So hellooo everyone, after maybe 2 years of my account I am finally making this post
You can call me Ree!!! 🌺🌺
If u couldn't tell already my favourite colour is green 💚💚
So my main posts are gonna be about Sebastian Vettel, Formula 1 and sometimes whatever show or movie i am watching
My favourite artists are Dua Lipa and ABBA but honestly my playlist is a mix of so many artists
My hobbies include drawing, photography and just researching random stuff
I have started writing quite recently and since I have a lot of studies, updates are slow like once a week maybe
SEBASTIAN VETTEL MASTERLIST
For now I only wrote for seb, in the future I may be open to writing for other drivers, if u have any questions or just wanna talk my inbox is always open, if u want to assign urself and anon emoji feel free to do so!!!!
hmmm I do value privacy and I'm introspective. I love being by myself and having some me time, I don't feel on edge at all! but yeah I'm definitely meticulous with certain aesthetic stuff... maybe more with vibes. I don't like debating... but I'm fairly perceptive and empathic. I'd say these are half true overall.
tagging @chaotic-snowflake (I actually get to tag you in something for once lol) @crownedrattails @aalinaaaaaa @trench-knife @jaysc0ve and open tag!
Hey you said you would post last weekend?? No pressure ofcourse
Oh hello nonnie actually I have a really big test tomorrow and I gravely underestimated the syllabus so I hav been busy prepping for it, I promise as soon as my schedule clears up a bit I will post!!!
I don't know tf you were talking about but chapter 3 was AMAZING!!! If you don't mind me asking why does it take so long to upload, I am eagerly waiting for the next chapter 😁
Ahhh TYSM LOVEYY!!! like I have said before I wrote these chapters long back and just edit them and post it, but editing then takes a while bcz I am busy most of the times and it's a bit of a hassle finding every time the ofc name is mentioned and change it to yn and then some lines just don't make sense (what was past me thinking idk 😐) so I edit those
Part 4 will be posted after i post a seb oneshot first, hopefully this weekend bcz last weekend was hectic af 😭
@cabriolett @multi-twenty-onez @simplyfianella @lightsoutandawaywewrite and literally every one!!!!!! So blessed to be in this fandom and get to know such cutieee moots
The Red Bull garage had survived engine failures, tyre explosions, and Christian Horner on three espressos. Surely it could survive one quiet Swiss café owner setting up pastries in the motorhome.
Unfortunately for Y/n L/n, Sebastian’s presence turned out to be far more distracting than mechanical failures ever were.
Because now he was standing in the middle of the paddock looking unfairly handsome in rolled sleeves and an apron while every single person in Formula One fell violently in love with his coffee.
Including her.
Especially her.
Word count: around 2k
A/n: idk how I feel Abt this chapter, don't feel really confident posting this but here u go anyways, hav had the worst weekend so far so peace out guys, if u hav literally any comments for the chapter do lmk!!!
SEBASTIAN VETTEL MASTERLIST
The Formula One paddock at Monza woke up angry.
Not literally, although Y/n sometimes suspected the asphalt itself carried centuries of racing trauma.
Engines screamed awake before sunrise. Mechanics marched through the paddock with caffeinated determination. Team radios crackled endlessly. Somewhere nearby an Italian journalist was already shouting dramatically with enough hand gestures to direct aircraft traffic.
Normal race weekend chaos.
Which was exactly why Sebastian looked so painfully out of place.
And somehow completely perfect inside it.
Y/n spotted him the second she stepped into the paddock Thursday morning.
He stood outside the Red Bull motorhome beside stacked catering crates, sleeves rolled up to his forearms while speaking politely with one of the hospitality staff. Early sunlight caught in his hair. The dark green apron around his waist already carried faint flour marks.
He looked calm.
Actually calm.
In Monza.
That alone should have earned scientific study.
Y/n slowed slightly without meaning to.
The sight hit her harder than expected.
Because Sebastian existed in a completely different rhythm than Formula One. Everything here moved aggressively. Fast conversations. Fast decisions. Fast failures. Even restlessness felt competitive in the paddock.
And yet there he was arranging flower stems beside pastry boxes like he had all the time in the world.
It softened the entire space somehow.
One of the mechanics walked past carrying equipment, caught the smell of fresh pastries, then physically stopped walking and turned around.
Y/n watched the exact moment his soul left his body.
“Oh my God,” the mechanic whispered.
Sebastian looked up with immediate concern. “Everything alright?”
“What is that smell?”
“Cinnamon brioche.”
The mechanic stared at him with naked emotional vulnerability. “I would die for you instantly.”
Sebastian blinked once. “That seems excessive.”
“No, actually I understand him.”
Y/n hadn’t even realized she’d spoken out loud.
Both men looked toward her.
Sebastian’s face brightened immediately when he saw her.
