down onto Charles’ erection, hearing your sharp exhale as he fills you completely, fully, all the way to the hilt. Your hand comes to press on Charles’ sternum, the muscles flexing as he restrains himself from being too frantic - too eager. There’s a shiver that runs from his body and seems to echo in yours when your cunt’s full of his cock.

“You look so fucking good with his cock inside you,” comes Carlos’ hot whisper at your ear, and you lean back into his body so he can manoeuvre you however he wishes - both hands now gripping your hips, rocking you back and forth on Charles’ cock until you’re both writhing, hot messes, noisy with sounds that supply Carlos with so much incentive to keep going. The sensation of his cock inside you, bare, is ridiculously hot - as is the look on his face - eyes half-lidded with ecstasy, a tell-tale flush blossoming over his chest, his mouth parted as he pants. “That’s it, Charles,” Carlos soothes, watching his hips thrust up into you. You feel the aching stretch of him morph into pure bliss, racing through your veins. “Keep fucking her just like that,” he utters, “and you’ll make her come.”

Charles groans, obediently following his instructions to the letter. “Your girl’s so tight, Carlos,” he says, on the brink of swearing and coming apart. “I won’t last if she keeps clenching around me like that.”

You lean into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder, melting against the muscles of his body and moaning as he smacks your ass playfully. “Such a dirty girl,” he says with something like pride in his voice, “look at what you’re doing to poor Charles.”

You squeeze your walls around him, eliciting a low growl from Charles that’s delicious to your ears. “Please touch me, Carlos,” you whimper, as his hand slides down your belly to between your legs where he rubs feather-light circles around your clit, making you jerk up as heat sparks where his fingers are, causing your cunt to tighten against the invasive thrust of Charles’ cock. You feel the coiling of tension inside you - the impending explosion of an orgasm already surfacing beyond your control.

“She’s so close, Charles,” Carlos speeds up his fingers on your clit, relishing in the rush of wetness that coats his fingers. Beneath you, Charles lets out a strangled moan, digging his fingers into your thighs as his thrusts grow wild inside you. “You better fucking come inside her before she -”

And his words are interrupted by the sharp cry that you make when your orgasm hits, a wet slick of your juices puddling underneath you and collecting in the divots of his hips and his navel. Your pussy clenches around him, as he makes two, three more hard thrusts inside you until he groans raggedly and comes, deep inside you for the first time, leaving you a quivering, wet mess over him as you shudder against Carlos’ broad chest. Charles looks like a wreck - panting and shaking with a flushed exertion that looks like it should grace the centrefold of an erotic magazine, and you want to collapse on top of him and steal the ragged breaths from his mouth with a kiss.

“So messy,” Carlos chides, a roughness in his voice that wasn’t there before, as he pulls you gently off Charles, taking your sated body in his arms and setting you down beside Charles, flat on the bed. Charles kisses your temple, and you snuggle into him as you watch Carlos spread your legs, a devious smile on his face.

“Carlos,” Charles says, in disbelief, suddenly alert to what Carlos is about to do. “You’re not-”

“Gotta clean up my girl,” he grins, mischievous and cocky, and your face heats up with the anticipation of his next move. Charles sits up, his eyes widening to take in the sight of Carlos spreading your pussy apart, and sticking out his tongue so he can lick up the very centre of you that’s wet and sticky. He keeps his eyes trained on the two of you, laser-focused and so intensely sensual that Charles swears, unable to look away from the erotic sight of Carlos making sweeping strokes of his tongue over your swollen clit, the softness of your lips that he sucks into his mouth gently. He lets Charles’ cum collect on his tongue, pearly white drops that stand out along the pink of his tongue, so he can push it back deep inside you and make you moan. “That’s where it belongs,” he declares, against the backdrop of Charles’ scandalised admission of, “holy fuck, that’s hot”.

You shiver from the almost careless way he’s letting another man settle in on the very part of you that innately belongs to him. You realise, then, that he’s touching himself while he does this, a tight fist over his cock in a rhythm that’s a surefire way to get himself to come, and the sense of him being turned on by this - eating you out, tasting Charles inside you - is an erotic fantasy all on its own. You feel the build up of another orgasm approaching, pressing your cunt against his face with an almost greedy determination.

Charles leans in to kiss your neck, sucking against the soft parts of it as his hands plays with your breasts, fingers rolling your hard nipples as he murmurs almost absently, “think he loves how we taste together, hm?” You arch your back at his sensual words that encapsulate how hot this whole night has been for you, until he issues a challenge. “Think you can come one more time for us, sweetheart?”

