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Can you do a fic where the reader works for Ferrari and has been friends with Charles for a long time, but the reader is actually in love with him and it's valid cause Charles does all these boyfriend things for her. Then when Lewis moves to Ferrari, he takes an interest in the reader, the reader decides to give him a shot and sets boundaries with Charles and he realises he doesn't want to let her go.

Sorry it took so long to do. You can find it HERE

I can express my active citizenship through my participation in Girl Scouts of the Philippines since I was in elementary. Through the orginization they thought me discipline about how will one handle social problems. Here I was able to live the things I learned from them in order to become the better person I am right now.

MATCH MADE IN HELL PT1 | MV1

an: i am slowly finally finishing off all my requests and this was one of them, i had so much fun and my dear friend loved reading this so i hope i did justice to the request. anyway max hmu x

wc: 2.2k

part two | part three

THE CHAMPAGNE WAS STILL STICKY when she found out.

She had spent the past hour celebrating—laughing, grinning until her cheeks ached, drinking in the sight of thousands of fans chanting her name. World Champion. The first female Formula 1 World Champion. The words tasted sweeter than the bubbly that had been poured over her head on the podium.

And then it all shattered.

She hadn’t even been looking for it. Her phone had been left abandoned in the motorhome while she basked in the euphoria of her win. It was only when she returned, still buzzing from the adrenaline, that she saw the messages. A handful of texts from a friend, a link, and a simple message that made her stomach turn cold.

I’m so sorry. You deserve better.

Curious, still lightheaded with joy, she clicked the link.

And there it was. Photos. A grainy shot of Nathan at a club in Monaco three months ago, another in Dubai during the summer break, then one just last week in Austin. Always with the same woman. A brunette with legs for days and a familiar smirk. Someone from the team, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Her throat closed up, fingers trembling as she scrolled, every image a knife to the gut. It wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It was calculated. Repeated. Lied about.

Nathan fucking Donovan. Her teammate. Her fiancé. The man she had trusted with her heart, her career, her future.

The sound of the paddock outside was muffled, drowned out by the rushing in her ears as she dropped her phone. For years, she had turned down every offer from Red Bull. They had been calling since her first podium, since her first win. They had wanted her, but she had always said no. Because of Nathan. Because she had wanted to win with him. Because they were a team, a partnership, a power couple.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

She had been a fool.

By the time she lifted her head, the decision was made. She wiped her damp hands on her race suit and reached for her phone. The Mercedes crest on her chest suddenly felt suffocating, like a brand that no longer belonged to her.

Her fingers moved with a steadiness that surprised her as she typed out a message to her agent.

Call Red Bull. I’m ready to talk.

That was six months ago.

Now, she had her foot down on full throttle, fighting her teammate.

The roar of the Red Bull RB20’s engine vibrated through her bones as she flicked the car into the corner, tyres screaming as they clung to the edge of grip. Ahead of her, her teammate—Max Verstappen, two-time world champion and an arrogant bastard on his best days—held position, defending like his life depended on it.

It had been like this all season. A relentless, brutal fight for the title. They had the fastest car on the grid, Red Bull’s latest engineering marvel, but they weren’t teammates in any real sense of the word. No teamwork. No cooperation. Just war.

And she was winning.

Six months ago, she'd walked out of Mercedes with her head held high, ringless finger curled into a fist. The world had lost its mind. The media had spun its stories, her ex-fiancé—Nathan Donovan, lying, cheating, spineless piece of shit—had played the heartbroken victim, and the fans had taken sides. But she hadn’t cared then, and she didn’t care now.

Let them talk.

She’d spent years at Mercedes, loyal to a fault, standing by Nathan’s side because she’d thought they were a team, on and off the track. And he’d thrown it away. Lied to her face. Made a fool of her.

So, she’d made sure to humiliate him in return.

Signing with Red Bull had been the first strike. The second had been selling the place they lived in, after all it was in her name - not her problem that he had nowhere to live for two months.

Now, the third was coming—because with two races left in the season, she was leading the championship. And Nathan? A non-factor.

The thought made her press harder on the throttle. The car twitched under her, skimming the edge of disaster, but she held it steady. She was close. A tenth behind Verstappen, closing fast.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” her race engineer crackled through the radio.

She smirked.

Too late.

The gap was nothing now. Less than a tenth.

She was right on Max’s gearbox, weaving slightly in his mirrors, making sure he knew she was there. The car felt alive beneath her, the Red Bull’s aerodynamics biting into the tarmac, begging to be unleashed.

Final lap. Final sector.

Max was still defending, but she could see the cracks. He was too focused on keeping her behind, positioning his car to block, reacting rather than attacking. And that was his mistake.

She took the wider line into the penultimate corner, knowing he’d cover the inside. Then, in a move that was either genius or madness, she lifted off ever so slightly, making him think he’d done enough—before throwing everything into the exit.

Tyres screamed, her car twitched—then hooked. She got the drive she needed, rocketing past him just before the final turn.

Too late for him to do anything.

The chequered flag waved. She crossed the line first.

“YES!” Her own voice rang through the radio, pure adrenaline and triumph. “Fucking get in!”

Her engineer was shouting in her ear, the Red Bull garage was on their feet, and somewhere, she knew, Nathan was watching. Watching as she won. Watching as she proved, once again, that she was better than him.

The thought made the victory even sweeter.

She pulled up into parc fermé, hands shaking with the aftershock of adrenaline as she switched off the car. A second later, Max’s Red Bull rolled in beside her, stopping with just enough aggression to make his frustration clear.

