Messiiiiiiiiiiiiiii - Vvv

Mad Woman

A/N: This part is a bit shorter than the others, but we're starting to really get to the good stuff! I hope you enjoy! Also feel like I manifested that Carlos/Daniel drama. 😬 Thank you as always, @haterpenny. Also gif credit to @f1errari ❤️

Words: 3.5K

Part One, Champagne Problems

Part Two, I Knew You Were Trouble

Part Three, It's Nice To Have A Friend

Warnings: Swearing? More idiots being idiots? Drinking, some references to smut.

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You awoke with Seb’s words ringing in your ears. It was race day, and you were going to win. You visualized yourself on the podium, hoisting that trophy over your head, the determination coursing through your veins once more. 

You and Daniel went for breakfast, and you were likely terrible company as you were too focused on securing victory. Daniel nudged you in your side, trying to coax a smile out of you. 

“Oh, I know that look. Trouble’s coming.” He teased, succeeding in making you smile. 

“I’m just focused. That’s all.” You said innocently. 

“No, no. It’s good to see a fire in your belly.” Daniel told you, shooting a wink your way. 

“You better stay out of my way. That’s all I’m going to say.” You replied cheekily, finishing off your omelet. 

“This have anything to do with Ferrari at the front of the grid?” Daniel asked with raised brows. 

“Nope. Just about taking what’s mine.” You said rather matter-of-factly. He laughed a little at that. 

“Then I can’t wait to celebrate.” He said, his voice lower in an effort to keep the sentiment private. It was your turn to nudge him. 

“Hope you’re ready to spend the night on your knees.” You replied confidently. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” 

You made your way down pit lane, bobbing and weaving past mechanics and other drivers, until you heard your name called from behind you. You turned and caught sight of Martin Brundle awkwardly clamoring after you, spry cameraman in tow. Grid walk interviews were so chaotic and uncomfortable, you usually tried to avoid them at all cost.

“Y/N, quick word?” You put a smile on and nodded. How could you possibly say no? 

“How are you feeling today?” It was a simple enough question, which you appreciated. 

“I’m feeling good. We’ve had a great weekend so far, the car has been tremendous, our team has worked really hard. We’re ready for a podium- if we’re lucky, maybe a 1, 2!” You replied enthusiastically. 

“Brilliant. You’ve been absolutely flying this weekend. Any concerns with the reliability issues the team has faced in the past?” Brundle questioned, making your smile falter just the slightest. 

“Our engineers have worked tirelessly to give us the best possible car. We’ve improved so much in the last three years- to be fighting for the constructors is a huge accomplishment, and that’s what we’re focused on. Checo is a brilliant teammate and I just feel very lucky to be where I am.” You concluded with yet another nod.

“Not just fighting for the constructors. How do you feel about possibly making history as the first female world driver’s champion?” Martin asked, pointing his microphone back at you. 

“Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” You asked mischievously. 

“Of course, I’m going to do everything I absolutely can to make it happen. I’ll let my performance speak for itself, and there’s still a long season ahead.” You finished, hoping you didn’t sound cocky, just self-assured. 

“Best of luck to you today. We hope to see history being made this season.”

“So do I. Thank you so much.” You said, turning sharply on your heel and continuing your journey to the first spot on the grid. 

You climbed into your chassi and exhaled deeply. You slipped on your balaclava and accepted your helmet from your trainer, pulling it on and trying to quiet the butterflies fluttering around in your chest. 

You glanced in your mirror, and caught sight of Carlos climbing into his car right behind you. You shook your head minutely, hoping to clear any thought of him from your mind. You thought about your dinner with Seb and replayed his words in your mind. 

This is what you’ve been waiting for. You pictured crossing that finish line, finding Seb in the crowd and throwing your arms around him. The first few races without him this season simply hadn’t been the same. Your very first race win ever- you practically tackled him. It was a moment you thought of frequently- and you were hoping to relive it. 

It was time for the formation lap, the various technicians and engineers swarming back to their own garages. 

You took off and weaved back and forth, desperate to keep temperature in your tires. You completed the three mile track, and settled back in the pole position, fluttering your fingers over the steering wheel nervously. Finally, after what felt like an agonizingly long amount of time, the red lights began to flash. And then you could almost hear Crofty yelling “It’s lights out and away we go!” You sped away from the grid and got off well, reaching the first chicane well before Lewis. You glanced in your rearview, seeing the red of Carlos’ Ferrari between the black colored Mercedes. You ignored them and turned back to the open road and focused on putting more distance between yourself and the others. You were pleased to see that Carlos was far closer to Lewis than anyone would have anticipated, and that would surely wreak havoc on their tires. The laps began to fly by, and things remained fairly uneventful until lap 22 when you heard your engineer's voice “Yellow flag, yellow flag. Stroll spun in sector 2. Hold position.” 

“Box?” You asked, knowing the pit lane entry was quickly approaching, and Aston Martin’s misfortune may just work in your favor.

“Box, box.” He agreed, and you were grateful. You pulled into the pit lane and slowed your roll before pulling into your ready and waiting pit crew. It felt like a quick stop, likely under three seconds, and you were back out and on your way, eyeing the myriad of cars pitting behind you. 

“Mercedes has stayed out. Lewis is in P1.” You felt a grin creep onto your lips. You couldn’t fathom any reason he wouldn’t box. Under the safety car you caught up to him, weaving about a car length or so behind him. You were convinced that once the yellow flag was lifted you would be able to outdrive Hamilton on your much newer tires. After half a lap the safety car had lifted, and you were already getting ready to try and overtake your rival. You gained a half a second, and pulled up beside Lewis, forcing him to take the outside line. Your newer tires certainly gave you an advantage and after you spent the next three laps gaining on him until you were within striking distance. With your DRS enabled, you blew past him on the straight. You felt euphoric, adrenaline coursing through your veins, victory surely within your grasp. All you had to do was hold your position and hold on for about forty more laps. Easy, right?

For the rest of the race you stayed quiet, focused on the task at hand. It was smooth sailing up until lap 57 when Nicholas Latifi suffered a fairly severe crash. After you were assured he was okay, a red flag was called to clear the debris off the track. You couldn’t tell if this would be a blessing in disguise or a nail in your coffin. You pulled into the pits and got some fresh tires, hoping that things would continue to work in your favor. 

You stayed seated in your car for the duration of the red flag, hoping that you would be able to stop yourself from any possible distractions. Your engineer began to read the current standings to you. 

“Of course you have pole, followed by Hamilton, Sainz, Perez,” At that point you sort of zoned out. You knew everything you needed to. 

“Alright, back to the grid.” You heard echo through your radio, sending your nerves back into overdrive. You kept your eyes straight ahead, ignoring the bit of black car in your peripheral, and the red in your rearview. You had deja vu, the track lights blinking once more before you were hurtling down the track, taking the inside line. You made the sharp turn and glanced behind you for just a moment- Lewis was gone. You looked around frantically, “Where is he?” You shouted into your radio, doing your best to keep your eyes ahead of you, Carlos’ Ferrari hot on your tail. 

“He’s gone off the track. Looks like a mechanical issue.” You were told, fighting the urge to yell triumphantly. If Hamilton got a DNF, you would be nearly equal in points. His departure from the track signaled another yellow flag, and you settled happily behind the Alfa safety car. 

“Alright, just bring it home.” You heard Christian’s voice speaking to you calmly, and you allowed your confidence to build just the slightest. Finally, the yellow flag was lifted with three laps to go. You got away well enough, and Carlos held steady in second about two seconds behind you. You rounded the final corner, and flew down the straight away, your eyes catching sight of all of the mechanics and your pit crew hanging on the fence, fists pumping triumphantly in celebration. 

“P1. P1.” Your strategist confirmed. 

“That’s a fucking podium!” You yelled, earning some laughs over the radio.

“A fucking podium!” Christian shouted in response. You pulled into the winner’s spot and stood atop your Red Bull, relishing in the cheers from the crowd. Mostly, you thought of Daniel and Sebastian- how you couldn’t wait to pull them each into a hug- maybe you could plan a mini celebration for that evening, just the three of you. The clubs were fun, but this victory felt far more personal for some reason. You hopped down and glanced around, the sea of red before you confirming that Carlos had indeed finished second. After a moment his car pulled up beside yours and Checo’s Red Bull took third. You were absolutely thrilled for the team. After a moment of receiving overjoyed slaps on the back, you were being whisked away for a quick interview before the podium. 

“Things really broke your way today, Y/N. Brilliant, clean drive. You must be thrilled.” You nodded, and smiled, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“It’s a great day for the team. After last week- this, it’s just incredible.” You answered, your hands coming up to rest behind your neck, as you glanced around taking in the sights and sounds of another win. 

“Hamilton did not finish, that will be huge in points.” The commentator stated, as though no one else were thinking about it. 

“Well, I didn’t finish last week. I’m focusing on myself, my team. But There’s still such a long season ahead.” You replied, doing your best to not let this win lull you into some false sense of security. 

“Congratulations, you’ve earned this.” 

“Thank you.” You replied finally, nodding once more and heading up to the podium. You leapt atop that highest step once more, doing your best to focus on your colleagues rather than Carlos stepping up beside you. You turned to Checo and whispered congratulations, along with a quick half-hug.

Then the national anthems were played, and the trophies were presented. You held the trophy high, your eyes searching for the faces that meant the most to you. You were broken from your trance when you saw Checo kneeling and grabbing the champagne. You followed suit and grabbed yours, shaking it harshly at your teammate and your mechanic that had joined you to accept the constructor’s trophy. You completely avoided Carlos, determined to soak up all of the happiness that you could in that moment. You were completely soaked, hair and coveralls dripping as you posed for photos with your teammate. He smacked you on the back and you told him he had driven an incredible race. After the photo op, you turned swiftly and left to get back to your drivers room, dry off, and find Seb. You wandered down the hall, first prize still tightly held in your grasp when you heard your name. Your first thought was maybe Daniel had tracked you down and you turned to face him- your smile falling when you saw Carlos instead. 

“Sorry, I’m busy.” You replied shortly before continuing on to your room. He didn’t seem deterred and started a light jog to catch up with you. 

“Come on, just talk to me.” He pleaded as you pushed the door to your room open. You flashed a fake smile. 

“Talk to you? I did. I told you things that I never should have. I won’t make that mistake again, don’t worry.” You said, moving to shut the door in his face. He threw his arm up and caught it. 

“I can’t keep doing this.” He told you, pushing the door open the rest of the way. You took a step back, allowing him to enter and he shut it behind himself, in hopes that no one would overhear your conversation. You paused and thought for a moment before deciding you may as well get this confrontation over with. 

“I don’t know what there is to say. I let myself get distracted and I’m here to do my job. I’m here to win, and that’s it. Everything else is background noise.” You told him what you’d been trying to convince yourself for weeks. His lips parted, eyebrows furrowed as he considered the venom in your tone. 

