honeyhyunn - Tumblr blog

honeyhyunn · 3 days ago

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☆ I want the one that I can have - OP81 x reader.

summary: broke skysports intern stumbles into the glamorous chaos of F1, only to fall for a driver she was never supposed to love — and lose almost everything for daring to be happy.

warnings: curse words. reader is said to be britsh/or live in london.

genre: fluffy and angst (I tried gut wrenching angst, but I'm very bad at it in english).

-> not proof-read, please excuse my grammatical mistakes.

author's notes: english isn't my first language. also, I refer to Lily (Oscar's partner) as an ex gf in this story, but I do NOT (and never will) put her or any other driver's partner as a "villain" type of character.

taglist: @jenxjar @devilacot @ketsuekiakane @seokjamz @ohwhoisyou-rubyjane

♪ Heaven knows I'm miserable now - The Smiths

liked by 105 users

yn First day as an intern. Took a 9-hour train to Spain. Pretty sure it was the first time the paddock saw a woman who wasn’t a walking beauty. Just vibes and under-eye bags. Anyway, solid experience. Fingers crossed they actually hire me and not just for coffee runs.

yourbff i pray they never see your anti capitalism posts on twitter 🙏🏻 yn on God they will not

yourbestie it's only press conference day and you're already this tired sis yn i need to get paid without having to work asap

yourbff Please stay in this job so we can get free paddock pass... yn so you can live your fanfiction fantasies with sir lewis hamilton (also, i'm only a intern girl yourbff ofc?

yn posted a story "morning with mclaren, these guys look more tired than i am rn and i've been up since 5 a.m running coffee cups to everyone in this room (i dont even work for this many people)"

replies

yourbestie lando norris looks cute in real life too? yn he is lol yn oscar too, he's very well manered actually. yn really polite yourbestie what did he help you with something and now you think he's a gentleman? yn noooo stop yn i'm just saying yn i didnt think much of it, he's just cute. yourbestie mmmmhm

liked by 1,002 users

yn back in london. can’t believe i’m off to the capitalist fever dream that is monaco next week — literally the gucci showroom of countries. thank god the company’s footing the bill, cos i’d rather sell a kidney than pay for that. been grinding non-stop, full andy-from-devil-wears-prada mode (thruthers know the pain fr). used the whole 9 hours in the train to re-read whutering heights (happiest hours of my week). also, why did i gain like a 1000 followers more? whatever sure

user you're too funny to not follow, finally some girl that looks relatable on the paddock! yn should i take this as a compliment? idk

yourbff i fear you're becoming every teenage girl's obsessed with f1 role model yn yeah, just saw someone saying i'm average 🙏🏻 what kind of compliment is dis

yourbestie at least try to enjoy monaco! yn for legal reasons i can only say i'm gonna work really hard

user new paddock diva? user Whos her? user journalism intern at skysports, i think.

yn posted a story "screamed tax system just to scare the locals. this place is dystopian"

yn posted a story "trying a different style today."

replies

yourbff you're so pretty!! how's the day going? yn awful. gonna kill myself <3 yn actually, gonna kill myself in front of these men and change the trajectories of their lifes forever <3 yourbff what did they do now yn 1. keep me asking things like "bring me water, please". 2. doesnt listen to me when i say the replies aint good enough to have a scoop. yourbff let's kill them, hon yn ofc yourbff and what about the so called well manered oscar piastri yn still well manered. yourbff and why isn't you shooting your shoot? yn you know i'm not supposed to yn and also, what do we have in common for me to even consider it? yourbff both well manered people? yn this is nonsense. we're from two world aparts yn it's just a silly crush yourbff whatever you say babygirl

SkySports posted a video on Youtube

[00:00] – “Intro Chaos & Existential Crisis”

Yn: Right then... here we are. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll survive this—I’m not exactly overflowing with charisma, am I? [laughs] Okay, 3, 2, 1... [claps to sync audio]

[SkySports intro plays]

[00:08] – “The Intern Has Arrived”

Yn: Hello, everyone! Spot anything different today? That’s right—our usual Formula 1 correspondent couldn’t make it, so I’ve been thrown in. Temporarily, of course. You know how companies love giving interns the most absurd tasks... [Camera pans to the director, who chuckles at the chaos]

[00:22] – “Mission: Improbable”

Yn: So, what’s on the agenda? We’re getting a cheeky behind-the-scenes look at McLaren’s garage here at the Monaco Grand Prix. [Yn spins around aimlessly] But how am I meant to do this? I don’t work here, I don’t know anyone... [pretends to panic] Wait—who’s going to help me?

[00:35] – “Enter: The Hero”

Lando Norris: Did someone say... help? [He steps in from behind the camera, smiling sheepishly, clearly aware the intro was a bit much]

Yn: Oh my days—is that Lando Norris?! Could you sign this tiny little piece of paper for me? [Pulls out a comically oversized sheet. He laughs. Camera zooms in as she deadpans to the lens] I’m not paid nearly enough for this.

Lando Norris: Me neither. [Camera pans back to Yn, still staring into it] Oh wait... that’s not true, is it? [laughs]

[00:55] – “Garage Tour Begins”

[Montage begins: Lando gives Yn a tour of the garage. They walk past engineers, tyre stacks, telemetry screens, and the orange-coloured car itself. He explains the layout, prep for race day, and lets her peek at the strategy board—well, the bits that aren’t top secret.]

[01:40] – “Desk Drama & A Curious Question”

Lando Norris: This is where I usually sit. Tidy, isn’t it? I like to keep things in order—makes me feel like I’ve got my life together.

Yn: It’s suspiciously clean.

Lando: It’s called professionalism.

Yn: That's shady..

[They walk past Oscar’s station, which is a little messy]

Yn: And this disaster zone?

Lando: Oscar’s desk. He calls it “creative flow.”

[Yn glances around, then lowers her voice shyly]

Yn: And where’s Oscar?

[Lando pauses, turns to look at her with that slow, knowing smirk—the kind that says “I see what you’re doing” without saying a word.]

Lando: Oh... he’s around. Probably doing some content too. You’ve got a bit of a soft spot for him, haven’t you?

[Yn’s cheeks flush. She fumbles with her mic cable.]

Yn: Can we cut that bit? Please? [She turns to the director, who gives a thumbs up. Lando bursts out laughing]

Lando: That’s going in the bloopers reel.

[02:55] – “The Papaya Reveal”

Lando Norris: So, Miss Yn... who are you backing tomorrow? [Camera zooms in—he’s genuinely curious]

Yn: I don’t think I’m allowed to say... can I? [Turns to the director off-camera. He nods. She looks betrayed]

Lando Norris: You heard the boss. [chuckles]

Yn: Fine... I’m a papaya. [Pulls out a glittery tiara with a tiny papaya on top. Lando stares blankly]

Lando Norris: Still you’ve got to pick — me or Oscar! [He says, mock-offended]

Yn: Lando, it’s been lovely. Thank you for your time and all your hard work. Wishing you the best result tomorrow. [She’s clearly trying to wrap things up. He clicks his tongue]

Lando Norris: Oh no — you’ve got the Piastri fever. [He bursts out laughing. Yn blushes] Was it the charming Aussie accent that won you over?

[04:05] – “Outro & Chaos”

Yn: Right, folks—that’s all for today’s video. SkySports hopes you enjoyed it. [Lando’s still laughing in the background as the director calls “cut”]

yn posted a story "let's enjoy Monaco, but before, have y'all watched Skysports newest YT video? please watch, miss girl right here wants a raise!"

stories seen by oscarpiastri

replies

yourbestie No cause why is lando such a cutie? yourbestie Enjoy your free time, honey!!! Love you xx yn yessss! he's actually super fun to be around... yourbestie he's also aware of your little crush on oscar piastri lmao yn this part made to the cut? oh god yn I dont have a crush yn oscar is just a very likeable person. and in this f1 thing this is the nicest compliment someone can get

lando started following you

lando found you 🙄 yn oh, hi? yn what brings you here? lando you? of course yn 🙄 yn do you always flirt with journalists? lando ain't you like a intern or sumn lando also, i'm not flirting you muppet yn oh lando just wanted to invite you for our team's comemoration after the race tomorrow yn and how do you guys know it's gonna end up with a win for mclaren? yn kinda sus lando i dont know? just wanted to make sure to invite you. idk if i'll see you tomorrow before the race yn i'll be covering around williams's garage 🤷🏻‍♀️ lando so what do you say yn i'll think about it lando dont miss it

yn posted a stories "i could get used to this sweet easy life. off to today's race! #monacogp"

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lando thought about it or nah yn i'll go 🙄 yn but only for a while, i need to get back to london asap lando why? yn some of us has real jobs you know lando just put your name on the list lando if you dont go, oscar will be upset yn and why would he ? lando well yn ?

yn posted a story "congrats, oscarpiastri and lando!"

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yourbff You are partying with mclaren employees? yn got invited, couldnt deny!!! yourbff mmmmmmhm yn what now yourbff just have fun bb!

oscarpiastri thank you, yn! your support means a lot to me. yn oh hi oscarpiastri lando said it took a while to convince you to come with us. why? yn well, i need to get back to london asap yn plus... it's seems like i'm favouring mclaren, which is not fair oscapiastri fair enough oscarpiastri when are we ever meeting again? yn hm? for what? oscarpiastri ouch yn hahaha sorry, i just tend to shield myself yn we are seeing each other next week... canada oscarpiastri good

oscarpiastri started following you

liked by yourbff, yourbestie and 10,222 users

yn monaco race weekend? over. and now i’ve got this weird lil taste in my mouth that’s screaming “you’ll never afford this again, bestie.” like fr, even the tap water felt designer. being a broke uni girl in a hermes-coded country is actually a psychological thriller.

also... filmed my first ever content for skysports?? shoutout to the director who looked at my under-eye bags and said “yes, she’s the one.” love u king.

and idk what’s going on but i’ve been gaining loads of new followers?? maybe it’s the chaos. maybe it’s the paddock crush conspiracy(... i do not wish to disclose that). maybe it’s just the fact that i'm thaaaaaaat beetch

anywayyy, canada next week. expect maple syrup lickers, existential dread, and me pretending i know what a downforce is.

xoxo, your favourite unpaid (i'm actually paid) intern 🫶

yourbestie you're truly the princess of the people babes yn so you're my queen then? yourbestie worse. i'm your prime minister 😉

yourbff Beautiful girl, beautiful problems! yn well, yes! yourbff i couldn't believe my eyes when you said "guys i can't connect to the wifi here IN MONACO" yn first and last time you'll see me having such white people problems!

user Loved your content with Lando!! you're so fun, girl...!

user I really wish Skysports do and "A day in the XXX garage with our intern" with all the teams... yn 👀👀

oscarpiastri Well what if I invited you to Monaco, then? yn I don't wanna disclose that oscarpiastri Lot's of things you don't want to disclose, Miss Yn...

user are we seeing the Oscar Piastri interacting with someone?

yn posted a story "missed my favourite pub in london!"

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oscarpiastri you look freely yn thats bc i'm home, iguesssssss oscarpiastri so working makes you too tense yn sometimes, yeah yn it's hard to focus oscarpiastri i wonder why yn stop. i said i'm not disclosing my tiny little crush on you! oscarpiastri never said anything about it! yn i know you must be giggling and shit yn i can feel... oscarpiastri ok you got me oscarpiastri you're cool, yn. should acknowlege that some times. yn i also think i'm cool yn it's just that we live two worlds apart yn you're kind of a celebrity crush for me oscapiastri that's a shame. i may have a very real crush on you yn oh why oscarpiastri ? first of all you're beautiful as fuck oscarpiastri melbourne, april... a really cute girl just happens to keep looking at me during press conference. what should i do about it? yn she's such a creep oscarpiastri so i'll sentence her to go on a date with me. read

yourbestie Missed you soooo much yn Help. yourbestie Oh Oh. what happned? yn oscar piastri said we should go on a date yourbestie and what's bad about it? yourbestie you like him yn no. it's the worst thing that could happen. yn but we’re never going to work as a couple, are we? i know i’m thinking way too far ahead. it’s just a date, there’s no relationship in this. but what if something does happen? he lives in monaco, the most ridiculously expensive city in the world, and i live in the suburbs of london. i’m an intern. what am i supposed to give him for valentine’s day? a handwritten playlist and a meal deal? yn i shouldn’t go on a date with him and experience things i know will only ever be a glimpse. a taste of something i’ll never truly have. it’s not fair. not to me, not to whatever this is. i don’t want to feel this way about someone who lives in a world so far from mine. yn also, are we set a date in mcdonalds? thats the only place we could possibly go tgt yourbestie i think you’re overthinking it. you deserve to be happy, you know? he knows you come from different worlds, and still he wants to see you. he chose to go out with you. he flirted with you publicly on insta, didn’t he? i’m sure he doesn’t care about any of that. not the money, not the status. he just wants you. yn i cant... yourbestie let's chat tomorrow, i think you just had too much beer

yn posted a story "going to canada with my all time favourite: whutering heights"

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oscarpiastri we could've gone together, yn yn why would fly commercial oscarpiastri so you finally replied, then yn i do reply? always oscarpiastri not my invite, tho yn ohhh let's just oscarpiastri i'd save a seat for you for when we come back but i cant really stop by london just to drop you yn you really do not have to, oscar. it's okay! company expenses haha oscarpiastri wait i was about to invite you to stay with me in monaco yn i'm flattered, oscar, but i cannot accept this. sorry. oscarpiastri why? read

yn posted a story "Montreal - Canada 📍"

SkySports posted a video on Youtube

[00:00] – “Intro: Intern Chronicles Pt. 2”

Yn: Right. Back again. Mercedes this time. I’ve had three hours of sleep, one oat latte and a dream. Let’s go. [claps to sync audio]

[SkySports intro plays.]

[00:07] – “Thrown to the Wolves (Again)”

Yn: Hello, internet. Our usual F1 correspondent is off doing something glamorous, so they sent me. Again. I’m the intern. I don’t know why they keep doing this. I’m not even allowed near the espresso machine.

[Camera pans to a mechanic who subtly moves a torque wrench away from her]

[00:20] – “Enter: Kimi Antonelli”

Yn: And look who we’ve got—Kimi Antonelli. Literal child prodigy. I feel like I should ask for his autograph and a chance to do his maths lesson.

Kimi: I don’t do maths on weekends.

Yn: Fair enough. I don’t do anything on weekends.

[00:35] – “George Russell Materialises”

George: Heard the intern was back. Thought I’d come supervise.

Yn: You mean sabotage?

[01:00] – “Garage Tour (Pretending to Know Things)”

[Montage: Kimi and George show Yn around. She nods at things she doesn’t understand. George explains tyre strategy. Kimi points at a simulator. Yn touches a button and gets yelled at.]

Yn: I’m learning so much. Mostly what not to touch.

[02:15] – “The Crush Question Escalates. (Again)”

George: So... we’ve all seen the McLaren video. You and Oscar, huh?

Yn: [visibly panicking] Oh my God. That made the cut?

George: Not just the cut. Lando sent it out in the drivers group chat.

Yn: I’m going to evaporate. Right here. On camera.

Kimi: I thought it was sweet, though.

Yn: I don’t have a crush! [laughs]

George: That’s not what we see!

Yn: [turns to director] Can we cut this entire segment?

Director: [off-camera] Absolutely not.

George: Honestly, we think that you should let me play cupid. [Uses a fake serious voice tone]

[03:20] – “The Reveal”

George: So, Yn... who are you backing tomorrow?

Yn: I’m not allowed to say, am I? [turns to director. He shrugs]

Kimi: That’s a yes.

Yn: Fine. Of couse I'm with Mercedes! [pulls out a glittery badge with the Mercedes logo]

George: That’s suspiciously diplomatic, you said the same about Mclaren in Monaco!

Yn: I’m trying to keep my job.

George: You’ve already lost your dignity. Might as well pick a side.

[04:00] – “Outro & Existential Reflection”

Yn: Right, folks — that’s all for today’s video. Hope you enjoyed this chaotic tour. I’ll be back... if HR doesn’t fire me. [George and Kimi wave in the background.]

George: You survived!

Yn: I’m adding that to my CV.

[Director calls “cut” as Yn sighs dramatically and mutters something about needing a raise].

comments

ytuser OMG I'm here after today's race and I think I cracked the code? ytuser what code? ytuser It's the 2nd video of this series and in the first one, the intern was with Mclaren, and they won p1 and p2 in Monaco? Now they posted this with Mercedes and they won p1 and p3? Yn is the good luck charm we all need ytuser @.Skysports next video with ferrari pls

ytuser i bet george and lando were having a whole debate about yn’s crush on oscar and it's is the most british gossip i’ve ever heard

ytuser Need sky to do this with every team. yn in ferrari garage next pls. i want her and charles leclerc to discuss existential dread.

ytuser the way george said “piastri fever” like it’s a medical condition 😭 ytuser It is!

ytuser i love how she’s just trying to do her job and every driver is like “so… what about your crush on oscar?” ytuser the fact that it all happned bc lando thought she had a crush on oscar and went with it. just colective delusion lmao ytuser I mean, why would Oscar want to be with her? I bet it's just a bit skysports asked the drivers to play along with. Looks staged tbh. ytuser ? you're a sick individual

ytuser she’s funny, sure. but the whole “i’m broke and relatable” thing gets old when you’re literally partying with millionaires 🤷🏻‍♀️ ytuser What drugs are you even on to? ytuser just go through her insta for a while and you'll see

♪ Everybody here wants you - Jeff Buckley

liked by yourbestie, lando, oscarpiastri and 45,881 users

yn Loved getting to know Montréal. Honestly, I’ll be a bit sad when I leave — there’s something oddly comforting about being somewhere no one expects you to be. I guess I’m finally learning how to pose for photos now haha. Or maybe I’m just getting better at looking cute. Anyway. Thanks for the memories. xx

user You're the prettiest in the world!!

user Living every's girl fantasies rn!! Please, enjoy <3

yourbestie love you so much, you deserve it all, baby! yn thx lovely <3

yourbff Finished whutering heights again? yn ... well! not yet, but i'll.

lando where were mclaren's good luck charm during the race? yn I was at Skysports center 😉 lando so that's why I dnf'ed :< yn acting like i sabotaged your car...! lando your absence did it! yn stop being so superstitious user maybe that's why some people don't like her... always flirting with everyone that gives some attention. user fuck's sake, we don't even know her well.

oscarpiastri Saved you a seat 😉 yn am I allowed to say no? oscarpiastri no

user saw the youtube comments. you didn’t deserve any of that.

oscarpiastri posted a story to his close-friends "how do I make her accept my date invite"

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lando you rented a whole flight just to go alone with her lando whole new level of whipped oscarpiastri still miss girl won't accept my date invite lando Lol

yn Oh yn I just did? I mean... aren't we going to monaco tgt rn oscarpiastri just being a little over dramatic.