She smirked.

Helmet still on, she climbed out, raising a fist to the cheering crowd before stepping onto the scales. Cameras flashed, capturing every second. She could already imagine the headlines.

She turned just as Max yanked off his helmet, dark blonde hair a mess, jaw clenched. He took one look at her, exhaled sharply through his nose, then muttered, “Fucking hell.”

She grinned. “That’s what you get for leaving the door open.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was not a door. That was a crack in the wall.”

She shrugged. “Still got through, didn’t I?”

Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression. Not just frustration. Something almost… impressed.

He wouldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But she could see it, clear as day.

And the best part?

No matter how much of an arse he could be, she knew one thing for certain: he hated Nathan as much as she did.

banner-

The post-race press conference was the usual mix of adrenaline, exhaustion, and barely concealed hostility.

She sat in the middle, winner’s seat, hands wrapped around a bottle of water, pretending to listen as the moderator rattled off formalities. Max was to her left, arms crossed, jaw still set in frustration. Charles—third place finisher—was on her right, mostly just happy to be there.

The first few questions were routine. Race strategy, tyre management, overtaking opportunities. She answered smoothly, flashing the occasional smirk at Max whenever someone mentioned her overtake. Each time, his jaw tightened just a little more.

Then, inevitably, someone brought up Nathan.

A journalist from one of the more sensationalist outlets leaned forward, microphone in hand, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

“Amazing drive today, congratulations. Obviously, this is a huge result in the championship fight, but I have to ask—do you think your performance this season has been motivated at all by… personal matters? Specifically, your past relationship with Nathan Carter?”

The air in the room shifted.

She had heard a lot of bullshit in these pressers, but this? This was almost impressive in how blatant it was.

She opened her mouth, already crafting the sharpest, most dismissive response possible—

But Max got there first.

He leaned forward, elbow on the table, voice dripping with casual disdain.

“Yeah, mate, I’m sure she’s leading the championship because of her ex. Not because she’s fucking fast or anything.” He raised a brow. “You want to ask me if my performance is motivated by my tragic breakup in 2022? Or is this just reserved for women?”

Silence.

The journalist blinked, momentarily stunned. Then stammered, “I—I was just—”

Max tilted his head. “Just what?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back a smirk.

The moderator swiftly cut in, moving things along, but the damage was done. The clip would be everywhere within the hour, and Max knew it. He settled back in his chair, arms crossed once again, looking completely unbothered.

She glanced at him, just briefly.

Still not friends. But maybe, just maybe, a little less like enemies.

After the press conference, she barely made it two steps out the door before Max fell into step beside her.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, casually twisting the cap off his water bottle.

She snorted. “For what?”

He gave her a pointed look. “For shutting down that absolute cunt before you could say something that’d get you fined.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Clearly.” He took a sip of water. “But I like watching them.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She wasn’t about to admit it, but watching that journalist’s face crumble had been the highlight of her day—besides the win, obviously. And Max had delivered it with all the effortless arrogance of a man who lived to piss people off.

They reached their driver rooms, the doors right next to each other. She pushed hers open, stepping into the quiet, adrenaline still thrumming in her veins. Her suit was damp with sweat, her body still buzzing from the intensity of the race, but it was a good feeling. A victorious one.

She had just pulled her race suit down to her waist, reaching for a towel, when she heard a door open behind her.

Not hers.

Max’s, probably—except the footsteps that followed weren’t his.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.

“Well done. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Her entire body went rigid.

She turned.

Nathan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face carefully neutral—but his eyes gave him away. Cold. Calculating.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “What the fuck do you want?”

Nathan stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “You need to cut the shit.”

She laughed, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, mate.”

His jaw tightened. “The comments. The narrative you’re letting people run with. It’s damaging my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” She arched a brow. “Pretty sure you did that yourself when you stuck your dick where it didn’t belong.”

His expression flickered, just for a second, before the mask slipped back into place.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I have lawyers. You keep dragging my name through the mud, and I’ll make sure it costs you.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a threat?”

He shrugged. “A warning.”

She scoffed, turning away, but he kept going.

“I mean it,” Nathan said, voice dropping lower. “This little act of yours—playing the scorned woman, running off to Red Bull like a child—it's pathetic. You think people actually respect you? They’re laughing at you.”

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Must be humiliating,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Knowing you were just something to pass the time. A placeholder.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

Then he said it.

“Fucking whore.”

The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Nathan barely had time to react before he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. A forearm pressed hard against his throat, holding him in place.

Max.

His entire body was tense, his usually sharp, arrogant expression now twisted into something far more dangerous.

Nathan made a strangled noise, trying to push him off. “What the—”

“Say that again,” Max said, voice low, lethal.

Nathan swallowed, his eyes flicking to her.

Max pressed harder. “Go on. I fucking dare you.”

Silence.

Nathan was many things—arrogant, selfish, manipulative—but he wasn’t stupid.

Max held him there for a moment longer, just to make a point, then finally let go, stepping back like Nathan wasn’t even worth the energy.

Nathan straightened his shirt, swallowing whatever insult he’d been about to throw. His eyes flicked between them, then he scoffed. “You two deserve each other.”

Then he turned and walked out.

The second the door shut, the room was quiet again.

Max exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. “Fucking hell.”

She blinked at him, still processing what just happened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned to her, dark eyes unreadable. “Yeah, I did.”

And then, just like that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

part two...

