Challenge De Escritura

love is a broken door

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

summary: fluff. in which broken doors don’t stand a chance against your boyfriend.

warning(s): hurt comfort, reader gets a bruise, some insecurities from carlos

“Damnit! Not again.” You groan, catching the attention of your boyfriend in the next room. It was no surprise that he was standing in front of you in a matter of seconds, before you could even open your eyes after tensing up from the pain throbbing in your arm.

“All good?” Carlos questions, concern clear in his expression and his tone of voice. “What happened?”

“Yes, it’s just this stupid door again.”

His eyes widen, drifting to where you clutched your arm with your other hand as you lean back against the bathroom counter. Out of instinct, he all but lunges closer towards you to take a closer look at the bruise that’s forming.

He hesitates before touching it, until you give him a consenting nod to which he runs his fingers over your swollen skin ever so gently. Carlos may have been a tough guy by trade, but he always regards you with the utmost tender loving care.

“What did the door do? How did this happen?”

“It’s alive or something, I swear. Every time I open this door it never stays open, it sways to about halfway shut. I’ve been forgetting, so when I turn around, I accidentally run into it.”

Carlos frowns, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours with a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve fixed it for you.”

You sigh, rubbing your arm soothingly. “It’s okay, babe. I know you’re busy and I don’t want to bother you with little things.”

“You’re never bothering me, amor. No problem of yours is little, I want to help you.” You kiss his lips reassuringly, hoping that his concerns will fade away.

“It’s not a big deal. In the meantime I’ll just have to watch where I’m going, no worries.”

“No, worries!” Carlos fires back, taking your hands in his before staring you in the eyes. He wants– no, needs you– to know he’s sincere about this. “What kind of man would I be if I let my woman stand in harm’s way, hm?” You giggle, surprised at how serious he’s taking this. You don’t miss the small smile he gives you in return.

“You mean stand in the door’s way? Get it, because it’s a doorway?” His now deadpan expression causes you to crack up even further, he’s clearly unamused with your jokes. “The door is not to blame for my lack of spatial awareness, honey. I promise you, I’m fine and unharmed.”

“Whatever you say, amor.” Carlos surrenders, eyeing you suspiciously. He welcomes another kiss from you before you leave the house, off to run the errands you were originally on your way to do before running into that stubborn bathroom door.

Of course he trusts your word, and he certainly trusts your capability to fix whatever needs fixing at home. But he can’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that feels an awful lot like guilt.

He loves his career, and your support of him even more, except the part where he has to miss out on the little things. The ordinary, mundane things that happen in your life that he won’t get to know about or experience with you. The little things you won’t bother to tell him because you think he has more important things going on.

Another part of him feels silly for taking it as seriously as he is, but he also knows that the door represents only the surface of the issue that’s really bothering him. Surely he can tell by the way his stomach is turning at the thought of not being around for you as often as he should be. He knows you don’t hold it against him. But he also knows you two don’t have the most settled of lives either. When he overhears your best friend rave to you about the latest thing her boyfriend did for her, he wonders if you’re longing for the same stability.

He wonders what you say about him when it’s your turn to share, no matter how extravagant the gifts or the vacations or the experiences are that you two have shared together. He wonders if that’s really enough.

Carlos takes one good look at the door that’s taunting his insecurities. It makes a creaking sound as it swings halfway shut after he opens it, almost hitting his own shoulder as it did yours moments prior.

–

When you return home it’s quiet, and to your surprise the lights are off in the kitchen. Usually around this time when Carlos isn’t traveling, he’ll be in there perfecting his latest recipe, letting you have first dibs on tasting the food before he shows it off to his family and friends.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-song, to which you don’t hear a response. His car was in the garage, so he had to be here. Maybe he opted for a quick nap after his workout?

You quietly tip-toe up the stairs hoping that if he is asleep, you didn’t just wake him up. When you enter your bedroom, it’s a relief to see light shining from the doorway that connects your en-suite.

And if you weren’t surprised at the sight before you, you would’ve been entirely turned on by it. There stood your boyfriend, focused as ever with a drill in one hand and the door held upright with the other. The veins of his arms were especially prominent and he bit his lip in concentration.

“Carlos?”

His eyes glance towards you, startling him, nearly causing him to drop the door that was only partially attached to its hinges. He lets out a breathy laugh, clutching his heart to emphasize the shock he’s in, so engrossed in his project that he didn’t even hear you enter. “Mi amor, you scared me. When did you get home?”

“I got home a while ago.” You muse, walking into the bathroom to see him up close. “But I wouldn’t mind admiring you for a little bit longer.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking devilishly as your hands trace the muscles of his body over the shirt he’s wearing. “You like what you see?”

“Had I known you look so sexy fixing doors I might’ve just started breaking them.” You make it a point to let your eyes roam before making eye contact with him again. “And it’s not too late, you know. It’s never too late.”

“Before you start on that rampage, can I at least finish fixing this one first?”

“As long as I can watch.” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Be my guest, amor.” Carlos whispers in your ear, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

You hop up on the counter, swinging your legs with delight. He focuses once again, inspecting the lines on his beam level to make sure that his drilling will be accurate.

His dark hair is messy and his forehead shines with the sheenest layer of sweat. You can’t help but marvel at how good he looks in the bathroom lighting. So good, that you really do start to consider breaking doors in the house if it means you can see him like this all the time.

Your heart warms at the fact that he’s doing this just for you. This isn't the Carlos Sainz that’s working tirelessly to make his team or his fans proud of him, just you. At the end of the day, that’s all he needs.