Monaco

yn posted a story "blending in ☀️"

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yourbff SO? yn i gave in... I'm in Monaco with him. yourbff Enjoy your time off baby girl!

yourbestie You finally gave him a chance? Glad to see it yn my excuses were getting pretty old yn and he rented a whole flight for us yn whole new level of throwing away money, i know yourbestie Just enjoy, ok? Let things be, he's a good guy with good intentions! I'm sure he's not going to hurt you. yn you know it's not about him... it's me and him. yourbestie Pause the class-consciousness sermon, love. Treat yourself to a bit of joy yn <3

oscarpiastri What are you doing here all alone, beauty? yn mmmh, I did come with someone… but he’s been talking about work non-stop. oscarpiastri Gonna give you some attention, love. yn waiting for it 🙄

oscarpiastri posted a story "Between Canada and Austria, there is Monaco."

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lando do not forget I made this possible muppet oscarpiastri Getting her to agree to a date was a mission. If she says yes to the whole relationship thing, I’ll owe you big time. lando i'll be expecting, you know

yn I do look cute hehe oscarpiastri Well if you paid attention to me as much as you pay attention to that damn book yn it's whutering heights we are talking about, know your place

yn posted a story "after a few weeks away, I’m finally back in the UK, home at last! and it’s a home race too… with some rather lovely company."

replies

lando i know someone who only wears shorts 🙄 yn i already said thank you for setting us up lando acting like i make yall thank me every single day geez yn You do ?

oscarpiastri Only lovely company? yn should I say what ? oscarpiastri "my very cool, fast, lovely and cute boyfriend" yn you're on very thin ice. i'm not sure if i should have accepted this oscarpiastri I apologize miss

yourbestie Your happiness is my happiness! yn thank you for always supporting me, honey!

post Silverstone, pre Belgium.

liked by user, user, user and 956,881 users

f1wagsnews BREAKING: F1's most random couple. Oscar Piastri and... Skysports intern?

Hold onto your paddock passes, folks, because we’ve got a plot twist no one saw coming (or asked for): Oscar Piastri, the championship leader, is apparently dating… YN.

Wait, who? Yeah, we had to Google her too. For the sake of journalism, here’s the tea: YN is that girl who pops up in a few SkySports videos. You might remember her from the mildly amusing “A Day in McLaren’s Garage with Our Intern.” That’s right — intern. Not employee. Not journalist. Miss girl doesn't even have a job.

So how did this go from “girl with a crush” to “girlfriend of the year”? Sources say YN’s been thirsting over Oscar for a while. In one clip with Lando Norris, she even asks about Oscar, prompting Lando to laugh like he just witnessed a live fanfiction moment. Fast forward a few months, and boom — they’re spotted together in Monaco, looking suspiciously couple-y.

Oscar, sweetie… what happened? You went from dating a posh British socialite with generational wealth to someone who probably thinks Olive Garden is haute cuisine. The downgrade is loud.

Now the real question: will YN keep pretending she’s just “grinding in motorsport” or will she embrace her new WAG status? Can people from completely different worlds make it work? We’re definitely side-eyeing it.

user Oscar must’ve hit his head during quali.

user not even low-income with effort, just plain low income💀

user guys she's now the intern of the wag company

user Lily was so classy and polished. Now he's with this tattoed chain smoker, oh god what did we do to deserve this? user chain smoker? user there's plenty of pics of her smoking in her insta

user I'm pretty sure this is a part of Lando's plan to get to lead wdc user ??? lmao

user bffr this b is so average

user "oh i read books" "oh capitalism" "oh i'm not interested in dating"... fucks sake girl get a grip

user already hate her lol

user that should be me :(

user What the hell? sure..

yn posted a close-friends story "officially #fired"

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yourbff What the hell? yourbff How did this happen? yn idk. pretty sure someone got salty about me having a boyfriend and grassed me up to HR yn told them it was peak unfair, not like I asked to have my personal life aired like a Netflix doc. yn it's wild yn got fired mid race, i was holding a cup of coffee for my (now ex,,) director and the call came. didn't even wait for when we come back to uk yourbff And Oscar? yn i dont know i didn't want to mess up... he just won spa, his favorite track. i'm not gonna be a bitter bitch yourbff Babe... why did you do it? :( yourbff You were so happy this past months.. yourbff He needs to know yn i'm just gonna end things with him. he does deserve someone of his level yn not me

post Belgium

liked by lando, yourbff, oscarpiastri and 100,544 users

yn been following f1 for a while now and honestly... it’s been magic. got to be part of it for half a season and i genuinely thought i’d hate it, but turns out covering sports might be something i actually love. wild. some unreal opportunities came my way. and then i let my personal life mess it all up. i’m not gonna say sorry to skysports for having a boyfriend. i’m not gonna say sorry to anyone for being in a relationship. it’s not fair. it’s just not. i know this probably isn’t the kind of thing you post when you’re hoping for future job offers. and no, i’m not quitting to become someone’s girlfriend or wife. i’ve still got dreams. i just wish they didn’t feel so far away right now.

yourbestie I love you always! ❤️ liked by author

oscarpiastri Seeing you struggle with all this lately has been heartbreaking. just know you’re not allowed to break up with me. ever. I won’t let you. We’ve worked too hard to get here, and i’m not letting some random stranger on the internet take that away from us. lando you're soooo down bad yn sweet pie

yourbff You're the most talented girl in this world, don't worry!! Everything's gonna be alright. ❤️ liked by author

comments section has been paused

liked by maxverstappen1, lando, mclaren, yn and 1,589,881 users

oscarpiastri I’m truly sorry i couldn’t shield you from other people’s cruelty. but you know i see your heart, just as you see mine. I hope the rest of the world gets to know you, or at least has the chance to be loved by someone like you. You're more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.

lando this is the kind of love that makes you believe in soulmates again 🙄🙄

lando and every mouth who dares to speak badly about yn shall perish ❤️liked by author

oscarpiastri With that being said: I won’t tolerate any kind of hateful comment about my girlfriend, Yn. You all need to learn what boundaries are. I know you think you can say whatever you want on the internet, but you can’t. Because on the other side of the screen, there are real people who don’t deserve to read the venom your bitter, spiteful spirit wants to spit.

user A MAN

maxverstappen1 That's it 👏🏻 ❤️liked by author

yourbff Protecting her heart like that? This is so beautiful it hurts. I hope she knows how deeply she’s loved. ❤️liked by author

nicolepiastri Can't wait to meet you yn! Such a lovely soul. yn I can't wait too!!!

yn thank you for always believing in me oscarpiastri My kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder... yn quoting my favourite book and now my favourite artist? put a baby in me oscarpiastri Soon yn 😏

liked by yourbff, yourbestie and 55,664 users

yn and I cannot live without my soul.

oscarpiastri ❤️ yn ❤️

yourbff Get a room you two...

yourbff Jokes aside, you deserve to be happy, pretty girl ☀️ yn thanks for always being by my side

yourbestie My baby is in loveeeee yn 🙄 yes!

nicolepiastri Thanks for always taking cute pics, Yn!! He doesn't pose for me like that anymore.. yn it takes a while for him to pose for me!!

oscarpiastri The tear that hangs inside my soul forever yn forever. and ever...

end

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honeyhyunn · 3 days ago

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Only tonight 4/5

Summary : Lando Norris expected another loud Monaco party after the Grand Prix, what he didn’t expect was her. Charles Leclerc’s little sister, Éléa, dancing like the night was hers to burn. Radiating a freedom he’d never seen before, she wasn’t the quiet girl from the paddock he was used to.

But as the music pulsed and the drinks flowed, something in her laugh didn’t quite ring right. And when she whispered it was her birthday… everything changed. Now Lando make his personal mission to make her birthday unforgivable.

Genre : fluff, angst

Pairing : Lando Norris x Leclerc sister (original female character)

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Lando had never hated silence more.

It wasn't the good kind of silence, not the hush of the water when Monaco went to sleep, or the quiet hum in his skull after the chequered flag when adrenaline slowly left his bones. This was the kind that sat on his chest and dared him to breathe. The kind that made time viscous. Cruel.

He typed, erased, typed again.

Lando: Hey it's Lando. Are you okay?

Delete.

Lando: About last night… can we talk?

Too heavy. Sounds like a breakup text for a thing that never started.

Delete.

Lando: I’d like to see you. Please.

He stared at the word please for a full minute like it might embarrass him into taking it back. Then he hit send before his brain could tackle him.

Nothing.

He paced from the sofa to the balcony and back, phone in his palm like a stone. Outside, the harbor was a clean gleam, boats glittering like jewelry under streetlamps, the world deceptively soft. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. Last night under those stars her voice had been warm and a little slurred and his chest had cracked cleanly down the middle. In the morning she had pressed his jacket into his hands without looking at him.

Lando: Just one coffee. Five minutes. I’ll come to you.

He stared at the text bubble as if he could will it into generating those three grey dots. His phone stayed a small, bright refusal.

He drafted a longer message, the sort of thing he’d never sent another human being.

I didn’t take advantage of you. I wanted to kiss you because I wanted to, and because you asked, and because I liked you before I had words for liking you. I’m sorry if I made you feel small. I’m sorry if I made you feel watched instead of seen. I should have told you the truth about

He deleted the whole thing like it had burned him.

Midnight came and went. He fell asleep with the phone on his chest and woke before sunrise to the same silence, the same weight, the same ache.

Eléa didn’t open the messages.

She saw the first words to it and the unknown number and knew immediatly it was him so she turned her phone face down on the nightstand as if the light might seep into her. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

She could answer. She could say no and be done with it. She could say yes and step back into the thing that had cracked her open.

She could do nothing and pretend it didn’t exist.

She picked nothing. It was softer around the edges. It allowed her to pretend she was a different version of herself, the version who did not cry into Charles’s t-shirt yesterday. The version who had not felt Lando's lips on hers under the stars and felt as if the moment itself was better than any scenario she had imagined about him in secret.

When she showered, the water was too hot. When she dressed, the fabric touched her wrong. She drank water and it made her feel full and hollow at once.

She played a playlist she knew by heart and couldn’t hear a note of it.

Charles knocked at eleven the next morning. Not the hesitant tap he used when she was asleep. Two brisk, decisive knocks. He’d decided something.

“Eléa?” His voice was steady but quiet in that way he got when it mattered. “I’m making you come with me tonight.”

“Mmm,” she said into the pillow. “Don’t.”

The door creaked. She didn’t lift her head. He stood there with his arms folded and that Leclerc look, stubborn, tender, infuriating.

“It’s a small thing. Private rooftop. Friends only. You’ll be home by midnight.”

“I don’t want to see people.”

“You can stand behind me and scowl at them,” he said simply. “I’ll do the rest.”

She let out a very unglamorous noise.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know you think it won’t help,” he said softly, “but a shower, coming outside, talking to people, sometimes it’s enough to lift your head. Just for a few hours.”

She hated that he was right. She hated that he was trying. She hated that he looked like he blamed himself for missing her birthday, again.

“Is Alex going to be there?” she murmured.

“Yes,” Charles said. “And people who won’t talk to you if you don’t want them to. I’ll run interference.”

She turned her face toward him, hair stuck to one cheek. “I’ll go if you promise not to be weird.”

“Define weird.”

“Hovering. Staring. Making your angry face at anyone who breathes near me.”

He tried to smooth his expression out of its default protectiveness. “How about a compromise: mild hovering.”

She snorted. Then, because fighting took energy she didn’t have: “Fine. An hour.”

“Two,” he bargained.

“One and a half,” she said, and pushed herself up.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and stood, relief softening the corners of his mouth. “Wear something you like,” he said.

She chose a black dress she’d worn to a birthday two years ago because it didn’t feel like armor or bait. She braided her hair back loosely, the way she did when she needed to feel like she had a handle on something. She looked at herself once and looked away quickly.

On the elevator, Charles bumped her shoulder with his. It was a sibling apology for all the things neither of them knew how to say.

She smiled despite herself, a small thing. He looked relieved like he’d been given a glass of water in a drought.

The rooftop was a painting: warm lights strung overhead like domestic constellations, the sea spread out beyond in a soft, dark sweep. Jazz didn’t blare; it curled up from hidden speakers. Servers moved like polite ghosts with trays of things that clinked delicately.

“See?” Charles said. “It’s nice.”

If she let herself, she could admit it was nice. At least the air felt different up here, cleaner, full of salt and evening and the faint perfume of someone’s gardenias. She hugged a glass of sparkling water like it might anchor her.

People came in polite waves. She was gracious with her nods and small smiles. She laughed in the right places. Alex materialized, she touched her elbow and said “If you want me to kidnap you, blink twice,” and Eléa felt herself be grateful.

For a little while, she could pretend.

And then she felt it.

It was like heat against the back of her neck, like a thread tugging from another room. She turned her head without meaning to.

He was across the terrace in a black jacket, collar unbuttoned like he’d already asked himself to be comfortable and failed. Drink in hand, untouched. Eyes glued to her in a way that made her skin spark unpleasantly, as if she’d stepped too close to a fire.

Lando.

Her stomach fell as if the floor had lowered.

“Do you want...” Charles started.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said, which was ridiculous because they were outdoors, but Charles understood.

She cut right, toward the side with the lower noise, the far view, the door to the stairwell if she needed it.

She didn’t make it to the rails.

“Hey,” said a voice that had lived in her head for too many years in too many tones.

She stopped. He was closer than she’d anticipated. He’d crossed the patio fast.

He looked… tired. But not the way people looked after no sleep. Tired like the part of him that performed had clocked out and left the rest to handle it. His fingers worried the edge of his glass, then abandoned it on a high table like he’d decided to meet her with his hands empty.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice low and careful and infuriatingly sincere. “Please.”

She tilted her face away, looking at the line of white boats, at anything. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It’s my business,” she said, and only then realized how mean it sounded. She let it stand. Meanness sometimes protected you from the worse thing.

He flinched like she’d pressed a bruise. “I don’t understand,” he said, and his voice wasn’t defensive yet. Just low and a bit hurt. “We… we had a great time. Didn’t we?”

She turned on him because turning on him was easier than turning away. “That was the alcohol, Lando.”

He shook his head. “No. I know it wasn’t. I know...”

“You don’t know me,” she said, each word clipped like she was cutting a piece of thread.

He actually stopped. His mouth closed around whatever he’d been about to say. The space between his brows tightened.

“Right,” he said after a beat, voice going flatter. “But Oscar does, apparently?”

Her head snapped back to him. “What?”

“I talked to him,” Lando said. The softness in his tone frayed. “You two seem close.”

“Where is that even coming from?”

“He said you talk,” Lando said. “That you’re close in the paddock.”

She stared at him. The thought of her friendship with Oscar shaped in Lando’s mouth, measured and judged, made irritation spark at the edges of her vision. “Yes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “On the grid, he’s the only driver I’m close with apart from my brother.”

His jaw did an unkind thing. Jealousy like a shadow passed over his face. “How close?”

“Why are you like this?” she asked, incredulous anger flashing out of her before she could smother it. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped back, defensive in a way that felt brand new. “Just making conversation.”

“That’s not conversation,” she said. “That’s interrogation.”

“Why him?” He didn’t step closer, but it felt like he did. “Why only him? Do you like him?”

She laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that had nothing to do with humor. “Be serious, Norris.”

“He’s got a girlfriend,” he added, as if that were the point that would rescue him from something.

“I know,” she shot back, patience shredding. “And I’m not into him.”

“It sounds like you are.”

That did it. The small, fragile part of her, the memory of the night on the deck, his jacket around her shoulders, a kiss that felt like a dream, suddenly snapped.

“Are you serious right now?” Her voice rose, and a few heads turned, she didn’t care. “Are you actually this dumb?”

He blinked like he hadn’t seen the hit coming. “Why?”

“Because I fucking liked you, Lando!” It came out of her like something ripped free. “YOU. Not Oscar. You. I only got close to him because it was the only way to get closer to you. I hoped maybe you’d notice me. Or talk to me. Or just...” her voice thinned, “...be nice.”

He looked stricken. “Eléa...”

“But no,” she barrelled on, because if she didn’t finish the sentence now she never would, “Apparently the only time you take interest in me is when I’m drunk and vulnerable. When I’m funny and easy and soft enough to not make you bore. That’s when you look at me. That’s when you kiss me under the stars like you’re doing charity.”

“Charity ? What? No.” Color rose to his face. “That’s not...”

“Spare me,” she said, breath shuddering. “You get to feel like the good guy. That’s what this was. The guy who stays. The guy who listens. The guy who kisses the lonely girl because it makes a better story about himself. Well, I’m not here for you to rescue me. I don’t need your pity.”

He shook his head hard. “It wasn’t pity.”

“Then what was it?” she demanded, raw. “Because I woke up this morning and you looked like you were already saying goodbye.”

He opened his mouth and nothing came out.

That was worse than a lie.

“Right,” she said, voice gone cold to save what was left of her. “I thought so.”

She turned and walked. Fast. Past the high tables and the men who looked at her like she had become a weather event. Past Charles stepping toward her with that look that said Do I hit him or hug you? She didn’t want either.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Lando’s voice came after her. Chairs scraped. Someone said “Mate,” like they were warning him off that precipice.

He ran anyway.

“Excuse me, sorry,” “Move, please”. He shouldered through the warm bodies and out through the staff door because the lift was too slow. His chest had lost the ability to tell the difference between breathing and drowning.

She was a flash of black at the bottom of the stairwell, hair catching on her shoulders. He nearly tripped on the last step and didn’t care.

“Eléa,” he said, breath ripping. “Please.”

She didn’t stop. He followed her into the street where Monaco narrowed into its older self, stone and shadow and the echo of heels on pavement. A cat slipped somewhere under a parked car. The sea sounded like it was thinking.

“Please,” he said again, a word he wasn’t used to saying this many times in one night. “I’m begging you. Just, just let me speak.”

She halted at the satrt of a side alley where the light fell away, leaving a cooler darkness. She didn’t turn around. Wind pushed her braid against her shoulder and she caught it absently.

“I’m not confident,” he said. It came out hoarse and too loud. He lowered his voice. “Okay? I’m not what you think I am.”

Her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t look back.

“I doubt myself more than you think,” he went on, words tumbling like a confession to a priest he didn’t believe in. “I’m hard on myself all the time. I feel like I’m always disappointing someone, my team, the people watching, the version of me I’m supposed to be. Like if I’m not… perfect, I don’t deserve...” He swallowed, throat burning. “To be wanted. Or loved. Or to even… exist in the room.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her face was unsmiling, but something in her eyes had changed. Not forgiveness. Not yet. Something like curiosity forced open by sincerity.

