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Tender Love & Care | Sebastian Vettel/reader

Set during and after the 2009 Australian gp but he has his longer, curly hair bc fuck his buzz cut (/j ily sebby but your curls are to die for)

Warnings: 18+, hair pulling, dry humping, kinda sub!seb?, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

———————————————————————

Having still not fully processed what had happened, you watched the screen in horror as Seb continues, left tyre hanging on, balancing on top of his car.

Angry and exasperated sighs erupt around you in the Red Bull garage. A lap later, Sebastian’s car eventually comes to a stop, and you let out a sigh of relief, glad he’d be returning soon.

“I’m an idiot, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry.”

You hear the crackled voice through the team’s radio and your heart breaks.

He finally pulls into the garage, and is immediately overwhelmed by angry comments. You rush to hug him tightly, feeling him shake slightly in your arms. He mumbled something incoherent into your chest as your hand gently circled his back.

After remaining like that for a few minutes, you decided to let the team know you were taking him home, and to contact him tomorrow to debrief, leading him to your rental car.

As you walked away you heard talks of an investigation and penalties, and knew you had to take extra good care of your poor German.

———

The drive to your hotel was silent, interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Seb. One hand on the wheel, you reached out with your other to pet his thigh, knowing the physical touch would comfort him.

Finally reaching your room, you immediately went to run a bath for him, while he sat slumped over the edge of the bed. Your heart broke seeing him hug his small frame, letting out shaky breaths.

Gently stripping him, you guide him slowly to the warm bath, grabbing the shampoo to tenderly massage it through his blond curls. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and the tension started to dissipate out of his body.

Taking a sponge from the side, you washed him, kneading the knots out of his shoulders and wiping the tear stains away.

Seb looked at you through watery blue eyes and spoke for the first time since you’d held him, asking you to join him.

Stripping off your clothes, you felt his gaze on your body, his bitten, swollen lips parted slightly. You felt your face burn at the attention.

Signalling for him to move, you climbed in behind him, placing his head on your shoulder and your arms on his stomach, hands entwined with his.

He tried to speak again, but you shushed him, peppering kisses along his neck and shoulders, making him shiver.

“It’s okay baby, you don’t need to talk, let me take care of you.”

You both lay there until the water turned cold. Throwing a robe on, you dried your hair, watching Seb in the mirror, towelling his curls.

You turn around, taking the towel from him and ruffling his messy hair. “You’re so cute, Sebby”, you giggle as he pouted at you.

Leading him to the bedroom, you placed him gently at the foot of the bed then perched on the edge. He laid his head on your lap, staring up at you with sad, doe eyes.

“It’s all my fault.” He said, nuzzling his head in your hand, as you gripped his hair once more, pulling gently.

He moaned, kissing along your thighs, and you pulled harder. He bucked his hips and looked at you with widening pupils.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” You asked, running your hands down his chest, fingers grazing his happy trail.

“Yes, please.” He whined, taking your hands and dragging them lower, brushing them against his hardening cock.

“Now, Sebby, you have to earn it.” you tutted, pulling him to straddle your lap. “Are you going to show me how much you need it?”

He kissed you desperately, licking into your mouth, gripping your waist. You broke the kiss to finally breathe, gazing into his hooded eyes.

Seb started grinding against your thigh, seeking his release. You could tell he was close already, his precum wetting his stomach, so you grabbed his hips, stilling him. He mewled, eyes glassy with tears of desperation.

“Please,” he whimpered, moving a hand to your pussy “let me touch you.”

He gathered your wetness on his fingers, sliding them up to lazily circle your clit, smiling cheekily at your soft gasps.

Moving his head down, he starts lapping the wetness that had dripped down your thighs, all the way up to your aching hole.

“Sebby- need you inside me!” You moan, watching his eyes light up.

You move further up the bed and lay your head on the pillow, the blond following with lust-filled eyes.

He kisses you again, and you taste yourself on him. He kneads your breasts before holding your hips and lining himself up. Your body twitches slightly as his dick nudges your sensitive clit before the head disappears inside you.

Moving down to your nipples he alternates between sucking and flicking, as he slowly bottoms out.

He stays there while you adjust, kissing hickeys down your neck and breasts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hide them.

Finally, he pulls out steadily, not wanting to hurt you, until only his tip was inside you.

“You’re so perfect for me, liebling, so beautiful.” He said, gazing down at you lovingly. Your blush deepened at the praise, and you pulled him in for another kiss.

Pulling his hair caused his hips to jut into you suddenly, making you break the kiss to gasp. Seb smirked in satisfaction at your reaction, as he started thrusting deep into you at a steady pace.

Evidently he was more excited than you first thought, as not long after, his thrusts started to become more irregular. You could feel your orgasm building too, as Seb moved his hand back to your clit, matching his pace.

“Come for me, schatzi.” He whispered, his accent thicker.

You came, walls tightening around him, making him groan into your neck. He followed not long after, filling you full of his warm cum.