He finishes securing the last couple screws before stepping back, nodding his head as he examines his work. He looks your way to see if you’re paying attention, and sure enough you are. He opens the door all the way, and watches you light up when it actually stays put where it’s supposed to.

“See, mi amor? Good as new.” He strides towards where you’re sitting on the counter. Carlos runs his thumb across your bruised shoulder before pressing soft kisses to the swollen skin. “You’ll never have this again.” His lips trail in a circle of kisses around your shoulder and then up your neck, stopping just below your ear.

Butterflies erupt inside your body and your heart warms for the man before you. “Thank you, my love. You’re always looking out for me.”

He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I try.”

Your dreamy stare falters slightly, sensing a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You always do, there’s no doubt about it.”

It’s his turn to feel the butterflies erupt in place of the uneasiness that’s still lingering from earlier. He’s amazed at how with just one look from you, he’s reassured that you’re meant to be together. “I just want to be there for you like you deserve, I hope you know that I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Carlos…” You murmur, taking his hands in yours. “As far as I’m concerned, when we’re together, the world doesn’t even exist.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But I know I’m away a lot of the time and it’s not easy for either of us. It’s not what you signed up for.”

“I signed up to love you, no matter where we are in the world. The distance is just a small part of that, always has been. And if we’re apart or not, nothing will stop me from cherishing our life together. I’m thinking of the big picture, when I can tell our grandkids that their abuelo found time to fix a broken door between racing around the world 24 weekends a year.”

Carlos smiles at your words, almost getting lost in the thought of you two growing old together, imagining the family that you two will create together someday. He’s happy to know that your dreams look alike. “Hopefully they’ll be impressed.”

“Trust me, they will be.” Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands cling to your hips in response. “Most people in your position would’ve just hired someone to fix it, but you personally made sure I won’t have to worry about it anymore. Every time that I don’t run into the door, I’ll have you to thank instead.”

He leans forward, kissing you with a familiar passion that never fails to catch you off guard. “You’ll always have me, mi amor.”

You kiss him once again, showing him the same affection in return. Your eyes find each other and you can’t help but smile at the comfort that consumes you. “You’ll always have me, too.”

💌: i didn’t know how to end this lol. reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading :)

okay I wrote something about Carlos BUT I wrote it in my notebook and I'm very lazy to make it digital

COME WHAT MAY | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ ACT I: LOSS OF MY LIFE [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

come what may masterlist | formula 1 masterlist

Red Bull Sebastian Vettel x Red Bull intern & Webber girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: During 2010 RB6 presentation and preseason testing, Mark starts acting quite weird with you. To your surprise, Webber gives some opinions on your work that start making you overthink, even when Seb tries his best to calm you down. You know 2010 season is going to be a hell when Webber asks to have a private conversation with Christian Horner and Helmut Marko.

WORD COUNT: 3695

WARNINGS: Angst, curse words and bad language, toxic relationships involving mental abuse and manipulation, such a toxic Mark Webber, mentions of death and suicide

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @residentdemonhunter @astronomyandfrogs @herdetectivetheorist @prttylight @i-love-sirius-black7 @dreamauri @03071987 [feel free to join the taglist!]

VEE'S NOTES: I didn't post this earlier because I wasn't in a good mood after the prologue wasn't pretty liked to be honest, but here I am! Sorry for the delay, and if you read this hope you like it <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Jerez, Spain 10th February, 2010

You hadn’t received a single call from Mark since the day you last spoke to him. In fact, you hadn’t expected him to call, but that didn’t stop you from feeling disappointed.

The only thing you got from your boyfriend was an endless string of missed calls, followed by the sound of his voicemail, his pre-recorded voice telling you to leave a message and that he would call you back later. And you did leave messages, knowing full well you wouldn’t get a response.

Instead, it was Seb who spoke to you every day.

The German hadn’t said anything else during that fateful dinner that should have been a refuge for both of you; nor did he bring it up for the rest of his stay in Linz or even when he was back in Heppenheim. Even though you had agreed not to see each other again until it was time to fly to Spain for the presentation of Red Bull’s new car, the RB6, Sebastian never stopped worrying about you. He called you daily; he was the first to hear about your grades from the penultimate semester of university, and sometimes, you even fell asleep while still on the phone with him. You both stayed up late talking, no matter how many times you promised to sleep early, only to curse yourselves the next morning for breaking that promise, despite knowing you would do it again.

You tried, with difficulty, to get some sort of call, message, or even a breakup and an explanation from Mark about why he no longer wanted to continue your strange relationship. You did everything you could to let him know that the team had contacted you, requiring you to be in southern Europe in February, but it was impossible.

The blue-eyed man who made your days easier, especially as your father’s health worsened and you were already grieving before the inevitable, not only showed interest and happiness that Red Bull Racing’s intern would be at the event, but he also offered to travel to Austria and stay with you for two or three days before the flight. He knew how terrified you were of flying and didn’t want you to go through it alone.

You didn’t see Mark or anyone from the team, except for the obvious Sebastian and his PR manager, Britta Roeske, during the two days leading up to the big event. That Wednesday, however, anxiety took over as you got ready in your hotel room. The feeling only intensified as you headed to the circuit with your best friend, realizing that you would have to face Mark.

It was barely ten in the morning, and the air was already thick with the persistent scent of burnt rubber, oil, and fuel, not to mention the noise caused by photographers, journalists, team members, and the occasional fan roaming around.

The RB6 had just been unveiled, and now, everyone was behind the cameras, hidden in the garages after dealing with the press. All that was left was to wait for the mechanics to finish the final adjustments before the first day of pre-season testing began, with both Webber and Vettel taking part.