“Everyone thinks I’m this guy,” he said, gesturing uselessly. “Fun. Carefree. Loud. I know I do that. I lean into it. But half the time I walk into a room and I’m terrified I won’t be enough. So I make noise. I fill the space before it can say it doesn’t want me.” His laugh was brittle. “It’s not noble. It’s pathetic.”

Her mouth twitched like she wanted to argue with the word pathetic and couldn’t yet.

“I never thought you needed saving,” he said, gentler. “God, no. I think you’re scary. Not like dangerous. Like...” he groped for it, “...like moonlight that shows you trueself. You see things and you don’t look away. You make me feel like I’m not performing. That night it wasn’t you being drunk that I liked. It was that you were… honest. Enthusiastic about stupid little things. Joyful. You made life feel lighter for a minute, and I didn’t feel alone.” He met her eyes full-on, and this was the most naked he’d ever been with anyone fully clothed. “I felt like you saw me. The me I’m trying very hard not to hide and usually failing.”

Her breath hitched, small and involuntary.

“I’m not the person you have built in your head,” he said, softer still. “I’m not as confident as you think. I’m not sure what I’m doing most of the time. And...” He exhaled. The last door. “I don’t… even have a boat.”

She blinked. “What?”

“It was Max’s,” he said quickly, shame washing through him again, hot and human and deserved. “I lied. I’m sorry. God, I am so, so sorry. I panicked. You asked if I had one, and you looked at me like” he gestured helplessly, “like I could make your birthday better, and I wanted to. I knew his code. I swear I wasn’t trying to impress you in a gross way. I just… wanted you to be happy. And then it got away from me, and then we were there, and you were smiling and I… I didn’t know how to back out without ruining everything. So I didn’t. And I hate that it means I lied.”

She stared at him like he’d told her he was secretly left-handed. Then she made a noise he didn’t recognize because he’d never heard it in this context, she laughed.

Not a neat little social laugh. It broke out of her, clumsy and bright, bending her at the waist. She pressed a hand to her face like she was embarrassed by it even as it kept coming.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, exquisite mortification climbing his neck.

“Because,” she said, catching breath, “that is the most stupid and yet ridiculously sweet thing I’ve ever heard.” She straightened, wiping under one eye with a knuckle. “You stole Max’s boat for me?”

“I didn’t steal it,” he protested, which, given the security code, was a reach. “I borrowed it without asking because I’m an idiot who...” he spread his hands, “wanted to see you smile.”

She shook her head, the smile still there, small and reluctant and real. “You absolute menace.”

He let out a laugh that cracked in the middle. It felt like letting down a bag he hadn’t realized he was carrying. He took a step closer and then stopped, like he’d hit a fence only he could see.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because it mattered. “For lying. For making last night bigger than it should have been in a way that wasn’t fair. For asking about Oscar like a jealous idiot when I should have just… asked how you were.”

“You shouldn’t have talked to him about me,” she said quietly, the softness of the moment not erasing the boundary she put down. “It’s not his job to translate me.”

“I know,” he said, the admission immediate. “I didn’t know how to reach you, and I made a stupid, insecure choice.”

She looked at him for a long second like she was testing the weight of his words. The alley held its breath.

“When I said you only cared when I was drunk,” she said finally, voice lower, “I meant that it felt like the only version of me you liked was the easy one. The glitter. Not the one who gets quiet and sad and sharp. Not the one who hurts and isn’t pretty about it.”

He swallowed. “ That's nonsense. You know that. I didn’t kiss you because I pitied you. I kissed you because you asked for something you’d wanted since you were a kid, and I...” he blew out a breath, “...have wanted to do it since the first time you looked me in the eye without flinching.”

Her mouth parted.

“I would have kissed you if you’d been sober in a grocery store with fluorescent lights and old men buying tomatoes,” he added, helpless. “I would have kissed you at noon on a Tuesday. I would have kissed you anywhere you asked me to. I first I didn’t because you were drunk and I was trying to be careful and then you asked and…” He grimaced at himself. “I am saying too much.”

“Maybe,” she said, and it was almost fond.

He took another step without realizing. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I am not the guy you were imagining in your head, the guy you said you liked in secret. So I got scared, because what if you like this version of me but the moment you see the truth you get bored or worse disapointed ? I’m just me, making a mess and then trying to tell the truth inside it.”

They stood there with the city humming beyond, the air full of salt and the possibility of rain that never came in Monaco when you hoped for it.

Somewhere above them, laughter rolled down from the rooftop like warm water. Time expanded to hold two breathing people and the distance between them.

“I’m still angry,” she said, and it was not a threat.

“I deserve that,” he said.

“And I don’t trust you yet,” she added, because if they didn’t name it the hope might swallow them both.

“I will earn that,” he said, and winced. “God, that sounded like a slogan.”

“It did.”

“I hate me,” he muttered.

She bit the inside of her lip to not smile and failed a little. “Don’t,” she said, very quietly. “I think… I think I like this version of you better.”

He looked at her like she’d handed him a life jacket. “Which version?”

“The one who doesn’t pretend it’s all easy,” she said. “The one who admits he borrowed a world champion’s boat because he panicked and wanted to make me happy.” Her eyes softened as she shook her head. “The one who tells the truth even when it makes him look small.”

He nodded, throat tight.

“Do you want to sit somewhere not in an alley?” he asked, tentative enough to be sweet. “I’m not asking for a grand thing. A bench could be great. I can say I’m sorry in fewer words and you can say whatever you want and throw me in the sea if I deserve it.”

She almost laughed. “I don’t want to sit on a bench.”

“Okay,” he said immediately. “No benches. I can stand. I’m very good at standing. I’ll stand here all night.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m extremely dramatic,” he said solemnly. “Ask anyone.”

Her braid had loosened. She undid the bottom and rewove it with deft fingers like she was buying time for a decision to land. She breathed in, out.

“Not tonight,” she said, and he nodded the second the words were out, before they could be mistaken for a door slamming. “But…maybe another time, at another place.”

“The grocery store?” he said earnestly.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile was real this time. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t,” he said, and then remembered who he was. “I will try very hard not to.”

They stood for another second in the soft dark, the distance between them no longer an injury but a choice.

“I’m going to go back up,” she said. “Charles will think I pushed you into the harbor.”

“He’d be half-right,” Lando said. He hesitated. “Can I...” He looked at his hand like it might have to audition for the next line. “Can I text you tonight ? Not to get an answer. Just to do it.”

“You can text,” she said. “I can ignore.”

“That feels fair,” he said, relief in his chest.

She stepped past him then, so close he could smell the faint citrus of her shampoo and some perfume that wasn’t expensive so much as private. She paused when their shoulders nearly brushed and tilted her face up, eyes catching the light. For a second, the world that had been so loud thinned to one clear note.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly.

“Thank you for making me,” he said just as quiet.

She went. He watched her climb the stairs back to the glowing roof, hand skimming the rail. He realized he was smiling, wrecked and soft and a little stupid.

When he finally looked down at his phone, his thumbs hovered for a second, then moved.

Lando: Goodnight. I’ll try to be less dramatic tomorrow.

Eléa: You could've wait I was actually gone.

Lando: Why waiting when I could do it now ?

Eléa: Goodnight Lando, get some rest, you looked tired.

Lando: See you already take care of me and worring about my sleep.

Eléa: Who said I didn't do it before? Have a nice evening Lando.

He watched her respond and smile, then slid the phone into his pocket like you’d place something careful on a high shelf. He leaned back against the old wall and closed his eyes. The city went on glittering around him like it hadn’t watched two people pry their rib cages open.

Upstairs, Charles angled himself toward the stair where Eléa emerged. He scanned her face with brother radar.

“You ok ?” he asked.

“I'm fine” she said. “Just needed air.”

He nodded once, then saw Lando downstare at the street, lost in his tought and a tight smile on his lips and hesitate to go to him before deciding it wasn't the night to do it, or what Eléa would have wanted.

Eléa stood at the railing and looked out at the boats. For the first time all day, the harbor didn’t look like a map of all the places she didn’t belong, it look like home again.

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honeyhyunn · 3 days ago

Text

MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

What begins as an ordinary race weekend ends with a performance so sharp and unshakable that it sends ripples through the entire paddock — and leaves certain teams questioning the choices they made.

It keeps her awake at night. She should've been elated.

The race had been one of her cleanest all season. Every braking point had been exact. Every overtake clinical. Every sector wrung dry of wasted time.

And yet, when she looked into the Mercedes garage, the same electricity in the air was non existent. No laughter, no back-slapping, no engineers replaying her overtakes on their monitors.

She remembers how he said it, "Kimi Antonelli will be replacing you next year." It landed like a blunt-force hit to the chest. Toto believed it's best for the future of the team.

He didn't thank her for the races she'd given them. He didn't mention the podiums, the late-night debriefs, the way she'd carried the team through the worst seasons since their dominance began.

It was business to him.

She left without looking back. The air outside felt too thin, her Mercedes suit suddenly too heavy. The chatter in the paddock blurred into white noise.

By the time she reached her hotel room, the headlines were already forming in her mind.

MERCEDES PARTS WAYS WITH YN LN ANTONELLI TO REPLACE MERCEDES' SECOND SEAT IS THIS YN'S END?

She didn't bother turning on the lights. She sat on the edge of the bed, bag on the floor, staring at nothing. Mercedes had been home. And now she's standing, with nowhere to go.

The days blurred after Suzuka. Monday, morning the official announcement had dropped. The press release was so sterile it could've been written by AI -- "We thank YN LN for her contributions and we wish her the best in her future."

No montage. No heartfelt tribute. Just a neatly packaged send-off designed to look professional, while feeling like an afterthought.

Sports channels replayed her career highlights between panels. Commentators spoke in polite tones about "fresh talent." Others, less kind, wondered aloud if she'd already peaked.

She didn't watch them. Not directly, anyway. The clips found her -- sent by friends, tagged in posts, or playing faintly from a TV in cafe below her apartment.

Social media was worse. Some fans were furious on her behalf. Others seemed eager to close the chapter.

user: i am in physical pain rn. merc fumbled so bad. user: she’s finished. the sport moves on. user: the loyalty this woman showed them and THIS is how they repay her?? nah. user: sources say ferrari & red bull both interested 👀 user: i want her to sign with literally anyone else just to make them regret this.

By Thursday, the texts started strickling in.

"Heard the news. Don't let them make you think you're done." "You deserve better. Call me if you want to talk."

And then, one made her sit up. From a certain newly promoted team principal.

"Let's talk."

It was grey and raining when the car pulled up to the Red Bull Racing headquarters. The lobby was all glass, steel, and clean branding. She barely registered it, because Mekies was already there, waiting at the far end.

He looked exactly like she remembered from past FIA briefings -- calm, unreadable, with a half-smile that wasn't quite friendly, but wasn't hostile either.

"You came," he said simply.

"You asked," she replied.

He led her to a meeting room whose walls were lined with Red Bull's history -- photographs of victories, trophies lit from below, candid shots of mechanics mid-celebration.

They sat across from each other. He didn't waste time.

"I won't give you a pity seat," he said. "We don't do pity here. We do winning."

Something shifted in his expression. A spark of interest. "Two years," he said.

"Full backing. You'll be alonside Max. If you can't survive that, you won't survive here."

"Beating him's the plan." Her voice didn't waver.

For the first time, he smiled fully. "Then welcome to Red Bull."

The contract was signed on a Thursday afternoon. The announcement didn't come in a press conference, or a neat little tweet.

At noon sharp next day, Red Bull posted a ten-second video:

A black screen. The roar of an engine climbing through the gears. A matte-black helmet with her colors slamming down onto the desk. Her voice, steady and low: Let's do this.

Then it cuts to white text: WELCOME TO RED BULL RACING -- YN LN

The internet exploded.

user: OH. MY. GOD. YN TO RED BULL. MERCEDES PACK IN SHAMBLES. user: max + yn in the SAME GARAGE?????? prayers for the FIAAA user: i’m not even a merc fan but… this feels like betrayal in 4k. user: toto watching this like user: "let’s do this" oh she’s about to ruin careers i can FEEL IT

It's Bahrain, pre-season. The RB was lighter in her hands than the Mercedes had ever been. It bit into coners like it was alive, hungry. The power down the straights pressed her into the seat so hard it almost hurt -- in the best way.

When she pulled back into the garage after her first run, Max was leaning against the entryway.

"You're fast," he said.

"So are you. Guess we'll see who's faster."

The smile he gave her wasn't friendly. He never gave one that was. It was competitive. Respectful. Dangerous.

In the first race, she placed P3 on the grid. P2 at the flag. Ahead of both Mercedes.

The champagne sprayed, the crowd roared, and the cameras caught Toto's face as she stood on the podium -- tight-lipped, unblinking, watching the driver he'd thrown away stand above his cars.

The victory wasn't hers. Not yet.

The next three races blurred into a fever dream of podium ceremonies, debrief rooms, and restless nights. She hadn't even unpacked her apartment in Monaco yet; her suitcase lived half-open on the floor, clothes in perpetual rotation between the laundry and her next flight.

And with every race, the narrative shifted.

No more "Is YN still competitive?" Now it was "How far can she go?"

RB's machine was merciless -- date sheets that bled into the early hours, simulations stacked one after another until her eyes burned. But for the first time in a long time, the pressure didn't feel like a noose around her neck. It felt like breathing.

By the time the circus arrived in Barcelona, the tension between her and Mercedes and was no longer subtle.

RB's YN LN ahead of both Mercedes in the championship Antonelli struggling to find pace? Wolff's replies: No Regrets.

Her first sight of Toto that weeked was in the paddock tunnel. He didn't speak. But she caught the way his eyes flicked over the Red Bull team shirt she was wearing -- the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

It was Qualifying on Saturday.

The RB was again, flawless. Every corner carved into muscle memory. Every exit snapping like a rubber band into the straights.

On her final flying lap, she pushed into Turn 9 so deep that the rear twitched, but she held it -- held it -- through sheer force of will. When she crossed the line, her delta was growing green.

P1. Pole position. Max's lap came in three-tenths behind hers.

The garage was chaos when she climbed out. Mechanics shouting, clapping her on the back. Mekies standing with his arms folded, smiling that small, dangerous smile that always looked like he was thinking three moves ahead.

Max approached with his helmet in had. "Nice lap," he said.

"Thanks," she replied. "Try to keep up tomorrow."

He grinned at her like she'd just given him a challenge he couldn't refuse.

It's now Race Day on Sunday. The lights went out, and the RB launched like it was shot from a gun. She hed Max at bay into Turn 1, then widened the gap with clean precision.

The Mercedes in her mirrors fell back quickly -- Russell struggling with balance, Antonelli overcooking corners like he was chasing ghosts. She didn't think about them long.

She only thought about the rhythm.

Lap after lap, she fed the RB exactly what it need -- no more, no less. Brake temps perfect.

By Lap 45, she was five seconds clear of Max. The radio crackled with her race engineer's voice: "Looking good. You're free to push if you want fastest lap."

Her grin was involuntary. Of course she wanted fastest lap. She pushed. The car sang for her, the engine note higher, sharper. Through the last chicane, she could almost feel the RB begging for more.

When the chequered flag waved, it was her name at the top of the timing tower.

Her first win in Red Bull colors.

She slowed on the cool-down lap, the noise of the crowd bleeding through the radio static. In the grandstands, fans waved flags — not just Red Bull blue, but her own custom livery. She spotted signs in every language, her name painted across cardboard and fabric.

In parc fermé, she climbed out of the RB and pointed straight at the Red Bull logo on her chest before raising her fist.

The cameras caught Toto’s face in the Mercedes garage as the replay of her final lap played on the screens. His jaw was locked. His hands were clasped behind his back.

No regrets, he’d said. But in that moment, his eyes told a different story.

user: SHE DID IT. FIRST WIN WITH RED BULL. MERC PACK HOLD THIS L. user: this isn’t just a win this is a revenge tour user: toto watching yn on the top step rn >>>> user: she looked straight down the camera when she pointed at the red bull logo. i am SOBBING. user: max p2, yn p1… red bull dominance is UNREAL user: remember when they said she was washed LMFAOOOO

The anthem played, and she stood in the middle, higher than Max. She didn’t look at him, or the crowd, or even the trophy in her hands.

She looked directly at the Mercedes team on the pit wall, visible just over the barriers. She held the trophy aloft and smiled — a small, sharp smile meant for exactly one audience.

It wasn’t about proving she could win. It was about making them watch.

second to last chapter, my loves!!!! i promiseeeee the last chapter will be worth it :) tysm for all the loveeee that you've given driver!yn and i'm more than happy to expand her universe. ily all x

@omgsuperstarg @hymntostars @dollyvuu @halleest @smh-anon @scentedrosa @ceekokocee15 @melancholicandmessy @heavenbabyg @milkiane @jajouska @stqrgirlies-blog @imdyinghelpplease @iikissagirl @moonlight52moonlight @hollandxstanley @sleutherclaw @deaddumblbumble @iamdedsthingz @scuderiapng @ninass-world @lagrandeourse @kodzuvk @reallifemermaidprincess @enfppuff @rosegoldorchid @cryinghotmess @hero-ically @anunstablefangirl @floraf1ln @beathreat @fromsaltandsea @i-need-to-be-put-down @usseraloo @starrgir1 @vinylphwoar @elliefind @wherethezoes-at @yarastilinski @liveoninmemory @lavaflow1012 @formulapierre @isagrace22 @lemon-stvrrr @celiacallsitcasual @peqch-pie @thisissomehowweird @guacala @backupchrissy96 @marleycline13 @allthings-fandoms @siennaluvshcky @mikiamu @tztuoo @radioactivepotato @lost-library-of-violets @blushmimi @madamebovary-of-moderndays @l-a-u-r-aaa @injerafiend @luvr4miya @l3thal-l0lita @eviswriting @cerisesparadise @lina505 @ashy-kit @simplylovelysworld @orangepapayass @champomiel @mellowtacomentalityidk @mal3f1cent @tonyysstank @josephinel83 @have-another-doughnut @cptg00s3 @shitface-t @isa942572 @deleteidentity @mbm2006 @alireads27 @pedriglazer @avamblog @nyxisnotok @1chaerry @gigigreens @nyxisnotok @crispynutella @bookworm-weirdofor-life@jessk23 @coolfiregiver @yukisjam @julesbog @trashmouthsahra @fire-0-lily @spiderliliesliveon @bia-n-t-d

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honeyhyunn · 4 days ago

Text

Mistaken for a WAG - LN4 (Part 1)

Masterlist

Summary: When you attend your brother’s home race in Australia, the last thing you expected was to end up on screen with the words “Lando Norris Partner”.

Warning: miscommunication, fluff.

Original Character Description: Emilia “Emmy” Piastri is Oscar Piastri’s younger sister. She is 22 years old with dark brown wavy hair and hazel colored eyes.

