Carlos Sainz Jr X Reader - Tumblr Posts

dangerous woman #CS55

PAIRING: carlos sainz x reader!, non racer carlos sainz jr x reader!

SUMMARY: being arranged married to carlos sainz, will the both of you work the marriage or will the next step be signing the divorce papers

WARNING: age gap, arranged married related, no smuts! tensions ofc, will be a 4 part series, inc of smau! angst, fluff (in the future?)

masterlist part 2

the bells of the cafe that you’re working at chimed, and there walked in his subordinates .

“how many more minutes ‘till you’re ending?” you glanced up at the said person and down at the watch that was gifted to you, and gave him an answer

“20 minutes, he should know” they nodded and proceeded taking a seat that was directly facing your counter

while cleaning the barista station, and doing the next employee a big favour you felt tensed from the staring from the three said man in suits.

“what’s with all the staring? do your own things, i’m feeling abit tensed right now” rolling your eyes and continuing your task

“he’s furious” the following monaqesque man told you

“i don’t give a shit charles, he did it first, i’m just continuing the game”

you were furious too, both him and you are married in papers but have never been in love with each other before, yeah the both of you grew up close to each other just because your dad were close friends but that is all, nothing more than that.

you’ve been in tons of relationships, and so did he, but it does not make sense for him to still have her by his side and you had to leave yours.

your past relationship was looked down by your dad, mainly because he wasn’t brought up in a wealthy environment, it didn’t really became a big deal between the both of you until you had enough of the shit your dad put him through which eventually led you to agreeing marrying carlos sainz, in an arranged marriage.

The both of you had rules to follow, and he of course never stayed true to it, and so you tried to do the same.

Yesterday you were celebrating your best-friend birthday and your friends just happened to stumbled upon a club, which all of you’ve missed the feeling of it, so all you surely did ENJOYED it.

Not until you were making moves to a gorgeous looking man, and felt you being pulled away, and there he was the man you’ve loathed.

Cockblocker, a huge one.

“i’ll suggest you to stay away” the familiarity of the spanish accent made you realised it was him, carlos sainz.

You’ve felt embarrassed, muttering a sorry to the man and him giving you a slight smile.

Turning back to carlos sainz, you pulled away your hands from his grip and walked away, while muttering “ just when i thought i could get laid”

Bidding goodbye to the girls, you were being guarded to his car by his subordinates.

“how did you guys find me here” you asked pierre, the only one that was walking the same pace as you

“ (your bestfriend name) instagram story, sorry y/n”

you shook your head and climbed in-to the front passenger seat of the Ferrari that was parked in front of the club.

The other guys went to their own vehicle leaving the both of you alone, removing the jacket that was covering you, totally forgetting to hand it back to the guy earlier.

“whose jacket is that, i don’t recall that in your closet?” breaking the tension between the both of you while reversing the car

“it shouldn’t concern you, why are you here anyway? I was having fun” clicking your tongue, while finding for your makeup wipes and removing your makeup in the car.

“you’re my wife, i should be concerned”

“now i am your wife? will you say that in-front of her too?”

that comment made him shut up real quick, which continued all the way to your home.

which led to today, the tension is still strong, you left the house without bidding goodbye to him when he was clearly sitting on your couch eyeing you running around the house finding your things.

“they broke off” this time, lando spoke.

“it doesn’t concern me guys, we don’t like each other” wiping off the last bit and handing the three guys their coffee that was on the house.

“how do you know that he doesn’t see you that way, and why are you so sure about that?” Pierre asking while taking sips of the coffee

“well for a starter gasly, he wouldn’t be fucking around if he liked me, am i right?”

It did made you feel an ease knowing they broke off, yeah you liked his presence but you of course disliked that he betrayed the rules and guidelines that was set by the both of you.

“you guys were fine when the both of you got married though, i don’t see how this had happened”

“she happened, leclerc. what makes it fair that i had to leave someone behind and he doesn’t?” They nodded their head slightly agreeing your point.