Sebastian stood beside you, tucked away in a corner of the garage. His arms were crossed, and his eyes constantly moved, not out of nervousness, but out of an effort to stay in control of everything. He knew you would run into your teammate at any moment, and more than wanting to prevent an altercation, he didn’t want the Australian to create a scene big enough for others to notice.

More than anything, he didn’t want all of that to be another burden for you.

You, on the other hand, were nervous. Your hands fidgeted, grasping each other, playing with your hair, or clutching your jacket. Your eyes darted around, and each time a door opened or someone entered, your body tensed, only to relax upon realizing it wasn’t the person you dreaded seeing most.

It hadn’t even been a month since your last conversation with Mark, but enough time had passed for you to try to push it from your mind, or at least, to not give it so much importance. But you couldn’t. It still hurt to comprehend that he only called to demand explanations about your life and judge you, fully aware of how important Seb was to you, rather than to apologize for forgetting about you for weeks despite your insistence on staying in touch.

You gave up, but that didn’t make you feel any better. The only thing that comforted you was knowing that you had been there for Sebastian when he needed a friend the most. But what made you question whether it was all worth it was the fact that Mark had already made up his mind, and nothing you could say would convince him otherwise.

When you turned to look at the man beside you, and he gazed at you with a light in his eyes that you had never seen in your boyfriend’s, you knew you would endure a thousand more fights with Mark just to see Sebastian happy.

Finally, Mark appeared, his race suit half-unzipped. He started chatting with some team members, who seemed more than happy to see him after so many months.

As he cheerfully greeted each one of them, playing the part of the charming prince, Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see his teammate the same way anymore—not after hearing him yell at you over the phone and, worse, manipulate you in ways you didn’t seem to notice.

“Y/N, you don’t have to talk to him right now,” Sebastian murmured, stepping closer to you.

You felt a shiver run through you but tried to stay in control. You saw Webber approaching, and by instinct, you moved closer to Seb, almost knocking him over. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you from falling.

“Sorry…” was all you managed to say, unaware of what he had just told you.

“Talk to him when you feel strong enough,” Vettel continued, his voice just as calm. “Take a deep breath, and think carefully about what you want to say.”

“No, Seb, I need to talk to Mark as soon as possible…”

“Y/N—”

“If he’s going to act the way he did on the phone or make passive-aggressive comments through veiled insults, I’d rather he say it to my face,” you declared. Then, sighing, you forced yourself to relax before walking toward your boyfriend. “I’m sorry…”

Sebastian sighed this time, and despite knowing Webber was watching, he hugged you. Then, glaring at the Australian, he gently cupped your face in his hands.

And oh, how he wished he could not only kiss you but also make you see that you deserved far more than the love Webber had made you believe you were worth.

“Be careful, okay? Mark… He knows how to hurt you.”

You nodded timidly before kissing his cheek, promising him that everything would be fine, even though you had no idea what would happen or how things between you and Mark would end.

Without saying much more, you started crossing the garage, trying to follow Mark’s steps. After seeing how you and Sebastian had been acting, the two of you, who claimed to be nothing more than best friends, Mark had decided to leave, holding back the urge to cause a scene that would land both you and him on the front pages of every Formula 1 gossip magazine… if that was even what he wanted, of course.

"Can we talk?"

You quickened your pace slightly and carefully grabbed Mark’s fireproof suit. He turned around, coming face to face with you, frustrated, maybe even disappointed. You knew he was angry, even though your voice sounded firm. At least, that’s what your body language was screaming.

"Oh, now you want to talk?" Webber laughed bitterly.

"Don’t start," you warned, raising your voice a little more than you should have. "I just want to clear things up because, since you didn’t give me the chance to do it on the phone, maybe now that I have you in front of me, you will."

"Let me remind you that you were the one who hung up the call after I… I don’t know… maybe started pissing you off by calling you out for hiding things from me?"

You tried to argue back, but you knew it wasn’t worth it. Instead, you stayed quiet, though you rolled your eyes just enough to let Mark know how impossible he was—and to irritate him in the process.

He wanted you to torment yourself, to let the guilt eat you alive until you admitted the truth—the way he saw it. And deep down, that was exactly what he wanted.

"Fine. Go ahead," the Australian finally conceded.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm before speaking.

"You accused me of things that aren’t true, Mark, and you know it. Seb was in Linz because he needed a break, okay? He needed to clear his head, disconnect from everything… He and Hanna had just broken up, and I offered to let him stay at my place for him, not for me. He needed support, and that’s what friends do."

"And out of all the people who could have been there for him, he had to choose you?" Mark scoffed, tilting his head slightly at your explanation. "That’s a bit strange, don’t you think?"

"It’s not what you’re thinking, Mark."

"Yeah, I know. But let me tell you, it’s pretty damn strange. And forgive me for doubting you, but isn’t it interesting how you’re always there when Seb needs someone? It’s almost like… like you want him to need you."

Your hands clenched into fists on instinct. You were quickly reaching your breaking point.

"I was just being a friend, you know? Not like you, who couldn’t even bother to pick up the damn phone once or even send me a single message since the season ended."

"Oh, so now this is my fault?" Mark pointed to himself, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"I just want you to know that I didn’t do anything wrong."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. Do you know what your problem is, Y/N?" He stepped closer, forcing you to take a few steps back, not that it mattered, because he grabbed your wrists before you could escape. His grip was tighter than you would have liked. Even when you tried to pull away, he didn’t let go. "You always think you can fix everything. You think you can save everyone from whatever pain they’re going through. But I don’t blame you. Maybe it’s just your way of coping… making yourself feel better after your mother killed herself."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You were speechless. Breathing became harder, and seeing became nearly impossible with the tears welling up in your eyes. Everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the man in front of you and the words he had just spoken.

