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Carlos sainz number 2 please

i can fix him (no really i can) | carlos sainz

song; i can fix him (no really i can) - taylor swift

a/n: one of my favorites i’ve written

part of the spotify wrapped special

Carlos Sainz was a womanizer, flirt, and playboy, and no one could change him.

You rolled your eyes for the third time that night as you watched him flirt with the first woman who crossed his path at Ferrari’s end of the year party. Maybe it was a good thing this season was over and you wouldn’t have to see him anymore; after all, he was leaving, and you were staying. It wasn’t that you were envious with Carlos; it was just that his behavior stressed you out. Maybe he remind you a little of your ex-boyfriend? Whatever the case was, Carlos was far from your favorite person in the company, even though you seemed to be his.

“Why the face, preciosa?” another thing you didn’t like about Carlos—the damn Spanish nicknames.

“What face?” you asked, half wanting to punch him, half curious.

You quickly realized that if you felt even a hint of curiosity about what Carlos had to say, you’d probably had too much vodka.

“You’re looking at me like you want to stab my eyes out.” he laughed at his own joke, and you noticed he’d probably had as much to drink as you—if not more.

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of alcohol and embarrassment, but you weren’t about to show it in front of him. Thank Enzo for the dim lighting.

“You never change, do you, Sainz?” you muttered, taking another sip of your vodka martini. “Always so self-centered.”

The Spaniard smiled at you, one of those smiles he saved specifically for the hundreds of women he flirted with daily—one he used way too often with you. Before he could reply with whatever cheesy line he had prepared, Charles appeared beside you both, throwing an arm over Carlos’s shoulders and the other over yours.

“How’s it going?” Charles asked with a mischievous grin.

“Y/N’s drunk and I think she wants to kill me,” Carlos replied, maintaining eye contact with you.

“That’s not true!” you retorted like a child, making Charles laugh.

“Maybe you’ve had enough of these, huh?” Charles teased, taking the glass from your hand. “Mate, why don’t you escort her to her room, just to make sure she gets there safely?” he suggested, addressing Carlos.

“I don’t need anyone to escort me anywhere, and I don’t want to leave.”

“No problem.” Carlos ignored your protest, downed the rest of his drink, and gently guided you away from Charles and toward the exit of the party.

You didn’t say anything on the way, a little frustrated that both men had effectively kicked you out of the event but also a little tired, as the alcohol was beginning to take its toll. The party was being held at a luxurious hotel in Maranello, where the guests were also staying, and by the time you and Carlos reached the elevator, you’d mustered just enough energy to speak.

“Okay, we’re here. I guess you can go now,” you said, making no effort to thank him for accompanying you.

“I’ll walk you to your door and leave after that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you replied.

“Y/N, contrary to what you might think of me, I am a gentleman.”

The elevator arrived, and Carlos gestured for you to step in first. Too tired to argue, you entered the small metal box and pressed the button for your floor. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment, lulled by the gentle motion of the elevator. You might not have liked Carlos, but oddly enough, you trusted him.

However, your brief moment of peace shattered as the elevator jolted violently, and the bright white light flickered off, leaving you in dim emergency lighting.

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

Carlos acted quickly, pressing the emergency button. When nothing happened for a few seconds, he pressed it again, and this time a male voice mumbled something in Italian through the speakers. Panic crept into your chest as you turned to Carlos, hoping he understood better than you.

“The hotel is having issues with this elevator, but they already called maintenance. It’ll take about twenty to thirty minutes,” Carlos translated.

“Okay,” you replied, your voice weaker than you intended.

Carlos noticed the change in your demeanor despite his drunken state.

“You okay?” he asked, draping his suit jacket over your bare shoulders without asking.

“Yeah, it’s just… I didn’t expect to be stuck in an elevator right now, you know?” for once, you didn’t argue with his chivalry, instead pulling the jacket tighter around yourself, comforted by the scent of him.

Carlos nodded, moving closer when he realized you weren’t retreating as usual. You sat on the cold ceramic floor, and he joined you. Despite the proximity, the faint light made it difficult to see your face clearly. Maybe it was the dim lighting or the liquid courage, but he spoke up.

“Why do you hate me, Y/N?” His accent thickened as he asked the question, catching you off guard.

“I don’t hate you, Carlos,” you replied simply. When he realized you weren’t offering more, he pressed on.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” His tone lacked its usual playful edge; it sounded raw, vulnerable.

You turned to face him, even though you couldn’t fully see his expression.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. “I just think our personalities clash. But I don’t hate you.”

He nodded slowly. “You know I’m not really like that, right?”

You frowned, confused. “Like what?”

“I know what you think of me, but I’m not like that. I’m not a womanizer.”

You didn’t believe him, but you were kind enough not to say it aloud.

“I’ve never said that about you,” you offered, a little white lie.

“Maybe not, but I know you think it.” Carlos sighed, running a hand over his face. “You’re so frustrating, you know that?”

Before you could take offense, he continued. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for four years, and you never noticed.”

You were speechless. Completely and utterly stunned.

“Uh?” was all you could manage, feeling ridiculous. “But all the women…”

“Only one matters,” he interrupted, subtly gesturing toward you.

"Why didn’t you just say something?" you managed to ask after what felt like an eternity. You still needed to process his confession.

“You had a boyfriend when we met, so I didn’t. Then, when you broke up, you’d already decided I was just a player, which I’m not.”

Unintentionally, you pouted—a gesture he couldn’t see due to the darkness. You tried to take yourself back to those moments in the past when maybe Carlos had attempted to get your attention in some way, and how you’d always viewed his actions with ulterior motives. In your defense, as he had mentioned, you had a boyfriend when you first met him, and he was incredibly decent not to make a move during that time. But later, when your heart was broken, perhaps you hated all men, so it wouldn’t surprise you to think you had misjudged him all these years.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered sincerely, looking into his big brown eyes.