“This isn’t about racing-“

“Yes it is. Of course it is. Is that why you spent time with me? Because I’m a real threat now?” You asked, feeling your chest tighten with anger you didn’t know you had. 

“It’s about Daniel!” He nearly shouted in response. You weren’t expecting that. You recoiled, a look of confusion falling over your features. 

“What about Daniel?” You asked, nearly seething with anger. 

“You’re in a relationship. I saw his text. That’s why I didn’t meet you for breakfast.”

“So you were spying on me?” Carlos clenched his jaw. 

“No, I wasn’t. It vibrated, I went to put it on your nightstand. You’re the one that said you weren’t in a relationship!” He reminded, as if he were trying to deflect the blame back to you. 

“I’m not! Fuck, Carlos, I’m not dating Daniel. We just… We hook up sometimes. We’re not dating.” You did your best to explain the situation, but it never seemed like anyone’s business but your own. 

“And you should have just asked me,” You added, the annoyance still clear in your tone. Carlos licked his lips. 

“You’re not together?” He repeated, almost to himself. 

“No, we’re not together.” You confirmed. 

In a split second, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you passionately, one hand on the small of your back, holding you against him, the other caressing your cheek. He tasted like champagne, and you ran your fingers through his damp hair that you had always wanted to touch. Kissing him felt so right, like you didn’t know how you hadn’t been doing it all this time. Still, you were sick of feeling like a passenger in your- relationship, or whatever it was. You quieted the lust fluttering around in your chest and pulled yourself away from him. 

“Carlos, I don’t- I don’t understand-” 

“Mi corazon,” He muttered in that gorgeous voice of his, a bit ragged with what seemed like desire to you. His eyes focused on yours, then darted down to your lips. Hearing him speak Spanish made you want to rip his race suit off.

“I’ve had feelings for you for… a long time now. I just… couldn’t figure out how to tell you. And you’re always with Dan. And when I came by your room last night," His voice started to trail and he avoided your gaze for a moment, almost as though embarrassed.

You furrowed your brow in confusion.

"What do you mean? You didn't come by my room last night." You replied, mostly out of confusion rather than disbelief.

"Yes, I did. I wanted to talk. I wanted to tell you how I felt." Suddenly, you remembered the knock you had heard at the door- the one Daniel claimed belonged to room service. Your chest tightened at the revelation. Why would he lie to you? You trusted Daniel with everything, always. You had never had any reason to doubt him in the past, but maybe this wasn't the first time he had lied. Was he intimidated by Carlos, or maybe jealous at the thought of having to share you? Your mind was working overtime, questioning Daniel's motives and fearing that maybe you weren't as close as you thought you were.

Carlos broke your train of thought and reached down, taking your hand in his. You decided to push all of your concerns about Daniel out of your mind, only for the time being.

Carlos' fingers tilted your chin up and he was leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You couldn’t help it, all you wanted to do was take him, right there in your driver's room. You reached up and pulled him back into you, his kisses getting increasingly addictive. You decided to take a risk and reached up for the collar on his race suit, fingers inching towards his zipper. Before you could get it too far down his chest, his hand grabbed yours once more. 

“No, no, no. We can’t do this.” His words caught you by surprise. You took a step back, your chest flushing with embarrassment. 

“Oh- I just, I just thought-” You backpedaled, working very hard to avoid his gaze. 

“No, no, Y/N, I want this- God, do I want this. But not here. Let me take you out tonight. Let me do this right.” Carlos said, his eyes looking into yours pleadingly. Was he asking you on an actual date? What did that mean exactly? For your image in the media, for your friendship with Daniel? You pursed your lips before nodding in agreement despite your many concerns. 

“Okay. Yes. I would like that.” You were smiling, almost sheepishly, like you hadn’t just tried to undress him. Just then, you heard a light knock on your door. You stepped away from Carlos and glanced between him and whoever was on the other side of the door. 

“Should probably get that.” You said, earning a slight nod from him in response. You were worried that perhaps it was Daniel on the other side, holding more champagne, ready to spend the night ravishing you as he often did after a race win. You were relieved when it turned out to be Sebastian, his hair looking a bit wild, a big smile on his face. 

“You did it! I told you, you should listen to me more.” He was already rambling, pulling you into a celebratory hug. Before you had the opportunity to respond, he caught sight of the Ferrari driver standing behind you. From the look of relief on Carlos’ features, you assumed he thought it was going to be Daniel too. 

“Am I interrupting?” Seb asked, an accusatory finger gesturing between you and Carlos. 

“No, not at all. Carlos just came by to congratulate me.” You replied smoothly, Carlos agreeing with a nod of his head. 

“I’m sure he did. Congratulations to you too, Carlos.” Carlos accepted the compliment with a smile and shifted his gaze between you and Seb once more. 

“Well, I should be going.” Carlos said, as it looked like Seb was making no effort to leave. You appreciated that Carlos didn’t mention your date, but from Seb’s knowing look, you could tell he knew something was going on. 

“Yeah, talk later.” You responded simply, and then he was gone. 

“I see you’re taking my advice seriously.” Seb said, a smirk falling over his features. 

“I won, didn’t I?” You replied, happy to return his sass. 

“You did. And listen, Carlos is a great guy. If you want to go for it, you should.” For whatever reason, hearing Seb give you his ‘blessing’ made you feel a little bit better. Things with Carlos felt… real. There was something different between the two of you, and you were acutely aware of it. 

“I’ve worked too hard to be here, and I won’t let myself be distracted.” You told him, although you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

“I know, you’ve always taken this very seriously. And now-” Suddenly the door to your driver's room was flying open, and Daniel came bursting in, holding a bottle of champagne, his arms held high in celebration. 

“Let’s fucking go!” He yelled excitedly, just as he realized you weren’t alone. 

“Oh, hi Seb.” He cleared his throat a bit, as though that would successfully regain his composure. Sebastian flashed you a look.

“You’ve got your hands full.” He told you, slapping you lightly on the arm before making his exit. 

“What’s going on?“ Dan asked, his smile falling a little as he found himself unable to read your expression. You felt a mixture of sadness and hurt flush through you at the sight of him.

“We need to talk.” 

Part 5: This Is Me Trying

Tags: @an-ocean-blue @formulacherry @cvrsdx @vroom63 @miahelen @p10g @dr3lover @unicornshavedreams @whitetreeofhope @mishaandthebrits @loin-de-moi-meme @lily-horvitz @withyoutilltheendofthismess @teapartydreams @misswolff @lestappiebaby @gaily19 @whyishesoperfect @cutesheepstuff @fuckedupbutadorable @obeskenobes @vinvantae @vroom-vroom-bitch @dr3ln4 @justaddicted @valkryejh @alternativemadchen @sad-fridge2323 @lievesobsession @prettybiching @snowglobezz @saintandrea-droidsmuggler @perfektpasta @michaelslovechild @d0ntjudgemy50shades @f1thirsttraps @forzaferraris @thatchickwiththecamera @kat-to-the-rina @cowboydr @oyesmendes @ferrarifwendvale @avengemepercy @thebagginsofbaggend @dad-seb @lovelylila @honeybadger03 @she-shines-bright @spngi @heyitskay-21

Champagne Problems

CS x Reader x DR

A/N Hello friends! I apparently go on long hiatus' and then drop fics out of nowhere. Please enjoy the first part of what will be a series! Huge thank you to my muse and brainstorm buddy, @haterpenny. Any messages are hugely appreciated!

✨Please reply/reblog if you would like to be tagged in future parts.✨

Warnings: Smut, fwb situation, some light swearing, some questionable decision making, drinking.

Word count: 5K

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Part 5 here

Part 6 here

Part 7 here

It never failed to blow your mind how a race felt like it lasted forever, but it was over in the blink of an eye. All you knew was how desperate you were to win.

For the first twenty laps, you and Lewis were neck and neck, with him about a second or so behind. You’d gotten away well at the start and did everything in your power to keep that lead. Unfortunately for Mercedes, a pit stop error plus your “perfect” (Christian’s words, not yours) performance led you to the race win.

You crossed the finish line feeling elated, shouting into the radio, likely blowing out the eardrum of your strategist in the process.

You pulled into the spot reserved for the race winner, feeling as though your heart may burst from your chest. One more race completed, the championship still within your reach.

You composed yourself enough to stand upon the car’s halo, your arms thrust over your head in celebration. The roars of your team and the massive smiles made you swell with pride, and you did everything you could to soak up such a perfect moment.

After leaping into your team’s arms and receiving several slaps to your helmet you were being rushed towards the podium. You climbed atop the highest perch, just past Lewis and- oh hell, was that Daniel in third? You had not yet had the opportunity to share the podium with your closest mate on the grid, and you were equal parts thrilled and disgusted at the shoey that was surely coming your way.

You stood as your National anthem played, bobbing slightly on your heels, finding it difficult to be still for even a moment with all of the excitement bubbling in your veins.

And then, those speakers began blaring Bizet’s beautiful Carmen and you were shaking that champagne as vigorously as your tired arms would allow. You coated Lewis with a generous spray, and shared a nice half-hug, exchanging words of respect and congratulations at one another’s result. Then your eyes caught Daniel’s, sparkling with mischief as he knelt down and removed his boot, his finger pointing at you and beckoning you towards him with a devilish grin across his lips.

You tried to look annoyed, but it was nearly impossible; he was glowing, that successful post-race mix of champagne and sweat making his curls lay flat, his cheeks flushed and pink from exertion. He filled his shoe to the brim, some overflow sloshing as he raised the boot to his lips before taking a long, generous gulp.

You wrinkled your nose in slight disgust, as you realized you were next. Soon he was standing before you, his hand outstretched in offering. He had that huge, gleaming smile that nearly blinded you, and then you were drinking out of the man’s shoe. One gulp, then two, then three, earning a delighted eye raise from Daniel and a laugh that made his Adam’s apple bob ridiculously. If you were going to do it, you were going to do it right. Lewis politely declined the offered shoey, an uncomfortable smile on his cheeks- this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Then Dan was slipping an arm around your waist, his trophy in one hand, to pose for the mass of photographers and fans standing below. After a moment he set his trophy down and playfully hoisted you up, earning a surprised laugh from you.

Your friendship with Daniel was well known among fans and other drivers alike, and this was your first shared podium after three years in the sport together. What they didn’t know was just how close you and Daniel were. The look he was giving you on that podium- you’d know that devilish expression anywhere. It gave you a glimpse into his plans for the evening ahead, plans that promised hours with his head trapped between your thighs.

“Can’t wait to have you all to myself,” He whispered as he eased you back down to your feet, topping it off with a cheeky wink. You hadn’t expected him to be quite so forward in front of so many people, but his boldness just made you even more excited for the celebrations that the evening had in store.

After stepping off the podium and speaking to the many news outlets, you were sticky from the champagne and wanted nothing more than to take a shower. You decided to throw your hair up in a messy bun and opted to wait for the much nicer shower in your hotel room rather than the cramped, lukewarm water that your private room at the track offered.