“is he coming or are we going somewhere?” removing your apron, walking towards the racks and hanging your personalised apron.

“he’s reaching in a few minutes” signalling them an ‘OK’ sign and walking towards your locker and changed out of your uniform.

Changing took at least 5 minutes, but of course you kept doing things at your own pace, purposely rearranging your locker neatly until you heard a door opened.

“are you building a changing room, what took you 10 minutes to change out of these clothes”

“you’re a comedian sainz, why are you here anyways” pushing him back with your purse which led him to holding it

walking to the front of the house, you bid goodbye to jake, the new part timer

“why are you still working here, I offered you a placement”

“i asked you a question first, and i’ll rather work here than seeing you at work, furthermore i’ll see you at home 80% of the time, i’ll go insane if i see you every single day in every single hour”

he sighed and grabbed your hands walking towards the parking area

“we’re going on a date today”

standing still in the middle of the walkway, you looked at him confused and shocked and with the halted bumping from the three men, made you realised they too were confused

what is wrong with carlos sainz, why is he asking me out on a date…? did he woke up on the wrong side of the bed..? is this a freaky Friday incident?

“gasly, leclerc, norris, you’re dismissed” and with that the three of them hurried away with lando winking to you

note: thank you for taking the time to read this, i have much more drafts but i’ve decided to slowly post them! hope this gets you on your feet, because there’s three more series and it’ll get much more better :-)

taglist are welcome, do req them in my ask ~

Dangerous Woman 2 #CS55

PAIRING: carlos sainz x reader!, non racer carlos sainz jr x reader!

SUMMARY: being arranged married to carlos sainz, will the both of you work the marriage or will the next step be signing the divorce papers

WARNINGS: age gap, arranged married related, no smuts! tensions ofc, will be a 4 part series, inc of smau! angst, fluff (in the future?)

part 1

full masterlist

Carlos definition of a date in his mind was a normal casual dinner date, not a date where the both of you would’ve enjoyed because right now while waiting for both of your food to arrived, there was a thick air of tension surrounding both of you.

“will you explain what is going on or are we supposed to sit here in silence?” you spoke, cutting off his train of thoughts

not far from your table you could notice the presence of the trio that was peeping towards your table, it’s not a secret when they’re out there wearing the exact same thing that you last saw them in.

“i’m aware lando have told you i’ve broken up with her” nodding your head agreeing to the statement

“I’ll appreciate if i could rekindle this situation, slowly”

now, you’re laughing because why now? why rekindle after a year?

“that’s funny sainz, the last thing i’ve heard from you was that you threw away our friendship over, just because you thought this marriage would meddle in to your relationship”

“you would’ve done the same thing, y/n. you don’t understand”

What did he meant that you wouldn’t understand? what about the nights you sobbed to him about how much you’ve loved your ex, but your parents would never approve of him which led the both of you to part ways

“i would’ve done the same thing carlos, but i couldn’t. it’s different for me because i’m not the head of the family, i’m just a woman who has to listen to everything my father says. I loved him, but i couldn’t do it anymore so i truly understand carlos. I’ve never once threw away our friendship but instead you, you’re selfish and you’re unaware of it”

you expected a reply but all he gave you was a slight nod agreeing to whatever you’ve just told him

“let’s just eat, we’re here anyways, and it would be great if those trios of yours join us instead of trying to hide themselves, because it’s not working”

it’s been two weeks since then, there was an improvement in carlos attitude towards you, he would pick you up daily from your shifts, asked you out to dinner and he’s actually treating you like a wife should have been treated, which was odd but it did healed a part of your heart knowingly this is exactly the way you wanted to be treat as a wife.