Suddenly, the space started to feel much hotter than before, although not for long. As quickly as it had malfunctioned, the flickering white light turned on, and the elevator began ascending again just as it had moments earlier. Seconds later, a soft ding and the glowing red numbers announced your arrival at your hotel floor, and the metallic doors slid open, welcoming three men dressed in blue uniforms—undoubtedly the hotel maintenance team.

The man closest to them apologized on behalf of the hotel in Italian, and Carlos responded that it was no problem, helping you off the cold floor and exiting as quickly as possible, his hand still holding yours.

When you arrived at your room, he let go of your hand, and you immediately missed its warmth.

“Are you going back to the party?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant while searching for your key in your purse.

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll head to my room to rest,” he replied, searching your gaze.

You nodded slowly as you opened the door, mentally debating whether or not to ask the question. In the end, the part of your brain fueled by alcohol, adrenaline, and the euphoria of his earlier confession won.

“Or maybe… you could come in, if you want?” Your eyes finally locked with his in a hopeful gaze.

His answer wasn’t immediate, but then he nodded.

Julian Alvarez with song #75

there’s only one cure for heartbreak | julian alvarez

song; chorrito pa las animas - feid

part of the spotify wrapped special

The person who claimed that heartbreak couldn’t be cured by partying had definitely never gone clubbing in Madrid in their twenties with their best friends after a breakup.

To be fair, you had been a bit skeptical at first too. But after your friends insisted—and given the fact that your favorite team had just won one of the most important matches of the season—any excuse seemed like a good enough reason to celebrate and go out.

It had been a long time since the last time you went out. Your ex-boyfriend was never a fan of partying, and you had preferred spending time with him over being alone. But that was over now, and you were more than okay with it. At last, you could enjoy the spontaneity of Madrid’s nightlife again—just you and your group of friends singing at the top of your lungs and dancing to the music alongside hundreds of strangers.

Although, not everyone in the club was a stranger.

Why is it that, on the very first night you decide to embrace your single life, you end up running into all the players from your favorite team?

And why is it that, on the exact same night Julian decides to go out with his new teammates for the first time after a particularly tough win, he feels like he’s falling in love at first sight as he watches you dance?

With short steps and some encouraging words from his teammate, he started walking toward you, slowly, with a certain air of confidence. Your slightly alcohol-fuzzy brain took a moment to recognize him.

“Wait,” you said when he asked you to dance. “I know you.”

The brunette raised an eyebrow, a small cocky smile appearing on his face.

“I mean, I don’t know you, but I know who you are,” you clarified.

“Tell me your name so we’re even,” he smiled.

If your cheeks weren’t already flushed from the alcohol, dancing, and the heat of the room, they surely were now. You told him your name, and he led you to the dance floor. You thought he’d leave after one song, but he danced with you through one, two, three, four more.

“Congratulations on your goal today,” you said mid-dance, and he smiled.

“You watched the match?” he asked, surprised. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Atletico wasn’t Madrid’s star team. Finding fans, even in the city, wasn’t very common for him.

You nodded in response.

“That’s why I went out tonight,” you replied. “Well, among other reasons, but the match result played a part.”

Julian pulled your hips impossibly closer to his.

“Then it’s my lucky day.”

Maybe Madrid wasn’t so bad after all.

Charles Leclerc and 24

i got cursed like eve got bitten | charles leclerc

song; the prophecy - taylor swift

part of the spotify wrapped special

Was this a joke of fate? Were you cursed? Or were you simply destined to be alone?

You didn’t quite understand how the laws of destiny worked, nor to whom you should ask for redemption, or which God you needed to pray to so your fate could change. You always thought you would find your soulmate. Despite the disappointments you had endured, you always believed that in a world of seven billion people, there had to be someone for you.

And then you met Charles. And you knew he was the one.

There was no one like Charles for you. No one who understood you like he did, no one who loved you the way he did. You swore under the moonlight, time and time again, that he was the man you would marry, the one you would grow old with, the one you would spend the rest of your days with. Charles was the man for you. He truly was yours. And you were his.

That’s why you never worried too much about how your relationship would work—him there, you here. Distance didn’t matter because you knew you were destined. Any obstacle in your path was insignificant; you could overcome it. Charles seemed to think the same way. It didn’t matter whether he was in Monaco or Azerbaijan—he always thought of you.

But if that was true, why did everything fall apart? When? Why? Why? Why?

Charles was the man for you. It was as clear as the morning sun. And if he was the man for you, then you must have been the woman for him. You were, in your mind. And you knew he thought the same. It was obvious he did, and you believed you had captured lightning in a bottle when you knew he felt the same way.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Maybe Charles was the right one, but maybe you were the wrong one. That’s how the prophecy works.

Was it a punishment? Why, for once in your life, couldn’t it be you?

When you saw him again in Monaco, holding hands with another girl, his dimples showing as he smiled, you almost threw up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures when you sought out fortune-tellers to read your future—your palm, or the tarot cards. Anything to give you hope. Anything to tell you you were wrong, that Charles didn’t love her, that he would come back to you.

But it was always the same result.

The reversed Knight of Cups. The Three of Swords. The Five of Cups.

All you had left was to kneel and beg any force in the universe that would listen, murmuring a silent “please.”

Spotify special- Pepe marti with #27

p.s. I love all your work!!! 💓💓💓

why’d i have to break what i love so much? | pepe marti

song; afterglow - taylor swift

a/n: thank you so much!! 🤍

part of the spotify wrapped special

Sometimes you wondered if there was a way to cure self-sabotage. And if there was, what would you have to give to heal yourself?

You didn’t understand why this always happened. Why, whenever you were in a relationship and things were going well, you felt the need to ruin it. You knew you deserved to be happy, so why couldn’t you allow it? Why did you always have to mess it up? You always did something, always blew things out of proportion, always started arguments, to the point where other people just couldn’t keep forgiving you. And so, you stayed alone.

Pepe had never given you any reason to doubt him; he was so good to you, so loyal and honest. Sometimes you felt like he was too good for you. Or was that just your insecurity taking over? No, he was too good for you. Or was he exactly the right person for you? God, why did you always have to doubt everything? He was literally the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, and here you were, arguing with him because you thought he was flirting with a girl at a race.