In the car back to the hotel you were busy reliving the afternoon’s events, the pure elation you felt as you passed the finish line and the absolute glee that seemed to burst out of you as you stood upon the highest pedestal. And to top it off, Daniel was standing right beside you, just as he always had.

You hopped out of the car and checked your phone as you stood in the lobby, waiting for the elevator. Almost as if on cue, a light vibration alerted you to a text.

Big Dick Ricc: Is now a good time to celebrate? 😈”

His text read, simultaneously making you roll your eyes and smirk. That was what he had chosen to name himself in your phone, but it never failed to make you laugh.

Y/N: Room 355.

You replied simply, wandering down the hall and swiping your key card.

You and Daniel had been casually hooking up on and off for the last year or so. It was spontaneous, fun and no strings attached. The adrenaline of race weekend was something you both understood, not to mention the fact that it was nearly impossible to maintain relationships with people outside of the sport. It had started with too much champagne in Monaco, and your familiarity began to drift into lingering touches and lustful looks exchanged until he invited you back to his room. Initially, you were worried about complicating your relationship but surprisingly, things remained rather simple. You had agreed that you weren’t interested in a relationship, rather the opportunity to blow off some steam with someone you trusted and truly loved. You had also agreed that it was best that your escapades remain a secret. You didn’t want the other drivers- or anyone else for that matter- judging you. You were the only woman on the grid and with that role came garnering more harsh judgment.

You started the shower and allowed the steam to fill the room as you undressed, your still-damp coveralls tossed carelessly into your sink to dry. Just moments later you heard the sound of a knock at your door and you wrapped yourself in a towel to answer it. You tugged it open, expecting to see Daniel, but instead stood Carlos Sainz. Your initial reaction was confusion, followed by embarrassment at your state of undress. Carlos smiled, his eyes sneaking a quick glance at your form before pretending he didn’t notice. Carlos was back in his regular clothes, a dark green t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by and say congratulations.” He said honestly, his red lips pulled into a grin.

“Oh, thanks. I uh, was just about to get in the shower. I’m sticky from champagne.” You explained, laughing slightly before realizing maybe just how suggestive that sounded. You swore his cheeks flushed lightly just from the picture your words had painted for him.

“Of course. I just thought I’d let you know, we’re going out tonight. If you want to come.” You were touched at the invitation and smiled warmly in response.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll text you later.” You told him, leaning against the doorframe and looking up at him with big eyes. He paused for a moment and looked as though he wanted to speak, but instead opted for a smile and a nod before saying his goodbyes and turning on his heel. You mentally breathed a sigh of relief that Daniel had not managed to arrive during that short period of time. That would open you up to questions you didn’t wish to answer.

And then there was your relationship with Carlos. He had been putting in a bit of effort to speak with you and spend more time with you. He’d even asked you out for a meal or two. But whether he was looking for romance or pleasant friendship was unclear.

The hotel room was big and elegant, the walls painted a dark blue color with gold accents littered about. One thing you loved about this sport- your accommodations were always top-notch.

You went back in to check on the shower when finally you heard a weirdly elaborate knock that was surely Daniel. You tugged the door open and there he stood, arms already outstretched and waiting for you, a big goofy grin on his face. You grabbed him by his t-shirt and pulled him through the door, dropping your towel in the process. His hands felt so big and greedy against you, and you’d been craving his touch all day. He kissed you eagerly, his one hand splayed over your hip while the other came up to caress your cheek.

“You looked so fucking sexy up there,” Daniel said hotly, pulling back for a moment to take you in in all of your glory.

“Winning beside you makes it so much better,” You sighed, desperately reaching for his lips once more. You led him to the bathroom and started grabbing at the hem of his shirt, and he quickly obliged, tossing it aside carelessly while you worked on unbuttoning his pants.

“You still taste like champagne,” He told you before taking a long, slow lick from your collar to right below your ear pulling a moan out of you.

“Oh fuck, Danny. I need you.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tattoos splayed across his bicep as he kicked his pants and underwear aside. The shower was a large walk-in, perfect for the amorous activities you had planned.

Daniel loved to put his hands on you. He had no problem letting you be in charge, but there was something indescribable about the way your body responded to his ministrations. He pressed you back against the wall, the chill of the tile bringing goosebumps to your skin.

“You know you’ve got me, you’ve always got me, doll,” He said as he dropped to his knees, edging your thighs apart with his palms. God, you’d never get sick of seeing him worship you the way he did. You watched as the water slipped through his hair, dampening his curls and sticking them back on his forehead. His lips were parted as he looked up at you, his chest heaving slightly as if holding back from you were an effort in and of itself.

You reached down and fondly ran your knuckles over his cheek before tracing his bottom lip with your thumb.

You used your hand to pull him closer to you, earning a slight chuckle at your impatience from him before he put his mouth where you wanted it most. You loved when Daniel went down on you. He was relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure, licking and sucking lightly on your clit. Your legs felt like jelly already, and he’d barely just begun. He wrapped his hands around your thighs and held you in place as you wriggled against him, bucking your hips against him, desperate for friction. You nestled your hand in his hair, tugging slightly in encouragement and guidance, although he certainly didn’t need it. He knew your body and made you feel better than anyone else ever had. One of his palms snaked up to your ass, which he grabbed a greedy handful of eliciting a surprised groan from you. Once he was sure you could handle it he pushed one finger into you, and then a second. You could feel yourself flutter around him, and knew that you were already dangerously close to your orgasm.

Daniel always ate you out like it was the last chance he’d ever get, zeroing in on the spots that drove you wild until your legs were shaking and all you were capable of doing was moaning his name. He settled into a rhythm and lapped at your core until you were seeing stars and his name was falling from your lips like it had from the crowd of fans just that afternoon. He helped you ride out your orgasm, his fingers thrusting in and out of you at a more gentle pace, his tongue licking long, languid stripes over your clit until you settled back into yourself.

He steadily got back to his feet, one hand finding its way back to your hip (he loved your hips) while the other brushed some of your damp hair out of your face.

“You earned that, sweetheart.” He said before pressing a deep kiss to your already swollen lips. Still, you could barely process what he was saying, you felt tingly all over like he had electrocuted you somehow.

“Do you want me?” He asked, his forehead nearly touching yours, his eyes searching for your response.

“Yes, Daniel, please.” You finally found the words you were looking for and wrapped your arms around him in an effort to better support yourself. He lifted your leg and secured it around his hip while your other kept you steady in the slippery shower. Daniel took the space he needed between your thighs and lined himself up with your entrance and pushed in, allowing you just a moment or so to adjust before pulling out and thrusting back in again. Soon he was moving faster and you felt like a mere ragdoll in his arms, so blissed out from your high that he could do whatever the hell else he wanted for you and you’d happily take it.

You had had Daniel so many times before, in so many different positions, but there was something about this position and the access it offered that you found so incredibly satisfying. His wet, strong chest pressed against yours, the tight grip of his hand supporting your thigh while he buried himself in you in a way that made you eagerly await his next “You up?” text.

He let out a low groan that you were all too familiar with, one that meant he was about to finish. You ran a free hand down his chest and captured his moans with a kiss as his hips stuttered and he came inside of you. He stayed with you frozen in that closeness for a moment. While you weren’t exclusive, everything between you and Daniel was full of love and tenderness because above all else, he was your best friend.

“That is the best way to celebrate a podium,” He said after a moment, chuckling deeply in a way that usually made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. You grabbed the washcloth that hung on the spigot and held it out to Daniel and looked up at him with big, pleading eyes.

“Wash me?”

“Since you won today? Fine.” He replied, accepting it and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before returning to his knees once more. Dan lathered the washcloth with some body wash and ran it up and down the length of your leg, and over the curve of your ass- an area that he liked to give special attention to.

“I mean, I feel like you made the mess. The least you can do is clean it up.” You quipped, a playful smirk pulling at your features as you watched him work.

“Oh, you mean the mess you begged me to make? This mess?” He asked, reaching up and cupping your sex, making you jump slightly and giggle. You swatted his hand away and allowed him to get back to his task, adding a bit more soap before continuing up towards your back.

“I forgot to tell you, Carlos invited me to a thing tonight. Do you want to go? I think Lando and Charles and the other guys will be there too.”

“Yeah, we’ve still got celebrating to do.” He agreed, popping the lid on the hotel’s shampoo and pouring it into his hands before running his fingers through your hair. You groaned at the feeling- you loved when Daniel washed your hair. It was the ultimate luxury as far as you were concerned- and certainly, one you deserved after such a triumphant day.

Once you were done enjoying your shower, you stepped out and began to get ready. You rifled through your drawers for something fun and sexy, hoping to feel confident and enjoy the wealth of attention you were sure to get.

No one on the grid knew about you and Daniel’s little arrangement, and you preferred to keep it that way. You’d known Daniel for far longer than the other drivers and your relationship had always come with a simple wordless understanding that you knew one another better than anyone else could. Still, you were the only woman on the grid and you wanted your competitors to respect you. You weren’t in Formula 1 to fuck around, you were there to win. Daniel understood. You didn’t have to explain yourself to him, you could let your guard down and say or do whatever you wanted, and you knew he’d never look at you any differently. But if you were bed-hopping on the grid you’d look like a joke. You refused to let that be the narrative that surrounded you. Instead, you’d be the first woman to win the World Drivers’ Championship.

Finally, you settled on a pink dress, one short enough to show your legs off, and low cut enough to draw eyes. Nothing made you feel quite as sexy as holding a trophy above your competitor‘s heads while people chanted your name, but a hot outfit for a club wouldn't hurt.

As you did your makeup, Daniel finished showering while loudly singing a song you didn’t know. Once you decided your makeup was acceptable you moved on to your hair, dying it quickly with a blow dryer before plugging in your curling iron.

“You look nice,” Daniel said, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel to dry off. Just as you were about to respond, your phone dinged on the counter.

Carlos: Here’s the address. See you soon!

You gave Carlos the thumbs up on his text and started curling a section of your hair.

“Danny, you almost ready?” You asked, glancing in his direction in the mirror. He was pulling his outfit from earlier back on, a quick nod in answer to your question.

Once you were satisfied with your looks, you headed down to the lobby together to grab a taxi. The club was only about fifteen minutes away, and you were eager to see the rest of your friends. It had been a while since you had been out with the other drivers. Everyone’s schedules were always so jam-packed, that you often didn’t have time during the season to hang out with anyone other than your teammate, who just so happened to be Checo Perez. And while he was lovely, he wasn’t exactly the biggest party-er on the grid.

After posing for a few photos and a quick check-in with the bouncer, you were ducking into the dimly lit club, immediately overwhelmed by the pulsing music and crowd of sweaty dancers. You searched the crowd until you finally caught sight of Carlos, sitting in a corner, shouting into the ear of Lando Norris.