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

The Lucky One (2)

Part 2 (of 2) of The Lucky One | Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Summary: Formula One had been your dream and your goal ever since you were a kid, and you did all you had to in order to achieve it. Between ups and downs, Sebastian becomes a steady presence despite being your complicated frenemy relationship. Until everything comes crashing down. Formula One gives, but Formula One takes.

Word count: 5.5k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, reader is mirrorball coded, coming of age, cursing, romance, both are assholes, smut, +18, complicated feelings, rivals to lovers, crash, major injury, medical innacuracies, bittersweet ending, not beta read; t.w: brief christian horner scene.

Relationship: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Note: This is fully inspired by the song, and throughout my writing process I realized it also fits mirrorball. This one may require some tissues (especially in part 2). Everything is fictional and I mean no disrespect to Sebastian or his family (they don't exist in this story). I'm sorry it took me forever to come back to it, but there it is, hope I don't disappoint Not proofread. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

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Ending whatever complicated fling was going on with you and Sebastian was the right, rational call, you knew that. But your body, your heart, regretted it every couple of weeks as you laid awake in bed, plagued by memories, need and longing.

You decided to just do your best during that season. You couldn’t fight for the championship anymore, but you still wanted a great season since the following year would be your last in the current contract with Red Bull. A great performance could secure a renewal or even the interest of other teams.

Sebastian and you still saw each other frequently during race weekends, your eyes always finding each other across the crowd. He was consumed with guilt, of having been blinded by his own privileges that he didn’t see the struggle that was being a woman in Formula One. He vowed to never be so far from reality like that ever again.

He wanted to stop you, to talk to you again, to try and fix things, but there was this constant mix of shame and uncertainty about your reaction if he tried reaching out again. Sometimes he would look at you from afar, and he’d see something in your eyes, something that felt like the same longing he had. Some other times, you looked at him like you hated him.

Eventually in the third race to the last in Bahrain, he couldn’t take it anymore. There was this string tugging at his heart, begging to see you and talk everything through. During the Friday afternoon, between Free Practices, he marched around decidedly, looking for you. He walked into the garage and no one seemed to mind his presence as he went straight into your driver’s room. He barged in, not bothering to knock. You were sitting on the couch, drinking Red Bull and going through some papers. You frowned and stood up as you saw him.

“What are you-”

“Stop…” He interrupted with both hands up, “don’t say anything just yet.”

You frowned but didn’t look particularly angry, your frown softening into a stunned silence. Sebastian sighed, breathing slowly, he had a plan and a speech when he was marching there, but now, looking at your face, your pretty eyes, he had lost all sense of reason.

“We’ll talk about everything, rationally, like adults. Okay?” He offered, and you slowly nodded, unsure but also willing to try, “Not now, because the race and everything. But- this monday, okay? After the race, after we get a good night’s sleep. We’ll go to a nice restaurant, and we’ll talk over good food. A real date this time, no hiding anymore,” He said, his words pouring out fast, like he wasn’t truly thinking about what to say, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement, “Monday night?”

“Monday night,” You nodded, no anger in your eyes, just a glimmer of hope.

“Good,” He nodded and just left.

You stood there, speechless, but with a disbelief smile on your face, looking almost silly. Despite the anger you felt the last time you two actually spoke, there was this undeniable magnetic pull between you, and you didn’t seem to be able to be away from him just as he wasn’t able to be away from you.

The whole weekend, you felt that nervous energy, almost bouncing up the walls, you attributed it to the race, but you knew it was more than that. The car had been great the whole week, you qualified P2, your first real possibility of win in a few months, which would be a blast to finish the season winning one of the last races.

You were smiling as you waved to the fans during the driver’s parade, your first hopeful and excited pre-race interview in quite some time. As you put on your gloves and helmet, you couldn’t help but feel some sense of purpose. You would give your very best in that race.

You just didn’t know it would be your last time behind a Formula 1 wheel.

The race was great, it started alright and most of it you kept your P2, even after a failed attempt of undercut, you still managed your P2, but then came the moment, the point of no return in your career, the very moment that changed the trajectory of your life forever.

After turn 15, you had finally managed to catch up to the P1, less than half a second behind him, and despite his car being fast, you could try and overtake him with the DRS. You pushed the fastest you could in the straight, closing and closing the distance, almost succeeding in overtaking, but as the DRS zone ended, you realized you’d have to wait another lap to try again. But then, as you pushed the pedal to brake and slow down into turn 1, the car kept going. So many things happened in the span of mere seconds, but they felt like ages to you.

“I’ve got no brakes,” You said into the radio as you tried braking. Then you tried engine braking and the security system braking. None of it worked.

With quick thinking, you decided to face the turn that way and bear it. You'd probably lose a lot of grip with the rear, but if you hit the curbs it’d help you slow down and just drive to a stop. You kept trying the brake pedals all the way to the turn, when suddenly, the tyres locked up and everything happened really fast.

You weren’t able to turn, the tyres locked and you had no way to slow down the car. All you did was brace as you went full force straight into the barriers, the impact so hard it made your car split in half. You blacked out for a couple of seconds and then came to again, a ringing in your ears as you tried to situate yourself, a mix of excruciating pain and numbness, pulsing hard, almost keeping you in and out of it.

Pain. Numb. Pain. Numb.

You tried to stay awake, hearing your name being called in the distance, the numbness giving each time more space to the excruciating pain but you couldn’t identify where it came from.