“you’ve been nothing but glowing these past few days, what’s going on?” you’re currently on face-time with your best-friend, casually keeping up with each other gossips

“it’s carlos, he’s been treating me differently ever since that dinner date” setting up your phone on your table, while you’re removing your left over makeup

“well that’s great isn’t it? you guys are married so, least he could do is start treating you like a wife”

your best friend have always had a grudge towards Carlos, ever-since you’ve told her about both yours and Carlos rough past

“yeah and i guess im still getting used to it, but she’s gonna come back anytime sooner, this isn’t the first and surely would not be the last”

sighing while removing your makeup, from your phone screen you could see your best friend shrugging her shoulders agreeing with whatever you’ve just said to her

“he does that everytime, y/n. it’s all up to your choices love”

just then you heard your front doors open with voices trailing behind, “i think he’s homed, i’ll text you in a while, love you”

with that you ended the call with your best-friend and walked to your living room only to be greeted with carlos and his friends

“is there something going on today?” you were confused, you weren’t aware of the invitation of his friends over to your house

“they were just stopping by for dinner, would you like to join us?”

“It’s alright, your mom came by and brought over some food. I’ll just heat them up for you guys”

with that, carlos left the kitchen to entertain his friends

you weren’t particularly fond of his friends, other than the three who’s always around the both of you, these friends were different

you knew the friend group that he sticks by has been there for him since childhood and they’ve particularly were more fond of her rather than you.

there were many times you’d eavesdrop their conversations and those times were when you’d listen to their bad remarks about your marriage.

you knew who carlos ex girlfriend was, you’ve met her multiple times due to carlos and your family gathering that’s on-going for every year.

you’d be lying if you think she wasn’t beautiful because she is, no one knew but you’d sometimes compare the both of you because clearly she was the better looking.

your train of thoughts left your mind when you felt hands snaking around your waist

“what’s going on with that mind of yours, i’ve been calling for you to join us”

you could smell that strong perfume of his and a tint of sweetness which you for sure know it’s neither his nor yours because the perfumes you wore were always citrusy scents, and that was one sign you should have never choose to ignore

taglist ; @iissza @spngi @sainzluvrr @slut4lando

link to taglist

a/n : thank you for the support & love for dangerous woman 🥹! i’ve received multiple inboxs asking when will i post the next part, so here you go <3!

targaryenluv’s f1 masterlist

CARLOS SAINZ

— this yours? 

p1 - p2

summary: the one where you get dragged to your older brothers golf tournament and end up drooling over a another player. only problem? he’s your best friends brother.

— the one

summary: the one where you’re dating carlos sainz jr, whilst being the youngest of the leclerc family and hiding the relationship from your brothers. mission unsucessful.

CHARLES LECLERC

— you and i, forever

— satellite (p2)

summary: the one where you and charles navigate his high-end career while trying to stay loyal with eachother from a long distance. which proves to be harder for one certain party.

— stand by me

summary: the one where charles and you attend the celebratory dinner after him winning the 2023 championship, which leads to a man on one knee and you crying whilst his family cheers in the background.

— honeymoon things (insta au)

summary: you and charles post about your wedding and honeymoon when a few funny comments trickle in.

MAX VERSTAPPEN

— coming soon

LANDO NORRIS

— coming soon

OSCAR PIASTRI

— coming soon

DANIEL RICCIARDO 

— not on purpose! (insta au, bellingham!sister)

summary: daniel accidentally announces his relationship to his fans.

LEWIS HAMILTON 

— all too well (ft. pierre gasly)

summary: the one where pierre gasly doesn’t realize what he’s lost until she’s gone and in the arms of a certain british world champion.

GEORGE RUSSELL

— coming soon

SEBASTIAN VETTEL 

— coming soon

 ALEX ALBON

— coming soon

Masterlist

Carlos Sainz Jr.

Crash and Burn

-Chapter 1

-Chapter 2

-Chapter 3

-Chapter 4

-Chapter 5

-Chapter 6

-Chapter 7

-Chapter 8

-Chapter 9

Firsts II Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader

paring: carlos sainz jr x reader summary: five of the firsts that carlos shares with you — the journey of carlos’ love for you warnings: tiny bit of swearing and poor writing, fluff! requests are open! word count: 4.5k

Keep reading

smooth operator ✸ cs55

“And my girlfriend, of course,” he looked beyond where the eye could see, and she was pretty sure that’s where you were standing. “She’s the one who’s staying with me tonight.”