____________________________________

Carlos looked down at the text, his chest now feeling much like a swarm of butterflies, his leg anxiously bouncing below the table. Lando seemed to notice, a smirk pulling at his features to see his normally suave friend in such a state.

“Relax, man. She’ll be here.” Lando said, raising his soft drink to his lips.

“Yes, I know. It’s fine, I’m fine.” The Spaniard replied almost a bit too quickly, forcing a smile and turning his phone face down. Pierre and Charles were on the other side of the table, much oblivious to the situation, quickly speaking in French to one another. Finally, the pair paused and turned “Shots? I think we need shots.” Charles announced, reading the expression of the two former teammates that were not matching his vibe.

“No!”

“Yes!” Carlos agreed, much to Lando’s chagrin. Perhaps a bit of liquid courage would help him calm down a bit.

“Right, you can do a shot. I’ll be fine, thanks.” Charles was satisfied enough with the responses and went to the bar with Pierre to help bring their drinks back.

“Carlos, what exactly is the plan here anyway? You’re gonna have a dance, tell her you’re in love with her?” Lando questioned sarcastically, leaning awkwardly close to be sure Carlos could hear him over the extremely loud bass of a song that he couldn’t understand any of the words to.

“I’m not in love with her,” Carlos yelled back, somewhat defensively.

“Sure,” Lando replied, fully unconvinced. Carlos went back to eyeing the entrance, trying not to seem as desperate as he truly felt. Luckily for him, Charles was back and handing out Tequila shots, which proved to only distract him for the amount of time it took the liquid to pass his lips.

And then he caught sight of you, pushing through the crowd, scanning faces in search of his. He threw his hand up to catch your attention, a big smile across his face. A smile that fell as he caught sight of Daniel Ricciardo trailing behind you, holding onto your hand.

“She brought Daniel.” He said, the dejection clear in his voice. Lando pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, admittedly a bit disappointed for his friend.

Carlos stood in greeting and you pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“What are we drinking boys? Except you, Lando. I know you’re drinking Root Beer.” You only half-joked, an unamused smirk covering his features.

“Daniel, I didn’t know you were coming,” Lando said, rising to give his teammate a friendly slap on the back.

“Um, we’ve got a world championship contender to celebrate,” Daniel replied, nudging you in your side. You rolled your eyes, embarrassed about all the fuss.

“Lewis has been blowing us away and we’re finally catching up. If that’s not something to celebrate, I don’t know what is.”

“Cheers to that!” Charles yelled in agreement, raising what must have been his third shot.

“Apparently we need to catch up. I’ll be right back.” Daniel told you, nodding towards the bar. You shouted your order after him along with a thank you and turned your attention back to Carlos.

“I saw you finished P4 today, brilliant result.” You told him, poking him in the chest suggestively.

“Yeah, definitely happy.” He replied although he did not look happy in the least. In a moment, Daniel was back and pulling you from Carlos’ side. You threw back a shot. Then another. And Charles and Daniel egged you on enough that you had a third.

Once he deemed you tipsy enough, Dan pulled you onto the dance floor. Few things made you laugh harder than Daniel dancing, and since you were a little drunk, the dancing got a little dirtier. He held your waist and planted a thigh between your legs, allowing you a little friction as you bobbed and swayed to the music. You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned down into your neck, his hands starting to wander to your ass. Truthfully, you should have been way more composed. You didn’t want the other guys seeing you looking horny and drunk, but eh. You decided to indulge and enjoy the evening. After a few songs, Daniel pulled away, determined to get another drink into you.

Charles and Pierre were somewhere on the dance floor, also too drunk to know how stupid they looked.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice that Carlos didn’t quite seem to be himself. You decided to do something about it, locking eyes with him and pushing past people, and making your way over to where he sulked.

“Come on, come show me that Spanish passion I’ve heard so much about.” You said, shooting him a wink and reaching your hand out to him. His expression finally broke, a big, goofy smile spreading across his features. You led him back to the dance floor, not without noticing the pleasant way in which his hand fit into yours.

“Oh, I can show you passion.” He whispered as you turned your back towards him, rubbing a little more ass across his crotch than friends usually do. You snuck your hand back behind his neck, pulling him close as you swayed, his hands firmly planted on your hips. Feeling Carlos moving behind you was new and exciting, and maybe it was just how drunk you were, but there was nothing that you wanted more than to take him back to your room. Still, you were friends, and maybe it wasn’t entirely appropriate for you to be grinding so hard against him. You swore that maybe he was thinking the same thing you were, the way his hands glided down your skin and his hips moved against yours- you were thinking some very not PG thoughts. He spun you around and pulled you into his chest, his fingers pushing some of your loose hair behind your ear, then tilting your chin up to make you meet his gaze. You were pretty sure he wasn’t looking at you like you were a friend. You found yourself thinking about his full, pink lips and how flushed his cheeks were. He looked so focused with his brow knit together, so in the moment- like there was no one else around. You loved when Carlos had a fresh shave, he looked so damn handsome and he even smelled amazing- you swore you saw Lando throw a thumbs up in your direction, but you didn’t get time to think about it before-

“OI! Get your ass over here! I’ve got another round for you!” You don’t know how Daniel’s voice was able to cut over the noise of the club, but it did. His voice pulled you back to reality, almost like a rubber band snapping. You dropped your hands away from Carlos, suddenly feeling embarrassed by how carried away you had allowed yourself to get.

You avoided his eyes for a moment before saying “How about another drink?” Carlos looked a bit dejected but followed you anyway.

After your drink, you headed back to dancing, this time with Charles and in a much more PG way. He had you laughing, and you could tell the next morning would certainly be rough for him.

Finally, at around 3 am, you were running out of steam. You were seated in the booth, trying to understand Charles’ broken English when Daniel nudged you on the shoulder.

“You ready to go, darling?” He asked. “I think you might need a chaperone.” He added cheekily, shooting a wink in your direction. You stood, and immediately you were a bit wobbly. He was right. You linked your arm in his and turned to the other men, all in various states of sobriety.

“Salut, boys. Thank you for a good time, Carlos.” You told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before focusing all of your lowered inhibitions on Dan.

He helped you into the back of a cab and you leaned against him, his arm slipping around you.

“Alright, let’s get you home. How would you feel about… keeping this party going?” Daniel asked lowly, his appetite insatiable as always. You giggled but returned his question with a kiss.

————————————————————

Carlos hated having to watch you leave with Dan. Holding you in his arms, getting to feel you move against him, it felt so good, so right. There was no way you could be oblivious to that. He laid in his hotel room bed, scrolling through Instagram when Daniel’s most recent post popped up. It was a picture of you, from the club last night and the caption read “Winning GPs and hearts. Here comes Trouble.” Trouble was the affectionate nickname the reporters had dubbed you upon your arrival in F1. The reason being you were a fierce competitor and always ready to cause trouble on the grid. Well, no one could argue how well it suited you. Carlos clenched his jaw in frustration, feeling so close yet so far away from you. It seemed like he could never have a moment alone with you as Daniel was never far behind. He knew you’d been good friends for many years, but your relationship seemed far more intimate than any other typical friendship. Just as he felt hopeless, his phone dinged.

Y/N: Thank you for the invitation last night and the dance. 😏

The message did not quell Carlos’ frustrations, it was just as ambiguous as every interaction he had with you. He decided to roll the dice and send back a flirtatious reply.

Carlos: I’m more than just a good dancer.

He pressed send feeling like he may explode and immediately took a screenshot and sent it to his best friend.

Carlos: I'm fucked.

Lando: I know.

Part 2 : I Knew You Were Trouble

Part 3 : It’s Nice To Have A Friend

Part 4: Mad Woman

Part 5: This Is Me Trying

Part 6: Everything Has Changed

Part 7: Dancing With Our Hands Tied

the alpha tauri mechanics frantically wrapping layers of duck tape around the rear wing while yuki screams slurs as yet unheard of in the western world down the radio is the funniest shit i have ever seen this sport is not real

Flat Spin

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin 1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal 2. A state of agitation or panic [informal] As the only female driver on the grid, you're fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Word Count: 8,060

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Female Reader

Warnings: Description of a racing crash, mentions of vomit, angst-ish, fluffy ending! It's a long one kids but stick with it

You were flying.

Every time you got in that car you felt as if you were flying, the swooping sensation in your stomach and the rush in your ears carrying you as adrenaline pumped through your bloodstream.

You adored racing, and despite not being from any sort of motorsporting family, you could have sworn it was in your blood. You never felt as good as you did behind the wheel, going over 200 miles per hour and hurtling into turns. It was two hours of pure adrenaline and nothing could beat that rush.

Like every other driver, you had been karting since you were a child, climbing through the ranks and finally earning your spot as a Formula One driver. It was your third year now, old enough to no longer be considered a rookie, but new enough that you were still frequently referred to as the 'new kid', despite being older than both Yuki Tusunoda and Lando Norris. But for you, it was a little different.

Because you were unfortunate enough to have been born a girl.

Your career from an early age had been followed by significant media attention, especially once you became the highest-ranking female driver and even that was nothing compared to the media storm you caused when it was announced you had signed to an F1 team. Aston Martin was nearly denounced by fans for taking you on, however, after finishing your rookie season in a respectable P9, they quickly shut up.

This year would be different still. You'd had a flying start, and without really noticing it you had found yourself fighting in the top five, and suddenly the words 'Championship contender' were following you around. That week you were at Imola, a fine enough track in Italy but by no means your favourite. Qualifying had been tough, and you ended up in P8 on the grid, but you were quickly making progress.

Time seemed to move differently when you raced because you'd already done 3/4 of the laps in what felt like just a few minutes and managed to claw your way up to P3 in a difficult and wet dog fight that had you nearly spin out twice.

"Y/N, radio check," your strategist's voice crackled into your earpiece. Feeling good about your current position you decided to entertain the crowd a little and sing a few lines from what had become your signature song as an F1 driver.

"She's a maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard, make you want all of her lo-o-ove," You sent back. Being the only female driver on the grid had earnt you the playful title of 'Maneater', for your rather vicious overtakes on some very impressive corners to gain places and shave seconds. You heard your strategist laugh down the radio for a second, and then he was back to business.

"You're pretty close to Sainz now in P2. I want you to get on his tail, then we're gonna pull a signature Maneater overtake on turn 7, okay?"

The plan made sense, except your mental map of the course made you falter. Turn 7 was a particularly nasty hairpin and in the wet weather, it would take all of your strength just to keep the car in tight and not lose time drifting wide.

"You sure it's safe when it's so wet?"

"Sainz has already pitted and his lap time is just above yours on wet tires. The only way to overtake him is through the bend, he's not as strong on turns as you are,"

"Gotcha," you signed off and turned all your focus onto catching the tail of the red Ferrari that had been coming in and out of your sight for a few laps.

Stepping on the gas and feeling the car leap forward into your hands made you grin like a maniac behind your helmet, and you took a quick sip of your drink before beginning your hunt.