“She was just a fan; she only wanted a picture,” the Spaniard defended himself for the third time.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, even though halfway through the argument, you realized you might be coming across as crazy. But you had to stick to your point; you couldn’t back down so easily.

Pepe didn’t see it the same way.

“Alright, think whatever you want, y/n,” he sighed, tired. “I’ve already told you what happened. When you calm down and want to talk, I’ll be in my room.”

He walked out of your room and into his, and you instantly regretted letting him go. You regretted starting the fight—regretted everything. Why did you have to punish him for your own insecurities? Why couldn’t you just be happy?

One cup of coffee and two episodes of Gossip Girl later, you knew you had to apologize. You hadn’t been fair to him; you almost never were. You didn’t know where he found the willpower to forgive you and stay with you when he could’ve left long ago. But you were grateful he stayed. You loved him.

When you knocked on his door, he answered in his pajamas and invited you in. The moment he closed the door behind you, you couldn’t hold back your words.

“I’m really sorry about what happened,” you began. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I… I never mean to hurt you or make you feel bad. It’s all me, really—it’s all in my head, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this to you. I don’t want to lose this with you.” Your nerves made you stutter, and seeing his furrowed brow made you even more nervous. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pepe didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into one of the hugs you loved so much.

“I know,” he said, kissing your head. “I know you’re sorry, and of course, I forgive you.” You let out a sigh of relief at his words. “I’ll always be yours, y/n. We’ll be okay, even if you go a little crazy sometimes.” You playfully hit his chest at that comment, and he laughed. “I know what’s going on with you, and I know it’s not your fault, but you’re everything I want. Even if you break my heart sometimes, I’m not going anywhere.”

He cupped your cheeks and sealed his words with a kiss full of reassurance.

Screw self-sabotaging—this was the real thing.

haiii for your spotify special thing can you pls do Fermin Lopez with #5 ☺️🤲

nothing happened in the way i wanted | fermin lopez

song; i miss you, i’m sorry - gracie abrams

part of the spotify wrapped special

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when everything fell apart, but you guessed it wasn’t a single moment. Instead, it was a series of things piling up on top of each other, making it increasingly difficult to sweep them under the rug.

Fermín and you, a little immature from the start, somehow worked. Two peas in a pod for as long as you could remember. Everyone cheered when you announced your relationship, just before Fermín signed with Barcelona. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that you were in love; maybe the only ones who didn’t realize it were the two of you. So, when you finally confirmed you were a couple, everyone who knew you was delighted.

However, being with someone for so long from such a young age almost always ends up being detrimental, and you two were no exception. At first, there weren’t really any problems. Both of you were young in Barcelona full of dreams. Fermín was starting his career at the club of his dreams, and you were beginning your studies at the university you had always wanted to attend. Whenever you could, you went to his matches to support him, and he always made an effort to take you on romantic dates.

But the honeymoon phase is only temporary, and the problems between you two began to surface as quickly as the changes in your lives.

“We’re forever, Y/N,” Fermín said one day after a fight in his apartment.

You were crying on the couch while he cleaned up the mess you had both made in the kitchen during the argument. Once he had calmed down enough, he came to comfort you for something he himself had caused.

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing your temple. “It’s you and me. This is just temporary.”

But it wasn’t temporary. If anything, the bad moments multiplied from then on. Both of you were anxious, on the verge of collapse. The pressure of performing well at Barcelona was overwhelming Fermín, and your university workload had you ready to explode—not to mention the loneliness you felt being so far from home.

There wasn’t a day that went by without the two of you fighting over the smallest things, and the cruelty of your words in anger haunted you both like ghosts after the storm had passed.

It was obvious to everyone who knew you that the best thing would be to end the relationship, but as always, the two of you were the last to realize it. The same people who had celebrated your relationship were now pleading with you to open your eyes and walk away.

In the end, they were right, and your relationship with Fermín came to an end.

Heartbroken and directionless, you decided to focus entirely on your studies. After all, you had to do something to keep yourself from thinking about the person you missed most in your life. Months later, just as you were about to receive an award for a research project you’d completed in one of your classes, you got a call from the last person you expected.

“Fermín?” you answered the phone, incredulous.

“Hey,” your ex-boyfriend’s voice came through the line. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but I heard you’re getting an award. I just wanted to congratulate you.”

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking in the sound of his voice after so many months of silence.

“Thanks. It’s just a small recognition,” you finally replied.

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

“I still think about you,” he whispered into the phone, so softly that you had to press it closer to your ear to catch the words. “I miss you, I’m sorry.”

Those five words felt like a punch to the chest. You’d tried so hard not to miss him that you hadn’t realized it was the only thing you truly felt.

“I miss you too,” you admitted. “Nothing happened in the way I wanted.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, but it was the least of your concerns.

“Me neither.”

“Do you maybe… I don’t know if you’re busy, but would you want to come to the ceremony? It’s short, maybe an hour,” you asked nervously. You’d never been nervous talking to Fermín before, but this felt like a special occasion.

On the other end of the line, he smiled, though you couldn’t see it.

“I’d love to.”

Lando Norris and 6!

something about him is made for somebody like me | lando norris

song; the boy is mine - ariana grande

a/n: anon let me tell you right now your mind is immaculate because i had a fic based on this exact song about lando but i didn’t ended up posting it howeverrrr i always had the idea to do something like this and you just made it possible so thank you 😽

part of the spotify wrapped special

You were never one for having many crushes. In fact, you could count on one hand the number of guys you’d liked, and you’d still have fingers left over. But Lando Norris? My God. You didn’t know what it was about him, but you were convinced you were destined to be together. He was made for you.

Of course, your feelings for Lando were your little secret. Outwardly, you had no intention of showing just how smitten you were. But back at your apartment at night, you’d consult your tarot cards, asking when the time would come for things to start falling into place. If your friends could see you, they would definitely be confused. Since when did you make such an effort for a guy? But they wouldn’t understand—Lando wasn’t just any guy.