Alia had never been more red at a roguish wink intended to be for someone she wasn’t.

Or, wherein…. the entire world learns how Carlos actually acquired the nickname “Smooth Operator”.

includes… norris!reader, fluff, sexual themes, untranslated french & spanish (idk how to put the translations). oh, and people loving chilli (as they should 😌).

faye’s notes… i’m currently writing this alongside a charles and danny fic lol. also, thanks for a 100 followers, ik it isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it still made me happy to know you guys enjoy the bullshit i daydream instead of paying attention in my courses.

word count… 2.3k

CARLOS SAINZ BEING A SMOOTH OPERATOR FOR 7 MINS AND 55 SECS STRAIGHT. aka, Carlos talking about YN LN for forever.

Alia clicked onto the video, chuckling at the disclaimer that said the video would start at the time stamp mentioned because they wanted the time to be the exact seconds as mentioned in the title.

“Ce sera bon,” she giggled, watching the first clip in the compilation.

Carlos was leaning against the barrier, post race sweat shining across his forehead and down his face as he answered interview questions. A text in the corner let her know it was after the race in Silverstone in 2021. His maiden win, a P1.

“And how did it feel?” the interviewer asked. Carlos grinned, looking elated and basking in the glory of his win. “Your maiden win, with Ferrari. That must be a big deal!”

“It feels great!” Carlos exclaimed, eyes flitting off towards the end of the screen as his smile lit up even more before he continued. “It feels like we’re doing what we’re supposed to, and we’re going in the right direction.”

The interviewer nodded and asked another question. “So how do you plan on celebrating? Any plans?”

“Yeah, Charles was saying something about going out to celebrate,” Carlos hummed, thinking about it. “Will probably just spend the evening with friends,” he smiled, eyes catching sight of something behind the interviewer, far from the camera’s lens, but Alia had an inkling of what or rather who had caught his attention.

“And my girlfriend, of course,” he still was looking beyond where the eye could see, and she was pretty sure that’s where you were standing. “She’s the one who’s staying with me tonight.”

Alia had never been more red at a roguish wink intended to be for someone she wasn’t.

The second video was a continuation of the Silverstone win, a shaky video that was clearly taken by a fan as they captured you running after your boyfriend who was heading back into the motor home, jumping onto his back as he held you up, adjusting his grip on your thighs. Despite not knowing what was being said, Alia could clearly see the pure, unadulterated love that Carlos radiated as you pressed a kiss to his cheek before he let you down, arms wrapped around his middle as you looked up at him, smiling wide, hands presenting the bouquet of flowers you had in your hand.

The video cut off when Carlos pressed a deep kiss to your lips, hands gripping your face as he held onto you, flowers falling in between the two of you, faces red with your smudged lipstick when the two of you pulled apart, walking inside the red motorhome that belonged to the Scuderia Ferrari team. Alia blinked rapidly, glad that the clip had changed. It felt like she had intruded on something she should have never been able to.

The third clip showed you donned in orange, representing your boyfriend’s old team as you stood next to Lando, your younger half-brother. The twenty one year old driver and you were deep in an argument about a book you were reading, something you did often as you tried to solve the mystery the fastest, the loser having to buy the other dinner.

“It has to be—“ Lando was caught rolling his eyes at your screech, the arms of a Spanish driver lifting you in the air as you held on for dear life. “Carlos!”

“Ay cariño!” Alia laughed at Lando pretending to throw up beside the two of you. She recalled the way twitter had exploded when this clip had come in Drive to Survive for the 2021 season.

Twitter had been in flames, and every person had begun scouring for clips of you and Carlos through various social media outlets to find how it had happened. Alia had been one of them herself.