Maybe it’s just your way of coping… making yourself feel better after your mother killed herself.

For years, you had convinced yourself that your mother had been sick, that you weren’t at fault for not being able to save her. That you weren’t to blame for not getting home earlier that day, only to find her lifeless on the bed. You had told yourself, over and over, that you were just another victim of that suicide.

"Mark, I… I didn’t…" The lump in your throat made it impossible to speak, and neither did the tears that spilled from your eyes. "I’m not seeing Sebastian… I only love you…"

The words slipped from your lips automatically, but you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Mark… or yourself.

He only shook his head, trying not to laugh at how pathetic and ridiculous you must have looked to him.

"If that’s what helps you sleep at night, keep lying to me. But if you really aren’t cheating on me with Vettel, I suppose I’ll have to see it for myself."

"Hey, Webber! Quit messing around with your girl and get over here! Didn’t you say you had something really important to discuss with us?"

Both of you turned toward Christian Horner, who was standing at the door of one of the makeshift offices. Through the window, you could see Helmut Marko buried in paperwork while marking something on his phone.

"Yeah, of course! I’m coming!"

You felt a wave of relief as Mark turned his back to you and walked away, without another word, without even saying goodbye, heading toward that room. You wanted to argue, to keep insisting that you had nothing going on with Seb, but you knew it was useless. Nothing you said would change Mark’s mind.

All you could do was stand there, staring at the door he had just walked through. You tried to peek through the window to see what that sudden meeting was about, one you had heard nothing about, but you gave up when your boyfriend suddenly glanced in your direction. He shot you a knowing smile before pulling the blinds closed.

"Shit…"

Your stomach twisted into knots as you turned around, aimlessly walking through the garage.

"You’re scrunching your nose. A lot, I’d say," a voice, too familiar, spoke in front of you.

If it hadn’t been for the German standing in your way, you would have walked right into him.

Why did Seb always show up when you needed him most?

Maybe because he knows how much you’re being hurt… and he was listening to the conversation as well.

No, that was impossible. He had probably just been waiting around in the garage until they told him he could do another test lap.

"You know I always scrunch my nose when I’m mad." Seb raised an eyebrow, and you rolled your eyes. "He was talking shit about you, Seb."

"Talking shit about me? Or talking shit about you and blaming you for doing things with me that, by the way, we haven’t done?"

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to answer because, once again, he was right.

Mark knew exactly how to get into your head, how to manipulate you until you started doubting yourself. Meanwhile, Sebastian had somehow become your voice of reason when you felt like you were losing your mind.

"I feel like he thinks I feel too much, you know?" you admitted, dodging his question, dodging the conversation entirely. You didn’t want to talk about Mark. You just needed to get this off your chest. "Like I have some kind of savior complex…"

"Because you couldn’t save your mother," Vettel finished for you. You cursed yourself for letting him hear that part. "Jesus, Y/N, that’s complete bullshit. Not about your mom," he quickly corrected himself, stumbling over his words, "but him saying that. You just want to help people… maybe the way you wish someone had helped you."

"But you help me… My dad, my aunt, my uncle and, well, my sisters," you muttered. "But whatever. The point is, you try explaining to him that everything he says is complete bullshit."

"Honestly? I would if I thought it would do any good," he said. "But since I know he won’t change his mind, I’d rather not waste my time. I’d rather spend it with you."

You gave him a tired smile. Seb could tell you were trying to put on a brave face, just like you always did when things weren’t going well. At that moment, something deep inside him burned with the need to protect you from everything that hurt you.

That was how he had felt for the past few months, but he did his best not to show it, to try to ignore it… yet all he managed to do was make it grow larger and larger.

And that was exactly what scared him the most about yourself in that moment.

"Come on, let's go," was all he could say as, unlike Mark, Seb took your hand as if it were a delicate, breakable piece of porcelain.

"Where? The pretesting session is about to—"

"Fuck the pretesting session," he cut you off, not giving you a chance to say anything else.

Seb’s fingers intertwined with yours, and even though he wasn't entirely sure where to go or what to do, one thing was clear, he just wanted to get them out of there, far away from where Mark had once again treated you so badly.

As you crossed the paddock under the watchful eyes of some journalists, you ran into Britta Roeske, Seb’s PR manager and, in many ways, his savior… or even a second mother, depending on how someone looked at it.

The woman, perfectly dressed in her Red Bull uniform, wasn’t surprised to see you together, but she was surprised to see you that together. She couldn’t help but glance down at your still-intertwined hands and then back up at both of you, incredulous.

"Don’t you dare be late. Thirty minutes, Sebastian," was all she said.

"Seems like you don’t trust me," he answered with an innocent smile that, rather than a trick, seemed completely sincere.

"With her?" Roeske pointed at you, who merely shrugged and curled your lips into a small smile. "Not really, to be honest. Be careful and don’t do anything you’ll regret later."

Neither of you answered that, but you both knew exactly what she meant.

You continued walking in a comfortable silence around the circuit, getting further away from the paddock. Seb went along with what you jokingly called a "track walk rehearsal" until you reached a grandstand area. Once seated, you had a perfect view of the entire track.

"Thanks for everything," you murmured, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Seb, on the other hand, draped an arm around your shoulders and, noticing how cold you were, took off his jacket and placed it over you.