Authors Note: This was originally going to be just one part but it started to get a little long so the next part will either be release later today or tomorrow!

Emilia walked into the paddock of the Australian Grand Prix alongside her mother Nicole and one of her sisters, Hattie. She’s wearing blue jean shorts that are frayed at the edges, with a McLaren t-shirt that Oscar had bought for her and sent it to her in the mail earlier that week.

This is the first time she has ever been to one of her brother’s races in Australia, and she is excited to watch him hopefully win.

Even though she had never attended one of his home races, she did attend a couple of his race last year including the Qatar Grand Prix where he placed P2. Which means she does know some of the other drivers personally.

Emilia adjusted her sunglasses as the three of them made their way past security and through the paddock. The air around them buzzed with energy — the sounds of mechanics talking wafted through the air along with a couple of journalists and media team personnel asking questions to some of the drivers lingering around and taking pictures.

“Wow.” Emilia breathed out, looking around. “It’s a lot busier than I thought it would be.” She said since the last race she attended she stayed hidden and didn’t experience everything.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly your typical Sunday.” Hattie said nudging Emilia in the side, not batting an eye at the chaos around them since she had attended multiple races and is used to it.

They continued walking and eventually passed the McLaren hospitality unit where Emilia passed a few familiar faces that she met last season. Emilia scanned her eyes across the paddock almost unconsciously. She spotted Charles Leclerc in a conversation with Carlos Sainz, Pierre Gasly leaning against a wall scrolling on his phone, and Lando Norris — laughing at something one of the mechanics said.

She didn’t know Lando that well but she had exchanged pleasantries with him and couple of times through Oscar. He always struck her as someone who is very outgoing and funny.

All three of them make their way inside of the hospitality unit to find a spot to watch the race. Inside the hospitality unit was buzzing with anticipation. The TVs on the walls displayed a whole bunch of pre-race feed — driver interviews and crowd pan shots.

Emilia found a spot near the glass railing with Hattie, giving them a clear view of the pit lane below — while their mom went to get them all something to drink.

“Not bad huh?” Nicole says as she walks over with all of their drinks.

“Not bad at all.” Hattie says snapping pictures of the pit lane below.

Emilias eyes scanned the TV screen just as the camera feed switched to show the inside of all the hospitality units to capture the family members and WAG’s attending this race. Emilia barely had time to register anything before the camera cut to her and display her name and at the bottom it said “Oscar’s Piastri’s sister & Lando Norris Partner”.

For a moment Emilia just stared. Her mom blinked at the screen, confused. Hattie burst into a laugh so tough that it attracted a few looks from the people around them.

“Oh..my..gosh,” Hattie laughed. “They think you’re—“

“I see what they think I am.” Emilia hissed, not letting Hattie finish her sentence. Emilia feels blood rushing to her cheeks.

Her phone started buzzing in her pocket and she takes it out to see messages from her friends rolling in. “Who’s the Brit?!👀”, one message read while another one said “Girl…?”.

She ignored the messages and put her phone back into her pocket, not wanting to deal with that right now.

Nicole gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. “It’s probably just a silly mistake, love. These things blow over quickly.”

Hattie was still grinning like she’d won the lottery. “Oh, this is never blowing over. You’re going to be all over Twitter in like, five minutes.”

Emilia groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of attention I wanted today.”

The pre-race coverage rolled on, switching to the grid walk, and soon the engines fired up. Emilia forced herself to focus on the real reason she was here — watching her brother’s home race. And for the next two hours, that’s exactly what she did, cheering loudly as he battled in the top five.

By the time the race ended McLaren had secured a win with Lando getting first, but Oscar had dropped down and placed p9. The paddock interviews were starting, and she knew both her brother and Lando would eventually see the clip.

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honeyhyunn · 4 days ago

Text

Guilty As Sin - ln4 smau [12]

the one where it's yn's birthday

(not proofread)

part 11 • series masterlist • masterlist

જ ♡ જ

lando posted a story

it's the birthday of the prettiest, most talented and intelligent person i know today💖 i love you to the moon and back

story replies

↪yourusername LANDO IM CRYING i love you too❤️

↪iamrebeccad i am so excited for the surprise🤭

↪user second pic🥺 cutest couple ever

જ ♡ જ

yourusername posted a story

when i tell you I SOBBED🥺❤️

story replies

↪lando our song is the way you laugh, the first date "man, i didn't kiss her and i should have"🎶 ♥︎liked by author

↪lando but don't ever think for a moment that is your real present😉😉

જ ♡ જ

yourbestfriend posted a story // iamrebeccad posted a story // alexandrasaintmleux posted a story

→my best friend in this life and the next one. i love you so much and i miss u. happy bday🤍

→it's yn's day! happy birthday beautiful ❤️

→happy birthday to my favorite girl🫶🏼 ily

જ ♡ જ

yourusername thank you sm for the bday wishes<3 here's to a great year🥂

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charlesleclerc happy birthday!!

yourusername thank u charles<3

carlossainz55 🥳🎂🎉 ♥︎liked by author

francocolapinto feliz cumpleaños yn!!

yourusername gracias amigo🫶🏼

lando ily & i want to spend all your birthdays with you

yourusername i want to spend all my birthdays with you too🥺

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lando posted a story

📍hungary

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yourusername hungary gp winner🏆

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user one step closer to the championship 👏👏

user you are his lucky charm ♥︎liked by lando

user pls come to every race from now on🙏

maxverstappen1 celebrations tonight

yourusername yessss

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lando posted a story

→hey guys i silenced these stories from yn to let you know im throwing her a surprise bday party! the entire grid has been helping me plan it

→now we are finishing up the decorations! i'll keep you guys updated on how it goes

જ ♡ જ

yourusername posted a story

story replies

↪ iamrebeccad gorgeous girl

yourusername says youuu

↪lando 😍😍😍

↪lando almost there

જ ♡ જ

lando posted a story

→everyone say surprise!

→she loved it🤍 and she didn't suspect a thing , thank you for keeping the secret

story replies

↪yourusername i had no idea😭😭 i thought this was a team party

↪yourusername this was amazing i love you so much

જ ♡ જ

yourusername get you a boyfriend who throws you a surprise party and flies your bestie across the world

tagged yourbestfriend, iamrebeccad, alexandrasaintmleux, francocolapinto

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yourbestfriend yeah he's ok ig

lando stop the act, we all know you like me as yn's boyfriend 🙄

yourbestfriend ....whatever

user i have fomo😭

user same, let me innnnn

user yourbestfriend and franco?? mm i ship

yourusername 🤭🤭

yourbestfriend YN

yourusername i didn't say a word!

alexandrasaintmleux 😍😍

જ ♡ જ

yourbestfriend bestie & i🎂

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yourbestfriend i will not publicly admit anything but thank you lando for flying me here

lando that's fine, we'll get there eventually. you're welcome

yourusername my favorite present ever🤍

yourbestfriend stop i'll ruin my mascara

francocolapinto respectfully, i'd let you do anything to me ♥︎liked by author

user u go girl ! shoot your shot !

yourbestfriend say it to my face and i will

francocolapinto 🏃💨

user lmao he's about to be faster than the alpine

user tbf anything is faster than that alpine

જ ♡ જ

yourusername one year older non the wiser. best birthday ever<3

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yourbestfriend can lando fight?

yourusername 💕

alexandrasaintmleux your face card😍

yourusername literally u🪞

iamrebeccad marry me beautiful🧎‍♀️

yourusername 💍💘

lando uhm can everybody please stop flirting with my girlfriend??

yourbestfriend no.

alexandrasaintmleux no.

iamrebeccad no.

lando ok😔

lando anyways, surprises are still not over! There's more

yourusername stop itttt you are spoiling me too much

lando nah you love it

yourusername yes i do☺️ pls don't stop

જ ♡ જ

yourusername posted a story

HE BUILT ME A MOVIE ROOM LANDO ARE YOU INSANE?????

story replies

↪lando for you? anything. i'd give you the world❤️

જ ♡ જ

previous part • next part • series masterlist

જ ♡ જ

Taglist: @justaf1girl @anamiad00msday @formoola1fan @2bormaybenot @searecs @rana030 @multifantasic70 @yourmommyagone22 @primadonaprincess55 @hoeforlifee @literallysza @nichmeddar @josephqunnies @sbtlasworld @Hstylesmermaid @pastryboyyy @in-the-marina-trench @ahgase99 @gigigreens @harrysdimple05 @screamingwinecorner @danielricroll @sarx164 @samanthaw16 @tvdtw4ever @landorris @quill-vy @charlesgirl16 @mrs-ghostface @chezmardybum @wordesthetics @ajordan2020 @imagine-it-was-us @n3versatisfied @andreasaintmleux76 @andreasaintmleux @Imagine-it-was-us @rain-against-the-glass @Ajordan2020 @reluctantlymagicalcipher @theonottsbxtch @mattslovelygf @l3thal-l0lita @lily-ann22 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @frostqueen-dhriya @linnygirl09 @gardeniarose13 @lottie810 @guacala

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honeyhyunn · 4 days ago

Text

what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye

summary: your husband carlos blindsides you by asking for a divorce.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, time skips, eventual fluff, a mistake or two.

vicious speaks: this first chapter was a BEAST omg 😅 it went through several edits until i was finally happy with it. i actually started working on something entirely different when the idea for this grabbed me by the throat 😭 the other fic will be uploaded eventually, don’t worry! just need to get this out of my system. i also want to take a second to thank everyone for the love the scrap of this received 🥹 i really hope you love this version just as much, if not more 💓 happy reading!!

series masterlist

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ynsainz has added to their stories

replies

fan CARLOOOOOS

lilymhe pretty lady 🥰

⤷ ynsainz says you 😍

fan2 MAMÁ Y PAPÁ 🫶🏼

carlossainz55 and i’d do it again 😏

⤷ ynsainz 😝

fan3 ugh y’all are so cute

lando wow i asked him to hang out and he said he was doing stuff

⤷ ynsainz i’m stuff 😁

⤷ lando gross.

⤷ ynsainz 🙂‍↔️

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2m likes

f1gossip BREAKING: carlos sainz has filed for divorce from his wife, actress yn sainz! citing ‘irreconcilable differences’ as the reason for the split. carlos declined to comment but yn released the following statement: “after 12 beautiful years together, carlos has decided to end our marriage. i ask that you please give me privacy during this extremely devastating time.” we’re wishing them both the best.

view all comments

fan NO

fan2 NOT MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT COUPLE

fan3 JUST FELL TO MY KNEES IN A WALMART

fan4 screamed so loud my girlfriend thought someone died

fan5 what the fuck he literally just surprised her on set and now he’s filed for divorce??? you really never know what’s going on behind closed doors.

fan6 can’t imagine how yn is feeling 💔

fan7 sleeping on the highway tn.

fan8 is anyone else... not surprised? i'm sorry, i know relationships can't always be perfect but the way he treated her sometimes...

⤷ fan9 they’ll try to silence you but you’re right

⤷ fan10 lowkey think this is a blessing in disguise for her tbh.

fan11 carlos 😃 filed 😃 for 😃 what 😃

fan12 hey! so what the fuck!

fan13 haha f1gossip you’re so funny, april fools was months ago haha

fan14 “carlos has decided to end our marriage” “extremely devastating time” IT WASN’T MUTUAL OH GOD I FEEL SICK

fan15 we love you ynsainz you’ll get through this ❤️

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tmz first look at actress yn sainz since her soon to be ex-husband carlos sainz filed for divorce earlier this week!

view all comments

fan this is disgraceful!!

fan2 the way you guys chased her down to get shots of her crying is disgusting

fan3 i hope she sues your asses

fan4 reporting every single account that shares these photos btw

maxverstappen hope you’re ready for a lawsuit.

⤷ fan5 MAX???

fan6 oh you pissed off max you guys are DONE

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yn has added to their close friends story

replies

heidiberger_ i thought you were staying in america a little longer?

⤷ yn i thought so too until max offered to let me stay with him

⤷ heidiberger_ omg? so glad you’re going home 💗 let us know when there’s a good time to get together.

⤷ yn will do 🫶🏼

maxverstappen1 see you soon!

⤷ yn ❤️

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liked by carlossainz55 and others

livherrera what if i told you i’m a mastermind, and now you’re mine? 💙

👤 carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 mi vida 💙

⤷ fan calling her what used to be your nickname for yn? oooh you’re sick

friend you win! 😜

⤷ livherrera 🤭

fan2 oh!

fan3 girl this is not doing what you think it is

lando there’s still time to delete this

⤷ fan4 even lando’s irritated 😭

fan5 being proud of breaking up a happy home isn't cute

⤷ livherrera wasn’t that happy if he’s with me 😌

⤷ fan6 how is this real life

friend2 hot girls always get the last laugh 💁‍♀️

⤷ livherrera exactlyyyy 🙂‍↕️

⤷ fan7 so gross

fan8 always remember that karma’s a bitch

fan9 carlos really left yn for a 22yo who's proudly flaunting the fact that she's a home-wrecker...🫠

fan10 the caption 😐 you’re pathetic!

comments on this post have been limited

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carlossainz55 and livherrera

1.4m likes

carlossainz55 mamá and papá can’t wait to meet you, baby sainz ❤️

comments on this post have been limited

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f1gossip 😳 more than half of the drivers have unfollowed carlos sainz! this comes after he took to his instagram to announce the pregnancy of his girlfriend! some of the drivers include lando norris, max verstappen, lewis hamilton, sebastian vettel, and others.

view all comments

fan yn getting the drivers in the divorce just feels right

fan2 oh this is gonna make these rest of the races so interesting

fan3 she's got legends like lewis and seb in her corner, he's fucked.

fan4 it's what he deserves

fan5 i just know the gc is on fire right now

fan6 they better be surrounding our girl with love right now

fan7 not surprised max unfollowed, he’s always been a ride or die for yn

⤷ fan8 is it too soon to say i’ve always shipped them? 🫣

⤷ fan9 so real

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liked by lilymhe and others

ynupdates yn on max verstappen’s story tonight!

view all comments

fan FIRST YN SIGHTING IN A MONTH AND IT’S FROM MAX!??

fan2 well this is a plot twist

fan3 was so worried about her :( really glad my girl’s doing okay 🫶

fan4 he saw That announcement and said “🤺 aht! 🤺 aht! 🤺 let me steal the attention back!” and we love to see it 😌

fan5 i know that yn is friends with nearly all the drivers but this was still unexpected

fan6 LILY IN THE LIKES 💞

fan7 guys this is the least surprising thing to happen 😭 that man does not play about her

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taglist: @pansexualdarling @kenkozkmg @lemon-stvrrr @marijas-stuff @fastandcurious16 @glow-ish @slutforpopculture @lechat-rouge @cznctnty @mangotaitai @ravyn94 @ivy-stuffs @alireads27 @thatsojasminesworld @alessa-the-enchantress @lilith-123321 @kuskumu @sleutherclaw @96mcobo @wosof1 @charlesgirl16 @a-beaverhausen @imagine-it-was-us @chlodavids @hymntostars @ivegotparticulartaste @mochimommy2002 @minmira95 @gem1712

2K notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 4 days ago

Text

guest of honor — ln4

⋆˚✿˖° lando norris x reader — the three times you've been to silverstone so far ⋆˚✿˖° taglist: @foreveralbon @scuderia-piastri my pookies <333 ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 7.5k a/n: i know this is really late, but i've just been so busy, but i hope you like this. (also first time using proper capitalization in a hot minute)

silverstone 2023

IT WASN’T A PARTICULARLY SUNNY DAY. Patches of gray clouds rolled across the sky as you shifted in your chair, surrounded by orange walls—papaya, as everyone had corrected you. Compared to the overcast skies outside, the pop of color seemed bright, almost excessively so. Flo sat next to you, leg bouncing nervously as she watched the screen showing where all twenty cars were lined up on the grid. Without thinking, you offered her your hand; she took it, squeezing tightly as if she was about to fall. Her mother, Cisca, watched the two of you and gave you a warm pat on the shoulder, smiling in a way that seemed to be a trademark of the Norris family—warm, easygoing.

To be honest, you weren’t quite sure why you were here, tucked in the McLaren hospitality with Flo’s family. But she had invited you, and that was enough for you; who were you to say no to your best friend? You and Flo had first met back in your early days, back when the smell of the stables was a second nature. You were six at the time when you signed up for pony camp and met Flo, who was just as enthusiastic about horses as you, and her brother, Lando, the older brother their mother had sent with Flo to keep him busy. The three of you got on swimmingly; so much so that the counselors had to keep an eye out whenever you were all together. It was an instant friendship—loud, playful, full of hay and laughs and secrets. Since then, you and Flo became the best of friends as you two rose in the showjumping ranks. Lando went off to turn his attention to karting, though he tried to make it to an event here or there, still poking fun at you and Flo when he could, fitting in like he never left.

So, you had come for Flo; she had been by your side from the start, and you weren’t going to disappoint her by not going. Plus, you were interested in what world her brother had built for himself. Obviously, you knew enough from being around the Norris family, but your world was horses, so there was still a bit of a disconnect. But qualifying was electric, the same kind of nerves you got during your own competitions. As soon as Lando placed P2, everyone was ecstatic, and rightfully so. It was still a little hard to wrap your head around the fact that the boy who had hated pitching hay was starting second in his home race while driving cars at insane speeds.

Now, watching Flo and Cisca stand with their parents for the race start? It started to sink in. The formation lap began and ended, and soon the absentminded chatter turned to a hush. Then, the lights went out, the cars roaring to action while Flo squeezed your fingers, eyes glued to the screen. Lando had a great start, which was clear immediately. As they went into turn one, he had the better traction, pulling alongside Max Verstappen, past him as they exited the corner—and holy shit. You were no expert on Formula 1, but you at least knew that Lando being in first was a pretty good thing, though you could’ve guessed that from the way Flo and her family were cheering. It was something that you didn’t have to be family to understand, a sort of pride and joy that was palpable.

“So… what does that mean now?” you whispered into Flo’s ear once the buzz had died down. It was a little intimidating to be wearing a McLaren shirt surrounded by papaya orange while not fully understanding what was even happening. Your best friend gave you a bemused glance, eyes flicking between the screen and you.

“It means that Lando is holding onto the lead,” she responded. “But I mean, the Red Bull is quick, so y’know.” You nodded, hoping it made you seem like you understood what she said. But you didn’t have to get it to feel the atmosphere. Electric. Alive.

It was lap five, you were pretty sure, when the Red Bull was right behind Lando’s car, and on the straight, got enough speed to pass Lando. “Oh,” you frowned, trying to contribute to the conversation.