Sometimes, it felt like your efforts paid off, like when Lando smiled at you in the paddock or greeted you casually.

“Hi, y/n,” he’d say, always with that mischievous grin that was so undeniably his.

He never skipped a greeting—not even on the days he had some model-of-the-month on his arm—but it never went further than that. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

It started innocently enough. You lit a candle for him and wrote letters, asking the universe to make him notice you the way you noticed him. Then, you began engaging him in casual conversations at the paddock before ignoring him for a couple of days, only to flash him a radiant smile as if nothing had happened. Not long after, Lando started bringing you fruit in the mornings to your workstation. You smiled to yourself—he’d never done that before.

One day, after a tough qualifying session that left him starting P11, you handed him a quartz crystal, saying it was for good luck. The next day, he won the race. Another time, you mentioned you’d light a candle for him, and he landed pole position. Lando started looking forward to your tokens or words of encouragement each weekend. And when you didn’t give him anything? Something always went wrong.

He began depending on you, convinced you were his good luck charm.

It wasn’t witchcraft, really. He was already a great driver—you just gave him a little boost of confidence, and he did the rest. But now, not a day went by when Lando didn’t scan the paddock for you as soon as he arrived. He began to miss you when you weren’t around. The endless stream of women in his Instagram DMs no longer mattered; the only woman who held his attention was you, and you always seemed preoccupied with everyone else but him.

It wasn’t just about luck anymore. Lando wanted to be around you all the time.

What was this feeling? And why did everything suddenly smell like vanilla and coconut?

Lando frowned when he finally spotted you, laughing with Oscar. Since when were you two friends? And why were you laughing so hard? There was no way the Australian was that funny, he thought. Jealousy coursed through his veins, and he had to restrain himself from dragging you to the most secluded corner of the paddock. Instead, he walked over to Oscar and casually informed him that Andrea was looking for him, leaving you and Lando alone.

“I was actually looking for you,” the Brit said, his expression serious.

You had to suppress a smile as you looked at him—furrowed brow, clenched fists, flushed cheeks. He was jealous. Another step in your plan was working perfectly.

“Well, you found me,” you replied innocently, flashing him a sweet smile.

Lando gave you a lopsided grin, studying you. You looked so soft and sweet—he wondered how you’d look in his bed. If only he knew.

“Nothing for good luck today?” he murmured. The air between you grew warmer, and you felt your cheeks flush under his intense, yearning gaze.

“I forgot to bring something,” you replied nonchalantly. “But I could draw some cards tonight if that would help you feel more confident.”

Lando shook his head, his eyes fixed on your lips.

“You and your witchy ways. They’re going to be the death of me,” he said, stepping closer until his face was just inches from yours.

“I’m not a witch,” you defended yourself, because you weren't. To your knowledge, at least.

The scent of vanilla and coconut flooded his senses, and he nearly groaned. Lately, he smelled it all the time. It took him a moment to realize it was just your perfume. Witch or not, Lando was utterly bewitched by you.

“Maybe something else?” he murmured, circling back to his earlier question. “Just a taste,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips, and you knew exactly what he meant.

You hid your smile, realizing you now held all the cards.

“Let’s do something,” you began. “Get pole position, and then I’ll see you in my room.”

He actually whined.

“Give me something now—for luck,” he pleaded.

You shook your head.

“After what I’ll do, you’re going to become world champion.”

You winked at him and Lando smirked mischievously, while you concealed your darkest desires behind your sweetest smile. The boy was finally yours.

max verstappen and 58

you’re just a man, it’s just what you do | max verstappen

song; norman fucking rockwell - lana del rey

part of the spotify wrapped special

Being a woman in motorsports was tough. Being anything other than a rich white man was especially difficult in motorsports, but of course, you couldn’t complain at all—that’s what everyone expected from you. Still, you couldn’t hide how hard it was that no one took your opinions seriously. Everyone expected you to give up, and when you did, they’d say it was obvious because “this is a man’s world.” No one expected much from you, and the anxiety of making even the smallest mistake haunted you, fearing they’d find an excuse to blame you. Meanwhile, no matter how many mistakes your colleagues made, they were never judged the same way.

It was a blessing to be an engineer for a prestigious team like Red Bull, but it was also challenging. Even so, you could say one of the positives of working in Red Bull's garage was their star driver, Max Verstappen. Of course, your attraction to Max was personal; if anyone found out you liked him, the typical misogynistic comments your colleagues loved to make would surely follow, comments you chose to ignore for the sake of your peace of mind.

But Max wasn’t like that.

Max didn’t care that you liked him, because he liked you too. Away from the paddock, when no one was watching, he enjoyed being with you. He loved making you laugh with his dry humor, seeing your eyes light up when you talked about something you were passionate about, kissing you while holding your face in his hands, waking up next to you in the same bed.

Of course, it was all a secret. Besides the fact that you worked together, you were a woman working in his garage—it's pretty obvious why. But even though the request to keep the relationship a secret came from you, Max didn’t go out of his way to hide his affection for you in front of others. He brought you coffee every morning or hugged you before anyone else when he won a race and everyone crowded the podium to congratulate him. Small gestures like those began to stir rumors among the other engineers, but since no one confirmed anything, they remained just that—rumors.

You knew workplace gossip could be a little damaging for you, but as you always did with that type of comments, you simply ignored them and focused on working, letting the championship-winning car speak for itself.

It wasn’t until one evening, when you stayed late working and were heading to the hotel, that you passed by the break room and heard your colleagues talking and laughing. You didn’t stop to listen to them—you stopped because of Max, who was there with them.

“No, but seriously, Verstappen. All those hugs and looks between you and Y/N—you’ve already gotten something, haven’t you?” one of the engineers asked Max, making your breath hitch.

“Of course he has, mate,” another engineer replied. “How else do you think she’s gotten as far as she has?”

Max said nothing for a few seconds, and you hoped he might defend you, but then you heard him laugh.