"You don’t have to thank me. I hate seeing you like this. Out of all the people in the world who don’t deserve to feel this way, you’re at the top of the list."

Neither of you said anything else. You simply smiled and, for the first time all day, without fear, leaned against Seb’s chest. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pressed a kiss to your forehead and started playing with your hair as he always did.

"I don’t understand why he’s talking to Helmut and Horner," you broke the silence, sitting up slightly to look at Seb. "What could possibly be so important that they had to have a meeting today?"

"Yeah, I was wondering the same thing," he frowned. "To be honest, I don’t like it…"

"Do you think it’s about me?"

Vettel bit his lip at your question. He wanted to be honest with you, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make you worry more or overthink something that might end up being trivial.

"I don’t want to assume, but… Webber is the kind of guy who likes to control everything and, with that, do whatever it takes to stay in the spotlight," he commented, carefully choosing his words. "If he feels like he’s going to be the second driver again, like last season…" Seb hesitated before continuing, trying to find the right way to say it. "I don’t know, Y/N, maybe he just wants to twist the narrative to fit his paranoia."

He couldn’t lie to you. You didn’t deserve that.

You swallowed hard.

"Do you think he’s going to turn them against me?"

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that whatever he’s saying won’t change the fact that you belong to this team, that you belong to…"

My life, he thought without a shred of regret, but with too much fear to say it out loud.

"You’re smart, Y/N," he continued. "This is your second year with the team; your third with me. You know everyone here, and most of all, you know me perfectly. And if that wasn’t enough, you work harder than anyone, Rocky’s words, not mine, while also juggling university and taking care of your father and sisters."

"It’s just what I have to do…"

"If they don’t realize what an incredible person they have right in front of them, that’s their problem, not mine."

You lowered your gaze, unable to stop yourself from blushing.

"Why do you always know exactly what to say to make someone’s day better?"

"It’s not about making someone’s day better, Y/N. It’s just telling the truth about what an incredible person you are."

For the first time, you found the strength to look at Seb without feeling embarrassed. It felt… strange. You didn’t know what exactly, but you were sure that the way he spoke to you, the things he said, the way he looked at you…

It was as if Sebastian truly saw you as more than just a friend.

Once again, neither of you dared to speak.

Seb wanted to say a thousand things, but he knew it wasn’t the right moment. And when it came to you, you wanted to take things slowly, savoring every moment, and, most importantly, putting your well-being first.

You, on the other hand, had always seen him as your safe haven since you arrived at Toro Rosso in 2008. But now… it felt different. Maybe it was what you had been denying to yourself finally coming to the surface, the thing that had been there for about two years, back when Seb were still dating Hanna.

Maybe, the silence you were now sharing would, one day, turn into the confession neither of you had been brave enough to admit, to yourselves or to each other.

"Seb…"

"Come what may, okay?" Seb interrupted you gently, taking your hand and tracing small hearts on your skin. "Never forget it: I’ll be there, here, wherever… but with you. Come what may."

White Noise | MV1

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: [Soulmate AU] In a world where soulmate marks promise connection, one person’s endless wait collides with another’s relentless pursuit of a life beyond destiny.

Warning(s): Mild Language, Pining, mutual pining, they dance in a club, idk if the dancing can be considered steamy or not, cliff hanger.

Part 5 ~Series Masterlist~

"Show me you're shameless...write it on my neck, why don't ya? And I won't erase it....I need you more than I want to...need you more than I want to"

The music pulsed through the club, a deep, thumping bass that rattled the ice in his gin and tonic. It was loud, packed, and dimly lit—exactly the kind of place that should be drowning out every thought in his head.

Max leaned back against the booth, stretching out his legs, as he watched the drivers he came here with lose themselves on the dance floor.

Lando, Charles, Carlos, and a few others, moving easily under the flashing lights, too drunk on victory and alcohol to care about anything else.

He should be out there too, celebrating, letting the win from yesterday settle into his bones the way it used to.

Another Monaco win. More points in the championship. It almost felt like 2023 again, when he had the title in a chokehold, when everything was simple. When winning was enough.

But now—now, nothing was enough, without her.

He sighed, swirling the clear liquid in his glass before taking another sip. The gin burned his throat, crisp and bitter, but it didn’t do anything to settle the restlessness crawling under his skin.

And then—

The fucking pulse.

The glass nearly slipped from his fingers.

It started slow, a hum under his ribs, something deep and insistent. Then it grew, stronger, louder, vibrating through his bones. His heartbeat followed, pounding against his chest, his ears, his head.

He knew what this meant.

Max’s head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto her instantly.

Y/N.

She stood across the club, just beyond the bar, surrounded by people. But he only saw her.

She was...breathtaking. And he felt the breath leave his lungs in the heavy exhale he let out.

The lights caught the shimmer of her dress, the deep silver fabric clinging to her in all the right places, short enough to show off the length of her legs. Her dark smoky eyes made her gaze sharper, bolder, and her lips—red, the same shade that had been burned into his memory since the last time he saw her.

A pearl choker wrapped around her throat, delicate and elegant, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the soft skin just below it, where her pulse would be.

Beating just as fast as his.

Max was frozen.

Did she know he was here? Was she looking for him?

His grip on the glass tightened as he watched her friends bring her drinks, laughing, nudging her toward the dance floor. And then—

She danced.

And Max forgot how to breathe entirely.

Her body moved effortlessly with the music, the flashing lights illuminating her skin, the curve of her back, the way her dress rode up just slightly—enough to give him an anaphylactic shock— as she swayed to the beat.