Flo nodded, eyes glued to the screen. “Yeah, the Red Bull is just the faster car.” Your frown deepened as you stared at the cars streaking across the TV. P2 was still good, right? As you watched your best friend, whose leg was bouncing with nerves, you decided to focus on actually learning what the commentators were saying so it didn’t sound like nonsensical gibberish.

By the middle of the race, you were fixated, trying to absorb everything you heard—it was stuff about tyres and pit stops. Words flew around: mediums, tyre deg, delta times. It was starting to piece together, all the factors to a great race. Lando was still in P2, but you watched as McLaren was slow on the stop with his teammate Oscar, who ended up dropping to P4, losing a place.

The rest of the race was rather uneventful, in your opinion. But on the last lap, Flo and her family seemed to be on edge again, energy tangible. When he crossed the checkered flag, they let out cheers, Adam heading down the stairs towards the garage. Flo tugged your arm as you blindly followed, somehow finding yourself behind the metal barriers in the place where the top three cars were parked. You were so close to the cars, so close to everything.

As Lando got out, he went over to his family, offering them fist bumps and a wide grin in the process. And then you kind of understood it, getting your home glory in front of your family. It’s what any athlete dreamed of. Flo and the rest of the Norris’ were ecstatic as the man they were all watching went over into their arms, having taken off his helmet. You were off to the side, smiling at the sweet moment, if not a little awkward, as you were the odd one out. When Lando reached you, his eyes widened a fraction, eyebrows raising, as if he hadn’t expected you. Something about it felt like an old memory catching up to him. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to be here either.

“Hey, congrats, Lando,” you grinned, offering him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s been a while, huh?” Lando’s eyes raked over your face, searching for something imperceptible.

Then he let out a soft sigh, smiling at you and pulling you into a hug. It wasn’t long or showy, just long enough to go, ‘yeah, we’re still the same’. He seemed content, relaxed. “Yeah, it has been,” he agreed, pulling back. “Haven’t seen you since that one competition a few months ago. Shit, what was the name of it again? y’know, the one where you were freaking out to Flo about not making the last jump.” You hadn’t realized he was keeping track, let alone the fact that he had been listening to you rant to his sister about the course.

“Oh, yes, that one,” you nodded, cheeks flushing at the fact that Lando had heard you complain about the course to Flo like a crybaby. “Anyway. Great job out there, Lan.” Like the most natural thing, the nickname slipped out, despite not having been used for a few months.

“Thanks,” Lando beamed, the kind where his eyes crinkled and his dimples were prominent. It didn’t last too long, though, before he was quickly guided away by the staff. “Catch you later,” you nodded, body acting on its own accord.

“I didn’t realize he had been listening to us rant,” Flo commented, nudging your side.

“Me neither,” you snorted. That day, you had been complaining nonstop out of worry for your performance, and Lando probably thought you were bitching about it since it was the last thing he remembered. It was funny if you didn’t think too much about it.

Whatever.

The rest of the events that happened were things you didn’t really understand, watching Lando get interviewed before disappearing into the building. Cameras flashed, the crowd cheered, and Max gave his interview next. In the downtime, you and Flo chatted, taking a few selfies, as one does. Then, Lando reappeared at the podium, grinning at the crowd below.

To your left, you watch Flo go onto the camera app, taking pictures of her brother on the podium. It was cool to spend time with Flo’s family and to learn more about F1. The champagne popped after the anthems, and you felt the droplets land on you, turning around to see Lando sticking his tongue out and pointing the bottle right at you, and flo as if he was an unhinged tween again. You snorted, playfully nudging her in front of you. Mulling over it, you thought maybe you’d go over more, watch more races with her. Maybe you’d start paying more attention. Just to understand better.

silverstone 2024

You were back at Silverstone, yet another VIP pass around your neck, this time straight from Lando. This time, though, you were arriving with Max Fewtrell and Pietra. Over the past year, you and Lando had reconnected, picking up where you left off with F1 races and showjumping events. He had introduced you to max and pietra, but you had already known lando’s best friend, who was always over at the norris household back in the day, much like you. “a leech,” lando had called you teasingly after you had raided their fridge after school many years ago. “you’re always here.”

Initially, you were going to beg a pass off of Flo, but Lando had gotten wind of that. “I have enough passes for my friends,” he had scoffed, swiping your phone out of your hand while you were in the middle of sending a text. Scowling at him, you folded your arms. It was a well-worn dance; he did something annoying, you pretended to get mad at him. A pattern, like clockwork. “I’ll get you a pass, don’t worry.” He tossed your phone back into your lap, a smug grin on his face as if he’d won a prize, as if he were the one walking away with something earned.

You didn’t know how to feel. Flo was your best friend, so it made sense for Lando to give you a pass. But you supposed that you were also Lando’s friend now, too. It wasn’t slipping back into the way things used to be; no, it was Lando worming his way and becoming a constant, more so than he used to. FaceTime calls, arguing about whether a straw had one or two holes at two in the morning. A whole back-and-forth of horrid photos of each other from your teenage years. Messing with each other’s Spotify playlists. The kind of friendship you settled into easily.

Flo had said the same. “You’re starting to choose my brother over me, I see,” she huffed while you two were watching some movie you had pirated, a bowl of popcorn between you.

“It’s not like that,” you protested, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “And all the passes come from Lando anyway, so does it even matter?” Your best friend held her hands up in mock-surrender, and you quickly realized that you had gone defensive.

“All I did was joke around,” Flo said slyly, shit-eating grin on her face. Reaching forward, she grabbed some popcorn, pausing the movie. “You’re the one who felt the need to immediately come up with a rebuttal. I don’t know what you see in him, to be honest.”

“He’s a friend, Flo, just like you,” you sighed, tossing a piece of popcorn at her. “I mean, obviously not replacing you, it’s just—”

“Just what? Just wearing his hoodies?” she teased, clearly having been waiting to use that line. You glanced down at your hoodie, confused as you looked back up at Flo, who gave you a withering look. “Don’t tell me you forgot. We went to one of his F3 races, remember? And it was raining like crazy, so he gave you his hoodie? Don’t even lie, it literally says Carlin on the sleeve.”

You blinked. So maybe she had a point. But in your defense, it was a while ago, and you’d just assumed it was yours. “I steal everything,” you shrugged, trying to play it off while your cheeks reddened. Then again, subtlety was never one of your strengths. “You know this.”

“Oh, I see. You want to steal his heart, too,” Flo smirked, nudging your side and making you roll your eyes. “You’re swooning for his dumb smile.” You groaned, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her while mumbling a few choice words. “A violent way to say yes.”

“Flo, c’mon, you don’t need to make it some big thing.” You were just trying to save face, to find a way to escape her onslaught of evidence. To run from some inexplicable truth.

At that, a smug smirk formed on Flo’s face, as if she had been waiting for you to say that. Ah, shit. Here comes the ragebait. “So you’re saying you don’t care that he’s coming back home today?”

It was a trap, a trick as old as time. You knew, she knew, everyone and their mother knew. So naturally, you fell for it. “He is?” you asked.

As she nodded, you heard the front door open and Flo’s mom say, “Lando! You’re back, dear.” Speak of the devil indeed. You watched as Flo got up and headed downstairs before begrudgingly following her.

“Hi Mum,” Lando smiled, voice soft in the way he reserved for family. Dropping his bags, he walked forward, wrapping his arms around Cisca in a tender hug. After, he gave Flo a quick hug too before flicking her bun in the annoying jest siblings often did. Then, Lando turned to you, not surprised at seeing you. After all, you often frequented the Norris household, especially when everyone was there. It had always been your second home.

“Hey, how are you?” he smiled, pulling you into a side hug. For a moment, his eyes flicked down to your hoodie, eyes landing on the stitching that said Carlin, Lando’s former F2 and F3 team. “That’s mine, isn’t it?” It came off as casual, Lando’s hands in his pockets. But you knew him better than that; you knew from the way his eyes flitted between you and the hoodie that he was well aware it was his, but he was awaiting your answer.

“Yeah, forgot I had it,” you responded with an awkward chuckle, backstabbing cheeks flushing. “I’ve worn it so much that it’s just a permanent part of my wardrobe.” Behind you, you heard Flo snort before turning and heading upstairs. Traitor. After her, you heard Cisca walk back towards the kitchen, humming.

“Nice that you kept it,” Lando nodded, turning to rummage through his bags. “Looks good on you.” God, how could he say that so casually? As if it didn’t make your insides flutter. You were debating how to reply when Lando turned back around, fist closed around something, as a triumphant smile stretched across his face.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. If you were being honest, it could be anything; Lando was just unpredictable.

“C’mere,” Lando insisted, and you wished you had enough self-preservation to put up a semblance of a fight, but you went willingly. “Thought that you’d want something for Silverstone.” He opened his hand, revealing two orange bead bracelets that were clearly handmade. One said “chicken,” and the other said “egg,” a reference to a long-running argument between you and Lando on whether the chicken or the egg came first. Dating back to an after-school debate complete with opening statements, it was such a prevalent topic that it was your contact name for each other; you were saved as “eggs been-a-dick 🖕” on Lando’s phone, and he was saved as “a chicken…” on yours.

“Still a sore loser?” you teased, grabbing the “egg” bracelet. To be fair, it did look good; you had to give kudos to Lando. “Can’t believe you’re voluntarily labeling yourself as a chicken. And also a loser for thinking the chicken came first.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lando scoffed as he elbowed you, the bracelet now on his wrist. “Wow, I’m brilliant. They look so good.”

You rolled your eyes, holding your wrist up next to his. You had to admit, it was a cute idea. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head, Lan.” Because it had already gone to yours. Because your mind was already trying to figure out the implications of matching bracelets.

Now, you glanced back down at the bracelet, walking into McLaren hospitality. “You’re early,” Lando commented, glancing at Max as well. “Flo isn’t here yet.” You really tried to be disappointed in the way that one would when their best friend wasn’t there, but you just couldn’t conjure the feeling.

“So, where’s the coffee machine?” you asked, needing something to pass the time. Max gave you a perplexed look, if not worried.

“Mate, it’s literally over there,” he stated, pointing at the other corner of the hospitality. You simply shook your head.

“No, I mean the good one. Y’know, the one for the team,” you explained, turning to look at Lando. “C’mon, Lan. You have to know where it is. A girl needs her coffee.”

Looking up at him expectantly, you watched as Lando mentally debated whether to go through the hassle and take you before ultimately sighing and saying, “Alright, fine, you muppet.” You pumped a fist in victory, desperate for a good coffee.

Quickly stopping your gloating, Lando tugged your arm, heading further into the building, the touch light and insistent. “I actually have a few more things for you,” he added as he dragged you through the McLaren building to avoid any questions from his team. Before you could voice your suspicions, he was already beating you to the chase. “It’s not bad, I swear!”

“Right, sure,” you agreed, dubious. Lando took a second to roll his eyes at you before nudging your side. Instead of doing anything, you just blinked, willing him to elaborate. Or, y’know, confess his love to you—you wouldn’t say no to that.

“Look, coffee, right there.” Lando pointed at the fancy espresso machine, voice softer and tinged with something that warmed your heart. Luckily, the amazing coffee you were about to have was also going to warm your heart.

With a practised precision that came with being a person who relied on caffeine in the mornings, you brewed your typical and added some creamer. Happy now that you had your coffee, you let Lando guide you to a seat at a table before he sat across from you. “So, what is this mysterious gift then, Lando?”

“It’s not a mystery, I just wanted to give you some fan bracelets,” he retorted, eyes light before softening into something warmer. He dropped a handful of bracelets in your hand, bright bead ones with his name on both of them. You paused, about to tell him to give them to his mother instead, but Lando shook his head. “I already gave my mum some. There’s too much, so I thought I’d give some to you.”

You took one of the bracelets—fluro green with “LN4” bracketed by orange hearts—and put it on, admiring the handiwork. “They’re cute, I like them,” you grinned, sliding them onto your wrist. “Thanks, Lando.” You tried to be nonchalant, but inside, your stomach was twisting with butterflies. Lando was sweet for doing this, and the moment felt like something out of your imagination. You almost told him then, almost revealed all of your feelings to him, only an hour or two before the race.

“‘Course,” Lando replied easily, eyes watching you sip your coffee with a hint of longing. Yearning, one could even say. Being an F1 driver, he couldn’t have any caffeine before the race, so you figured he was going through withdrawals. “So, ready for the race?”

“I should be asking you that,” you snorted, fingers drumming on the table. “You feeling good?”

Lando paused, tilting his head to think, eyes cast upwards like he always does when thinking. “I’m hopeful,” he settled on. “The car feels good, but the Mercedes and Max are quick as well.”

You nodded, not reassuring him or predicting, simply listening. Early on, you had deduced that it was more helpful to Lando if you didn’t try to convince him of results. However, you weren’t given the chance to reply when Will came over, glancing at you.

“Lando, we’re about to debrief, if you haven’t forgotten.” At that, you got up, coffee cup in hand, apologizing to Lando’s race engineer.

“I haven’t,” Lando responded, standing up but not moving, as if reality was still a step ahead of him, as if he could make time stall. You rolled your eyes, nudging his side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had your debrief?” you scolded, swatting his shoulder with one hand. “I don’t want to impose.”

Lando quickly shook his head, eyes focused on you. “You’re not imposing. I wanted to talk to you, s’not your fault.” Squeezing your shoulder, he added, “You know where Max and P are, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you responded, brain distracted by Lando’s hand on your shoulder. But could you really be blamed? It was Lando. Squeezing your shoulder. “If I don’t see you before the race, you’re going to crush it, Lan. I believe in—” Before you could say 'you,' Lando was already wrapping his arms around you, chin resting on the shoulder he had just squeezed. Oh, your heart; how was your heart supposed to handle this? If he paid attention, he would be able to feel how fast your heart was beating.

Too soon for your liking, Lando pulled away, giving you an apologetic smile. “I have to go now, see you later,” he said, hand brushing yours as he left with Will, scrunching his face as he looked back at you. What was happening? It was as if Lando had randomly decided to up his charm rather than annoy you. You gave him a little wave before heading back to where Max and P were, still a bit in shock at how brazenly Lando was being affectionate.

When you got back, Lando’s family was there, Flo spotting your expression immediately. “What happened? Spill,” she practically demanded, bossy with the confidence that came from being your closest friend.

You gave her a sheepish smile, wanting to hold onto the moment for yourself before finding yourself leaning in to tell her. Betrayed yet again by your own body. “He was just being so sweet and flirty,” you admitted, fiddling with your new bracelets.

Flo immediately recoiled, regret written in the scrunch of her nose. Begrudgingly, you noticed that it was similar to Lando’s expressions, including the one he had given you before he left. “Ew, never mind,” she decided, shaking her head. “I don’t want to hear this about my brother and my best friend.”

You snorted, nudging her shoulder. “You asked.” Your best friend rolled her eyes, elbowing you before pulling out her phone so you two could continue watching a show, an unspoken agreement between you two. After a while, you said quietly, “You know Lando won’t ever replace you, right? I mean, I don’t even know if he likes me back.”

At that, Flo paused the show, turning to look at you. “Are you kidding?” she chuckled, eyes wide with disbelief. “He literally went out of his way just because you were craving coffee, gave you the bracelets from his fans, which he only gives to Mum, and spent the time right before his debrief talking to you.”

Suddenly bashful, you fiddled with the hem of your McLaren shirt, a number four displayed on the back of it. Before you could respond and face it, the formation lap started, and you were grateful for the chance to stop thinking so much about everything.

The cars lined up, green flag waving as the lights went on. When they went out, your heart felt like it was caught in your throat, a strange emotion clawing in your stomach. The run to Turn 1 was all well and good, Russell holding off Hamilton as everyone mostly held position. However, heading into turn three, Lando was a bit wobbly with the front, going off and letting Verstappen slip by to snatch P3 by the time they reached Turn 5.

You winced. Flo clutched your hand. Cisca frowned. Adam sucked in a breath. As the race continued on like that, you glanced outside at the darkening clouds, the threat of rain looming large. As usual, with rain came more opportunity to screw over someone’s race, and you hoped McLaren had everything locked down. You prayed they did.

After a handful of laps, Lando was cutting down on the gap to Verstappen. By the time he reached Stowe a couple of laps later, he breezed by the Red Bull. He was back on the podium, and you grinned, clapping your hands together and holding them under your chin, bracelets pressing against your skin.

Finally, the sky opened up and the rain started falling, the last strike everyone had been waiting for. You watched as Russell struggled, and with the damp track, Lando managed to snatch P2 after the Mercedes went off. Fiddling with your bracelets, you watched and tried to sit still, antsy about the rapidly changing scenario.

As Lando charged down the pit straight, right behind Hamilton, you held your breath. Time seemed to slow as Lando’s car inched past the Mercedes, papaya streaking forward. Your hand flew over your mouth as it sank in. Lando was leading the British Grand Prix again.

You didn’t think it was merely by chance that this was the second year in a row where Lando was first; it was fate, setting up one of its plans. Or so you chose to believe. And you believed, until the time came for pit stops, the pit lane already getting chaotic.

McLaren had decided to pit Lando with everyone else, leaving Oscar out. Lando, being on the better strategy, jumped to first again after the order sorted itself, your heart hammering.

Then, it seemed like you blinked and everything fell apart. You didn’t even know what just happened, your brain refusing to process the mess of a pit stop you just watched while your nails dug into your palm some number of laps later. Four and a half seconds. Pitting one lap later. Then came the final nail in the coffin at the end with Verstappen overtaking Lando. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath, causing Flo and Cisca to look at you.

You went down with the Norris clan for the podium, the mood clearly low. When Lando came to you all in parc ferme, the sentiment was shared by him as he gave everyone short hugs or brief nods. The podium ceremony went on, but as you watched Lewis Hamilton raise the trophy high, you couldn’t help but think that could’ve—should’ve—been Lando.

After everything was over, the interviews, the team photos, the debriefings, all the congratulations, you found Lando in his driver’s room, leaning into his little nook as if it could hide him from today. “Hey, Lan,” you said softly. “‘M sorry about the race.” No overanalysis, no pep talk; rather, you just reached out and patted his shoulder, giving him his space.

He didn’t answer at first—just wordlessly wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a hug as he buried his face in your shoulder. It was a kind of hug that sought energy, that needed comfort as he folded into your arms.

“It was just a fucking mess, wasn’t it?” he mumbled, clearly dejected. “Could’ve won and then it went all downhill.”

“And I could’ve been a pop singer, if you think about it,” you replied, patting his back. It pained you, seeing one of your most confident friends doubt himself. In that moment, you didn’t see the boy who always volunteered to go first in school or your friend who had told you he was going to be a Formula 1 driver one day without a flicker of doubt. “Lan, shit happens sometimes, but you don’t need to add that to your mistakes. You’ll bounce back. You always do.”