“Talk to me! Are you okay?” You were only half aware of the voice in the radio, and you blindly reached for the button with shaky hands.

“H-help,” your voice was shaky, hoarse and so unlike yourself.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t bring yourself to even reply again, even more aware of the pain now, barely keeping your head up and your eyes opened. Teary eyed, a distant, cold part of you knew it was over. It was over forever.

Then you blacked out.

-

“Sebastian, red flag, red flag,” His engineer called, as if he had not seen all the red flags throughout the circuit.

He drove back to the boxes, hopping off the car as he saw other drivers do the same, he marched into the Ferrari garage, worried.

“Is everyone okay? Who was it?” He asked, as he removed his helmet and balaclava.

The grief faces around him didn’t help, and Sebastian felt a sense of dread as he turned to the closest screen showing the live coverage of the race. The transmission was a helicopter shot of your car into the wall, or a better description would be two piles of wreckage of your car as the marshals rushed towards it. He felt like he could puke, despair spreading through his chest.

“What did she say? What happened?” He asked anyone willing to answer, his eyes glued to the screen. As if on cue, a replay of your crash played out on the screen.

“S-she asked for help. She didn’t reply again after that.” Someone said, somber, and a lump lodged in Sebastian’s throat.

He kept staring at the video, then a replay of your radio also came through, the despair as you realized you had no brakes, the urgency in your engineer’s voice as he asked you to try other means. And the faint “Help” you said after one of the ugliest crashes Sebastian had ever seen. He had never been a religious guy, but at that moment, he prayed. His eyes glued to the screen as the marshals started removing pieces surrounding you and the car, and the ambulance arrived. They started checking you and were about to pull you out of the wreckage.

Then, the cameras were cut off, showing the drivers and everyone in the garages. Sebastian knew that for the transmission to stop showing, it meant the crash was really bad, it meant that however they were pulling you out, it was ugly. Sebastian felt a shiver up his spine as he thought about the possibility they were removing your dead body from there.

With that, he marched out of the Ferrari garage and towards RB, and he found other drivers were already making their way there too, everyone desperate for any news. A few minutes later it was reported that you had been taken by helicopter to the nearest hospital. Sebastian breathed again as they reported you were alive, but unconscious.

The race was interrupted officially a few minutes later, Sebastian and Lewis along with a few other drivers were still waiting by the Red Bull garage for more news on you. Slowly, everyone was sent away when the news came from the hospital that you were hurt, but not in a life threatening situation and you’d stay in the hospital for observation.

That was when Sebastian finally left, a little shaken as he went through his post race duties.

The following morning, after a tossing and turning almost sleepless night, the official representatives confirmed that you were alright but had unfortunately fractured a leg, and would not take part in the remaining two races of the season.

Even after he got news on you, and there was this sense of relief that you’d recover, the knot in his stomach remained, his gut saying that something was off. But he brushed it off, thinking it was just lingering anxiety from the accident.

He wanted to talk to you, see you. He got your number from Lewis and texted you but you never replied and he kept trying. A few days later, Lewis commented with him that you hadn’t replied to his text either. And later they found out you actually had not replied to any of the drivers or anyone from the Formula 1 teams.

After Abu Dhabi, when the season ended, he got a hold of your manager, leaving an office in the Red Bull garage. He stopped her, gently taking a hold of her arm.

“How’s she doing? Do you have any news on her?” He pressed.

“She’s alright, still recovering.”

“Why hasn’t she answered her phone?”

“She’s recovering and took a break from social media and the internet, so she hasn’t been able to communicate well. I’m sure once she’s fully recovered she’ll get back to you.”

“Do you have a home telephone, e-mail or even an address where we can reach her? See her?” He asked, almost desperate.

“I’m sorry. Just give her some time, I’m sure she will come around.”

With that, your manager left quickly, holding a small stack of files with both hands, the “classified” stamp boldly branding it. Sebastian kept trying to contact you, failing miserably each time.

When the Prize Giving ceremony came, he was bouncing with nervous energy, hoping and praying he would get to see you again. If anything, just to know you’re really okay and well. You didn’t show up to the ceremony, but suddenly you were awarded the Personality of the Year award.

Then, your face showed up on the big screen, and Sebastian felt his breath stuck in his throat. It was a simple, regular video of you, you were wearing a pretty dress and your hair was in an up-do. Your face had makeup like you always wore in these kinds of events, pretty eyes and big lashes, and a scarlet lipstick. Your face looked healthy, despite your eyes lacking its usual brightness.

“Hi, everyone!” Came your recorded voice with a smile, “It’s such an honor to receive this award. Thank you to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to all other drivers on the season. I’m well and recovering, and I’m grateful for all the well wishes all of you sent me these past weeks, I truly appreciate them.” Your smile faded almost imperceptibly, but Sebastian noticed as you inhaled softly, like you were resigned to something, “I will take this opportunity to let you know that I’m retiring from Formula 1 from now on. I’m grateful for all the opportunities, all the dreams achieved and the amazing people I got to know and work with. Thank you very much.”

As the video cut off, there was a stunned silence since absolutely no one saw that coming. No one expected you to announce your retirement like this. So suddenly, especially considering you had one more year of contract with your team. And you were also very young, just 28.

The event went on but Sebastian couldn’t move on from your video, from seeing your face and hearing your voice again. He went through the motions for the rest of the night, and at some point, Lewis stopped him to chat about how glad he was that you looked healthy. But Sebastian couldn’t shake off that pit in his stomach.