She was magnetic, and it wasn’t just the bond—it was her. The confidence, the ease, the way she lost herself in the moment like nothing else mattered.

Max’s chest ached.

She was here.

Three weeks. Three fucking long weeks since she walked away from him. Three weeks of radio silence, of waiting, of not knowing.

And now, she was here.

Max was trapped between wanting to go to her and not knowing if he should.

Because she hadn’t come to him. She hadn’t looked for him.

She was here, but was she here for him?

The answer lay in the way her eyes flickered toward him in the middle of a spin, in the way her lips parted slightly when she caught him staring.

But she didn’t stop dancing.

Max clenched his jaw, setting his drink down. If she wasn’t going to come to him, then he would go to her.

Max was halfway out of his seat when he saw him.

The man.

Tall, dark-haired, well-dressed in that overly polished, moneyed way Max had learned to spot a mile away. The kind of man who walked into places like these expecting people to fall at his feet.

And right now, that man had set his sights on Y/N.

Max’s fingers curled into a fist on the table.

He didn’t like jealousy.

It was an ugly emotion, a useless one. It clouded judgment, made people reckless.

But as he watched the man get too close—leaning in, placing a hand on Y/N’s arm, tugging her just slightly toward him—Max felt it slither into his chest anyway.

Maybe this was his answer.

Maybe she wanted him to see this. Maybe she was showing him, without words, that she wasn’t available.

That she had made her choice.

His jaw clenched.

Fine. Fucking fine then.

If that was the case, he’d leave. He wouldn’t make this harder for her, for himself.

But then—

Y/N shifted, just slightly, just enough for him to see the change in her expression.

The annoyance, the sharp furrow of her brows. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hand curled into a fist at her side.

She wasn’t into him.

Max exhaled sharply through his nose.

If anything, she looked like she was five seconds away from breaking the guy’s nose.

And as much as Max wanted to see that, he figured he should probably step in—not to save Y/N, because she didn’t need saving, but to save the poor bastard from whatever wrath was brewing behind her clenched jaw.

Max moved.

He crossed the floor in a few easy strides, weaving through bodies, his focus sharp and singular.

The man had leaned in even closer now, saying something into her ear that made Y/N’s entire posture go rigid.

Max didn’t give him the chance to say anything else.

"Piss off." His voice was cool, his expression unreadable, but there was a sharp edge to his words that cut through the music.

The man blinked, turning toward him with a lazy smirk. “And who are you?

Max didn’t answer. He just stared, unblinking, something dark simmering in his blue eyes.

The man hesitated. Then he scoffed, lifting his hands in mock surrender before stepping back. “Whatever, man.”

Y/N exhaled, her jaw tight, and then—finally—her eyes met his.

The pulse between them roared.

Max felt it in his ribs, in his veins, in every inch of him. The sharp, unbearable ache of staying apart.

And then, as if the universe wanted to drive it home, the music shifted.

The pulsing beat melted into something slow, something sultry.

Max didn’t think. He just moved.

One step forward, his hands reaching for her before she could slip away again.

He felt the little gasp leave her lips as he pulled her against him, delighted in it, the warmth of her body pressed to his, the way she fit so damn perfectly in his arms.

Max exhaled, his head dipping just slightly toward hers.

"Just for one night," he murmured, voice low, almost pleading. "Pretend that we’re strangers. Forget everything....just for tonight."

She didn’t move.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t push him off.

And then, after a long moment—

She moved with him.

____________________________

The moment Max pulled her against him,Y/N knew she was lost.

There was no hesitation. No second guessing. His hands found her waist, and she melted into the touch like she had been waiting for it her entire life.

"Just for one night, Pretend that we’re strangers. Forget everything....just for tonight."

The bond pulsed between them—not a violent crash, not a scream, but a hum, a perfect, golden vibration that ran through her veins, curled around her ribs, and whispered,

Finally.

The music was a slow, sultry beat, the kind that slithered under the skin, the kind that begged for bodies to press together, to find a rhythm that wasn’t just the song but something more.

And God, they did.

Max moved with her like he had been made to. His hands—large, warm, possessive—gripped the dip of her waist, pulling her in, flush against his chest, against the solid wall of his body, and she gasped at the contact, at the way it sent a jolt through her.

Like lightning. Like divinity. Like something so right it should have been written in scripture.

She let her head fall back, her eyes half-lidded as she moved, hips rolling, pressing against him, a slow, torturous friction that sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

She barely registered the low groan that rumbled in his chest, but she felt it, felt the way it vibrated against her, how it sank into her bones.

He was everywhere.

His touch. His scent. His presence, all-consuming, drowning her in something she didn’t know how to fight anymore.

A hand trailed up her back, fingers pressing, kneading, as he guided her movements, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, like he had waited for this.

Hadn’t they both?

Hadn’t they been waiting their whole lives for something that felt like this?

She let herself get lost in it. If only just for a moment.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight as she arched into him, as their movements became something deeper, something desperate and unrelenting, like neither of them could get close enough.

The pulse between them was stronger now, not the overwhelming force it had once been, but a pleasure so pure, so satisfying, that it nearly had her keening.

This was what had been missing. This was why.

The bond wanted them together. It needed them to be together.

Max seemed just as lost as she was. His breath was warm against her ear, uneven, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there, barely-there touches that sent a shudder through her spine.

Then lower.

The line of her jaw.

The slope of her neck.

Each kiss was reverent. Worshipful.

She exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling against his, her grip tightening on him as his lips found her shoulder, where her dress dipped just enough to expose skin.

And God, the way he lingered.