He pulled out slowly, resting his head on your chest while you rubbed his back and played with his curls.

“Sebby, dear, are you okay?”

He nodded lazily, not wanting to move. “I love you.” He mumbled into your neck. “I’m sorry.” He added quietly, still ashamed from the DNF.

“Baby, you don’t need to be sorry, it was an accident. I love you, sweetheart.” You replied, kissing his curls and holding him closer, feeling him slowly drift off.

hoy mas que nunca

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

wreckage - charles leclerc (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional, again ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1676

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say that the hardest part of love is knowing when to let go. The decision to hold on is easy—it’s the decision to release, to trust that the other person will be okay without you, that’s the hard part.

You’ve been sitting in the sterile, white hospital room for hours, each minute feeling like a year. Charles’s body is hooked up to so many machines, monitors flashing with numbers that seem foreign to you. His face, once so full of life, now looks pale, bruised, and still. They told you to prepare yourself for the worst, but you haven’t let yourself believe it. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

You’re not even sure what you're hoping for anymore. Some miracle, maybe. But deep down, you know the odds. They’ve been giving you the numbers—stats you can’t quite process, numbers you can’t make sense of. His condition is critical, and they’ve told you, over and over again, that his survival chances are slim. His organs are struggling, his internal injuries severe. The brain scans were grim at first, showing little to no activity.

But you can’t let yourself fall into that darkness. Not yet.

The room feels too cold, too empty.

"How are his stats?" you ask quietly, though you already know the answer.

The nurse glances at you, her face trying to remain neutral. "Not good. His heart rate’s been fluctuating. His oxygen levels aren’t improving, either. We’re doing what we can, but his body’s fighting against us." She hesitates, looking back at the monitors. "We’re not sure how much longer we can keep him stable."

You nod, feeling the weight of every word, but you can’t give up. Not yet.

Minutes turn into hours. You stay by his side, holding his hand, whispering to him. Every time you speak, you tell him how much you love him, how much you need him to come back. You’re not sure if he can hear you, but it doesn’t matter. You need him to know.

And then, just as you’re beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of your decision, something unexpected happens.

The steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly begins to accelerate, growing faster and faster. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something’s wrong.

The nurse rushes over, her face pale as she watches the monitor. "His heart rate’s spiking," she mutters. "It’s too fast. His blood pressure’s dropping."

The room erupts into action as doctors rush in, all moving in synchronized chaos. You’re shoved aside as they begin adjusting the equipment, calling out orders, but your mind goes blank. You try to focus, but it feels like everything is spinning.

"His stats are crashing," one doctor says, his voice tense. "We need to stabilize him now."

"Is it time?" you ask, barely able to speak over the noise. "Should we—"

But before you can finish, a loud, sharp sound cuts through the room—the unmistakable alarm of a failing heartbeat. The doctor turns toward you, his eyes filled with grim determination. "I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where his body might not be able to hold on much longer."

Your breath hitches in your throat. Everything feels like it’s slipping away. You squeeze Charles’s hand tighter, as if willing him to come back to you.

But then, as if the universe is playing some cruel game, the chaos calms, just for a moment.

The alarms start to fade into silence, and the doctor presses his fingers to the side of Charles’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Your heart lurches, praying for any sign of life. The seconds feel like hours.

Suddenly, the doctor looks up, his eyes widening. "Wait… there’s something." He leans in, checking the monitors again. "His blood pressure’s stabilizing. His heart rate’s slowing down to a more normal rhythm."

You barely dare to breathe, your eyes never leaving Charles’s face.

The nurse who’s been working on him moves closer, shaking her head in disbelief. "It’s like he’s coming back."

You don’t know what to think. The last few minutes have felt like an eternity, and now, you’re afraid to believe it. "What’s happening?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks up at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It seems like he’s fighting. His body’s responding… it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good sign."

You stare at Charles, trying to process the sudden shift. Is this the miracle you’ve been waiting for, or just another false hope?

The minutes stretch on, and then, just as you begin to allow yourself a small breath of relief, the monitor lets out another shrill, jagged alarm—the unmistakable sound of a fatal arrhythmia. A shocking wave of panic shoots through you as the machine flashes with an erratic, spiking rhythm.

"V-fib!" The doctor shouts, his voice urgent. "We’re losing him. Get the defibrillator ready."

The nurse scrambles to prepare the machine, and you feel your stomach drop out. This can't be happening. Not now.

"Charles!" you whisper, gripping his hand harder, your eyes welling up. "Please."

The doctors are already on him, paddles in hand, but it feels like time is standing still. Your eyes dart from the monitors to Charles’s face, feeling as if your heart has stopped with his. Then, the shock.

The force of the defibrillator sends a jolt through his chest, and the monitor flickers. Nothing.

You close your eyes briefly, bracing for the worst.

"Again," the doctor orders, and another round of defibrillation. This time, there’s a slight blip, a change. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The doctor presses the paddles down once more, adjusting the settings. "One more time. We need him back."