“A big step for women in motorsports,” he said. His voice sounded a bit uneasy, as if he didn’t know how to respond, but he still said something. And it was the wrong thing to say.

It’s just a comment, you repeated to yourself mentally. It’s just a comment. It’s just a comment. Then why did it feel like your heart was breaking into a thousand pieces? Why did you feel ready to go to war and confront every man on the team for all the misogyny you’d endured in the garage? Why did you feel tears falling down your cheeks—not of sadness, but of rage? Why did you feel betrayed?

In the end, you didn’t do any of the things you’d imagined. You simply turned around and returned to your hotel room, just as you’d originally planned. That night, when Max knocked on your door, you ignored him completely, not even bothering to answer when he asked why you weren’t opening or if you were already asleep. You didn’t want to see his face or hear his voice.

In the end, you remembered that Max, as incredible as he might be, was still a man. That’s what they do.

op81 and number between 1-100:56

can i ask you a question? | oscar piastri

song; question…? - taylor swift

part of the spotify wrapped special

You were a little bitter. Of course, you were. Just because you and Oscar had ended things didn’t mean he stopped being yours—at least not in your mind. And now, apparently, he had a new girlfriend? Not only that, but you had to spend time with her because you still shared the same friend group, and if Oscar invited her, everyone had to get along. After all, you weren’t about to stop being friends with your friends just because your relationship with Oscar ended. They were as much yours as they were his.

So here you were, downing one martini after another while listening to your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend chat with your friends and laugh at their jokes.

“Want to slow down with the martinis?” one of your oldest friends whispered in your ear.

“No,” you replied, taking another sip.

“If looks could kill…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but you got the hint and stopped glaring at her. “Why don’t you talk to her? Make conversation,” he suggested, and you shot him a disbelieving look.

Was he serious?

“Just kidding,” he chuckled. “But stop staring so much. Oscar’s already noticed.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you placed your hands over them to cool the heat.

“All good?” the familiar Australian accent of your ex-boyfriend made itself known. You turned to your right, the red and white lights of the bar doing little justice to his face.

“Yeah, we’re just talking,” you replied on behalf of both yourself and your friend.

“Are you drunk?” Oscar murmured. You frowned slightly—you didn’t feel like you were slurring your words or showing any signs of being tipsy. “When you touch your face like that, it means you’re drunk,” he pointed out, gesturing with his jaw toward your hands, still cooling your cheeks. You quickly removed them.

Of course, Oscar knew you perfectly.

“Can I ask you a question?” you said, turning fully to face him. Your other friend took it as his cue to leave.

“If it’s about her…”

“By ‘her,’ you mean your girlfriend?”

“Sure.”

“Have some decency, first of all. Call her by her name.” You didn’t want him to call her by her name—actually, you didn’t want him to call her anything at all—but you had to keep up appearances.

“Are you jealous?”

Well, so much for appearances.

A small, satisfied smile crept onto Oscar’s face, and you wanted to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

“Why did you bring her here if you don’t care about her?” You ignored his question and posed one of your own.

“Who says I don’t care?”

“I do,” you said. Oscar raised an eyebrow. Self-centered as ever, he thought. “You haven’t spoken to her the entire time you’ve been here. Since you arrived, I haven’t seen you talk to her more than twice. Our friends are the only ones bothering to engage with her.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took two steps closer to you.

“And why are you paying so much attention to what I’m doing?” His face was getting closer to yours, and your self-control was about to vanish.

“It’s impossible to talk to you.” You took two steps back, intending to walk to the other side of the table, but he grabbed your arm, stopping you.

“Ask the question I know you want to ask,” he said. When you stayed silent, debating whether to actually ask it or not, he spoke again. “Fine, I’ll answer it anyway.” You looked up at him expectantly, the bar around you fading into a low hum.

“I wish I had fought harder when we broke up, done something to convince you to stay. I wish I could touch you, talk to you every day—not as friends, but as what we’ve always been. I’m jealous of every guy you’ve dated since we broke up, even though I know you only go out with them to make me jealous and don’t actually care about them. Every time I see them touch you in the slightest way, I want to rip their hands off because they get to do what I no longer can.”

You were about to protest that you didn’t date guys just to make him jealous—you did, but he didn’t need to know that—but he didn’t let you interrupt.

“I haven’t gotten over you, and I’m not sure I ever will.”

You blinked once, twice, three times as he finished speaking.

“Does that answer your question?”

Two more blinks.

“Break up with her and come to my place.”

jude Bellingham and number 33

i love you, i’m sorry | jude bellingham

song; i love you, i’m sorry - gracie abrams

part of the spotify wrapped special

You weren’t an easy person to be in a relationship with. But Jude was even less so. A relationship between the two most complicated people on the planet was exactly what neither of you needed, yet it was what you both found yourselves in.

A long time ago, you promised yourself you wouldn’t end up in a toxic relationship. You had seen too many examples not to recognize the signs and know when to stay and when to walk away. So, when you started noticing that the dynamic with Jude was shifting into something more harmful, you decided to put a stop to it.

“Either you change your attitude, or we’re done,” you told him one day when he was arguing with you over some petty nonsense.

Jude didn’t like that.

You didn’t like that he always had an opinion about you, and he didn’t like that you acted as though the world revolved around you. You’d tell him you didn’t think that way, and he’d always reply that you made everything about yourself.

“You always think everything is about you. It’s always about you. Stop being so selfish for a second.”

You didn’t like that either.

There was no winning for either of you. When you argued, you both lost, and you were tired of losing. So was he. When you told him you were going back to your place, he let you. But weeks later, you forgot to mention that you were leaving the country. He found out through a friend of your best friend and called you when you were already on the other side of the world.

“You could’ve told me,” he said over the phone, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“We had broken up,” you replied.

It was funny—you hadn’t thought about Jude the entire time since you moved, but one call from him, and now you couldn’t get him out of your head. You had truly loved him to your core, but you weren’t compatible. You simply weren’t. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

Two years later, you saw him for the first time in a long time. He was on vacation in the city where you now lived, and he sent you a message saying he was nearby and inviting you out for coffee. And how could you deny Jude a coffee?