By the end of the lap, you were virtually sitting on Carlos' rear wing. You felt a bit bad because Sainz had become one of your closer friends on the grid, but there was no time for friends in the actual race, and you'd buy him a drink after as had become the overtake custom between you and a handful of drivers. The rain was starting to drive and the track was no longer damp but properly soaked. You could feel the spray from the car in front pelting you.

"Guys I don't know about this overtake," you admitted into the radio as you had to rapidly correct a slide into turn 5.

"Y/N, I promise you he'll go wide to protect himself and you'll have the perfect opening. If you want the championship we need you to step up the aggression and chase the title," You were not happy with your strategist for pushing you in the conditions, but you knew at the end of the day that if you wanted to keep a lead driver position with the team and be within a fighting chance for championship then they were right.

As predicted, on the approach to turn 7 Carlos' car drifted wide and you tucked yourself even closer, coming up on his inside as you rammed the car into the curb with all your might and pulled through the corner. It was working, and you could see the nose of your car draw level with his as you reached the apex of the turn.

Your mistake came when you hit the acceleration. Your aim had been to push the speed coming out of the corner and complete the overtake, but your tyres span on the wet tarmac and you felt the car jerk in your hands as the back end swang out, sending the front following it around and your stomach dropped as you felt the sickening sensation of a wet spin.

All you felt was an almighty impact that made your neck snap back against your support brace and your hands fly off the wheel, the impact then forcing the car to jolt the opposite way and a second fast spin followed by an even harder impact swept any comprehension from under your feet.

You weren't sure if the car had stopped or not, because your head was spinning so violently and your body was still recoiling from the double impact and the intense G forces that had thrown you about. Your radio was crackling and buzzing in your ear, but clearly, the connection was lost. Your eyes kept sliding in and out of focus and you weren't entirely sure if you were conscious, everything around you was silent and you felt like you were sitting underwater, watching everything happen above the surface. You could faintly smell burning.

You didn't move. You weren't sure if you could, or if you just didn't want to. You were warm, very warm. But it was nice. You were quite happy to sit in the fuzzy little bubble.

The only thing to bring you from the haze was the feeling of something gripping the shoulder pads of your race suit and tugging you upwards. You felt like you were moving in slow motion, but you finally registered that you were supposed to get out of the car and in clumsy movements, with much tugging, you managed to stumble from the cockpit.

The body you stumbled into immediately wrapped an arm around your waist and half dragged your body as your feet scrambled on the gravel and made sluggish attempts at steps. You felt yourself being hoisted, and you vaguely registered that you'd been pulled over the barrier and clear of the track. You were pulled further away and then forced into a sitting position with your back against a low concrete wall a little further away.

The person who'd dragged you out was in front of you, shouting something but their voice was muffled by their helmet. They were fiddling with yours, yanking it off your head followed by your baklava, and then their own. You recognised the Ferrari race suit and realised it was Carlos squatting in front of you. He was shouting at you, you could see his mouth moving but the words weren't reaching you through the fog surrounding your head.

"Are you stupid!?" He was shouting over the noise, the words starting to reach you but you just stared at him blankly.

"Are you stupid!?" He yelled again, "What the hell were you thinking!?" He carried on a little, the same question of your stupidity and a string of Spanish swear words repeating rather frequently.

The fog in your head lifted momentarily and the full force of the accident suddenly hit you. Your whole body lurched as your stomach dropped and your head started to spin again as it throbbed with pain.

"I'm going to be sick," was all you managed before rather ungracefully turning your head sideways.

Carlos immediately leapt up, helping to pull your body into a better position. One hand was gripping firmly to your shoulder strap, making sure you didn't tip forward into your mess, and the other rubbed gentle circles on your back.

"It's okay, Y/N, it's okay, I'm here, I'm here," he was mumbling, face far too close for your liking with what was happening, but you were grateful. Your whole body hurt and you could feel the energy draining from you rapidly.

"Where the fuck is first aid!?" He was shouting again, but not at you. There was too much activity and you were too preoccupied to work out if someone was replying to him. "I don't care! I don't give a shit about the fire, she needs help! Where are they!?" You'd stopped dry heaving and he handed you his baklava to wipe your mouth, before helping you back into a sitting position so you could lean against the wall.

And then it finally hit you, that you'd collided with Carlos. "Shit, Carlos, are you okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-" you were rambling but he cut you off.

"I'm okay, hey," his hand found your chin and forced you to make eye contact with him. His eyes were wide and had a slightly wild look in them, but they were dark and honest, his cheeks were flushed pink and had lines from his helmet that stood out even against his deep tan, and other than his hair being damp and sticking up in every direction he really looked okay. "I'm okay," he repeated, and you believed him.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," you sounded meek. The adrenaline and initial shock of the crash were fading and you were feeling very small and very tired.

"What were you thinking?" His voice was softer, the initial anger giving way to concern. "That overtake is bad even in the dry weather, why attempt it in the wet?"

You were starting to feel very warm again, and Carlo's features felt like they were drawing away from you as if you were slipping through a tunnel. There was a ringing in your ears. Behind you, you vaguely registered the start of another flurry of activity.

"My strategist..." you mumbled, the words feeling heavier and heavier on your tongue "They told me to...if I want the championship..." Carlos' eyes visibly darkened, thick eyebrows drawing into a scowl and he started breathing through parted lips, muttering a single word you didn't recognise. The tunnel seemed to be extending and the last thing you saw before you let the darkness consume you was Carlos craning around frantically, the look on his face positively murderous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You came around under the bright white lights of the track's sickbay in the pit lane. The hard foam of the examination table was pressing hard into your hips and shoulders, your head uncomfortably tilted upwards on a lumpy but simultaneously flat pillow.

You started to stir, tentatively stretching your legs out and carefully gauging your body's reaction, testing the stretch available in your sore muscles. The track doctor must have heard you because he turned around from where we was stood with his back to you, examining something you couldn't see.

He was a tall man, with pale skin, platinum blonde hair and washed blue eyes that reminded you of the colour of hospital gowns. He was neat as a pin, down to the iron pressed suit and row of pens clipped into his breast pocket lab coat, also pressed, and the stethoscope perfectly balanced around his neck.

"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, I'm glad to see you awake," you couldn't quite place the soothing yet slightly clipped accent he spoke with.

"I need to ask you a few questions, okay?" You nodded, which you soon realised was a mistake as the room seemed to swoop in front of you. You stilled and had to take a deep breath, determined not to let him see you in any worse state than you already were

"Can you tell me your name please?"

"Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N,"

"Good, and do you know what day it is?"

"Sunday,"

"Excellent. Now this last one is a little tricky, okay? Do you know why you're here?"

You were quiet for a moment. And then it slowly started flooding back to you, the flash of red on green and the out of control feeling of the car spinning you into the wall. You remembered the force of the impact and, for some reason, Carlos Sainz's face.

"I crashed," you mumbled "I hit another car on the corner and span into the wall," the realisation that you had a DNF and no points to add to your championship campaign created a knot in your stomach.

"Very good!" He seemed a lot happier about your predicament than you were.

"How long have I been here? Is the race finished? Is Carlos okay?" The apparent approval from the doctor opened a floodgate of your own questions, but he sushed you gently and encouraged you to quieten down and lay back on the bed.

"No need to panic, Miss Y/L/N, please. The race is finished and you have only been here a few minutes. You passed out when you were removed from the track and the ambulance crew brought you straight here, I was just taking your heart rate when you woke up. Mr Sainz is fine, he is a little shaken but has already returned to his team,"

You nodded, still in shock from the crash and you found yourself having to work hard to follow the doctor's explanation.

He continued to examine you, shining a light in both of your eyes and asking you to perform several reflexes and further memory tests once you were able to sit up.

"Well, I am pleased with you. That was a big crash and you have no lasting injuries. As you managed to walk away we don't have to send you to the hospital. You are not showing any signs of a concussion but I would like you to please be watching for the symptoms, okay? You will be sore for a few days, and I would like to you rest a little, but other than that I am happy to release you to your team,"

The doctor helped you to your feet and you found that you were able to stand, and despite most of your muscles screaming you managed a polite thanks and collected the slip of paper signing you off and making your way slowly back to your home garage.

The scene when you arrived was surprising, your teammate and mentor Sebastian Vettel was in a shouting match with your head strategist. Sebastian was backed by a small green-clad crowd, but the head of Aston Martin and your whole strategy team were stood opposing him.

"-because you know this isn't the first time you've made her do something so dangerous in a race!" Someone tried to interrupt him but Sebastian was having none of it, "No! I have stood by and I have watched her be pushed and pushed and pushed! I won't have it anymore, she's your primary but I'm older and I have championships and this is not how you win. I won't watch her win like this,"

"It's not like that-" someone, you couldn't pick out who in the flurry of activity, started.

"You are going to get her killed!" Sebastian jabbed your strategist in the chest so hard he stumbled back a step. "I won't stand by and watch it happen." He turned on his heel and stormed out, finally spotting you leaning against the entrance.

You must have looked a state because his face instantly softened and he rested a hand on your forearm.

"You're coming with me now, we are going to cool down," he turned and shot a venomous look at the team behind him, who looked completely shellshocked. "We will be in the meeting later." And with that Sebastian led you out of the garage.

"I'm sorry for you to see that," you shrugged.

"It's okay, I'm okay anyway,"

"No, it's not okay. I knew they were pushing you, and several other drivers have made comments feeling you are being dangerous this year. And now we know it was not your choice, I am just so cross that they are doing this to you. And that we needed a crash for something to be said," he shook his head as he walked.

You didn't know what to say in response, so you just swallowed the lump in your throat and said nothing. It had never occurred to you that your team had been putting you in such dangerous positions and that you, who had been awed by the promise of the first female championship, had been blindly following their instructions. You were also worried you'd let Sebastian down, he was your mentor and your hero. The idea of disappointing him was in ways worse than the entire of Aston Martin and the FIA combined.

Seb led you back to your driver's room and left you to manage yourself whilst he did his own cooldown routine. Having not completed the race you decided against your usual routine, instead opting to look after your body for a change. A trick from Carlos sprang to your mind. You had mocked him when he had first admitted that a big part of his routine was sitting in a massive bucket filled with ice-cold water, but now the idea sounded glorious for the multitude of bumps, bruises and aching muscles you'd acquired. You fixed yourself an electrolyte drink and changed into your swimwear before submerging yourself in the shockingly cold water. It was unpleasant, but as you grew used to it you could feel it soothing your whole body, and when you clambered out you had to admit you felt refreshed and a lot more comfortable. Your physiotherapist was about, so you called her in and relished in the feeling of the deep sports massage and adjustments she did with you to help limit the pain you'd be in over the following days.