The seconds stretch as they try again, and then finally, the heart monitor begins to beat again—slowly, but steadily.

"Heartbeat stable," the nurse breathes.

Your breath escapes your lips in a shaky exhale. You look at Charles again, feeling a rush of relief flood through you as the panic of the past few minutes settles into a wary calm. But it’s still not over. His fight isn’t done.

Just as you think the worst is behind you, Charles’s mother bursts into the room, her eyes frantic as she surveys the scene. Her voice cracks as she calls out his name, "Charles!"

You feel a flash of guilt. You should’ve called her sooner, but there had been no time. The doctors had been focused, and you’d been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

You step aside, giving her space, but you can’t look away from the man you love, still unconscious, his body fighting to survive.

The doctor steps over to you both. "We’re stabilizing him, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make some decisions."

Charles’s mother looks at you, her face pale with concern. She reaches for your hand. "Whatever it is… I trust you. You’re his wife, and you know him better than anyone. What do you think we should do?"

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. He’s… he’s still fighting. But we’ve been here for so long, and I don’t know how much longer we can wait."

Her gaze softens. "You don’t have to do this alone. I trust you. We’re a family. We make these decisions together." She squeezes your hand tightly. "But if you think there’s still a chance for him, then we have to keep fighting too."

You look back at Charles, uncertainty and fear clouding your judgment. How do you even begin to make this decision? His body is failing him, but his heart—his spirit—is still trying.

"Let’s give him more time," you decide, your voice shaking with fear but firm with resolve. "But if his chances are too slim… if we’re just keeping him alive on machines, then we need to think about letting him go."

The doctor nods solemnly. "We’ll run more tests. But if things don’t improve soon, we may need to consider other options."

As the minutes pass, the machines continue to monitor Charles’s every movement, every breath, and the room remains tense, every decision weighed in silence. But then, something begins to shift.

"His blood pressure’s coming back up," the nurse announces quietly. "And… there’s more brain activity. His oxygen levels are improving too."

You feel like you might be dreaming. "Is this really happening?"

The doctor steps forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen anything like this. His vitals are stabilizing. I think… I think he’s fighting."

"Fighting?" you ask, still not quite believing what you’re hearing.

The nurse, who’s been checking his monitors, speaks softly, her voice a little hopeful. "He knows you’re here. I think he’s holding on for you."

And in that moment, you realize: you’re not alone in this fight. Charles is fighting for you too.

The room fills with a cautious optimism, but the road ahead is still uncertain. Will he wake up? Will his organs continue to improve?

Only time will tell.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"His breathing," the nurse says, voice shaky, "it’s improving. He’s trying to breathe on his own. We can extubate him. He doesn't need the tube anymore."

You stare, wide-eyed, as they carefully begin the process of removing the intubation tube, your heart in your throat.

Everything changes in a moment.

There’s still a long way to go, but for the first time in hours, you feel a flicker of hope.

He’s still here. And he’s fighting.

But you know deep down that the next few days will be critical.

You stand there, feeling like you’ve crossed a line between despair and hope. But Charles has always been a fighter. And if he’s fighting, so will you.

For him. For the life you built together. For love.

You look down at him, and the smallest of smiles begins to tug at your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… he’ll make it through.

And for now, that's enough.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

I ended writing and editing a chapter for a Seb fic BUT NOW I HAVE TO TRANSLATE IT IM IN HELLL

Could you write something for cl16 where it’s Halloween and they do Gomez and morticia couples costumes. Love your work

CL16 — death and kisses

ty so much for the resqust! sorry if I made any mistake, english is not my first language

You were sitting on your desk trying to make the best smoky eye of your life, already dressed with your long black dress you were feeling kinda nervous. The high heels, the party, and being there with Charles.

It hadn't been long since you two started dating. And this type of thing was kind of a new experience.

“ Mon cœuer! Are you ready ” Charles exclaimed from the bathroom. He opened the door with his suit and sword posing “ Because I am ”

You laughed watching him by the mirror.

“ Well, look at you. Very very charming, Charles ” You smiled trying to not move too much. Your boyfriend got close to you with slow steps, staying at your side. He didn't say anything and you stared at the mirror. “What? Something is wrong?

Charles denied it with his head.

“ You look delightful dear ” You tried to hide the pink in your cheeks at his words. Charles couldn't stop watching your face and you, all of you. His heart started racing and he was hoping all the time that you could know how he felt about you. “ One day you’re going to kill me, mon cœur”

You smiled at him, putting down the brush.

“ Oh, really? ”

Charles returned the smile sitting with you.

“ It would be my pleasure to die for you, dear” He murmured against your lips. It took you a moment to crash their lips together in a slow kiss, Charles He slid his hand down your bare back until he reached your waist.

“ Your acting is very good, love” you said when the kiss broke with your breaths mixing.

“ There is no acting, everything is about you”

Anakin being lazy in the morning is a perfect concept

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."

"lando adopted franco uwu" no he didn't. he is only three years older. that man is not a father. he wants to fuck that guy.