The conversation wasn’t awkward or profound. It felt like you’d been teleported two years back to when you were still a couple, just talking about your day or your upcoming projects. You spoke with the familiarity of former lovers, though you no longer were.

A few hours after seeing him, when you were back comfortably in your apartment, you saw your phone screen lightning with a text message from him.

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

You frowned and wanted to throw your phone out the window because you knew exactly what he meant—and you felt the same. Jude was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to you, but you had loved him first. You knew you were a dick when you were with him—though he had been one too—and it frustrated you to think that maybe, if you’d met at this point in life, if you’d met two years later, it might have worked.

hey lovely, just wanted to send something in for your spotify wrapped blurbs that your doing so i'll say my current driver obsession mr oscar piastri and number 21 since that's how old i just turned <3 please and thank you of course, love your work always <3

too soon to tell you “i love you” | oscar piastri

song; risk - gracie abrams

a/n: happy birthday love!! and thank you so much! i hope you like this (finally some fluff)🤍

part of the spotify wrapped special

It had been a long time since you'd gone out with a guy you genuinely liked and thought was worth it. Lately, all the men you met were either a bit idiotic and obsessed with talking about paddle (since when did the male species decide that paddle was cool?) or mansplaining how crypto worked and why they were convinced they'd be millionaires by 25 (okay? I guess).

Oscar was the exception.

You met him when you started working at McLaren as part of the photography team. Your job mainly involved taking pictures of him and Lando, though your camera held far more photos of the Australian driver than the Brit. You knew he’d had a girlfriend with whom things hadn’t worked out, and you were aware it was a bit risky to pursue something with him since you both worked at McLaren. But you couldn’t ignore the smile on his face when he realized it was you behind the camera or how he spent more time talking to you than anyone else in the paddock.

Though Oscar also talked a bit about paddle (you still didn’t understand why they didn’t just play tennis), you didn’t mind listening when it was him. You could listen to him talk for hours and never get tired of it. Not that this would ever happen—Oscar wasn’t the type to talk excessively. Still, sometimes you just liked watching him. He was that handsome, at least in your eyes.

You didn’t know exactly what it was about Oscar that others didn’t have—or maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t liked anyone in so long—but your attraction to him evolved into something similar to a teenage crush. When he texted you, you’d get excited, and you blushed every time he told you you looked pretty. Your best friend wouldn’t stop teasing you about it.

Sometimes, you wondered if this was a mistake, if it was a red flag to feel so much for Oscar so quickly. But then his fingers would brush against yours when you talked, or he’d tuck a strand of hair behind your ear to see your face better, and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild.

"I like you a lot," Oscar said out of nowhere one day as you watched the sunset from a lookout point. "I don’t know if this is a risk, but I’d take it for you." He hadn’t looked into your eyes when he said it, but his hand had moved closer to yours, and you could feel the warmth of his fingertips on your knuckles.

“I don’t care if it’s a risk or not,” you replied.

That was your first night together. The next morning, you woke up to a bouquet of fresh flowers next to your bed and Oscar without a t-shirt, making breakfast.

Was it too soon to tell him you loved him? Probably. Even though you felt it in every vein of your body, you held back the words and simply gave him a slow, lazy morning kiss.

God, you were truly invested in this. If it ended up being a mistake, it would definitely be your favorite mistake. There was no turning back now.

oscar piastri & 3 🧡

did i fall out of line when i called you? | oscar piastri

song; mess it up - gracie abrams

part of the spotify wrapped special

Every time Oscar got too close, he messed it up.

But it was okay; you forgave him because he was Oscar. Oscar, who had commitment issues. Oscar, who was trying hard to have a lasting relationship with you. Oscar, who loved you deeply. But you also knew he was Oscar, who couldn’t have something good without ruining it.

The day he asked you to be his girlfriend, and you said yes, he went to a club to celebrate and ended up fighting a man who had simply asked you where the bathroom was, thinking the man was flirting with you. He ended the night with a split eyebrow and a broken nose.

The day he was supposed to meet your parents, he got so nervous that he drank too much whiskey and fell asleep, missing lunch with your parents and disappointing you in the process.

The first time you went to watch one of his races in person, anxiety got the best of him, and he didn’t pick you up on the way to the airport, using the excuse that he “forgot.” You knew he hadn’t forgotten—he had simply chickened out and was too coward to admit the truth.

Still, you forgave him every time.

It was just a few hours were left until an event McLaren was hosting with one of its sponsors, and Oscar had begged you to accompany him. It didn’t take much convincing for you to agree. But something felt off; something didn’t feel right.

When Oscar suddenly stopped replying to your messages, you got worried. Early in the relationship, it happened more often—he wasn’t used to having a girlfriend, so he wasn’t used to replying to messages. It was one of the many conversations where you had to remind him that you didn’t care if he didn’t reply instantly; you knew he was a busy man. But he couldn’t go four days without responding and then show up as if nothing had happened. After that talk, his communication improved.

With less than thirty minutes left before your boyfriend was supposed to pick you up for the event, and no sign of him, you knew—without him even saying it—that he had once again changed his mind about taking you, and you wouldn’t be attending the event that night. You looked at your reflection in the mirror: the beautiful long white dress you had bought specifically for the occasion and the elegant silver jewelry adorning your neck—all for nothing.

When it became obvious Oscar wasn’t coming, you took everything off, put on your pajamas, crawled under the covers, and turned on your computer to watch a movie. At some point during the night, you checked Instagram and came across the worst thing you could’ve seen. A video of your boyfriend at the event’s afterparty, dancing with a girl who was definitely not you.

Technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong—he hadn’t kissed her or slept with her. But the feeling of betrayal consumed you entirely and settled deep inside.

It was over.

Months had passed since the breakup, and Oscar couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You were his favorite thought whenever he didn’t have to use his brain power—while waiting in line for coffee, while driving from home to the MTC, when turning off the lights and trying to sleep. He thought about you and how much he missed you.