As much as you wanted to avoid the team meeting, especially after Sebastian's outburst you knew you couldn't. And before long you found yourself slouched in an uncomfortable chair around a large table in the corporate offices above the garage. As you had suspected, the meeting was the first in what would be a string of many at headquarters in the coming weeks. You were given a formal apology from your strategy team for the accident, and Sebastian sat grimly with his arms folded and refused to apologise for his words until they gave you more than the formal apology because he felt it wasn't enough. Then the meeting was the usual, driver reports of the car's performance, a quick review of the statistics and a couple of goals set for your next race. Nobody dared analyse the crash. Seb made life wonderfully difficult for the team, and every time they tried to get more than the essential information out of him he'd just remind them with a short "I'm still mad at you," and simply refuse to say another word.

You had been told you weren't allowed to drive yourself back to the hotel, which was fine by you because your body was so heavy and tired that you had no interest in driving at all. You even skipped the paddock walk or finding the podium boys to congratulate, deciding to opt for the injury excuse to avoid interviews and use the back exit to leave. Seb had offered to drive you back to the hotel, but he didn't have a choice in the post-race interview matter, so instead, you tossed your PR manager-slash-bodyguard Katie, a rather fierce ex-England Rugby player, your keys and let her drive you back to the hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once in the safety of your hotel room, the exhaustion of the day hit a whole new level. You just about managed a sitting-down shower to scrub the race-day grime from your hair and body and changed into a pair of your most comfortable sweatpants and an oversized crop top and you crashed out on the king-sized bed with shitty TV in the background.

It was only late in the afternoon, but it didn't stop you from falling into a deep, empty sleep that you woke up from several hours later, to a completely dark and silent room.

You reached blindly for your phone, blinking in the bright white light as it turned on in your face to realise it was only just past 9pm. You contemplated simply rolling over and falling back asleep, but scrolling through your Instagram had woken you up too much, plus a loud growl from your stomach reminded you that you had barely eaten that day and had only had an electrolyte solution after the race.

You had a couple of notifications, mainly from family members and a handful of drivers wishing you well, including Sebastian who was asking for regular updates on your health. You wrote them all back and spent a little time scrolling through your tags on your Instagram account, even reposting a couple of fans' stories of the crash and reassuring people that you were okay. You were sitting with the music channel on in the background once again as you browsed the room service menu. Nothing was really capturing your attention, as most of it was large, heavy meals you knew you weren't allowed during training and that you didn't really want when another text notification drew your attention back to your phone.

Carlos Sainz: I hope you are feeling better now, Y/N.

Carlos and you texted every now and then. You had a good friendship with him, and you would consider him close, but it was more of an in-person friendship and you almost exclusively associated him with race-week antics. Your messages were largely confined within the realms of the odd well wish, a birthday message or double-checking group plans. Although this tex was to be expected, it still made your insides warm a little.

You: I am, thanks! Just had a big nap and I feel pretty much back to normal

That was a lie, your headache had definitely died down but you were still stiff and achy, not to mention embarrassed and frustrated and deeply confused over the conflict the incident had caused. You felt a little guilty for lying to Carlos, so before you could think you were typing out a follow-up message.

You: I'm actually just about to order some food, so by Seb's standards, I'm totally cured :D

You instantly regretted the smiley face, how embarrassing could you be? You tossed your phone to the side and started going back through the menu, but another notification came through almost instantly.

Carlos Sainz: Would you like some company?

That was enough to send your heart rate up and you felt a small stirring in the pit of your stomach.

Carlos Sainz: I didn't eat yet either

You: Sure, it's the least I can do for you after today

You: But you're coming to my room, I'm not dealing with the dining hall tonight

Carlos Sainz: I don't mind

You swallowed hard, you didn't really know why this was having such an effect on you. Maybe it was just because in three years' time the only driver you'd ever chosen to spend one-on-one time with was Seb, outside of the paddock and other race week promo business you ended up on. Well, there was no going back now.

You: Room 287

Carlos simply sent a thumbs-up emoji after that, so you assumed it meant message received. You knew he was staying in the same hotel as you, as were the majority of the drivers because nearly all the managers went for the same trick of booking the closest hotel to the track with a 5-star rating, but you had no idea what time he'd arrive.

Considering he had only ever seen you before in either your race suit or promotional paddock wear and the occasional formal outfit for events, you weren't entirely sure what was appropriate now. You decided that the least you could do was splash some cold water on your face and re-do your hair into a neater ponytail that didn't look like it had been recently slept on. You made your bed and quickly shoved some clothes that were lying around into the wardrobe so there was less clutter about. You were just contemplating changing outfits when there was a soft knock on your door.

Even though he'd barely made a sound, the knock still made you jump and you had to take a second to steady yourself before you answered the door. A rather sheepish looking Carlos was on the other side.

"I feel like I am sneaking around, doing something I shouldn't be," he admitted, scratching the back of his head as he stepped into your room, taking in his surroundings with the same analytical gaze he seemed to approach everything with.

"Sorry," you mumbled, "I'm just not feeling up to going anywhere,"

"Hey, no, it's okay," he was quick to retaliate "It's more important you get time to recover, no?" He finally looked at you then, with those deep brown eyes so full of emotion, a gentle smile just playing at the corners of his lips. He, too, was dressed more casually in a plain but well-fitting white t-shirt and his standard blue jeans. You still felt underdressed, because Carlos had a knack for always looking put together, and because you were still wearing sweatpants. You cleared your throat awkwardly, and unsure of what to say, nodded stiffly.

"Uh, yeah. So, um, do you wanna look at the menu?" Carlos followed you as you walked in front of him, plucking the menu from where it had been sat on your bed and handing it to him, before moving towards the sofa under the window and sitting down. It felt weird to sit on your bed around him.

Carlos seated himself on the desk chair but angled his body slightly so he was nearly facing you. He was leaning back in the chair, confident and relaxed with one leg crossed over the other but maintaining perfect posture. His arms were massive, even when just holding the menu up and the white top further accentuated his deep tan skin. His head was dipped forward slightly and the angle he was sitting at gave you a jawline sharp enough to slice through, well, anything. His eyebrows were drawn together as he scanned the page and his full lips moved slightly as he tested out certain words. His hair was jet black, shiny from a fresh wash and combed neatly behind his ears, but just tufting up a little at the back of his head and the fringe was long and flopped forward onto his face.

Suddenly, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on your head, you realised why you were so nervous.

He's gorgeous, you thought, rapidly followed by; shit. Because you needed him out of your room now and you couldn't see any normal way to say 'So I've suddenly realised you're incredibly attractive and I can barely breathe when you're around me let alone act normal so please can you go?' It wasn't that you hadn't known he was attractive before, come on, you weren't blind, but you'd never seen him attractive like that before and it was completely throwing you.

Just as you were about to blurt out some excuse as to why you suddenly couldn't entertain guests this evening, Carlos lifted his head and looked at you.

"Is there anything you would like?" Maybe it was because he held eye contact the entire time he spoke, and held it after, or maybe it was the Spanish accent but you felt like you were in a vacuum. You forced yourself to smile, screaming internally to act natural and not fuck this up because losing him as a friend would suck entirely.

"I dunno, it all sounds pretty crap if you ask me," You didn't know how someone could look at you with childlike curiosity, and at the same time like they are about to say or do something entirely sinful. Instead, he leaned back and laughed and you found yourself breathing a little easier.

"Are you fussy? Like Lando? Please, no, I cannot deal with teaching another child to eat," he groaned dramatically, but was grinning at you.

"I'm not fussy!" You defended yourself, but met his playful tone, "I just don't know what I want,"

"Women," he rolled his eyes "None of you ever know what you want to eat. Come on, not even the burgers sound good?" The way he dragged out the 'come on' and rolled his r's was simply distracting. Your stomach decided to step in and make a loud squeaky growl. Judging by the way Carlos' eyes widened and he let out another free giggle, he'd heard too. "See, you are hungry! I'm ordering the burgers, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," you agreed, and then "Actually yeah, burgers sound great, thanks,"

There was something about his confidence that you found innately attractive, the way he was instantly comfortable in your room, but still respectful. He picked up the phone on your bedside table and dialled down as if it was the most natural thing in the world, sending glances at you and pulling a funny face as someone spoke at him from the other side of the line like he'd been placing orders for you all his life. When he sat back down it was on the sofa, beside you, so you turned to face him.

"Hey, Carlos, look I'm so sorry again about the race today-"

"Ah-"

"No, I want to talk, please? I shouldn't have ever attempted that corner so close to you, no matter what I was being told over the radio, and it was totally my fault. Not that it's an excuse for dangerous driving, but they - my strat team - have been really getting in my head about this year's championship, you know? I think something's going on with it because you should have seen Seb, he went off the handle back at the garage. He said they were going to kill me, and he threatened to quit,"

Carlos' face had changed too, his jaw a little set and he'd lost all sense of relaxed teasing.

"They will, if they keep asking you to make choices like that. You are young, still, and you are supposed to be trusting in your team, why should you question them, ay? You shouldn't have to, not yet anyway," he sounded cross, and then he softened a little. "Dios mío, when I saw you in that car. You didn't move, Y/N, you weren't responding. There was a lot of smoke," his voice faltered for a second, and he stared out of the window, running a hand through his hair with a hard swallow. "I couldn't-"

But you didn't get to find out what exactly Carlos couldn't because the food arrived.

You ate the burgers in mostly silence, both of you more hungry than you knew from the long and stressful day. Burgers were absolutely the right call, and you told Carlos so as you sat, finally satisfied with a belly full of comfort food, picking off the last of your french fries. He seemed pleased with you, and you couldn't help but think how nice it was to have dinner with a man who was actively encouraging you to eat more, rather than questioning you for not choosing a salad. You told Carlos that, too.

"Food is important," he said it so simply, just a plain statement. You noticed he talked like that a lot, in relatively short sentences, all of which were perfect statements. He never seemed to invite contradiction or conflict, as if everything in his world was just simple facts. You couldn't help but find it addictive.

Once the food had been consumed Carlos rose without a word and collected the plates and glasses, neatly stacking them on a small table near the door.

"You don't have to do that," you started, standing to take the plates off him when you realised he was clearing up for you. Carlos turned, quite sharply, and met your gaze once more.

"I want to,"

There he went again, with those statements that you just couldn't argue over. You decided to let him have his way, and once he was done the pair of you retired back to the sofa.

"I'm sorry I don't really have anything to drink in here," you felt a little awkward, maybe it was the stubborn English culture kicking in that had trained an entire country to rely on copious amounts of alcohol at any social event.

"Cola is fine for us both, no?" You wanted to say no it was not, because your nerves were starting to return now you didn't have food to focus on and you would have quite liked a glass of wine or even a gin for a bit of liquid courage.

"Yeah, no of course it is," he had such a warm smile, you just wanted to be close to him.

"I would like to ask, why do you have your TV on always?" Part of you wanted to withdraw and lie, but he was staring at you with those wide eyes as if you held all the secrets he needed and before you could think you found yourself speaking honestly, for the first time in a while.