The following week, once he was done with his postseason duties, he called Lewis and a couple of the drivers you were the closest with. Still, none of them had any news on you, no text, no calls, nothing. He went digging further and found out you lived in Monte Carlo, in the same building as a few other drivers. Desperate for anything he went there personally to look for you. After giving your name and being recognized, the staff member checked on their computer for a moment.

“Unfortunately, she moved out of this building around a week ago.”

“What…?” Sebastian whispered to himself, shocked, “S-she… um, do you know if she moved to another place here in Monaco? Or she moved to another country or something?”

“I don’t have that information, sir,” the woman replied, looking at him with a smile apologetically.

Sebastian nodded and left, helpless.

Time went on, the world spun, and he never heard about you again. The holidays came and went, and a new season started. People still spoke about you, whispers about your retirement and the accident, many conspiracies theories about why you had disappeared. But oddly enough, the FIA and the F1 representatives never spoke much about you.

Not seeing you again was eating him alive, especially whenever he remembered the last time you had talked, the promise of a future that never came. One time, he went to the Red Bull to try and get any information about you. He kept bothering the staff for months, everyone including Christian, who was the one to put a firm stop to his nonsense of bothering the team’s staff about you.

“I need to talk to her, it’s important,” Sebastian pleaded.

“Have you considered that maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered? That she doesn’t want to speak with you or anyone for that matter?” Christian said, “This stops now, Sebastian. Stop bothering my team about this or I’ll have to go to Todt.”

Sebastian deflated, feeling defeated, only nodded, walking away.

He still talked about you on occasion, mentioning a battle in passing, or whenever the only woman to win a Formula 1 championship was mentioned. Sometimes he hoped you were watching, that you could see the longing in his eyes, that you’d feel something and reach out to him. And then later, he felt silly, stupid for wishing so.

Late at night, he stared at the ceiling, trying to commit to memory everything that had ever happened between you. The fights, the shouts but even more the chats, the making love and the silly conversations you two had late at night, your naked bodies covered by a thin blanket as you chatted about anything and everything. He always thought about your hands mindlessly drawing on his skin, you two drifting off to sleep, and then one of you sneaking out in the middle of the night. No goodbyes to make it easier.

And now the lack of goodbyes felt like an open wound for him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five years passed and Sebastian believed he had learned to deal with your absence, with the lack of closure. But it was a lie he kept telling himself, even if every year, he kept trying your phone number, your email, sending texts and notes, until your phone number was discontinued and probably sold again, for a new owner and your email stopped receiving and his letters would not go through. He never changed his own number, expecting you to eventually call.

When he announced his retirement, a small part of him hoped you’d reach out once you got the news. You never did.

After his announcement, he decided to resort to desperate measures and hired a private investigator. And finally, after a couple months since the end of his last season, he got news on you.

Ben, his P.I., got an image of you in a café in a quaint little town, you sitting down, sipping some coffee and reading a book. The image was a little blurry, probably taken from a long distance, but it looked like you.

Now, Sebastian was retired and had free time, and he immediately packed a suitcase and went to the town. He arrived there on a friday morning, and after checking in at a small but comfortable inn, he went straight to the café. Ben had told him the photo was taken in the late morning, so since very early, he went to the café and decided to wait for you. Ordering a coffee and a muffin, he waited.

And waited. And waited.

Hours and hours and a bunch of coffees and muffins later, the staff were looking at him strangely, and one of the ladies looked at him with pity, warning they were about to close.

“Were you waiting for someone, boy?” She asked.

“Yes, uh- a friend,” He sighed, standing up. He said your name, and the woman seemed to recognize the name, “She’s this tall,” He gestured, showing your height, and gave a brief physical description of you, and the woman nodded.

“I know her! Very sweet but also a bit stubborn.”

“I thought I might find her here, but…” He shrugged, giving his best puppy look to the older woman.

It didn’t take much for the woman to give him your address, and despite the urge to go straight there, Sebastian knew it was late, signaled by the café closing and he knew small towns like this usually went to sleep early. So he went to the inn, taking a shower and going to bed, trying to sleep, trying to get to the following day.

But his racing heart was making it impossible to sleep, and he laid on the bed, thinking of you, going in and off sleep, dreaming of you.

In the morning, he had breakfast and went to your address in a moment that wasn’t too early in the morning. Your house was a medium sized family looking home, cozy, a big front and backyard. It looked like somewhere to have a family in and to grow old.

He walked up to your porch, drying his hands on his jeans and before he could hesitate, he rang the doorbell.

He wondered if you would welcome him, at least as a friend. His nerves wondered if you had gotten married, had a family, and he was just a pathetic and creepy guy for never moving on from you. He wondered if-

You opened the door, freezing the moment your eyes met his. Sebastian looked at your face, still as stunning as ever, showing small signs of aging, but they suited your face beautifully. Your hair was longer, natural, and your face looked healthy, with a beautiful sunny hue to it.

“Principessa”

“Sebastian…” You said, shocked, “What- How…?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You nodded, awkwardly scooting away from the doorway so he could come inside.

“I- do you want some tea?” You offered, unsure of how to feel with his presence so out of the blue.

“Yeah,” He nodded, following you inside and sitting on an armchair as you signaled him to. A small teapot on the coffee table between you, “I’ve been looking for you. Why did you disappear?” He asked, his voice almost tinged with despair.

You tried to think of what to say for a moment, pouring two mugs of tea to gather your thoughts, to grapple with the fact that Sebastian Vettel, your rival, lover and friend was there, suddenly, after five long years.