He knew there were many things you had forgiven him for that you didn’t have to. And he also knew that the one thing you hadn’t forgiven him for was what he regretted the most. Nothing had happened with the girl in the video—they’d only danced a couple of songs. But afterward, he felt dirty and missed you.

When he arrived at your place, he was shocked to see you crying and then shocked at how quickly your tears turned into angry shouts. You ended things, throwing him out of your apartment.

But tonight, he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to hear your voice and see you. He knew if he showed up at your place, you wouldn’t open the door. So, he settled for the second-best thing and called you.

Did he cross the line? Was it too soon? He knew the answer was yes when you didn’t answer his call. And when he called again, it went straight to voicemail.

The third-best thing, then.

Oscar opened your chat, the one he had neglected far too often but now couldn’t stop staring at, remembering the goodnight messages you used to send him and the ones wishing him luck in his races.

“I know I wasn’t a good boyfriend at all, and I know I don’t deserve you in any way, but I miss you. You made me a better person and a better man. I know every time something good happened between us, I managed to ruin it one way or another, and I’m truly sorry. But I also feel like if you let me back in, we can make it better. I can do better. I’ve improved my habits, and I’ve pulled myself back together. I’m so sorry for all the times I hurt you. I want to show you I’m not the same person as before. Please, give me one more chance.

I love you.”

Send.

Hiii! How are you? 🩷🩷

For your Spotify challenge maybe Daniel Ricciardo and number 25?

Lots of love!!!

i know it won’t work | daniel ricciardo

song; i know it won’t work - gracie abrams

part of the spotify wrapped special

The situation with Daniel was never complicated, but it wasn’t simple either.

You were soulmates, the love of each other’s lives, written in the stars according to what a witch had told you during a visit to New Orleans. You belonged together, tied by an invisible red thread. But as you both grew older, the red thread stretched during your long-distance relationship—while he traveled the world, and you stayed in the same city—and it tangled in the lies and the words left unsaid.

Two people so destined to be together ended up going their separate ways. And you two were no exception. Even though you always found a way back to each other—because, well, you still had that invisible red thread tied to your fingers—you also always found a way to break apart.

“I feel like we haven’t grown since we started dating,” Daniel said one random Wednesday while you were making dinner and he fiddled with the straps on his wristwatch.

That comment triggered a fight that led to yet another breakup. You thought that if you hadn’t matured since your teenage years, it wasn’t your fault, and he claimed you always assumed the worst about him. You finished cooking dinner and told him you were going to your best friend’s house. He didn’t stop you.

Somehow, the air felt different that night.

Months later, you found yourself forced to return to the apartment you had shared and abandoned in a fit of anger. While you had already retrieved most of your belongings, too much time had passed since you left the rest behind. Daniel opened the door.

“I just need to grab my things,” you said, brushing past him quickly.

You didn’t want to look at him, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him either. The familiar scent of his cologne filled your nose, and you wanted nothing more than to lie against his chest, the way you used to when all you wanted was to feel close to him.

When you reached the bedroom, you saw your side of the closet was still empty, while half of his clothes remained in suitcases. Why hasn’t he unpacked his clothes?

“I’m waiting for you to come back,” he answered the unspoken question.

You turned to look at him leaning against the doorframe, his expression a puzzle you couldn’t help but try to solve.

“I miss you,” his eyes blinked.

“I feel different,” your gaze responded.

Because you did. This time felt different. Why couldn’t you just go back to how things used to be? Why had insecurities suddenly taken hold of your mind? Were you worth the time and energy both of you had been fighting for? Was he?

“Why are you so sure I’ll come back?” you finally asked.

One look at his face was all it took to know that this time, both of you felt different.

Part of you wanted to walk away until he understood, but part of you wanted to stay. And you began to question how much you valued your dignity against the love of your life. How many people can say they love someone the way you love Daniel, and the way he loves you? How many people can say they have a love like yours? How many great loves does one get in a lifetime? You know Daniel is yours, but is he the only one?

If you leave now, will there ever be someone else?

But deep down, you also knew that even if you left, even if he left, neither of you would truly be gone from each other’s lives. You were tied together, written in the stars, and all that.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “But I’d like you to.”

Part of you really wanted to stay, but you knew it doesn’t work like that.

sainz (55) blurb based on your most listened songs on Spotify?

also, love your writing! muchas gracias for the efforts you take to fuel ours and your delusions! sending love and hugs! <3 💌🫂

it’s normal if you feel alone and you miss me | carlos sainz

song; normal - feid

a/n: thank you so much! i’m happy to hear my delusions are being well received and i’ll continue to deliver🤭 <3

part of the spotify wrapped special

In all honesty, you shouldn’t have used Carlos the way you did. But in your defense, you were a bit broken when you met him, and it clearly wasn’t his fault. Maybe Carlos was just in the right place at the right time, while you were in the wrong place.

You also knew it wasn’t fair to give only half of yourself while he gave his all in a relationship that was born out of your desire to forget your ex. You had told him you were over him when, deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. But Carlos was a gentleman, he was beautiful—the kind of man you’d always wanted. Only, you weren’t ready. And you weren’t a good girlfriend at all.

The lies, the late-night escapades, the jealousy, and the fights were the catalyst for the end of a relationship that had been doomed from the start.

You felt awful when you had to say goodbye to Carlos, while his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Little by little, after the breakup, you began to realize how much Carlos meant to you. How much you missed hearing his voice when you came home after a long day, or how you loved running your fingers through his soft hair while watching TV, or the simple fact of being able to talk to him every day, knowing he’d always be there to listen to you, and you to him.

You hadn’t realized that in the process of trying to forget your ex with Carlos, you had fallen in love with him—and lost him, too.

He missed you, that was clear. But forgiving you after how you treated him was hard. And could you really blame him? You weren’t the person you should’ve been, the girlfriend he deserved.