"I hate silence," you admitted "My head's always full, mind racing you know? Wherever I go I turn on the radio or the TV first thing and leave it on, it's just background noise really but it helps me drown out myself," you laughed awkwardly because you didn't quite know how Carlos would react to you telling him something quite personal, but he didn't laugh. He reached forward and placed a large hand on your forearm and squeezed lightly. When he leant back you could have sworn there would have been a burn mark in the shape of his hand on your arm.

"I understand,"

After you'd opened up to him it felt like part of the tension in the room had broken, and you found yourself relaxing again. He was still the Carlos you knew on the track, just as kind and funny and eager to please. Only now you were the sole subject of his attention. And you had to admit that whilst it was a little intense, you were loving every second.

The conversation flowed more naturally too, chatting about anything that came to either of your minds. It was easy and pleasant and it was only when he caught you stifling a yawn that the flow finally ceased.

"Are you tired?"

"No, I'm okay-"

"It's later than I was expecting," he acknowledged, nodding towards the clock on your bedside table that was reading nearly midnight. He stood despite your reasoning and you found yourself following him to the door. "This was really nice, but you need to sleep, to feel better,"

You knew where he was coming from and you agreed, but there was a strike of panic that suddenly shot through you as his hand closed around the handle door handle to leave.

"No, wait!" He dropped the handle as if it was electrified, that wide brown stare fixed on you, confusion and concern flashing across his features.

"I just don't think I want to be alone yet," you admitted to the floor, the sudden spike of fear that had shot through you was yet to subside and you could feel the icy cold shot of adrenaline making its way through your system, and not in a good way "Please?"

Your voice faltered and Carlos immediately stepped forwards, reaching to hold both of your upper arms as if to steady you.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" That did it, the shock of the day and the realisation of everything that had happened crashed into you with full force and for a second you felt your breath hitch. Your vision started to cloud as your eyes burnt, and you had to look away to allow yourself to swallow and try to blink it away. But it was too late, the lump had already formed in your throat and the moment you blinked you felt hot, wet tracks streak down your face. Words were clearly not going to happen for you so you just gritted your teeth and managed the smallest shake of your head.

"No, no, Cariño, don't cry," without hesitation Carlos pulled you even closer, allowing you to bury your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you just enough to provide the pressure you didn't know you needed. You instantly felt safe in his arms, like nothing could get to you when you were there. And it wasn't long with your forehead pressed against his sternum and several steadying breaths that you managed to regain control of yourself. Carlos didn't move a muscle aside from one hand gently rubbing your back, keeping you tight in the hug and not even flinching away from the contact until you managed to find the self-control to push yourself back, at which he immediately released you.

"Sorry," you mumbled, still staring at the floor. Then you dragged your fingers under your eyes and across your cheeks, perhaps a little harsher than necessary and managed to look at him. The expression on his face wasn't difficult to read, but it was confusing because he was staring at you as if the two seconds of weakness you had shown had completely broken his heart. "Dunno what came over me. Here," you moved back into the living space of the hotel room and threw him the remote control which he caught with ease "Do you wanna watch a movie or something?"

He nodded, not pushing you to talk which was good because the short burst of tears had done nothing but further tangle the mess in your head. Deciding that having to be dragged out of your car by Carlos and then have him subsequently watch you both throw up and cry within the space of only an afternoon, what remained of your dignity was now in tatters and so you climbed onto your bed without a second thought, too tired to care what he might think of you. He waited quietly, gently turning the remote in his hands as he watched you get comfortable on your side of the bed. You decided getting under the covers would be a step too far but opted for propping yourself up against the copious pillows behind you and stretching your legs out. Only when you stopped moving did he join you, sitting close, but not so close that he was touching you.

Within seconds you found that you had drawn your knees up to your chest, hugging them as you used to do when you were overwhelmed in your earlier years. You watched quietly as he flicked through the Netlfix options, squinting slightly to examine the titles. For some reason, you couldn't shake the panicked feeling that hit you when the Spaniard had gone to leave your room.

"Did I hurt you?" Your voice was small, and you did not appreciate the wobble in your tone. Carlos' attention was temporarily diverted from the television as you found him searching your face once more.

"No,"

"Don't lie,"

"Well, it was a crash. You know how the G-force hits, the muscles get a little sore but I'm not hurt," the look on your face clearly said that you weren't buying it. "Y/N, I promise to you, okay? I have hurt myself more at the gym," the way his hand landed on your shoulder, right at the top, on your neck really, a thumb caressing your cheek so briefly you could have sworn it never happened, was just enough to convince you to drop it.

"Okay,"

"Okay," he nodded and went back to picking the movie. You wished you could be like that, so calm and collected, so seemingly unfazed by the chaos surrounding him. You let him decide on the film, it was an action movie and you didn't even recognise the title but you didn't care. You just didn't want to be alone, you didn't want to dwell on the inevitable, but even as you stared non-focused on the sword-wielding heroes in front of you, you could feel it bubbling still.

"If I lose my seat because of this I deserve it," you said finally. The second the words were out of your mouth you felt lighter like your chest had finally been released and some of the weight lifted off. Something subconscious uncoiled within you.

"Drivers don't get fired for mistakes," he said like it was nothing.

"But it wasn't a mistake, I was told to push on the corner and I did,"

"You didn't plan to hit me, so it's a mistake, you're not gonna lose your seat,"

"But-"

"No,"

"Carlos-"

"No!" Finally, you thought, he responded to your worries with something other than total nonchalance. "You are so talented, Y/N, you're one of the best drivers on the grid. Look at you, you're fighting for the world championship in a midfield car - that's incredible. They don't wanna be losing you, and this is their fault anyway. So no more losing seats, okay? I don't wanna hear it," his eyes were blazing, burning right into yours and his cheeks were just starting to show a pale pink flush. Judging by the heat in your face, you were as red as a tomato. You were about to open your mouth to say, well, something, but Carlos beat you to it with a simple gesture forwards, and so you both turned and carried on watching the film in a slightly more tense, but still amicable silence.

You found yourself relaxing as the film went on. Carlos' silence was actually quite pleasant, as he seemed relaxed too, leaning back against your bed with casual attention on the movie, not frightened to laugh or gasp along with it as he pleased. Mirroring him was almost too easy, and you allowed yourself to stretch out once more and relax your shoulders. If Carlos noticed, he didn't say anything, and you appreciated that.

You weren't sure exactly when it happened, but he dropped the knee of the leg closest to you out to the side, causing it to knock gently against yours. And he didn't move away. The next thing you knew your legs were touching, all the way from your hip down to your ankle. It wasn't a cuddle, just a light contact, but it was nice. You couldn't help but feel calmer just by being in his presence. Before you could stop yourself you were leaning into his side, so your whole body was just pressed against his. He had an arm draped over your headboard, and you wondered if he would put it around you, but he never did, allowing you full control of the situation and the level of touch you wished to seek from him.

He was warm too, so warm, even in just a t-shirt. You supposed it was his Mediterranian blood. It was like having your own personal heater sat right beside you, a heater that was suddenly very still and had a wonderfully rhythmic breathing pattern. You found yourself naturally synching with his movements, and the film seemed to be quietening into the background.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You must have fallen asleep then because the next thing you knew you were waking up for the second time in a pitch-black room. You were sweating, your heart racing and your skin sticky and unpleasant, the only thing you wanted to do was remove everything from your body, instantly. You ripped the covers off and shimmied the sweatpants down your legs, kicking them quickly away from you and revelling in the way the cooled night air hit your legs. You were about to follow suit with your top when it occurred to you that you had not fallen asleep alone.

However, there was an eerie silence that blanketed you now. All it took was reaching a hand out to the other side of the bed to realise what your sinking heart already knew, Carlos was gone. You couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed, and actually quite embarrassed that he'd felt the need to sneak away from you. But the digital clock was showing it was close to 3am and you weren't even fully conscious, so you allowed yourself to flop back down and sleep off the rest of the night.

When you did wake up naturally once more, it was late in the morning. After scrolling through your phone for a bit, and finding yourself disappointed and actually quite annoyed that you hadn't even had so much as a text from Carlos, you decided to have a shower and take advantage of the all-day breakfast menu in the restaurant downstairs. It was only after your shower when you were rummaging around searching for something that you spotted a piece of paper folded and propped up against your bedside table.

The note was addressed to you and written in a familiar loping script.

Y/N,

You fell asleep and I didn't feel good to stay the whole night when you didn't ask me to, so I went back to my room. I hope it didn't upset you that I was gone, if I am to be so confident to hope you missed me!

I wish to thank you too for dinner last night. I wish I had been able to know you like that a bit more sooner. Perhaps you would like breakfast tomorrow? I will wait for you to wake up.

Love,

Carlos.

He'd written you a note. A real, old-school note and he'd signed it 'love'. You found yourself grinning like a schoolgirl, your heart racing and your face felt hot even though there was no one around. There was no point pretending, you thought to yourself, what was the point? You'd realised last night something was different and he made you feel good. Plus if you were about to go through a very challenging period with Aston Martin, and maybe even finding yourself losing a seat or transferring to a different team, then why didn't you deserve to have a bit of fun in the meantime?

You changed into a sundress that you knew was far too pretty for the restaurant in the hotel, and spent a little time fussing with your hair and makeup before you picked up your phone. It was still before midday, so you decided to take control for once, and sent off a one-word text to Carlos,

You: Brunch?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Part Two here

Liked this? Check out my masterlist here

Dear existing followers, I'm sorry it's YET ANOTHER new fandom!! Am still writing my Obvious fic and I'm planning to get Chapter 4 out in the next 1-2 weeks whilst I'm still on a break before I start rotations and shit hits the fan! Plus I have some spiderman content and a little James McAvoy thingy in the drafts...

But over exams, I managed to develop yet another hyperfixation, this time on Formula 1 (probably because there was tons of content to gobble up and distract myself from the horror that was 4th-year exams, because oh my god they were BRUTAL) and shortly after deciding that I don't hate the sport I grew up watching nearly every Sunday and not once appreciating, I very quickly collected a new person to obsess over.

Anyway, non-F1 followers meet Carlos. He is Spanish and sexy and in my opinion quite underrated. I think he's a really interesting person and gives a lot of layers to himself which to me just begs to be written about. So I wanted to get this off my chest and kick start back into writing with something that's chucking free dopamine at me and not giving me insane writer's block for now.

F1 followers/fans, this is my first F1 fic so please be nice. Undecided whether to leave this as a single or add in a second part with some smut as is my style. Input would be appreciated!! Either way, don't panic I defo have more ideas for Carlos and maybe some of the other drivers too so more content and definitely smut to come.

Also, standard disclaimer, this is real person fiction, but it is still FICTION. F1 fans don't take the Aston Martin/Imola track and turn shit too seriously, I didn't write it with accuracy in mind and I know realistically an Aston Martin car atm is not gonna be a championship contender but I love Track Dad!Seb too much. With Carlos, a full disclaimer is in my masterlist, but this is a work of fiction based on the personality he gives during his work. It's interpretation, not accuracy and out of respect to his current girlfriend, this is based in an AU where he is single.