“And maybe I could—“ Carlos jumped at the contact of the coldness against his stomach, turning around to see you laughing as you ran away, the man chasing you instead of talking to the camera. You jumped in the pool just as Carlos reached you, drenching him in water as he followed you in. The camera angle changed to Carlos’ cousin, who had an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised he lasted this long without swimming with her,” he mumbled, making Alia laugh. The clip was taken from Carlos’ youtube channel, where he’d documented his mid-season break in his first year with the prancing horse, and he’d been in the middle of explaining his season so far when you’d come on screen, water from the pool still on you as you reached Carlos.

“This is my time to shine, canard!” you cried, playfully upset as you stood in your bathroom, a robe on and hair pushed back with a fluffy headband. Carlos was leaning in the doorway in full view of the camera, his shirt sticking to his body due to his workout with Robert. The man smiled, walking to stand behind you as he grabbed your waist, kissing your cheek.

“You’re always shining, mí reina,” Carlos’ hands went to pull off his shirt when you pulled it back down.

“I’m not paying for the Only Fans paywall for this,” you joked, patting his abdomen.

“Mi amor, we’d be kicked off of OnlyFans if it were real,” he murmured, quick and soft, but the red on your face was visible beyond the confine of your neck, which told Alia it was definitely something dirty. The thought was sealed when Carlos winked at her, picking up the spare headband and clapping his hands, as if he were preparing a meal in a restaurant.

“Okay, so welcome to my Vogue Beauty Secrets— Oi!” he was laughing as he wiped at his face, watching you blink innocently at him, holding up a towel for him.

“What? You had to wash your face.” You grinned, handing him a moisturiser. “See what I have to deal with? A man child who did not learn how to moisturise.”

“Ay mamita, no hay necesidad de contarles todo!” he exclaimed, gently rubbing in the product you’d handed him. He’d been yelled at by you too many times for his aggressive scrubbing.

“The video is literally titled beauty secrets, amor. I’m supposed to give them some.”

“I thought it was your time to shine?”

You shrugged, grinning happily as you continued to go through your skincare with your boyfriend, the two of you bickering back and forth, nearly forgetting about the video until you apologised once you started applying your makeup. Alia could see Carlos in the background as he kept talking to you throughout the video, little comments upon yo ur beauty that highlighted your blush even more, and made the comments go crazy.

“Who are you wearing?”

You grinned at the interviewer, knowing her after the multiple times she’d been the one asking you questions. “I should be asking you that. Can we— get a shot of her please!”

You gestured to her dress, the camera following your movements as you complimented the host before answering her. “It’s vintage Chanel.” You thumbed at the gold chains adorning different parts of the dress.

“Which means I have to be careful with it later on,” added Carlos, the man standing next to you as you did an interview for your new movie on the red carpet.

“I’m regretting getting you as my plus one, my grandmother’s watching this!” you groaned, hiding your face in his chest as he chuckled.

“She loves me,” he told you, unfazed and smiling softly at you. Your lips quirked up in response, eyes not leaving his.

“And my brother,” you told him, watching him shrug. You patted his chest as you turned back to the interviewer who was watching with a fond smile. “I’m sorry, I haven’t trained him well.”

The girl in front of you laughed, waving you off to say it was alright. Alia smiled as she watched the two of you weave into the crowd, still in the centre of attention as the camera angle changed, now one of a fans as they captured the moments after where you jokingly grabbed onto Carlos’ ass when the photographers yelled at you, the man pretending to look scandalised as you laughed, following him inside the cinema.

Lando was standing with Carlos, the two of them having come with you for the release of your newest thriller movie while you spoke to the fans, signing and taking pictures with them.

“What do you plan to do after?” called a fan. You were notorious for not staying throughout an event, always captured at a fast food restaurant or heading back home with either Carlos or your brother or your friends.

“Spend time with my lovely girl, Lily,” you said. “But she was busy, so I had to bring those two,” you jabbed a thumb behind you in the vague direction where your boyfriend and brother were. Carlos looked shocked at your reply, making Alia laugh.

“That’s not what you said last night, cariño!”

Lando looked mortified as he smacked his friend. “That’s my sister!”