“What happened to you?” He asked again, his voice almost in pain.

“That crash happened…” You said, hands around the warm mug.

“It was worse than they made it seem, wasn’t it?” Sebastian said, a knowing look on his face when you nodded, getting up and slowly walking to a drawer on your bookshelf, he noticed how you favored one leg. You pulled a file from the drawer and walked back to the couch, handing it to him.

Silently, Sebastian opened the file, going through medical reports of you, all dated back to five years ago on that fateful night. You looked like you were avoiding looking at the files, busying yourself with preparing tea for the both of you. Sebastian read through the papers, and what caught his eyes were an x-ray of your knee, the one you were limping now, and a transverse fracture of your spine.

“Oh, my god…” Sebastian whispered, horrified. He stopped on a picture of you laying in a hospital bed, eyes red and puffy from crying that weren’t the main focus of the image, instead it was your knee, immobilized, held in place by a lot of metal pins, “What did they do to you…?”

“The crash, it bursted my knee. I almost lost my leg… Fracture, torn ligament, it was hanging by a thread. And my spine, a fracture that could’ve hindered me to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. It was brutal, my knee took the brunt of the impact, and my back was the split car…” You explained, almost robotically, like you had rehearsed that speech, your eyes were wet as you fought the tears, “They said I was lucky. Lucky I didn’t lose a leg, lucky I didn’t end up paraplegic…” You sighed, swallowing the tears, “They said I could never go back to a racing car again, because the G Forces could put too much strain on my injuries, not to mention, if I injured these two spots again, it would be risking more permanent damages. I was lucky I pulled through.”

There was bitterness in your voice, and how could you not feel bitter about that? How could you not feel angry and sad and mourn the life you once had. A life where racing had been everything to you.

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian reached for your hand, his expression completely crestfallen, “We had seen how that car was completely unreliable, how sometimes it worked and sometimes it was a hazard to you. I never thought it could end this badly…”

“And… I’m sorry I disappeared. I know you tried contacting me for a while, but… I just couldn’t see anything related to Formula 1. I couldn’t be near all that without feeling a gut wrenching pain, without feeling anger for anything related to motorsports… I just had to get away from all that.” You explained, looking lost and Sebastian could understand your pain. Despite the times he felt angry and sad for your disappearance, now that he knew about your reason to leave completely… he understood, “I’m sorry. I know you and some other drivers tried reaching out, but I just… I wasn’t in the right mind.”

“I understand. I can’t even imagine what you went through…” he said, his voice so understanding that a lump lodged into your throat, “how was recovery?”

“About a couple of years between the back fracture and the knee… A few surgeries, lots of physiotherapy. Lots of pain and sleepless nights…”

“Did you think about fighting, suing…?” He asked softly.

“I did… I was so angry. I wanted to sue all of them, the team, the FIA, the president. But then…” You paused for a second, “It’d drag out for god knows how long, they would surely bring all the weapons, smear campaigns, defamation, and… My image as a driver, as a person, would just be even more exploited. And I was so tired, I just wanted to heal away from all that.”

“I was so worried for a while. One day I saw your manager leaving the Red Bull hospitality…”

“There was a deal. They offered me an absurd amount of money for me to not sue them, to not bring to light what happened. They also paid for all my medical bills. I also made sure they would review the safety regulations, so no driver would have to risk their life like that again. And I know you’ll say it’s not fair, that they got away with it, but… I was just so tired. I spent my whole life playing a role, being the image they wanted… that tragic ending to my career was all I got? I genuinely wanted to disappear for the longest time after that,” You said, voice cracking for a moment, “Racing was my driving force and suddenly it was ripped away from me.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for you.” He whispered, which made your eyes water for a bit, but you looked at the ceiling, willing the tears away.

“I was a mess, there would be nothing you could do for me…” You said with a devastatingly sad little smile, “And I kept myself completely blocked from Formula 1.”

“Do you still feel pain?” He asked suddenly after a few seconds of silence.

“Physically?” You shook your head, “Sometimes a little discomfort when I’m in places where the weather is very cold.”

“And emotionally?” He whispered and you looked away, swallowing.

“You’re a racer, you can imagine…” That’s all you said.

Sebastian nodded softly, he couldn’t imagine being stopped from doing the one thing he loved the most right in his prime, in the heights of his career like you. And in one fleeting moment having that all stripped away. Your ability to do what you trained your whole life for.

“How-” He cleared his throat, deciding to change topics, “How are you living here? Enjoying?”

“Yeah, lots of free time and new hobbies…” You said, looking grateful for the change in topic, “Wanna see my garden?”

“Sure,” he nodded and you both stood up, he let you lead, his eyes dropping to your slight limp, and the constant sound of the cane hitting the floor with your steps.

You took him around your garden, where there were plants, flowers and even a small cultivation of vegetables. Everything was well cared for and groomed, there was even a small greenhouse where you guided him inside. He could barely look away from your face, your pretty eyes, your lovely lips and beautiful face that only got prettier with time.

“And here…” You stopped inside the greenhouse, “Some plants that are a little more sensitive… Tomatoes, some strawberries…” You grabbed a small clipper and handed him a fresh strawberry.

He stared at you, a silly smile on his face, watching as you grabbed a strawberry and took a small bite, the juices coating your lips in a pinkish color. His eyes dropped to your hand, noticing the absence of a wedding ring, or an engagement ring.