The way his lips pressed, slow, savoring.

She barely heard the music anymore.

Barely heard anything over the roaring in her ears, over the way her body was singing, vibrating with something primal and ancient and undeniable.

It felt—

Like devotion. Like paradise. Nirvana.

Like the thing she had spent her whole life pretending she didn’t need.

She didn’t know how long they moved like that, bodies entwined, breath mixing, hands exploring, but it could have been eternity.

And she—

She thinks would have let it.

__________________________

Max Verstappen was falling.

Not in the literal sense—no, he was still standing, still breathing, still aching hard from the way Y/N fit against him like she had been made for this. But in every other way that mattered?

He was falling.

The press of her body against his still burned on his skin. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the way her breath had hitched when his lips skimmed her shoulder—it was all branded into him, carved deep, a permanent mark on his soul.

Then—

A snap. A quick shutter of light.

Not the sound of something breaking, but the sharp click of a camera.

The moment shattered.

Y/N tensed in his arms first, and Max followed her gaze toward the edge of the dance floor. There, barely hidden in the dim light, was a man holding up his phone. The angle was perfect—too perfect. Max didn’t have to be a genius to know what the guy was doing.

Taking pictures.

Taking pictures of them.

His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling under his skin. The club had a strict no-photo policy, but of course, that didn’t mean anything to some people. He had dealt with this before. Drunk fans. Nosy paparazzi. People who couldn’t respect boundaries.

But before Max could move, Y/N was already on it.

The second Y/N stormed toward the man, Max followed, close enough to interfere if necessary but not stepping in just yet.

He didn’t need to—not when she was handling it with a sharp-edged precision that sent a thrill down his spine.

“Delete it,” she demanded, voice like a blade.

The man tried to laugh it off, feigning ignorance. “I-I don’t know what—”

“Don’t insult me.” Her tone was clipped, authoritative in a way that didn’t invite argument. “I know exactly what you were doing, and I will press charges for violating privacy laws. This club has a strict policy. You’ll be blacklisted. Think deeply, I know that can be hard for you”

The guy hesitated.

Y/N didn’t blink.

“You think I won’t? You think I don’t have the fucking means to follow through?” She took another step forward, her body language poised, threatening without needing to raise her voice. “Go ahead. Test me.”

Max saw the exact moment the man caved. He fumbled with his phone, pulling up the gallery with unsteady fingers. Y/N snatched it from his hands before he could do anything else, her eyes scanning the screen.

She deleted the photos herself, went into the trash folder, and erased them permanently. Then, she shoved the phone back into the guy’s chest with a final glare.

“Try that again,” she said, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The man practically tripped over himself as he rushed away, disappearing into the crowd.

Max let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.” His voice was light, teasing. He wanted to praise her, to tell her how fucking hot that was, how incredible she was when she was like this—strong, fearless, commanding.

But the moment she turned to him, all of that died in his throat.

Because she wasn’t proud of what she had done.

She was angry.

Not at the guy.

At him.

“This.” She gestured sharply toward where the man had disappeared. “This is exactly why I can’t be with you, Max.”

He felt the words like a gut punch.

The heat in her eyes was something deeper than frustration. It was exhaustion, weariness, the kind that settled in your bones when you were just tired of fighting a battle you never asked for.

“The invasion. The cameras. The constant eyes on me, on us,” she continued, voice rising. “You might be used to it, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be.”

Max opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, she turned.

And then she left. Just like that. Again.

He barely had time to react before someone grabbed his arm—a drunk fan, slurring something about a picture.

“Not. Now,” he bit out, shaking them off as gently as he could, barely restraining his frustration.

By the time he shoved past the crowd and made it outside—

She was gone.

His heart pounded.

Then—

A noise.

A struggle.

And then—

A scream.

Y/N.

His body moved before his brain caught up, his feet running toward the sound, toward the darkened corner just beyond the club’s entrance.

“Get the fuck off me!”

His blood went ice cold.

He turned the corner just in time to see a man grabbing Y/N’s wrist, pinning her against the wall. She was fighting, her other hand shoving at his chest, but the guy was persistent, his grip too tight.

Rage surged through Max like a storm.

“HEY!”

His voice was a roar, cutting through the night.

The man barely had time to react before Max was on him.

_________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this part please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

Guysss, this is the second to last chapter, I could have made it longer, but I have other things to do in like my irl, which would mean leaving you guys waiting, and I don't wanna do that, I really hope you like this chapter, I wrote in a hurry while taking breaks from packing, this will be scheduled to post around Monday, so that's that.

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx @freyathehuntress @nina-or-anna-or-nora @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @k-kaliop @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away @teamnovalak @wierdflowerpower @sunshine-and-midnight-rain @maxswhore33

a todo esto franco le habrá contado todo el bardo con la china a lando?!?! tipo tranquilamente es tema de chismosos en una cena

como encuentro gente con la que interactuar, soy nueva y no entiendo nada ayuda

im SURE Anakin likes to be hugged, and I would love to hug him.

ill be back in ten, okay?