“Maybe you should find a girl then, stop poking your nose in my love life.”

Lando crinkled his nose. “That’s not your love life, mate. That’s more than— hmph!”

Carlos covered Lando’s mouth. “There are children here,” he nodded sagely, making you roll your eyes with a fond smile as you turned back to pay attention to the fans.

The clip ended with the three of you walking away, you shaking your head at the two boys who you claimed to be third wheeling, walking after them with a fond smile, the scene captured by a fan attending the premiere. The video compilation had a red screen that read the words BONUS! with the text Carlos Sainz is a fake operator below it.

“Hi, I’m sorry, could I bother you for a second?”

The next clip was one that made fans cry with laughter every time it was brought up. You had become a household name in the paddock during the 2019 Formula One season, tagging along with your younger brother, Lando Norris. The text in the corner said that the video was from the Australian Grand Prix, on the day of qualifying, taken from that year’s season of Drive to Survive.

Carlos hummed, smiling down at you as he listened to you speak. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, could you direct me to the McLaren motor home? Y’know, the one that looks like a papaya?”

Carlos laughed as he nodded, telling you he was going there himself. The camera caught the two of you as you walked towards the place, the conversation not caught by the Netflix crew, but they did catch a very flustered Carlos and Lando, who looked mortified.

“What happened there mate?” asked Charles, hands shuffling the cards he was given as he watched Carlos shake his head, shifting in his seat. The two had just watched a video of his first interaction with you, Charles leaning into his side as they shared the iPad in the Spaniard’s hands; the Scuderia team’s drivers were answering fan questions for the Ferrari youtube channel.

“I basically thought that she was dating Lando,” clarified Carlos in the following clip, watching Charles laugh heavily.

“You thought she was dating her brother! Her brother!” Charles was howling, wiping his eyes. “Oh, mate…”

Carlos groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

“He really isn’t as smooth as he claims he is!” called a voice off camera, Carlos glaring at the person, but the stare held no malice in comparison with the smile.

Alia laughed as she turned to the comments section.

COMMENTS

Add a comment…

user fuck romeo and juliet, i want what these two bitches have

edit: ma, i’m famous!

132k likes

user if they don’t get married, istfg love is dead.

6.3k likes

user even my grandma’s ashes wants them to get together.

user girl- 💀

user you should have added their whole feud because carlos couldn’t stand the fact that yn likes pineapple pizza 😭😭

user if they break up, i’m never gonna believe in love

206.3k likes

user same bestie, same

user if they need a third, i’m available.

user you should do one of yn third wheeling carlos and lando, they’re the real romance here

1.2k likes liked by creator!

creator maybe i’ll do that next lol

[ © SCOOTERARI, 2023. ]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

As a motorsport enthusiast, attending the World Rally Championship as a journalist was a dream come true. The adrenaline rush from the roaring engines, the whizzing cars, and the thunderous applause of the crowd filled me with excitement. I had covered several races in the past, but this one was special. It was the race where the veteran world champion, Carlos Sainz Sr, was making his comeback after a long hiatus. The scorching sun beat down on the gravel roads of the World Rally Championship, creating a cloud of dust that hung in the air.

Armed with my notepad and camera, I eagerly made my way through the bustling crowd, ready to capture the thrilling moments of the rally.

Among the sea of passionate fans, my attention was drawn to a familiar face. It was Carlos Sainz Jr, one of the most successful Formula 1 drivers of all time. There was a spark in his eyes as he watched his father, the legendary veteran world champion, Carlos Sainz Sr, prepare for the race. A surge of excitement filled my chest as I realized that fate had brought me closer to this racing dynasty.

As a journalist for a Spanish sports newspaper, I had the privilege of interviewing the esteemed Carlos Sainz Sr. With my heart pounding, I approached him and introduced myself, expressing my admiration for his illustrious career. His eyes crinkled with a warm smile as he observed my dedication and passion for motorsport.