Happy reading and I hope to be around for a wee bit again!

Rage and Love,

Le Gremlin xx

Forever taglist: @graysonmalfoy @inumorph @lokilvrr @bookgirlunicorn @thinkwritexpress-official @samandstuffworld @faeriedelalune-blog @elthanin-sive-blog-blog @ispendmoretimehere-blog @drakesfiance @allonesharingonebreath @storm-howlett @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel @groovy-lady

Terrible At Secrets

Requested: Yes

hi! idk if you’re taking requests right now, and it’s totally fine if you’re not!! but, if you are could you possibly write one about the reader is dating charles leclerc and shes about to graduate from university, but charles says he can’t make it because of his schedule. little does reader know that he’s actually planning on surprising her at graduation:) maybe slight angst but mostly fluff.. xx

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: It’s your graduation day and you are heartbroken that Charles can’t make it to support you.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Swearing, Alluding to sexual activity.

Word Count: 2292 words.

Authors note: I am so sorry this took so long! But it is here and I hope you all like it :)

_________________

“my love, what do you think?” you gave the dress you wore a twirl in front of Charles, excited to see what he thought.

“As always, beautiful” Charles admired, “what’s the occasion?” Charles couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you truly did look gorgeous.

You paused, disappointment immediately covering your face, “my graduation” you whispered out.

Had he seriously forgotten? You’d been talking about it for ages. Finally done with the hell of a degree you had pursued, and he had forgotten.

“Oh yeah, when is it again?” Charles had carried on playing on his computer, no longer looking at you.

“Are you being serious?” every ounce of excitement you had disappeared in a second. One of the most important days of your life and he couldn’t even remember when it was.

“What? I just asked when it was?” Charles still hadn’t bothered to look up from his game.

“Friday” you suddenly hated the dress you were wearing, feeling dejected and self-conscious that you thought the day mattered at all, that some minor achievement of your mattered at all.

“Oh, this Friday?” he wasn’t interested in this conversation at all, he wasn’t even giving it a second of his time, no, clearly a stupid racing game was more pressing.

“Yes, Charles, this Friday” you were done with this conversation.

“Oh, baby, I can’t come” he finally stopped to look at you, twisting in his chair, not an ounce of remorse on his face.

“I’m sorry? What?” You couldn’t believe it. You had tried to make every single one of his races, every single bloody practice you even tried to make, but he couldn’t come to your graduation?

“Yeah, I have work” he spoke to you as if you were the one who had done him wrong, and it only made you angrier.

“Charles, you’ve known about this for ages?” you tried your best to be reasonable, but it really wasn’t like you had kept this a secret from anyone, especially not him, you’d been bouncing off the walls from excitement the last two weeks, the prospect of finally finishing your studies making you happier than you had ever known, because this is something you did, all on your own. This was the product of your years of blood, sweat and tears and he was treating it as if he was blowing off a simple walk in the park with you.

“I guess I forgot” and with that he spun back around to continue his game.

“Jesus Charles” you huffed out as you left the room, gathering up your stuff as you went along, desperately needing to get out of his apartment.

“What? What did I do wrong?” he was following you in an attempt to stop you from leaving, to get you to stay so you could calm down and let the entire thing blow over.

“ I’m sorry I’m not a fucking formula one driver and winning podiums but this was important to me. Do you get that? Important to me Charles. This was something I worked hard on, this was to better myself and you’re treating it like I have no right to be upset that my boyfriend doesn’t give a shit that I am graduating from university which was the most gruelling years of my life” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling even if you tried.

You hated crying in front of him for something like this, it made you feel stupid and pathetic, but you were so hurt. You never thought the man you loved would hurt you so much.

And the way he was looking at you now made you feel all the more worse. He didn’t have the right to look at you with pity, not when he caused this.

Charles wanted to tell you the truth, he really did and honestly, looking at you standing there, teary eyed and the saddest he had ever seen you in his life very nearly broke his resolve, but internally he just kept reminding himself of how happy you were going to be with the surprise he was planning for Friday.

He had always known how important your graduation was for you. He was always in awe of the fact that you were able to get as far as you did in your studies, knowing he would never be able to. Truthfully, he was pretty sure you were one of his heroes with what you had achieved and he couldn’t wait to celebrate you and all your hard work this weekend, but for now he had to keep the secret, and the only way he knew how to do that without bursting was to just try and deflect the subject to something else.

“Baby, I have to work, I’m sorry” he tried reaching out for you, but you flinched away, absolutely not standing the thought of him holding you right now.

“I’m going to go. I’ll see you when you aren’t so busy” and with that you were walking out his door, leaving him standing there, unsure of how to make you understand without ruining the surprise.

_______

Today was the day.

Finally, today was the day.

You had worked harder than you could ever express to get where you were and this was the physical accumulation of it.

You were going to wear your beautiful dress and hold your head up high and walk across that stage and get your degree and that was that. You were proud of yourself.

Even if your boyfriend doesn’t feel the same.

No, you didn’t even want to think of him today. Your graduation will always be tinged with  sadness because of him, but you refuse to let yourself dwell on it any longer than necessary. You were y/n fucking y/l/n and you deserve to be celebrated, even if he didn’t think so.

Waiting for them to call your name to go up was probably one of the most nerve-wracking things you’d ever experienced and you hated that you found yourself wishing that you’d be able to see your boyfriend out in the crowd, knowing that catching a glimpse of his smile would calm you down completely.

‘My love, stop fiddling with your dress, remember who you are and all the that you are worth’

You began to play the conversation in your head, knowing this is exactly what he’d say to you, probably accompanied by a kiss to your cheek and you would be lying if you said you did not indulge in the thought of feeling his lips pressed against your cheek, cradling the other in his hand, your whole being melting into the thought, calming you down instantly, taking in the entire essence that is your boyfr-

“Miss Y/n Y/l/n, Cum Laude”

Shit, that was you.

You quickly made your way up the stage stairs in order to collect your degree, politely smiling out towards the crowd. You definitely didn’t realise how much you’d hate this. The entire room staring at you? God, how did Charles do this all the time? This was God awful.

Wait, is that Charles?

Holy shit, that is Charles. Oh my god. He came. He fucking came!

“Miss, if you wouldn’t mind” the speaker directed you to move across the stage as she pulled you out of your disbelief that here your boyfriend sat, with the biggest bunch of flowers you had ever seen, looking as gorgeous as ever and you really needed to walk across this stage now and you really needed to do it without tripping, and he came.

This truly was the greatest day of your life. How were you meant to sit through the rest of this ceremony now that you knew he was here?

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire time, from the moment he walked into the hall to watching you across the stage and as you proceeded to make your way back to your seat. Shit, that dress really did look good on you. And that gown, that was, surprisingly hot, in like, a weird Hogwarts kind of way.

Was the whole nerdy academia thing doing it for him?

Why did Charles look so confused? Was something wrong?

You threw a concerned look his way before sitting down, trying to figure out what was disturbing your boyfriend so much that it warranted that look on his face. In return you got a wide toothed grinned and small thumbs up, who knew such an innocent gesture could fill you with such joy.

This ceremony was taking entirely too long for either of you, not being able to help yourself and constantly sneaking glances at each other, sharing small smiles and giggles. Feeling giddy when he mouthed “I’m so proud of you”, tears welling.

And then as soon as the ceremony was over you both beelined to each other, weaving your way through the crowd, refusing to take your eyes off your route, wanting to be in each others arms as quickly as possible.

And then you were.

He encased you in a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist as yours moved around his neck, moulding your bodies as tightly together as the natural laws would allow. Charles was sure he had whispered how proud he was about you one hundred times in one different ways before you two broke apart.

“Thank you for taking off work to come” you had never felt as much gratitude as you had in this moment, you needed him here and he showed up.

“Oh, I didn’t have work, actually, I have the entire next week off, I’m just really bad at keeping secrets” he sheepishly confessed, red tinging his cheeks.

“Wait, what? What secret?” it was your turn to sport confusion as you tried to piece together what Charles might be talking about, but before you could get any further explanation, you were interrupted by your mom finally finding you amongst all the graduates.

“Well done!” your mom pulled you away from Charles to congratulate you, “and as proud as I am for you my dear,” she began leading you all out of the hall to the parking area, “you two are going to be late for your celebratory dinner”  

“Dinner? It’s 2pm? Wait, aren’t you coming with?” What the fuck was going on?

“No baby” your mom threw you a mischievous grin, “you have her bag yes?” she had directed the question towards your boyfriend who was starting to look more and more proud of himself by the second.

“In the car, and we should probably get going” he kissed your mother on the cheek before gesturing for you to say goodbye to your mom, who had initiated it, placing a kiss on your cheek before reminding you how proud she was of you and saying goodbye.

“I’m confused” you were wanting answers, and Charles had yet to provide you with a single one as you began walking back to his car.

“We’re going to be late for dinner, we need to go” he looked at you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Charles, baby, its 2pm, dinner isn’t for a few hours” you were certain everyone had gotten their times wrong, trying to get Charles to realise.

“Yeah, but then it’s the whole plane ride-“ Charles began, to casually for there to have been mention of a plane.

“What plane ride Charles?” you had stopped dead in your tracks as he opened the car door for you, the silence between you creating a tension full of excitement, both of your smiles so wide it began hurting your cheeks, a small giggle slipping out of you from happiness, your body unsure of what to do with all of it accumulating inside of you.

“The one that we need to catch so we can get to the Maldives for the reservation I booked for dinner” his smile grew impossibly wider as he watched the excitement on your face.

“No” was that genuinely all you could get out at the moment?

“Yes” he gestured towards the car in order to try and get you going.

“No Charles” it was official, there was too much happiness inside you and all of it was spilling out in laughs.

“Yes Y/n” he had moved in front of you and had begun peppering kisses all over your face as you laughed from excitement.

“Why” you all but whispered as you calmed down, staring into his eyes as he looked down at you.

“My love, you just accomplished one of the most difficult things someone can do, I watched as you worked yourself for years trying to achieve this. It’s one of the bravest things I’ve seen someone do and I doubt I’d ever be able to do it, so, why? Because no one deserves this graduation gift more” he punctuated it with a tender kiss to your lips, “but now, we need to go or we’re genuinely going to be late” suddenly kicking you both into gear as you scrambled to get into the car.

Charles started the car after he got settled, “Oh! Wait, let me see if I can get my mom to take my gown” you grabbed your phone to begin dialling her umber, stopping when Charles laid his hand on your own.

“No, without you asking too many questions, just please do me a favour and keep it” Charles hand had now moved to your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Why?” yet again, he had left you confused today.

His only answer was a wink thrown in your direction, alluding to what he wanted and suddenly pushing both your thoughts to how fun the Maldives were actually going to be.