You make a soft, whimpery sound that Charles takes to mean yes. He grows bold, taking your hand and sliding it into the lush strands of Carlos’ hair. “Take what you need from him,” he says, with this newfound authority that you’ve never heard from him before. Between your legs, Carlos groans, his fingers working his cock faster now, and it’s hot, seeing the tables turn now. You ride his face, fingers tight in his hair the same way his were with you earlier, letting his tongue work deep in your cunt, his nose brushing against your clit and it’s that sweet combination of Charles’ command and Carlos’ eagerness and excitement to please you that gets you coming again, hips bowing off the bed, twisting with the incendiary pleasure of it all. Charles settles a hand at your belly to tame your wild undulations, leaning in so he can whisper, “love watching you come, beautiful.” Carlos groans in agreement, his face a mess at the apex of your shivering thighs as the seismic intensity rattles through you, seemingly without end.

“So pretty…” Charles strokes through your hair, before glancing at Carlos who leans his cheek against your inner thigh, breathing harshly. “Tell me, sweetheart, does your boyfriend come as prettily as you do?”

“You know he does,” you say, tugging Charles close enough for a kiss that he takes liberties with - mouth chasing the sweetness of you, the soft slide of your tongue. “Especially when he’s got the taste of your cum lingering on his tongue…”

“Holy shit.” Carlos shuts his eyes and you and Charles pull apart to watch him come not too long after, moaning into the soft skin of your inner thigh as he shudders with his orgasm, feeling the heat race down his spine as he spills so much cum into his fist that some of it drips onto the sheets. He swears, but you don’t mind - loving how he loses control, knowing he’s driven wild by the knowledge of just how many lines you three have crossed tonight.

He pants in the aftermath, his lips wet and his eyes dazed, as if he were the one who’d been utterly ruined by this entire encounter. Charles is the one to reach over to drag Carlos’ tired body beside him in the bed, tucking him into the sheets. He’s bonelessly sated, and too tired to clean himself off, so Charles is the one darting to the bathroom for clean, wet towels for all. He wants to take care of you two now, and so you watch in appreciative silence as he cleans Carlos off in a way that mirrors the same tenderness Carlos had offered to him earlier when he’d wiped his tears. Carlos leans into Charles’ gentle touch and makes soft, contented sounds that warm you to the core. He doesn’t forget you, taking another clean towel to the parts of you that ache in the best ways, peppering kisses along the faint finger-shaped bruises he sees at your thighs, from where he’d gripped a little too harshly.

Charles disappears into the bathroom once he’s done with the clean up, and you take this moment to press a hand to Carlos’ chest, leaning in for a tiny kiss which makes him smile. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his hand coming to cover yours that’s over his heart. “Mmmhm. And you?”

“From the way I was moaning, I’m surprised you even had to ask.” You wink at him. “I’m okay, Carlos. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He beams at you, reaching over to squeeze your ass and venturing to kiss you again. “Think Charles is okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” Charles quips, standing in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom, the glow of the lights surrounding him with an almost holy radiance. The irony is not lost on you - how he can look so completely ethereal even after doing the filthiest things imaginable with you and Carlos.

You pat the space in between the two of you, and Charles slides in eagerly, tucking himself into the soft, peaceful space that exists in these four walls with you two, yawning when his head touches the pillow and sighing softly when you and Carlos sidle up against him to form a safe little bracket around him.

Charles murmurs something like a thank you, letting his eyes flutter shut as Carlos’ palm slides under his shirt to stroke his sternum, lulling him to sleep with gentle, even pressure. You keep watch for a bit, as the last fissures of tension melt off his face, and he sinks against the protective backdrop of Carlos’ body, while his legs tangle up in yours for warmth. Carlos’ own breathing slows, morphing into gentle snores that he makes into the base of Charles’ neck. They look so perfect like this, curled up and entwined together, that you can’t bear the thought of ever having to leave the sanctity of this warm bed.

“In the morning,” Charles mutters, drowsily now, before sleep completely overtakes him, “can we please have breakfast in bed?”

“Of course, Charles,” you say, running your fingers through his hair and over his scalp until he sighs with pleasure. “We can have anything you want.”

—

This sat in my drafts for ages as a fluffy little piece and morphed into something I almost don’t recognise now that it’s done. I started this from an anonymous request I got to do more Charlos fluff, but then as always my brain kind of made it smutty (whoops). So let it be said - asks really do fuel creativity / motivation and keep me going!

I did want to finish this though because I had some thoughts about how the threesome concept could / might evolve. I know the writing isn’t 100% perfect but I am working through some kinks (lol) in the way the words flow, so please pardon the errors.

-ivy

more written filth by me can be found on the pinned post of my tumblr!

if you’d like to support my filth

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