“You’re such a liar, you’re terrible at singing,” Lando murmured into your shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. He pulled back, eyes meeting yours in almost a reverent way, taking all of you in. “Thank you. You always know what to say.”

“I mean it,” you told him, giving him a small smile. Patting his hand, you tried to signal your hope and confidence in him as if you could send it through a quick touch, lingering a little too long.

Lando gave you a lopsided grin, and it made your heart swell, like you’d just won the biggest prize. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, but they were shining, dimples showing. In all your years of knowing Lando Norris, you hadn’t seen this particular expression yet. “Seriously,” Lando said, voice turning gentle and sincere in a way that your heart couldn’t handle. It was soft at the edges, curling upwards with an admiring lilt, and you were not mentally prepared for it. “Where would I be without you?”

“Still burning toast,” you teased, the fondness behind the words settling somewhere deep in your chest. Yet again, you were cracking jokes as a diversion from Lando’s warm gaze, doing what you always fell back on.

“Oh my god, that was one time,” he huffed without a trace of anger. The mix of tenderness and a hint of exasperation in his eyes signaled it was a well-worn argument, one that you constantly brought up as a last defence.

Only then you realized how close your faces were—close enough to be able to see the flecks of green in his eyes. Well, this was definitely not helping your crush on Lando. In your defense, he looked perfect, hair tousled with a soft smile on his lips. His lips, god. If you had more confidence and recklessness, you would’ve just kissed him, but then again, if you had that confidence, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

“You with me?” Lando asked, waving a hand in front of your face, eyes glinting with amusement. Like he had already guessed what was running through your mind. “What are you looking at?”

You blinked, glancing to the side, cheeks flushing. “Just zoned out,” you mumbled, waiting for a hole to open up in the ground.

“Hey,” Lando said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand on your arm. “Look at me. Please.” And of course, you listened to him, eyes meeting his embarrassingly quickly. “Talk to me, what’s going through your mind?”

You sucked in a breath, not knowing what to do. “It’s embarrassing,” you muttered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. Lando’s hand remained on your arm, steady, grounding.

“Hm,” he responded, tilting his head. His eyes were fixed on you, eyes shining in the way they did before he was about to reveal a secret. “Less embarrassing than having a crush on your sister’s best friend for seven years?”

As your brain processed his words, your breath hitched, eyes scanning over his face to see if it was some elaborate prank. When you saw the fond warmth in his expression, your mouth finally gained back the ability to speak. “You’re joking,” you gaped, heart fluttering to life at the spark of hope. “Lan, you… do?”

Lando’s eyes only crinkled further as he nodded. “Of course,” he replied easily. “You’re amazing.” He said it so simply, as if it were a given, an innate truth in the universe. His fingers brushed your cheek, tentative at first, to check that you were still there.

“Lan,” you breathed out, leaning closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your voice was airy—reverent, almost. “You flatter me. You’re pretty great yourself, y’know.”

“Wow, cold,” Lando scoffed, clutching his chest dramatically. “And here I was thinking that I was about to get a lot of compliments.” You snorted, rolling your eyes while your smile stayed fixed on your face.

“Annoying prick,” you murmured, leaning closer, just enough to test the waters. Your heart was fluttering, hoping that everything would go right. “And seven years is pretty embarrassing, I have to say.”

Lando huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “Is that all you have to say?” His arms came to wrap around your waist, loose yet still getting the point across.

“What do you want me to say?” you grinned, teasing lilt to your voice. Even now, you two never stopped your banter. “That I feel the same? Or that I’m waiting for you to kiss me?”

And you knew F1 drivers had great reaction times, but you didn’t expect Lando to react that quickly. As soon as the words left your mouth, Lando was closing the gap, gently pressing his lips to yours. Your hands went to the nape of his neck as his arms pulled your waist closer, like two opposing magnets.

You’d always rolled your eyes when writers described kisses as fireworks exploding, but kissing Lando, it did feel like that. Warm and bright and brilliant. As cliché as it was, kissing Lando just felt right, like sunlight hitting your face at just the perfect angle.

As you two parted, your lips curled into a smile, thumb tapping Lando’s dimple. “So, seven years?” you asked, still somewhat incredulous.

“Shut up,” Lando protested, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. “This is bullying.” You chuckled, one hand running through his hair, something you never thought you’d get to do, if you were being honest.

“It’s not bullying, it’s playful banter,” you teased, just enjoying the moment. You wanted to freeze the moment, keep it pressed between the pages of your memory. Sure, were you cramped in the driver's room with Lando’s weight on you? You could say that, but you reveled in it. Lando liked you. Lando liked you. God, you wanted to scream it for all of Silverstone to hear. “For your information, Lan.”

“Well, for your information, I didn’t fucking ask,” Lando retorted into your neck, not bothering to lift his head to reply. You giggled at his comment, knowing he hadn’t changed his comebacks since he was fifteen.

“Real mature,” you snorted, relaxing as time became a foreign concept. Eventually, you spoke up again, voice soft. “I’m proud of you today, Lan. You drove so well. And before you say it, just because you didn’t win doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good drive.” Your fingers were still absentmindedly running through his hair, everything feeling natural. It was likely the fact that you had known Lando for so long, but it didn’t feel like you two had just confessed half an hour ago; it all just fell into a steady flow so easily.

“Thanks,” Lando mumbled, and you could hear the way he was trying not to voice any self-deprecating comment. “Wanted to win, though. Wanted to win for Mum and Dad, for Flo, Cisca, and Oli, for you.” Your eyes softened as you gently pulled back, hands cupping his cheeks.

“You will win. I have faith in you, Lan,” you said, voice unwavering as you kissed his forehead, sealing a pact.

Lando blinked up at you, eyes wide with adoration. “I’ll win it for you,” he murmured under his breath, barely audible, but it made your heart skip a beat. As you pressed your lips to his, it felt almost like a promise.

silverstone 2025

“Drive safe, Lan,” you murmured, pecking Lando’s lips as he was in the garage, getting ready for the race. The rain had been on and off, and the wind was flirting with the track, too. “I believe in you. You got this, and I love you.” You knew the cameras would be eating it up, probably slapping on a “Lando Norris’ girlfriend” graphic while they were at it. It also didn’t help that you were wearing a fluro shirt with LN4 emblazoned on the back. You didn’t care. Not when his eyes were the only thing you were looking at.

Lando’s mouth curved up against your lips as his arm wrapped you, pulling you close; the fact that you two were in the garage was forgotten for a few precious seconds. “Love you too,” he responded, cupping your cheek for a brief moment before putting in his earbuds, chatting with Will about last-minute preparations.

Once Lando sat down in his car, you blew him a kiss—which he caught, as always—and went to join his parents. Since Silverstone last year, it had been a whirlwind of you and Lando; family dinners, vacations, lazy mornings wrapped in each other, all of it. And it was perfect—you loved Lando and he loved you. He was everything you had hoped he’d be, and perhaps even more. The kind of love that bloomed as time went on.

Now, as you watched the grid lineup after the formation lap, Lando was starting P3, but you had an inkling it’d only be a fight between the two McLarens. The lights went out, and Max held onto his lead over Oscar and Lando, inters kicking up a spray as they went by. However, after a few laps, things became more chaotic as Lawson collided with Ocon, Colapinto retired, and Bortoleto spun before coming to a stop.

You fiddled with your fingers anxiously, squeezing Flo’s hand as you prayed yet again that McLaren wouldn’t fuck anything. Now, ironically, the roles were reversed; you were the one anxiously bouncing your leg as Flo patted your hand, trying to make sure your mind wasn’t spiraling.

The anticipated rain finally started falling as your fingers drummed against your phone. “C’mon, Lan,” you muttered under your breath as you watched him get close to Max. As they were side-by-side, the Red Bull ran wide, and your grip on Flo’s hand tightened as Lando slipped into P2 before both cars dove into the pits. You grinned, pumping a fist with Adam at the overtake, one step closer to the top step.

However, you should’ve known it was too easy, as McLaren double-stacked Lando and Oscar; Lando ended up with a slower pit stop, Max getting past him again as you sucked in a breath. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you scoffed, barely audible.

The rain thickened. Visibility thinned. Your fidgeting increased as your fingers picked at the bracelets on your wrist, each bead rolling under your thumb. Soon, a safety car was deployed, making your shoulders relax slightly. Oscar’s lead would be cut down, bringing Lando and Max into the equation again while they waited for conditions to improve. The safety car came into the pits but was quickly deployed again as Hadjar went into the barriers after making contact with Antonelli.

You watched nervously as the Safety Car was about to come back in, surprised as Oscar braked and Max almost darted in front of him. Once they were allowed to race again, the Red Bull spun and dropped him down to P10. It put Lando into second, right behind Oscar for the lead.

Lando remained behind Oscar as you were starting to run out of things to fiddle with, going back to playing with your bracelets. However, it was later shown that Oscar had received a 10-second penalty for the incident with Max, causing your heart to flutter. Things were happening in the midfield, but quite frankly, you paid them no attention, eyes flitting between the screen and glimpses of the telemetry you could spot in the garage, if you could make sense of them.

Hope is the thing with feathers, as Emily Dickinson once said, and now, you were watching the laps blur by, clutching your best friend’s hand as you watched Lando. Soon, Oscar came into the pits and served his penalty, coming back out in second, and that’s when it hit you.

For the third year in a row, Lando was leading the British Grand Prix. But this time, he was going to win it, you felt it in your bones, a certainty you can’t just invent.

Lando pitted at one point for mediums, coming back out still in first, and you watched, not moving at all. You didn’t dare, not wanting to disturb anything or mess up the threads of fate that would—superstitiously—change the race. Your fingers squeezed Flo’s as you gave her a hopeful look, the same expression mirrored on her face.

As the laps came down to the last few, the edges of your vision blurred with unshed tears. Then he crossed the line, and the tears started to fall as you cheered, exchanging eager fist bumps with Adam and Cisca while leaning against Flo.

He had done it. The boy from Glastonbury had won his home race in front of his family, in front of his fans, in front of the grandstand that bore his name. He had finally done it. You managed to catch some of his radio, hearing his delight, which only made your eyes water further.

You rushed with the Norrises to parc ferme, getting a front-row spot while your hands gripped the metal barriers. When Lando pulled up to the first-place sign, everyone around you erupted into cheers and applause as your boyfriend raised a fist to the sky, Silverstone coming alive and roaring their praise.

Eyes never leaving Lando, you watched as Oscar came over briefly before Lando was out of the car and beelining straight towards his parents. You watched with a fond smile as he melted into his parents' embrace, Cisca beaming. Lando then went over to his grandparents, delighted that they could attend; next came his sisters, whom he gave hugs, making them smile. Then, he was in front of you, gloved hands cradling your face.

“Lando,” you smiled, voice thick with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words. “You did it. I love you so much. You don’t know how proud I am.” Lando pulled your face towards his as you kissed the cool plastic of his helmet, hands covering the blobs as it was the closest thing you could get in that moment.

“I told you I’d win it for you,” Lando replied, eyes shining with joy as you looked into his visor. “I love you more. Thank you for always being there.” His arms were tight around your waist, your arms around his neck as your forehead rested against fluro yellow with black blobs, conveying your joy without speaking a single word.

Then, he pulled back, blinking remorsefully as he was ushered to where Jenson Button was eagerly waiting. Lando turned back, blowing you a kiss as he was walking, and you caught it, holding it over your heart. When he signed the bottle, you noticed he had written, “For my family and my girlfriend” with a small heart at the end, only making you fall in love with him more.

As soon as the podium ceremony was about to start, you pulled out your phone, taking pictures the moment Lando walked on. You took a burst, deciding it would be enough photos, and chose to watch your boyfriend. God Save the King played as you smiled with warm eyes at Lando, grinning as you heard Cisca call out that she loved him.

His eyes then met yours, lips curving up into a soft expression, in awe despite being the one on the podium. Then came the champagne, and it was reminiscent of the first race you had attended, which coincidentally happened to have been at Silverstone two years ago. This time, Lando spiked his bottle, aiming at his family before directing the rest at you, making you laugh up at him, wanting to burn this memory forever into your brain.

As he went to do media, you regrouped with the Norris family, sharing hugs and high-fives as you were all a little teary-eyed, having seen the man you all loved on the top step. Lando Norris, home race winner. It sounded perfect.

Once Lando returned to the garage, the ruckus kicked up again, cheers and pats on the back as he made his way to where you were chatting with Cisca and Adam. He gave his parents a tight hug before turning to you, trophy still in hand, as his other arms reached for you. “Baby,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around you, face burying into your neck.

Your heart melted, one hand running down his back as he pulled back, his smile never leaving his face. Without prelude, he leaned in as he pressed his lips to yours, one hand still holding onto the trophy. Your hands cupped his cheeks, using your shared breath to communicate your pride.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss, both of you smiling too much and still buzzing with excitement to slow down. But it meant more than anything. “This one’s yours,” he whispered, barely pulling back. “Ours.” You liked the sound of that.

762 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 5 days ago

Text

The Girl With The Sun In Her Eyes - OP81

Oscar Piastri x Fan!Reader (with smau)

summary: after getting noticed by the team staff during a GP´, your life takes a cinematic turn. However, dating Oscar Piastri while being a broke college student may not be as easy as it seems

word count: 6k

notes: out of respect for Lando's actual girlfriend, I gave him an imaginary one, who is the vilain here. Also, this wasn't requested, but I really wanted a cute, fluffy, comfy Oscar fanfic because I'm having a bad week 🫠 (also i believe this is poorly written, but it made me happy)

Playlist:

Fearless - Taylow Swift

Wildflower - 5SOS

Crazier - Taylor Swift

No Shame - 5SOS

I'd Have You Anytime - George Harrison

Boyfriend - COIN

The grandstands vibrated beneath your feet, the air was thick with burnt rubber, humidity from the rain that poured all day, and a kind of electricity you had only ever felt through a screen before.

You had scraped every last cent together, cancelled a semester’s worth of weekend plans and ate instant noodles more times than could possibly be healthy, just to be here. So, you sure as hell ripped a scream from your throat when Oscar Piastri crossed the finish line in P2, not only with an excitement of seeing a podium with your favorite driver, but also relief and joy and a hell lot of pride. It felt personal, like it was worth it ruining your social life just for those 2 hours.

The homemade sign you painted the weekend before: “My boyfriend is literally on track” with orange glitter all around, smudged your fingers as it was slowly disintegrating from the rain. You didn’t care. The amount of emotions that were running through your veins felt too good to care about anyone or anything else.

Until you were called out by security. At first, there was panic, heart pumping violently, you thought you were going to get thrown off the Autodrome before the podium ceremony, for no reason at all. But the real motive behind their calling was even more unbelievable. You won a fan competition you weren’t even aware was happening.

You stood in a circle with nine other people, all wearing McLaren merch, either a t-shirt, or cap, but clearly fans. A McLaren staff member wearing a polo walked towards you, congratulating you on winning the garage tour. You blinked, it felt too unreal.

Ten minutes later, you stood beside sleek tires and humming machinery, surrounded by people who looked far too rich to be breathing the same air. PR girls in Chanel, influencers filming Tik Toks on the corner, someone whose face you were pretty sure had been on a Netflix show…

You fixed your hair self-consciously, it was frizzy from all the humidity in the air. Likewise, your shirt was uncomfortably sticking to your body, and if you had a mirror, you could’ve confirmed your makeup was ruined. And that is exactly the state he saw you when he walked in. Oscar. Helmet under one arm, fireproofs clinging to him like a second skin, hair damp with sweat, a lazy half-smile on his face as he greeted the staff. He looked tired, yet calm. Completely unaware that you were staring at him like he personally reinvented the concept of being a starstrucked.

Then, as if the world was feeling generous, his eyes met yours. It only lasted a second, but it was enough. His gaze caught on your ridiculous sign, on the running mascara still lingering on your cheeks, and something in his expression shifted. He smiled. Not politely, not because he had to. He smiled like you amused him. Like he wanted to know more.

“So your boyfriend is literally on track, huh?” he said, walking over, helmet now tucked under the crook of his elbow. “That’s a new one.”

You flushed. Why the hell did you have to write such a stupid sign? It was cringey and the glitter was now ruining it, but again, it wasn’t like he was supposed to see it, you were just having fun, none of those people would ever see you again.

“Yeah, I, uh– he was, so… don’t make me remake the sign…”

He laughed. A real laugh. The kind that crinkled his eyes and just like that, everyone else in the room blurred out.

He leaned in slightly, as if he was letting you in on a secret.

“Are you crying because I got a podium or because I didn’t win?”

You grinned, caught off guard.

“Both. Maybe. I don’t even know.”

“What’s your name?”

You blinked twice, a bit incredulous with the fact that he was actually asking for your name, as if he was flirting with you on a bar night.

“It’s, uh… Yn?”

“Are you sure?”

You felt your cheeks get redder. For fucks sake, could this be anymore pathetic?

“Yes. Positive.”

“Well, thank you for the support. I’ll be thinking of that sign when I get roasted by Lando later.”

You didn’t have time to ask for a picture, or even laugh at his comment, because he was pulled away then, team members and journalists swallowing him whole again. However, just before he disappeared, he looked back over his shoulder again and a flinch of a smirk came up to his lips, and if you were close enough, you could have seen the flush pink that painted his cheeks.

liked by mclaren, yourbff, oscarpiastri and 433 others

yourusername what an insane weekend! thank you so much mclaren for the opportunity! this feels too unreal and my lungs are collapsing 🫠😭

view all comments:

user Did you breathe at all this weekend? ↳ yourusername impossible task🙃 ↳ yourdad she was too busy holding that sign

yourbff YOU MET HIM. IN REAL LIFE. I’M STILL SCREAMING.

mclaren We’ll be expecting more glitter signs in the future 👀🧡

user congrats!! hope you enjoyed the paddock! ↳ yourusername don't ask me the color of anything

user you’re living every fan’s dream rn 😭

user you're literally so cute for no reason 🫠

user 🧡

youfriend thanks for the invite 👍 ↳ yourusername you literally declined!!!

user still can’t believe that oscar read this sign💀💀💀

user WHO IS SHE AND WHY DO I LOVE HER

liked by yourusername, lando, mclaren and 1,003,299 others

oscarpiastri P2 this weekend! Very happy with the results! Thank you McLaren family for making it possible.

view all comments:

landonorris did you thank the glitter sign girl tho? ↳ oscarpiastri I did 😉 ↳ user GLITTER SIGN GIRL REVEAL WHEN??

mclaren 🚀 P2 and still just getting started

charles_leclerc congrats mate!😏 ↳ oscarpiastri thank you, charles

yukitsunoda0511 next time i want a glittery sign too 😤

georgerussell63 huge congrats! ↳ oscarpiastri thanks

danielricciardo mate, proud of you 👏 but next time give me a heads up before stealing all the cute fans ↳ oscarpiastri you snooze you lose 😌

user THE SIGN GIRL IS HIS GIRLFRIEND?😭🧡

user not oscar getting P2 and a groupie in one weekend 💀

user imagine screaming for oscar and he actually sees you… i’d pass away

carlossainz55 congrats amigo! see you in the paddock next week 👊 ↳ oscarpiastri cheers, mate

user okay but notice how he liked her post before posting this 👀 we see you, oscar

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That was a sleepless night, one of many. Partly from excitement, but mostly because your Instagram lit up with a new DM notification.