There it was again. That warm, quiet smile that landed directly beneath her ribs every single time.
“There you are. You made it.”
There you are.
Damn him.
She snorted softly. “I literally drive here.”
“You know what I meant.”
Unfortunately yes.
The mechanic looked between them slowly like someone assembling conspiracy theories in real time.
Y/n ignored him with the dignity of a woman who absolutely did not spend two hours deciding which jacket to wear this morning.
“You got here early.”
Sebastian nodded toward the crates. “Needed setup time.”
“Any disasters yet?”
“Someone from Ferrari almost stole an entire tray five minutes ago.”
“That means you’re succeeding.”
The mechanic beside them finally found his voice again. “Wait. You’re the café guy?”
Sebastian looked mildly confused. “I own a café, yes.”
“Mate,” the mechanic said seriously, “the other guys have been talking about your pastries since six in the morning.”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Sebastian’s face instantly. Genuine embarrassment.
Which was honestly adorable and deeply inconvenient for Y/n's emotional stability.
“It’s just food,” he muttered.
“No,” the mechanic replied firmly. “This is religion.”
Sebastian laughed softly under his breath while Y/n tried very hard not to stare at the way morning light caught the edges of his smile.
Hopeless. She was genuinely hopeless now.
The rest of the paddock descended into chaos shortly afterward.
Word spread obscenely fast.
Within two hours, half the Red Bull garage had become emotionally attached to Sebastian’s catering station. Engineers who normally communicated exclusively through telemetry reports suddenly hovered nearby pretending they “just happened to be walking past.”
They were not subtle.
At one point Y/n caught two mechanics arguing over the last almond croissant with the intensity of political warfare.
“You had two already.”
“I’m bigger than you.”
“That’s not how fairness works.”
“It is in survival situations.”
Sebastian, meanwhile, handled the madness with impossible patience.
That fascinated her most.
Nothing rattled him.
Not the noise. Not the crowds. Not the absurdity of Formula One personalities flooding through the motorhome every fifteen minutes.
A journalist accidentally spilled espresso near the counter and looked moments away from public collapse. Sebastian simply handed him napkins and made another drink without complaint. One of the younger mechanics nervously apologized six separate times for dropping a pastry tray. Sebastian helped him clean it up while calmly reassuring him nobody cared.
The entire paddock operated on stress.
Sebastian didn’t.
And people gravitated toward that instinctively.
Even Christian Horner looked emotionally soothed after his third coffee.
“This man is a miracle,” Christian announced dramatically around noon. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen engineers smiling before qualifying simulations?”
“Your standards for morale are concerning,” Y/n muttered.
Christian ignored her completely and pointed toward Sebastian. “Can we keep him?”
Y/n nearly choked on her drink.
Jasper, traitor that he was, immediately noticed.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “You’re blushing.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You’re actually blushing over the coffee man.”
“He has a name.”
“That somehow makes this worse.”
Before she could physically assault him, Sebastian approached carrying a fresh tray of pastries.
Instant betrayal occurred.
Every mechanic within visible range abandoned their tasks like starving medieval peasants spotting bread.
Y/n watched one engineer nearly sprint.
“This is humiliating,” she informed Sebastian.
“I think they’re just hungry.”
“No, they’re emotionally dependent now.”
Sebastian smiled slightly while setting the tray down. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
Her heart did something deeply stupid.
Because of course he noticed that too.
“I had coffee.”
“That isn’t food.”
“Says the man surviving on espresso fumes.”
“I ate at four in the morning.”
“That barely counts as human behavior.”
His eyes softened with familiar amusement. “Sit down for five minutes.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been pacing since sunrise.”
“I pace professionally.”
“Y/n.”
That tone should not have affected her so much. Calm. Quiet. Steady enough to cut through the static constantly buzzing in her skull.
Without realizing it, she obeyed.
Which was honestly alarming considering she regularly ignored direct instructions from race engineers.
Sebastian placed a plate in front of her before returning to the espresso machine.
She watched him move through the crowded motorhome effortlessly. Calm in the center of chaos. Speaking gently to staff. Remembering names already. Quietly fixing problems before they escalated.
And every few minutes his gaze flickered back toward her automatically. Just checking.
The realization settled warm beneath her ribs.
He looked for her in rooms now.
God.
Jasper slid into the seat beside her carrying enough pastries to concern medical professionals.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m observing.”
“You look like a Victorian man seeing piano ankles.”
“That sentence makes me want violence.”
Jasper bit into a cinnamon roll dramatically. “I understand you now though.” His voice muffled as he chewed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s…” Jasper swallowed his cinnamon rol and gestured vaguely toward Sebastian. “Comforting.”
The word landed with startling accuracy.
Because yes.
That was exactly it.