As the rally began, I immersed myself in the electrifying atmosphere. I documented each turn, jump, and slide with the utmost enthusiasm. Little did I know that Carlos Sainz Jr was observing me from a distance, his curiosity piqued by my unwavering love for the sport.

Days turned into nights, and the competition intensified. Carlos Sainz Sr showcased his unmatched skill and experience, dominating the rally with finesse. The crowd erupted in cheers as he crossed the finish line, securing yet another victory.

In the aftermath of the race, the journalists gathered for post-race interviews. Among them, I found myself face-to-face with Carlos Sainz Jr. There was an instant connection between us, as if we shared a common language in the realm of motorsport.

We spoke about our shared passion, our favorite racing moments, and the challenges we faced in pursuing our dreams. Carlos admired my dedication and determination, recognizing the fire within me. It was then that a bond began to form, transcending the boundaries of a chance meeting.

In the weeks that followed, Carlos and I kept in touch, we built a life centered around our shared love for motorsport, with our paths forever intertwined, our conversations growing deeper and more meaningful. He became not just a legendary driver but also a trusted confidant and source of inspiration. Recognizing my dream to become an F1 journalist, he offered his unwavering support, connecting me with influential figures in the industry and providing invaluable guidance.

With Carlos's guidance, I stepped into the world of Formula 1 journalism. I traveled to various circuits, capturing the spirit of the sport through my words and photographs. Our friendship blossomed into a love fueled by our shared passions and mutual respect.

Together, we experienced the highs and lows of the racing world, celebrating victories and consoling each other during challenging times. Carlos's unwavering support and belief in me never wavered, becoming the wind beneath my wings as I pursued my dream career.

As the years went by, my byline graced the pages of prominent sports publications, and my work became recognized in the world of motorsport journalism. But my success was never a solitary achievement. It was a testament to the love and guidance I received from Carlos Sainz Jr, the man who had seen my potential and nurtured it with unwavering dedication.

Driven by love, passion, and unwavering determination, we forged a bond that transcended the racetrack. And as we stood together, side by side, I knew that I had found my own champion, not just in the world of motorsport, but in the depths of my heart.

One day, as we were watching a race together, Carlos Jr turned to me and said, "I have a surprise for you." He took me outside, and there it was - a rally car with my name on it. He had arranged for me to participate in the next race, and I was thrilled. I trained hard, practicing my driving skills, and analyzing the track.

On the day of the race, my heart was pounding as I stepped into the car. The roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds as I sped through the track, negotiating the twists and turns with ease. The finish line was in sight, and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then it happened - I won the race, and Carlos Jr was waiting for me at the finish line.

We embraced each other, our hearts filled with joy and passion. We had embarked on a journey filled with challenges and victories, both on and off the track. As the sun set on the race track, we looked forward to the future, a future filled with love, adventure, and of course, motorsports.

In the months that followed, Carlos Jr. and I kept in touch. We shared

Together, we embarked on a whirlwind adventure, traveling to races across the globe, each doing what we loved the most. Carlos Jr.'s influence and connections in the racing world opened doors for me, allowing me to interview some of the greatest drivers in history. I relished the opportunity to share their stories and bring the thrill of F1 to fans worldwide.

As our bond grew stronger, we found ourselves falling deeply in love. Carlos Jr. introduced me to the rest of the family. Over dinner one evening, Carlos Sr. revealed with a smile, "I knew from the moment I saw you both together that you were destined to be together. Love and motorsport, it's a combination that can't be beaten."

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, surrounded by the laughter of our children, Carlos turned to me with a twinkle in his eye. "Do you remember the day we first met?" he asked, his voice filled with nostalgia.

I nodded, a smile spreading across my face. "How could I forget? It was the start of the most incredible journey of my life."

Carlos Sr., who had been listening intently, chimed in, "I always knew you two would end up together. Love is like racing; sometimes, you just know."

And as we basked in the warmth of our shared memories, I couldn't help but be grateful for the magical moment that brought us together—the day our racing hearts collided and forever merged into one.