You stared at the message for fifteen minutes before answering. You typed and deleted seven different versions of a reply. Something funny? Casual? Cool? But everything felt like trying to speak a language you never learned. In the end, you decided to go for something you would answer if he was your friend, because that would be the less awkward way of letting your true personality out.

After that display of flirtation, you thought it was the last time he’d answer you, that he was just joking around, being nice to a fan. But little did you know it had barely started. It was slow at first. Sporadic DMs. Memes mostly, sometimes a funny Instagram Reel, sometimes a song he was listening to. You kept waiting for it to fizzle out, for the novelty to wear off, but it never did. A week passed. Then two. Then he started asking questions. About you, your life, your classes, how midterms were going. What you were studying, and why. He remembered details, brought up whenever he could.

He asked to FaceTime you the night before Baku. You were bare-faced, wearing the oldest hoodie from your closet, hair in a mess of clips. You almost declined. But he said, “I just want to see you. I don’t care what you look like.”

So you answered and you talked for three hours straight.

You weren’t stupid, you knew how this looked. He was a Formula 1 driver. He wore designer sunglasses that probably cost more than your semester’s tuition. He was followed around by cameras and fans and drank coffee in Monaco like it was just a normal Tuesday.

And you were… you. The girl who lived with a roommate who left dishes in the sink, in a small, minimal decor apartment that didn’t feel like home at all. The girl who skipped lunch to afford paying rent. The girl who gets excited when her shampoo is on sale. You couldn’t offer him private jets or luxurious outfits or professional bikini model photos. In fact, you couldn’t really give him anything he didn’t already have.

So, when he offered – gently, almost shy – to fly you out for the season finale in Abu Dhabi, your stomach turned. Because the thought of having him giving you anything was too much to bare. It was deep in your chest, that familiar twist of guilt, sharp and mean. Like you were an impostor. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to be the girl people whispered about, and worse than all of that: you couldn’t shake the fear that you’d cheapen something real by letting him pay your way. That somehow, accepting that ticket, would turn you into someone else entirely, someone dependent, someone small. That every kind word he’d said to you would dissolve under the weight of this imbalance. You didn’t want to owe him. You didn’t want to be the charity case.

“Everything’s on me,” he said over the phone. “Flight, hotel, everything. I want you there.”

“Oscar, I literally worked extra shifts last month to buy groceries. I can’t let you do that. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Let me,” he replied. Quiet, but firm. “You’d do it for me if you could, right?”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Because it was true. Of course you would. If the roles were reversed, if you had even half the means, there wouldn’t be a second of hesitation. But somehow, that only made it worse. You didn’t want to be someone he had to take care of. You didn’t want to watch him swipe a black card while you clutched your phone, pretending not to notice. You wanted to be enough without needing help.

And yet... the way he said it. “I want you there.”

It wasn’t just about generosity. It was about you. He wanted you in his world. But, all you could feel was the quiet sting of inadequacy.

However, you said yes. Softly. Barely audible. And immediately, the guilt rushed in. It came a pit in your stomach, tight and bitter, because you knew what people would think. Another girl chasing luxury. Another nobody with a backstage pass. You weren’t naïve to the assumptions.

You pictured the hotel lobby you wouldn’t belong in, the flight you couldn’t afford, the unfamiliar weight of expensive sheets that would only remind you of everything you lacked. You imagined standing beside him, cameras flashing, and you, wearing a dress that wasn’t over 100 euros, pretending not to care that you didn’t fit in.

But then again, none of that mattered when you were reminded that he didn’t care. Because despite everything, he chose you. Not for appearances. Not for convenience. Just… you. And maybe that’s why you said yes.

So, you went.

The hotel was obscene. The bed felt like sleeping on clouds. There was a robe with your name embroidered on it. You cried the first night, alone, quietly, facing the giant window that overlooked a city you never thought you’d see in your twenties.

You met the team. You sat with the McLaren crew, hands trembling as the lights went out. You screamed louder than anyone when he overtook in Lap 9. You jumped up and down like a kid. You forgot how to breathe when he waved to you during the cool-down lap.

He pulled you into the garage afterwards, pressed his forehead against yours, and kissed you. Right there, in front of his engineers and cameras and God knows who else, Oscar Piastri kissed you like he didn’t care what the world had to say.

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, yourbff and 529 others

yourusername constructors champions baby!!! 🏆🧡🚀

view all comments:

oscarpiastri could not have done it without your yelling in the grandstands ↳ yourusername you’re welcome 🫡 ↳ landonorris my ears are still ringing

mclaren 🧡🏆 what a season!!

yourbff YOU’RE PART OF HISTORY MRS. PIASTRI

yoursister constructors champs thanks to glitter sign girl 😭🙏

georgerussell63 hope to see more of the only mclaren member that matters next year! ↳ yourusername next year is a new year george

yourfriend MRS. CHAMPION HAS A NICE RING TO IT 👀

liked by mclaren, lando, yourusername and 1,399,402 others

oscarpiastri Papaya family 🧡

view all comments:

yourusername does this mean i’m officially in the family? 🫠 ↳ oscarpiastri you’ve been in it since the glitter sign

mclaren 🧡 wouldn’t be the same without you, Oscar

georgerussell63 very proud of you, mate 👍 ↳ oscarpiastri cheers george

user papaya family but make it ✨glitter✨

user notice how yn liked this in 0.4 seconds? power couple

yourbff do i get honorary papaya status or…?

user oscar smiling with his whole face is my roman empire

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

After that, there were no more half-measures.

He came to visit your hometown during winter break. Met your friends. Sat on your sagging couch and watched bad movies with them like he’d known them for years. Slept on your shitty twin bed with his knees hanging off the edge and didn’t complain once. Ate greasy street food from paper plates and called it "fucking gourmet." Wore a cap over his eyes to avoid being recognized, though the McLaren logo always gave him away.

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, yourmom and 503 others

yourusername i think he is traumatized from game night still

(tagged: oscarpiastri)

view all comments:

oscarpiastri still can’t believe yourbff trash-talked me mid-round

↳ yourbff to be fair… i wasn’t wrong 🤷‍♀️

yourfriend we play to win 😌 user small town winter dates >>> user HE’S COLD SOMEONE GIVE HIM A SCARF ↳ yourusername he refused the scarf i offered?? ↳ oscarpiastri because it had pink glitter on it ↳ yourbff and you would’ve looked adorable, coward.

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, yourusername and 2,392,100 others

oscarpiastri living that college lifestyle

view all comments:

charles_leclerc so… sleeping until noon and eating instant noodles? ↳ lando don’t forget beer pong ↳ yourusername we lost 🙄 ↳ oscarpiastri it was your fault yourusername

yourbff he ate 3 slices of leftover pizza for breakfast

user oscar with messy hair?? i’m weak

user did i just serve oscar piastri an oat latte or am i hallucinating?? ↳ user of course he drinks oat lattes ↳ user i bet this was all her idea user pls yn tell me you made him carry your heels like a gentleman ↳ yourusername he did!!

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You took him to the museum downtown and he walked through it like it was the Louvre. Quiet, curious, asking you questions he already knew the answers to just to hear you talk. At the gift shop, he picked up a paperback with a soft blue cover, turned to you and said, “You mentioned this one, right?” Before you could protest, it was in a paper bag wrapped just for you.

He always did that. Paid for things without blinking. Dinners, Uber rides, groceries when your fridge was empty. Sometimes, even when he was half a world away in Australia, he’d send a text with a delivery ETA for the takeout he knew you were too tired to order yourself. You hated it. Hated how it made your throat tighten, how it chipped away at your sense of pride, of independence, of being enough. You fought him every time. Reached for your own card. Argued in low voices behind menus. Once you even canceled an Uber before he could book it himself.

“I don’t want to feel like a sugar baby.” you muttered under your breath once, flustered and cold, as he handed his card over for the new coat you tried on.

Oscar took the coat gently from the cashier, turned to you, and wrapped it around your shoulders like it was nothing.

“You’re not,” he said simply, pulling the collar up around your neck with a softness that made your heart ache. “If I don’t spend all my money on you, what the fuck am I doing with my life, then?.”

And it was the way he said it that made your defenses crumble. Because he didn’t say it like he owned you, he said it like he belonged to you too.

And slowly, people started to notice. It wasn’t anything too out of control, or crazy. Paparazzi caught photos and tweets began circulating.

Who was the girl with the cracked phone screen? The one who screamed during quali, who brought brownies to the Ferrari garage, who hugged George Russell like they were childhood friends? Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend. No media training. No verified checkmark. Private instagram. But to your surprise, no one ever really minded. Quite the opposite, fans started to really love you.

Clips of you waving your arms madly when Oscar crossed the finish line started going viral. Fans gave you friendship bracelets and asked for photos. Someone even made a fan cam of your brownies with dramatic music behind it. The comments were flooded with “protect her at all costs” and “Oscar’s literally winning on and off the track.”

They called you real. Relatable. And somehow, without trying to, you became a part of it. Not as a brand. Not as a token. Just… you. Cracked screen and all.

You didn’t mean to become a fixture in the paddock. You weren’t a model or a publicist or a glamorous, whisper-thin girlfriend with a background in fashion. You were just someone who loved Oscar and showed it… Loudly.

The first time you showed up trackside in one of his old academy shirts, people thought you were staff. You handed out cookies to the McLaren mechanics. You gave Lando a homemade tiny cake that said “brake later, idiot” in colorful sprinkles for his birthday. You cheered so hard when Oscar crossed the line P4 that Zak Brown actually flinched next to you.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, hand over his chest. “You scared the life out of me.”

You grinned, unapologetic.

You didn’t care about looking polished. You wore jeans and sneakers when you didn’t care to dress up, and sometimes would go for miniskirts and boots when you were in a good mood. You took selfies with little kids in fan gear. You got emotional after every race and even cried when Kimi got his first podium.

Amongst all of that, the grid adored you. Charles asked you to babysit Leo a few times. George called you at 4 p.m to gossip. Alex invited you and Oscar over for game nights. Even Lewis greeted you with a smile once, and you nearly passed out.

But there was one person who never smiled at all. Lando’s girlfriend. She didn’t ignore you, not exactly. She looked at you the way rich girls sometimes do. Polite, dismissive. Smirking like she’d read your entire financial history just from your Zara sneakers. She never said anything outright, but her compliments were always laced with something else.

“Oh my god, that’s so cute you made cookies! You’re like a real housewife already.”

You laughed it off. Tried to be gracious. You weren’t here to make enemies, you just wanted to support your boyfriend and survive long-haul flights without maxing out your overdraft.

But slowly, you started to hear the whispers:

“I heard she still lives with roommates.”; “Apparently, Oscar’s paying for everything.”; “Gold digger vibes, honestly.”; “She’s just… embarrassing. All that yelling? So unclassy.”

You didn’t know who said what. But you had suspicions about where it started.

Leila never looked like she was gossiping, but her eyes always flicked over to you when people whispered. Her laughter was always a beat too loud when someone made a joke at your expense. You tried not to let it get to you. However, some days, it did.

Oscar noticed before you said anything. It was after the Barcelona race. You’d been quiet the whole night, picking at your dinner, the usual sparkle in your eyes dulled.

He reached for your hand across the table.

“Who said something?”

“What?” You blinked.

“You shut down the second we left the paddock,” he said gently. “Was it Lando? Someone on the team?”

“No. No one important.” You shook your head.

He didn’t press, but his jaw tightened. Later that night, when you fell asleep tangled in hotel sheets, he picked up his phone and texted Lando.

Lando did handle it. Or at least, he tried, but it wasn’t really enough.

What started small, escalated a little too quickly. People didn’t look you in the eye as much. Conversations shifted when you approached. One PR girl made a pointed comment about “setting a precedent” when Oscar offered to pay for your paddock pass. You brushed it off. You were used to being underestimated. You could take whispers. But you couldn’t take the way Oscar started looking at you, worried.

He tried to hide it. Smiled a little too wide. Squeezed your hand a little too long. But every time you winced at a sideways glance, or stiffened when someone said “plus-one” instead of your name, he felt it too.

And then there was Lando. He was kind to you. Always had been. But lately, he seemed tense… watchful. Like he wanted to say something but hadn’t figured out how.

Until one night, after a team dinner, he pulled Oscar aside while you were in the bathroom.

“You sure she’s not… I don’t know. Taking advantage a little?”

Oscar blinked.

“What?”

“I’m just saying, mate,” Lando said carefully, “you’re flying her all over the world. Buying her all this stuff. And Leila thinks it’s a bit sus.”

Oscar’s smile dropped.

“Oh. So this is about Leila.”

“She’s just protective,” Lando offered. “She thinks if someone’s not on your level, like, financially or socially or whatever, it opens the door for… motives.”

Oscar scoffed.

“She bakes cookies for your race engineers and cried when Gabi got a point. What motive is that? World domination via kindness?”

Lando hesitated.

“I know. I like her,” he admitted. “But Leila’s been talking, and people are starting to wonder. You just… should know.”

Oscar’s voice went cold, flat in a way Lando had never heard before.

“Tell her to stop.”

“What?”

“Tell Leila to shut her mouth. I’m not asking.”

“Mate...”

“She’s not just talking about her. I really don’t like these types of comments. She hears this shit. She feels it. And she’s never done anything to deserve it.”

Lando looked genuinely surprised by the heat in Oscar’s voice. Then, after a beat, he nodded.

“Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Oscar didn’t thank him. Just walked back to you, calm like nothing had happened, but his hand gripped yours tighter for the rest of the night.

Lando tried. You could tell.

Leila went quiet for a while. Smiled more and didn’t say much. But her eyes still scanned you like a headline. Still curled her lip when you cheered too loudly or wore a McLaren hoodie instead of a dress. You were never in the same room together anymore, avoiding contact like one of you were infected by the plague. However, unkind people can’t really seem to stop their bad habits.

And it happened again. The final straw, during dinner.

The table stretched across the private room of an upscale Milanese restaurant, lit by flickering candles and the soft clink of wine glasses. Everyone was there, Max with his arms crossed, Charles mid-laugh, Alex teasing George about his skincare routine. You sat tucked under Oscar’s arm, fingers laced together beneath the tablecloth.

You hadn’t wanted to come. Not after the week you had, stressed about midterms and your roommate who couldn’t figure out how to pay for the fucking Internet so it got cut out. And especially not after the burning silence Leila offered you like it was a kindness. But Oscar asked, so you did.

The wine flowed. The food was endless. Someone played music from their phone in a cup. You started to relax. Lando passed you a plate. Pierre complimented your earrings. You even laughed at something Leila said, which never happened.

You didn’t know who started the conversation, but it drifted toward off-season plans, travel, rest, who was going where after the final race. Oscar had just said something about wanting to go somewhere quiet with you, no cameras, no chaos, when someone asked:

“Wait, isn’t she still in school? How do you even manage that, flying around all the time?”

You smiled politely, already used to the question.

“It’s a nightmare with the time zones, but I work ahead when I can. Professors are surprisingly chill about it if you ask early enough.”

Carlos raised a brow, impressed.

“Damn. That’s dedication. Uni and F1 weekends?”

“Honestly, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Most of the time I’m just writing essays in hotel lobbies and begging Wi-Fi to work.”

That earned a few laughs, a few knowing nods.

“What are you studying again?” Lewis asked, raising his voice over the noise.

“Psychology.”

“No way? Honestly, really nice. I really do hope you do well.”

“Thank you, Lewis.” You replied with a soft smile.

Then Leila tilted her head, swirling her wine again like she was performing for invisible cameras.

“I’m sure your resume will be impressive,” she said, voice syrupy-smooth, “Make sure you add Oscar’s sugar baby on the corner.”

The table went dead silent. Your throat dried, your stomach twisted. Oscar’s hand, still on your leg under the table, went tense, his thumb stopped moving. You forced a smile, eyes trained on your dessert plate, the fork you suddenly couldn’t hold quite right. You didn’t dare look at her, didn’t dare look at anyone, in fact.

She smiled at you, tight, plastic, laced with venom, and took a bite of crème brûlée like she hadn’t just gutted you in public.

Oscar didn’t speak right away, he sat very still. Then he set his wine glass down with a soft, deliberate clink and turned fully toward her.

“What did you just say?”

Leila took a slow sip of her wine, the smirk barely hidden behind the rim of her glass.

“Relax,” she said lightly. “It was a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t.” His voice was calm. Deadly calm. “Say it again. Look at her and say it again.”

The entire table was still now. Lando’s eyes darted from Oscar to Leila like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“You’re overreacting.”

Oscar pushed his chair back slightly, not standing, not making a scene, but enough to make his presence known.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” he said, louder now. “Not here. Not ever.”

“Oscar–” Lando tried, but Oscar didn’t stop.

“She didn’t ask for a thing. I offered. I insisted. And she said no, over and over, because she didn’t want anyone to think exactly what you think. That she’s only here for what I can give her.” He looked around the table now, voice rising. “She’s given everything without expecting a damn thing back.”

It was sharp. The kind of anger Oscar rarely showed in public, especially not at a table full of drivers and their companions.

You stared at your plate, blinking fast, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The shame clung to you, sticky and sour, but Oscar’s hand was still in yours, tight and unwavering.

And then, unexpectedly, it was Lewis who leaned forward, slow and deliberate.

“I don’t know what kind of circles you run in, Leila, but some of us don’t measure people by their bank account or their follower count.”

His words didn’t rise above conversation level, but the weight of them was impossible to miss.

“She’s clearly working hard to be here, and balancing uni on top of everything? That’s something most people in this room couldn’t do,” he continued, tone measured, respectful, but unmistakably harsh. “You don’t have to like everyone, Leila, but maybe don’t try to tear down a woman who’s doing nothing but minding her business and showing up with grace.”

Leila’s smile faltered, only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

George cleared his throat.

“Yeah, and maybe don’t throw around the term ‘sugar baby’ when someone’s just trying to survive school and support themselves. It’s not exactly the burn you think it is.”

You didn’t know where to look after the dead silence that followed. You were still frozen, half-embarrassed, half-overwhelmed, but when you glanced up, Oscar was already watching you. His hand tightened just slightly in yours.

“You’re being dramatic.” Leila scoffed.

Lando slammed his napkin down.

“No. They’re not.” His voice was hard now too. Uncharacteristically serious.