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

(low-key a part 2 to this, but can be read separately)

summary: oscar sneaks in to check on reader during a pcos flare-up.

warnings: pcos mention, chronic pain

A/N: (ive had this lined up since after ur last req and i’m posting it now) no one asked for this but this is my new favourite thing to write. so ENJOY :> i keep saying this but y’all if u’ve got requests for ANY driver, please, feel free to send them in. any scenario. i’ll try to make it possible. i love u, babies 🤙💋

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re curled up on the motorhome couch with a hot pack pressed against your stomach and oscar’s hoodie swallowed around your frame. the pain has mostly dulled into a low throb, and now you’re just… tired.

the paddock noise hums outside, muffled behind the tinted windows, and you assume oscar’s back at work. qualifying starts soon. he’s probably in briefing.

you don’t expect the soft creak of the door.

you glance up.

he peeks in with the most ridiculous look — wide eyes, slight smirk, finger to his lips like he’s sneaking into a forbidden zone.

you raise an eyebrow. “aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“i am,” he whispers dramatically, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. “i’m working on morale.”

you laugh quietly. “pretty sure your job is to drive the car, piastri.”

“i can multitask,” he says, crossing the room in four long steps. “and right now, the girl i love is wearing my hoodie and looking unfairly cute while recovering from a flare-up, so i had to intervene.”

he sits beside you, eyes shining, hands already reaching for yours.

“five minutes,” he says, holding up his hand. “then i’ll go back to being a professional athlete or whatever.”

you smile as he leans in, kisses you softly. it’s warm and slow, like he’s got nowhere to be — even though you both know he does.

you tug gently at the collar of his fireproof undershirt. “you taste like energy drink.”

“romantic,” he deadpans.

you giggle. “thanks for sneaking in.”

he kisses your cheek. “i’ll always sneak in for you.”

and when he finally stands to leave, he pauses in the doorway and turns back with a grin.

“might be back in ten. can’t promise anything.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Surgery

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Ex! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Seb and her didn’t part on the best terms. The breakup had been tense, marked by unspoken words and lingering hurt. She’d moved forward, focusing on her career, he did the same, but some connections never fully disappeared.

Recently, she’d undergone a surgical procedure, something personal she’d chosen to keep private. Only her family and closest friends were in the loop. Yet, somehow, Sebastian had found out through a mutual friend.

The operation had gone smoothly, and now she was resting in her recovery room. Her family and a few friends had been with her all afternoon, their quiet conversation filling the space. She was sitting up, sipping some water and trying to distract herself with their chatter, when there was a knock on the door.

Her best friend opened it, and there he was—Sebastian. He stepped inside with a small bouquet of various flowers in hand, his expression steady but thoughtful.

“Hey,” he said gently, his eyes scanning her for signs of discomfort.

Her family exchanged a few glances before politely excusing themselves to give them some privacy. Seb approached slowly, setting the flowers on the table beside her.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said, though her voice carried no resentment.

“I know,” he replied, sitting in the chair beside her. “I just… I wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”

She studied him, his calm demeanor making the moment feel less like an intrusion and more like a quiet reunion. “How did you even know?”

“Emma told me,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “I wasn’t going to bother you, but… I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say. He was the last person she would expect, yet for some reason she felt pleased about him caring about her enough to come. 

“So… How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence that had been settling.

“I’m feeling fine,” she admitted, as she did not feel any extraordinary discomfort after the surgery, “you guys act as if I’ve been through war,” she joked, hoping to make the moment less awkward.

His lips tugged into a half-smile at her attempt to lighten the mood. It was a classic move of hers, this bantering, and it was both endearing and annoying at the same time. “Oh, you know we worry about you,” he teased back.

Sebastian glanced at the flowers he'd brought, then back at her. His voice lowered a bit. “Seriously, though, are you in pain?”

“I’m fine, Seb,” she repeated with almost playful exasperation.

Sebastian nodded, his expression warm but attentive. “Okay, okay,” he conceded, smiling. Then, as if on instinct, his hand reached out, brushing hers gently.

It was such a natural gesture—Seb had always been tactile, a comforting presence for anyone who needed it. But this felt different, even if he hadn’t meant it to be. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she froze for a moment, the familiarity of his touch stirring something in her chest she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Seb adjusted his position in the chair, as if trying to find the right words. “It’s a nice hospital,” he remarked, glancing around the room. “Bright, not too clinical. It suits you.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you seriously complimenting the decor right now?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. Just trying to make conversation.”

His thumb lingered against her skin for a second too long, and she swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was despite the chair between them. “Seb, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You’ve got your own life—things to focus on.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening further. “I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I care,” he said simply. “That doesn’t just disappear.”

Her heart gave a painful twist at his words. His words always had that effect, no matter how much time had passed or what they were or weren’t. “You always did have a way with words,” she murmured, trying to deflect the emotions creeping in.

He smiled faintly, his hand still resting over hers. “And you always did have a way of avoiding them,” he replied.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, and for a moment, the tension eased. “Touché,” she said, her voice lighter.

They sat there for a beat, the sound of distant footsteps in the hallway filling the silence. It wasn’t the awkward tension of earlier—it felt… familiar. Comfortable in a way she hadn’t expected.

Seb’s fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze before he leaned back slightly, as if he could sense she needed space. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice steady but soft.

“Thanks,” she said, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “And thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“I figured you deserved something nice,” he said, leaning back in his chair but still watching her closely. “Even if you think we’re all overreacting.”

“Maybe just a little,” she admitted, a teasing spark in her eyes.

“Hey, give me a break,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I had to make sure you weren’t scaring the nurses with your stubbornness.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.”

“Only for you,” he quipped, and for a moment, the weight of the past seemed lighter between them.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3

lando summer moodboard!!

"Will you still want to see me after the summer is over?"

"Are you kidding? You were the best thing that ever happened to my life, I would be a fool to let you go."

'summer love with lando' moodboard.

hope you enjoy it! 🧡

also, i'm so so sorry i've just realized i've attached this to your previous request rather than the one you were more specific :( but nonetheless, hope it met your vision!