You needed to see him again, to apologize, to ask him to come back. It started with convincing your friends to go clubbing on the weekends—then the next weekend, and the one after that—all in the hope that, by chance, Carlos might walk into the same club. Your friends noticed your intentions but chose not to intervene, simply accompanying you to the nights out. When they grew tired of going out every weekend, you reached out to other friends to keep the cycle going.

One weekend in particular, while doing your makeup, you stumbled upon a photo of Carlos in Los Cabos with his friends and a group of girls you’d never seen before. The emptiness in your chest stole your breath for one, two, three seconds before you snapped back to reality. He was enjoying his life in Los Cabos while you were still here, putting on makeup for yet another night out—a routine that had become too familiar.

You ignored the sinking feeling and finished your makeup. This time, you weren’t going to the club hoping to see Carlos for the first time in weeks; this time, you were going in the hopes of forgetting him.

But your brain and heart had other plans. You felt lonely and missed him, and you accidentally called the guy you were dancing with "Carlos" as he offered you one tequila shot after another. You drank just to avoid feeling sad about missing him, though tears still slipped down your cheeks as you remembered the photo you’d seen hours earlier. The guy wiped them away gently as he continued dancing close to you.

The club was too hot, with no room to breathe, and you felt alone—you just had to get out of there. When you finally managed to separate yourself from the guy, you stepped outside for fresh air. And though you didn’t realize it at the moment, all those tequila shots had taken their toll, and you decided that calling your ex-boyfriend was a good idea.

After five rings, the call went to voicemail—until the familiar deep voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Carlos,” you slurred, a drunken smile on your face.

“Y/n? What’s going on?”

You took a few seconds to respond. What was going on? You missed him, thought about him all the time, wanted him back.

“I was thinking about you,” you simply said.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, his tone a bit more alert now.

“Why did you disappear all of a sudden?” You ignored his question. “What happened to us?” When Carlos didn’t answer, you spoke again. “I miss you. And I’m sorry.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” God, how you missed his voice. “You look happy in your photos. Why are you telling me this when you’re drunk? Why are you telling me this when I’m moving on?”

The tears didn’t take long to fall down your cheeks. Each word he said was like a little dagger to your heart, and you wanted to apologize in every language, to scream it at the top of your lungs, but all you could do was cry silently as he grew angrier with you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated, crying. “I love you, and I miss you, and I’m sorry.”

The silence on the other end made you check if Carlos had hung up, but he was still there.

“I hope you feel what I felt throughout our entire relationship, Y/n. And I hope you never make anyone else go through what I went through with you.”

Finally, the line went dead.

richard rios and 98!!! 😁

save your tears for another day | richard rios

song; save your tears (remix) - the weeknd ft. ariana grande

part of the spotify wrapped special

Your relationship with Richard was always tumultuous, to say the least—if not outright toxic. The good days were amazing; he treated you like an absolute princess, you laughed at the same jokes, and you were perfectly in sync. But the bad days were terrible. The fights got so out of hand that the neighbors had called the police a couple of times, knocking on the door of the apartment you shared in São Paulo. Richard would always leave without giving you an explanation—he’d simply run away, leaving you with your heart in your hand and tears threatening to fall.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when things began to fall apart for you two. Maybe it was the pressure of his career, the monotony of the relationship, or the fact that things were getting too serious too fast. But after one particularly heated argument, you knew it was time to leave. You took advantage of the fact that—like always—Richard had walked out instead of facing the issue and packed your bags. You would’ve liked to say goodbye to him; after all, you loved him. But he was gone, and you were still there. And you knew that maybe someday you’d have to see him again. So, just like him, you left.

Now, months after the breakup, Richard couldn’t take his eyes off you as he watched you dance in the middle of the floor at the exclusive São Paulo nightclub you both happened to end up in. Out of all the nightlife spots in the entire city, the two of you had to wind up in the same one. If you’d seen him, you gave no sign of it, so he kept watching. You looked incredibly happy with your friends, dancing to the rhythm of the music and sipping gin and tonics like always. You looked incredibly happy without him. The blinding lights highlighted the sparkle of your smile as you laughed at something your friends said, and Richard found himself smiling too, caught up in the glow of your happiness.

But the feeling of being watched crept up on you like tiny ants, and you turned your head toward the eyes that hadn’t left your figure since the moment you walked into the club.

And you saw him.

His unmistakable honey-colored eyes stared at you so intently that you felt a pressure in your chest. It was the first time you’d seen him in months. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the intensity of the moment, but you felt a single, treacherous tear slide down your cheek—and Richard’s heart broke a little when he saw it.

Despite the months of no contact, for some reason, Richard still held onto the hope of getting you back. He hoped you’d give him another chance to prove he’d changed, that he understood how much of an idiot he’d been when he was with you, that he’d taken his frustrations out on you unfairly, that he’d never run away from you again. He wanted to tell you all of this with his gaze, across the crowded club full of people who had no idea that, for a moment, the only two people in the world were the two of you.

You quickly wiped the tear from your cheek, breaking eye contact with him and taking away the privilege of letting him say all of that without words. And you did what you’d always hated about him but had now mastered yourself.

You ran away.

Richard realized it was too late. He’d lost you. You deserved someone better.

spotify wrapped special

send me a driver/football player (anyone from this list) and a number from 1 to 100 and i’ll write a short blurb or smau based on the song from my most listened songs in spotify this year <3

MASTERLIST

MAX VERSTAPPEN

you’re just a man, it’s just what you do

CHARLES LECLERC

i got cursed like eve got bitten

CARLOS SAINZ

i can fix him (no really i can)

it’s normal if you feel alone and you miss me

LANDO NORRIS

something about him is made for somebody like me

OSCAR PIASTRI

can i ask you a question?

too soon to tell you “i love you”

did i fall out of line when i called you?

DANIEL RICCIARDO

i know it won't work

PEPE MARTI

why’d i have to break what i love so much?

JUDE BELLINGHAM

i love you, i’m sorry

JULIAN ALVAREZ

there’s only one cure for heartbreak

FERMIN LOPEZ

nothing happened in the way i wanted

RICHARD RIOS

save your tears for another day