Formula One worshipped sharpness. Aggression. Ruthlessness. Drivers became weapons before they became people. Y/n herself had spent years turning parts of her personality into armor just to survive the sport.
But Sebastian felt soft in all the ways the paddock usually punished. Patient. Gentle. Quietly attentive.
And somehow those traits made him stronger instead of weaker.
Y/n looked down at her untouched pastry briefly.
“He remembers things,” she admitted quietly.
Jasper blinked once.
Then his expression softened slightly beneath the usual teasing. “Yeah,” he said. “He does.”
Because Sebastian remembered everything.
How she took her coffee after bad races. Which pastries she reached for when tired. The fact she hated loud greetings before noon. Tiny details nobody else noticed because nobody else slowed down enough to look.
And after years of existing as headlines and lap times and public spectacle… being noticed gently felt dangerously addictive.
The afternoon became progressively more chaotic.
By qualifying practice, Sebastian’s catering station had essentially become neutral diplomatic territory inside the paddock. Even rival team personnel kept wandering over under increasingly pathetic excuses.
One Ferrari engineer claimed he was “conducting comparative hospitality research.”
Christian banned him from taking extra croissants after the fourth visit.
At some point, Y/n returned from media duties mentally exhausted and overstimulated enough to crawl into traffic voluntarily. Reporters had been relentless all afternoon. Questions layered over questions until her skull felt scraped hollow.
She entered the motorhome already tense.
Then stopped.
Sebastian stood near the flowers arranging tiny white blossoms into glass jars for the tables. Soft music drifted quietly from somewhere near the kitchen. The entire room smelled like vanilla and coffee instead of stress sweat and panic.
And instantly, instantly, her shoulders loosened.
Like her body recognized safety before her brain did.
Sebastian glanced up.
“There you are.”
Again with that phrase.
Every single time it affected her embarrassingly hard.
“Long day?” he asked gently.
She exhaled slowly. “I might commit crimes against journalists.”
“That bad?”
“One of them asked if I was intimidated by my teammate’s sector times.”
Sebastian considered this. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Then they asked a stupid question.”
The simplicity of it startled a laugh out of her before she could stop it.
God.
God, she liked him.
Not fleeting attraction anymore. Not harmless fascination.
Real liking.
The dangerous kind settling quietly into her bones.
Sebastian walked over carrying fresh coffee. “You look overwhelmed.”
“I am overwhelmed.”
“Sit.”
Again that calm, steady tone.
And again she obeyed automatically.
This was becoming a serious issue actually.
She sat near the back corner while Sebastian moved around preparing evening service for the team staff. Outside the motorhome windows, Monza still roared endlessly. Helicopters overhead. Engines screaming. Crowds surging through the paddock.
Inside, though, everything felt strangely warm.
Alive in a softer way.
Y/n watched Sebastian laugh quietly at something one of the mechanics said. Watched him hand an exhausted junior staff member extra pastries “for later.” Watched him move through the space with unhurried kindness despite the insanity surrounding him.
And suddenly she understood why everyone loved him already.
Because the paddock was built to consume people.
Burn them down. Strip them into performance metrics and public personas until exhaustion became personality.
Sebastian walked into that environment carrying warmth like a lantern.
Of course people gathered around him instinctively.
A comfortable silence settled when he finally sat beside her briefly between rushes.
“You were right,” he admitted.
She glanced sideways. “About?”
“It’s less terrifying than I expected.”
“Told you.”
“You failed to mention the constant engine noise though.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“And your team argues like a family trapped on a road trip.”
“That’s also accurate.”
Sebastian smiled faintly before looking out toward the paddock crowds. “It’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“The way everyone looks at you here.”
The comment caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
He thought about it carefully. “Like they trust you.”
Something vulnerable shifted unexpectedly inside her chest.
Because she’d spent so long being criticized, analyzed, doubted, challenged. Trust wasn’t usually the first thing she associated with Formula One.
Yet Sebastian said it so simply. Like it was obvious.
“You really don’t follow racing, huh?” she muttered.
“No.”
“People online mostly think I’m terrifying.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Are you?”
She considered it seriously. “Sometimes.”
“I don’t think terrifying people notice when others forget to eat.”
The words hit quietly. Directly.
Y/n looked down before he could see the effect.
Outside, mechanics shouted across the garage entrance while rain clouds gathered slowly over Monza. The paddock buzzed endlessly onward. Loud. Sharp. Relentless.
But beside her, Sebastian smelled like coffee and cedarwood and fresh bread. Warmth in human form.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, Y/n realized she wasn’t counting the hours until the race ended anymore.
She was counting how long Sebastian would stay after it did.
Ok would u like part 3 to my seb series or a seb smut?? Again it will be my first time writing smut so keep ur expectations low 😭 both will be posted eventually but which should I do first???