“Do you have a significant other?” He asked, interrupting your ramble for a moment, which made you blink, blushing slightly.

“No, I-” You paused, timid, “No…”

He walked closer, entering your personal space, his hand on your jaw, holding gently, his thumb slowly wiping the leftover strawberry juice on your lower lip.

You looked at him, tempted, looking like you wanted to risk everything. But then you scolded your face, walking away from him and back to your house. He just followed you, until you two were back in your living room. He went after you, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Sebastian,” you sighed, unsure of what to say.

“What about us?” he asked, and there was so much unsaid, but you didn’t need words when you could see it all in his eyes.

And despite wanting so badly to give in, to give a real shot to something you never got the chance to explore, you also knew you were still a mess, and being away from Formula 1 for so long, you didn’t want to bring back all the bad feelings you had regarding it. It would put an even bigger strain on you two.

Things were so complicated now, you didn’t tell him you never stopped thinking about him. That you were haunted by what-ifs, that you would have vivid dreams of a family and a future with him. You didn’t tell him about all the sweaty nights when the memories of your shared passion kept you awake. And you didn’t tell him the last thing you saw before passing out after the crash were his shiny blue eyes.

“I’ve been away from motorsports for so long, and I don’t know if-”

“I retired. Last year,” He interrupted you, “and it won’t matter to us. We have so much else to explore…”

“Sebastian… I’m a mess. I look okay now, but I still have bad days. Awful days. And it’s ugly.” You said, voice clipped. Like you weren’t allowing yourself to want, to just take a leap and do what you have yearned for so long.

“I don’t care, don’t you see that I lo-”

“You need to go,” You said walking to the door to open it, as Sebastian paused like a dejavú, “Leave, Sebastian.”

He swallowed, remembering that time you said the exact same words that sent him away. That time he did exactly that, respecting your wishes instead of his own. Gulping, Sebastian took a step forward and turned around on your porch, walking away. He stopped midway to his car, looking over his shoulder. You were still rooted to the spot, watching him. He looked down at his own feet.

“Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath.

He marched back, long strides up to your porch, so fast that you could barely register when he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up in a hug, his face nuzzled into your neck, breathing in.

“No,” he whispered against your skin, “I’m not letting you go again. Ever.”

And then finally, finally, you hugged him back, tightly around his neck silently because there was no need for words, a silent understanding of finding each other again. Of having someone like him, who fought for you, to find you even when you thought you shouldn’t be found. When you broke the hug, Sebastian held your face with both hands, his thumb gently wiping the tears you had shed during the hug.

“I love you, Principessa.”

“Even now? Even after all this time?” You asked, voice shaky but your eyes with a glimmer of hope.

“Even after all this time,” He nodded, blue eyes shining in happiness, a barely contained smile on his face.

“I love you too, by the way,” You said, shyly and hiding your face into his chest.

“No, that won’t do,” He laughed, a playful cocky chuckle, “I need you to look me in the eyes when you say it,” He tangled his fingers on your hair at the nape, tugging gently so he could make you look up at him, when you did, there was this playful look in his face and you almost melted right there.

“I love you, Sebastian,” You smiled, feeling silly. Sebastian nodded, leaning forward to peck your cheek, his lips slowly descending your jaw and neck.

“Let me stay,” He asked, his lips brushing your skin and making you shudder, closing your eyes.

“Only if you stay forever,” You smiled, and he started walking you backwards, entering your house again, his hands on your hips helping you stay up as he gently nipped your neck.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” He said, kicking the door closed behind him, “You also owe me a date, Princess. Remember?” He gently laid you down on the sofa, slowly laying down on top of you, “And I intend to charge it, with all the interest fees…” He joked, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.

-----

TAGLIST: @ririgy @ironmaiden1313 @w4ltmeister @vellicora @hopefulsophie @chloeannabelle @rebelatbay @crashingwavesofeuphoria @zoeyjadetice2010

HISTORY SERIES | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | request here!

sebastian vettel x wife race engineer!reader

for more information to the reader: ❥ this series consists on a journey around the 15 years seb and y/n got to experience in formula 1. ❥ it contains so many tropes, including slow burn romance, right person, wrong time, friends to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, among others. ❥ some parts might include sensitive content. pay attention to trigger warnings at the beginning of each part. ❥ english is not my first language so apologies for any mistakes that you can read here!

started: AUGUST 25TH 2024 currently status: on going | last updated: august 25th

if you wanna be added to the tag list feel free to tell me!

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

I. LIFE AS THE PADDOCK ROYALTY follow sebastian and y/n vettel's formula 1 journey, starting when the 19 years old girl started as a toro rosso intern, to when the couple started dating, got married and had three wonderful kids... after going through too many things together (or not)

⋆ 2008 season ⋆ 2009 season ⋆ 2010 season ⋆ 2011 season ⋆ 2012 season ⋆ 2013 season ⋆ 2014 season ⋆ 2015 season ⋆ 2016 season ⋆ 2017 season ⋆ 2018 season ⋆ 2019 season ⋆ 2020 season ⋆ 2021 season ⋆ 2022 season

II. RETIREMENT LIFE what are up to former formula 1 driver and race engineer, sebastian and y/n vettel, up to, since they decided to retire at the end of the 2022 season?

⋆ do you really want us to try?

III. SOCIAL MEDIA meet the most hated and loved formula 1 couple on their social media, or see what people are talking about them

── ˙ ̟ 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 !!

🎙️ how heavy is the weight of a legacy, and what would you do to protect it?

to you, legacy means the formula one team bearing your family name. as a child, you eagerly tagged along with your mother to races, sharing laughs with the engineers and mechanics, and being lifted into the air in triumph after every win. yet as time passed, those moments became fewer and farther between, and before you knew it, the once-legendary team was now scraping by at the back of the pack.

in your final visit with your grandfather before he passed away, you made a promise to him: you would drive for the team that he and your grandmother poured their blood, sweat, and tears into, and you would restore glory to the williams surname, whatever it takes.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) :: 2024!f1 grid x williams driver!reader. | specific pairing to be revealed.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :: cursing, sexual themes, mention of death, mental health, sexism. will be updated if necessary.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: if this is the first work you see on my page, hello and welcome! hope you enjoy bring home the glory. if you have already read my other serie, the echo, i feel that is necessary to comment that this serie is written and released in a different style — while my first one is full of separated one shots and a barely there plot line, bhtg is plot heavy, with a determined beginning, middle, and end. hope you still enjoy it <3 | as always, english is not my first language so i apologize for any mistakes in the writing, and if you want to be added to the taglist, just say so!

˒ ⌕ — CHAPTERS

ᯓ★ :: prologue

ᯓ★ :: chapter one "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

©️ oofthwoods — 2024.

F1 Masterlist 🏎️

Requests are temporarily closed! I am working 60 hrs a week, so it’s taking me a while to work through drafts plus what is in my inbox 🫶

No smut (some themes implied) bc there are children on the app.

publishing update

drivers for requests: oscar, lando, george, charles, carlos, logan, max, lance, daniel, and pierre

More F1 fics here ➡️ TTPD Album Series

〰️➰➿➰〰️➰➿➰〰️➰➿➰〰️➰➿➰〰️➰➿➰〰️

Oscar Piastri

Look for the Light

Iconic

tumblr

more

Lando Norris

Miss Americana Mister England

Twins

Clumsy

Lucky Charm part two

more

Logan Sargeant

Miami

Bridgerton - Logan

Choices Part 2

more

Max Verstappen

die first Guard Dog too hot to cry Forza Red Bull

Gen Z

Father’s Day

more

Carlos Sainz

DTS

In My Mind In Your Mind

Biggest Supporter

more

Charles Leclerc

In Sickness and In Health

Clumsy Wreck

more

Lance Stroll

Book Club Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 7.5 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Daddy’s Girl Part 2

more

George Russel

We Can’t Be Friends

Baby

more

Pierre Gasly

Mama

more

Daniel Ricciardo

Revelations Part 2 Part 3

Daddy’s Girl Part 2

more

The Grid

Book Club Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 7.5 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Try This

TikTok

Stolen

more

formula one ✩ m.list

# ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ :: c¹⁶

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ :: Finally feeling familiar with the heartbreak and love songs she has composed, the world's golden girl discovers that love is trickier than it looks—even more so when it comes in the form of a green-eyed Monégasque.

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴅ :: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

# ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴢ :: cs⁵⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ :: mv¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ :: Who would have thought that a mistake on your application could cost you your dream job? And that in the end you would end up as an assistant to a one time world champion struggling to control his anger issues.

# ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ :: dr³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ :: ln⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ :: After discovering that he is in love with his best friend, Lando is determined and will do everything he can to prove to her that he is the right man for her.

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ʟᴜꜱᴛ :: After graduating from college, you land a job assisting a Formula One driver, but nobody told you that this particular driver would be an absolute nightmare and that your job would basically consist of babysitting him.

# ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ :: op⁸¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ :: Being hired as his assistant to help him during his second year in Formula One, you discover that the reason he has trouble expressing what he wants is not that he lacks the ability to do so, but that he is too prideful to do so.

# ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ :: lh⁴⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ :: gr⁶³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀꜱʟʏ :: pg¹⁰

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇʟ :: sv⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʜᴜᴍᴀᴄʜᴇʀ :: ms⁴⁷

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴀʟᴇx ᴀʟʙᴏɴ :: aa²³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ :: the disease series! all drivers have one, and the reader is always an assistant!

© mrslestappen :: please do not copy my work!

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

: ̗̀➛ Welcome to my masterlist for all my content - hope you enjoy looking around! Requests are open for smaus, drabbles, reactions etc. in my ask box!!

═══ ·₊̣̇. ALL DRIVERS (Reactions & Texts) ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. CHARLES LECLERC ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. LANDO NORRIS ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. MAX VERSTAPPEN ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. OSCAR PIASTRI ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. GEORGE RUSSELL ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. CARLOS SAINZ ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. DANIEL RICCIARDO ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. LEWIS HAMILTON ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. SEBASTIAN VETTEL ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. LANCE STROLL ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. FERNANDO ALONSO ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. OLLIE BEARMAN ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. ALEX ALBON ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. LOGAN SARGEANT ·₊̣̇. ═══

═══ ·₊̣̇. PIERRE GASLY ·₊̣̇. ═══

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

masterlist <3

grid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

charles leclerc | CL16

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

carlos sainz | CS55

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

daniel ricciardo | DR3

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

lando norris | LN4

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

oscar piastri | OP81

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

max verstappen | MV1

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

lewis hamilton | LH44

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

george russell | GR63

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

logan sargeant | LS2

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

fernando alonso | FA14

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

pierre gasly | PG10

coming soon

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

lance stroll | LS18

coming soon

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 more coming soon 🤍

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