“You can’t be serious.” Her mouth dropped open.

“I am.” Lando snapped.

Everyone looked at him, startled, because his tone was so calm. So steady. So... final.

Leila blinked at him, confused.

“It was a joke, babe.”

Lando shook his head slowly.

“No. That wasn’t a joke. That was just mean.” He leaned back in his chair a little, like he was seeing her clearly for the first time. “You knew exactly what you were saying. And you said it to humiliate her.”

The girl stiffened.

“Seriously? You’re taking her side now?”

“I’m not taking sides, I just don’t like people who treat others like that. Especially not someone who’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it.” You stared down at your plate, trying not to make it worse, trying not to breathe too loudly. But Lando didn’t stop. “I don’t want to be with someone who thinks that kind of behavior is funny.”

Leila’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her face hardened, but he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He looked away, like he was already done. Like that was it.

Leila stared at him like he’d grown a second head, but no one came to her defense. Max cleared his throat, Charles avoided her gaze. Even Lily, halfway through a bite of dessert, just said: “Yikes.”

Leila stood up. No goodbye, but most importantly, no apology. She just picked up her bag, shoved in her chair, and left.

The silence lingered, until – thankfully – Kimi with all his young grace and naivety had the courage to open his mouth.

“…So. Um. Can I have her crème brûlée?”

The table burst into cautious laughter, except for you. You were still frozen, eyes stinging, throat tight. You didn’t know where to look. Oscar leaned close, brushed his lips against your temple with a gentle kiss.

You excused yourself from the table, said you needed to use the bathroom, but went blindly across the restaurant, pushing through the glass door, feeling the night air hitting your skin like a slap.

You pressed your back to the wall for support, while controlling the tears from falling down.

It wasn’t short after when someone said your name, very softly. You looked up through blurred vision to see Lando, walking over to you, his face drawn with something close to heartbreak.

“Hey…,” he said, already pulling his jacket off and draping it around your shoulders. “It’s okay.”

You tried to shake your head, to smile or brush it off or say something, but no words came, you knew if you opened your mouth it would all turn into an uncontrollable sob.

“She was out of line,” he said after a moment. “I’m really sorry. What she said was cruel and wrong.”

“Is Oscar… mad?”

Lando smiled, something soft and knowing behind it.

“Madly in love with you? Definitely.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m texting him.”

“No. I’ll just go back inside.”

“He’ll want to know. He’s probably tearing the restaurant apart trying to find you right now.”

And he was. Because within ninety seconds, the door swung open and Oscar was running toward you, nearly stumbling over his feet when he saw you against the wall in Lando’s jacket.

“Baby, Jesus, why’d you leave? I was looking everywhere…”

You reached for him without thinking, grabbing the front of his shirt like a lifeline, and he caught you in his arms, holding you like he’d never let go again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“You didn’t,” he murmured, lips pressed to your temple. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lando gave you a soft pat on the back and stood, wordlessly disappearing back toward the dining room and closing the door behind him.

Oscar pulled you closer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to ever experience something like this.”

Your fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, grounding yourself in the smell of him, warm skin, something clean and familiar, like cotton and a comfort you hadn’t had in days.

“It’s okay.” you said.

His arms tightened.

“It’s really not,” he said.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“I used to worry,” you said, voice cracking slightly, “about not being able to give you anything. About not fitting into this world.” A pause. His brow furrowed, but you smiled before he could interrupt. “But I realized tonight… someone in this relationship needs to bring the jokes.”

A breath caught in his chest, then he let out a quiet, broken laugh, forehead pressing to yours like he couldn’t believe you still had it in you.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured.

You shrugged, lips twitching.

“I try.”

For the first time that night, the weight began to lift. Not gone, but lighter. Because somehow, even in the wreckage, you could still make each other laugh. And maybe that was enough to hold onto.

“I love you,” he said. Simple. Steady. Certain.

You breathed out like you’d been underwater.

“I love you too.”

Later that night, in the quiet of the hotel room, he helped you out of your dress with soft hands, kissed the back of your neck like it was sacred, and pulled you into bed still wrapped in Lando’s jacket.

He just held you. Like you were enough, and finally safe.

Months passed. Seasons changed, headlines faded. But he never let go of the way you held onto him that night.

It was June. The air was heavy with heat and blooming trees, and your skin prickled under your gown as you lined up with your classmates. The tassel on your cap kept swinging into your eyes, and your stomach buzzed with a nervousness you didn’t expect. You had survived. Midterms between time zones. Essays written from cold hotel rooms and long-haul flights. And now, finally, you were you again, on your own terms.

In the crowd, you spotted him before anyone else. Sunglasses tucked into his shirt, camera slung awkwardly over his shoulder, a bouquet of slightly squished sunflowers in one hand. He wasn’t trying to hide this time. What you didn’t expect was the entire fucking grid.

Oscar had asked for the date of your graduation weeks ago, and you gave it to him, but softly, like you didn’t want to assume. He was a Formula 1 driver. It was the middle of the season. Everyone was flying off to yachts, to mountain hideaways, to brand events and photoshoots. You told him he didn’t have to come, that you’d understand.

But he just smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

So when the day came and they called your name, at first you thought you were imagining it. Cheering? Chanting? And then you heard them.

It started with the whistles. Like soccer-stadium-grade whistles. Multiple. From every direction. Then the trumpets. Out of nowhere. Real brass, badly played, off-key, loud as hell.

You barely stepped onto the stage before the unmistakable beat of Brazilian funk blasted through a speaker someone, probably Ollie and Kimi, snuck into the back of the venue. It was loud and it was followed immediately by confetti cannons, like, four of them. Exploding in gold, silver, pink, and glitter that absolutely got in some poor mother’s eyes.

Carlos jumped onto a chair waving a glitter-covered sign that read: "DR. MAMI" while Charles held one that sparkled in the sun: "CAN’T SPELL GRADUATE WITHOUT THE ATE"

George had a full drum strapped to his chest, banging it like it was Carnival in Rio. Lando? Lando was sobbing with laughter, wearing a shirt with your grad photo Photoshopped onto the body of the Mona Lisa. Captioned: "ART."

Max… cold, quiet Max Verstappen… was chewing gum, sunglasses on, with a glittery banner wrapped around his chest like a beauty queen sash that said: “SMARTER THAN ME, HOTTER THAN YOU.”

Yuki had a vuvuzela. That he was playing. At full volume. Lewis was filming all of it, whispering “this is historic” into his phone like it was a nature documentary.

Pierre screamed into the megaphone, “HONORS DEGREE, HOT AS HELL, GET YOU A WOMAN WHO CAN DO BOTH!” before setting off a small handheld firework that was very much not authorized by campus staff.

You? You were frozen on stage. You took your diploma with shaking hands, barely able to breathe, and the Dean, to her credit, just looked at you with a resigned expression and said,

“...You must be very loved.”

You nodded, eyes still wide.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

The crowd was in chaos. Parents were confused and teachers were still trying to process. But all you saw were them, your chaos. Your people.

Lando and George ran up first, both in your university colors, eyes glassy, pulling you into a hug before you could even process what was happening.

“Surprise!” Lando beamed. “You didn’t think we’d let you scream for us all season and not return the favor?”

“We coordinated travel like it was a triple header,” George said, dead serious. “Toto helped. I won’t lie.”

“Toto’s here?” you choked out, laughing through tears.

He pointed, and sure enough, there he was, in sunglasses and a suit, clapping politely like you’d just signed for Mercedes.

Oscar was the last to reach you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you once as the crowd around you kept cheering. When he set you down, he framed your face in both hands and whispered,

“I told you I’d be here.”

“Your presence was made very known.”

He smiled.

“Did you like my shirt?”

You took a few steps back to read the bold pink letters: “My girlfriend is literally graduating.”

“Your girlfriend is literally graduating, huh?”

“She graduated, actually… Don’t make me remake the shirt…”

“Wonder where you got this genius idea from.”

“Must’ve read it in a sign somewhere.”

You chuckled, softly. Your chest swelled with something too big to name. People stared, but for once, you didn’t care. Because this wasn’t about them. It was about cheering for you like you’d always cheer for him. With pride, and pure genuine love.

liked by oscarpiastri, yourmom, yourdad and 342,402 others

yourusername grad u ate. special thanks to my friends and incredible boyfriend for creating chaos when my name was called 😭😍

view all comments:

oscarpiastri worth it. still finding glitter in my shoes tho ↳ charles_leclerc and in my hair. how?? ↳ lando you deserved it for throwing the first handful

georgerussell63 i nearly got escorted out by security 💀

yourbff the t-shirts were the BEST part

user PLEASE post a pic of the shirts!! alex_albon massive thanks to the print shop for not questioning us

yourmom i’m still vacuuming the confetti out of the living room

maxverstappen1 was totally innocent in all of this ↳ lando lies.

user imagine graduating to a full F1 grid screaming your name 😭 goals

yourfriend there’s no such thing as “too much glitter” ↳ oscarpiastri there is. ask my car seats.

liked by yourusername, yourbff, georgerussell63 and 1,203,409 others

oscarpiastri she makes me the proudest 💘

view all comments:

yourusername stopppp 🥹 i love you

lando you’re only proud because you got to throw glitter at her ↳ oscarpiastri a win win

charles_leclerc i’ve never seen someone smile so much

georgerussell63 I'm not guilty of any local noise ordinances ↳ yourbff you yelled louder than her own parents 😭 ↳ yourmom confirmed.

estebanocon not to brag but i started the standing ovation

user this is actually the cutest post you’ve ever made

user why is this giving romcom finale energy??

maxverstappen1 not pictured: me dodging glitter bombs like my life depended on it ↳ oscarpiastri weak. ↳ alex_albon also not pictured: lando slipping on the stage ↳ lando IT WAS THE CONFETTI OKAY ↳ yourusername i literally have the video saved forever

user the fact the whole grid showed up for her >>>>>

user now i’m manifesting this for my graduation

carlossainz55 still upset my shirt was one size too small ↳ georgerussell63 not our fault you skipped the fitting charles_leclerc still vacuuming my car btw ↳ oscarpiastri good.

1K notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆TB9 .ᐟ smau masterlist

part ii. -> an f1 driver, a typical girl, one spilled beer and other cliches

part ii. -> late night texts, ”i dont care what people think” and f1 gossips find you

part iii. -> second ”first” meet ups, ”forgotten” hoodies and drunk flower orders

part iv. -> theo freaks out a bit, you think about quitting instagram, "operation fuck the gossip" commences

© for entertainment purposes only, this work does not represent real-life people and is completely made up and should not be taken as factual. Any correlations to real-life people and/or events are coincidental.

30 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆OP81 .ᐟ lost & found II

part i

🎧ྀི : summary: petty bitches fuck with the wrong couple

🎧ྀི : genre: smau, drama, comfort, strong language

🎧ྀི : pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

📍Instagram

liked by OscarPiastri, lando and others

Yourusername: baby’s first paddock 😭🧡

View all 2,046 comments…

User1: (s)creamed when i saw the queen on the screen

User2: ilyyy

User3: mommy. Sorry. Mommy. Not sorry

User4: i miss her in the quartet tm videos :((

User5: tbh i dont think she’s hanging out with them anymore

User6: they were awful to her not surprised

User7: yea but she just dropped them?

OscarPiastri: dont believe in luck in sports but you can be the exception

Yourusername: 🤭🤭🧡

lando: can yall quit being cute on main and focus on the game?

Yourusername: i killed you like three times already you really want me to beat your ass again?

User8: ooooo and she knows how to game 😭 oscar can you fight????

📍Instagram

liked by friend2, friend3 and others

Friend1: karma is my boyfriend

View all 568 comments…

User1: this is getting old

User2: slay girlll

User3: lover era

Friend2: and it’s a god

User4: rue??? When was this??

User5: im so confused

User6: im new this came up on discovery what is going on 😭

User7: these three used to be a friend group with Oscar piastri’s current gf but recently they haven’t been hanging out anymore and ppl think she dropped them for her new driver bf

User8: also add that these three ignored her on all social media platforms AND shaded her when she posted about their first date. Dont twist these things.

Friend3: bestiesss

User9: girls��. What arent you telling??

friend1: 👀

User10: omg ive never been one for gossip but wtf is this situation

User11: idk i think @ yourusername dropped them for her new hotshot bf

User12: yeah deffo 🥱

User13: she’s a sweetheart tho no? :(

Friend2: …

User14: i NEED more pts tea and spill on tiktok

📍Instagram

Liked by OscarPiastri, lando and others

Your username: wdym my love language is touch?

View all 2,008 comments…

User1: keeping us fed (and jealous) of the couple goals

User2: yes your honor they caused me to cry in my lonesome

User3: i cant. Someone sedate me.

User4: THEY ARE SO CUTE WHEN. IS. IT. MY. TURNNNNN

User5: yes you have a bf we know by now, how about those cool outfits again pls

User6: last five posts are about them jeesusss

User7: and??? They’re happy???

User8: studies show couples who have to post themselves everywhere are more insecure than the ones who dont

User9: Youre sick if you think this amount of flaunting right after ditching your friendgroup is somehow okay

lando: 🤧🤧🤧

AlexAlbon: i can feel a flu coming in

lilymhe: just got out of the A&E

MaxVerstappen1: throwing up as we speak

Alexstmleux: i think i got a fever

KellyPiquet: Me too 🫠

User10: not half of the grid and wags coming to back these two up i cant 😭🫶🏻

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by user1, user2 and others

F1wagGossip: Y/N posted about being out partying with Lily and Alexandra on friday night 👀

View all 1,045 comments…

User1: jealous

User1: so jealous

User2: she looks so happy with themmm

User3: the ULTIMATE trio i said what i said

User4: oscy/n is endgame omg

User5: @ yourusername babes drop oscar you can date me

User6: clubbing while their guys are abroad driving at 300kph??

User7: during a triple header too User8: news flash: people have a life outside of their relationships :o

📍 Twitter

📍 Instagram

liked by lando, lilymhe and others

Yourusername: me looking outside sad because he had the audacity to go work AND do a triple header :(

view all 4,986 comments...

Alexstmleux: let's make this into a club

lilymhe: me three KellyPiquet: same

User1: is she talking about osc or the guy she cheated on him with??

User2: FUCK OFF CHEATER

User3: smellyyyy

User4: wow i see only snakes what is happening to meeee...??? 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

User5: atleast no osc in the likes or comments

User6: he is following her still though???

User7: he's probably focusing on the race and handling emotions outside of it

User8: oh he's gonna be a menace

User9: 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

User10: 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

User11: 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

User12: 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

📍 Messenger

📍 Instagram

Liked by yourusername, lando and others

OscarPiastri: Let’s go racing.

View all 5,008 comments…

User1: I sense mclaren 1-2

User2: let’s goooo

User3: let’s see if we get a whiny radio about breaking under safety car again smh

User4: boringgg

User5: boring because fastest car is… fastest??? We have had Verstappen leading like four years in a row, that’s nothing new.

mclaren: 🧡

User6: blah blah blah where is my pookie y/n??

User7: fr havent seen the sport before, only followed her from the tiktok User8: BREAKING NEWS rich girl is a cheaterrrr User 7: what???????? User8: I'll send the link dm but there was a twitter post about @ yourusername cozying up to someone at a party while Oscar was out of town.

Yourusername: good luck baby! ❤️

User9: Mannn from Melbourneee 🇦🇺

User10: oh no

User11: what?

User10: Y/N’s comment

User11: oh no

User12: pfft she cheated? No wonder he doesnt reply 😂

User13: we dont know that

User12: c’mon thatpicture was pretty clear

User13: someone got a big head from bagging an f1 driver, have fun with the scraps babes @ yourusername

User14: fr no wonder she’s not on the paddock this time

User15: ms. daddy’s money and bank account

📍Instagram

Liked by friend3, friend1 and others

Friend2: good thing we had snake repellant 🙂‍↕️

View all 789 comments…

User1: prettiest!!!

User2: oh my god this was not on my bingo card

User3: is the second one... like... Y/N?!

User4: nooo i thought she was cool 😭😭

User5: airing out an entire gc dynamic on insta 👀💀💀

Friend1: love youu

Friend3: ❤️

User6: when was that? After she got together with Oscar??

User7: yeah i think? The date is july 13th and she posted about "dating for the first time" two days prior

User8: i really dont want to believe this of her but rich kids smh

📍 Messenger

📍 Instagram story

Yourusername: I was not part of any groupchats on july 13th that included @ friend1, @ friend2 and/or @ friend 3. See receipts above. I removed myself from a longstanding toxic friendships and said groupchat beforehand. K thanks bye ❤️

User1: this is just getting crazier

User2: omg

User3: did not doubt for a second queen

Alexstmleux: you okay bby?

Yourusername: getting there, it’s all just happening quickly 😭

Alexstmleux: therapy leo time?

Yourusername: yes please 🥹

lando: I cant believe that muppet had no time to explain but he lost his phone. The flight company is trying to get it back, it's somewhere in a luggage going to Switzerland. Text me!!

📍Messenger

📍 Instagram

Liked by Lilymuhe, OscarPiastri and others

Yourusername: … good photoshop. Too bad I’ve got tattoos 🥱 surprise!!!

View all 3,056 comments…

User1: I KNEW IT MY UNPROBLEMATIC QUEEN

User2: the fact someone has time to actively sabotage her is beyond me

User2: like get a life

OscarPiastri: need your signature for the lawsuits, love

Yourusername: on it!

User3: omggg lawsuits??!!

User4: cyber bullying, harrassment and deflamation I guess?

User5: someone’s shit is about to be rocked

Lilymunhe: Pretty girl 🤍

Alexstmleux: Ily 🫶🏻

Yourusername: @ lilymunhe, @ Alexstmleux love you guys more 🙂‍↕️

User6: okay can we reel back in; LAWSUIT???

User7: YEAH?!!! What is happening???

User8: they probably cant talk about it ://

lando: they want their privacy, I, however, will throw hands. Cyber harrasment, spamming and defamation :)

MatteoBrown: I can dropkick a cunt 🤲🏻?

User9: omg even Matteo is in on it.

User10: you surprised? Dude’s loyalty is like… GoT level

Friend2: please answer the texts xx

User11: now I’m even more confused

User12: important thing is WE’RE NOT CHILDREN OF DIVORCE

User13: I cant the third pic asdfg

User14: now i want a tattoo tour

📍Twitter

author -> this wasnt supposed to happen idk if i even like it but here you go some dramaaa 😭 without the misunderstanding trope because i cannot stand miscommunication ALSO does the timeline make ANY sense? no. 😭 😭

1K notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆TB9 .ᐟ smau IV.

part iii. oc infodump

🎧ྀི : summary: theo freaks out a bit, you think about quitting instagram, "operation fuck the gossip" commences

🎧ྀི : genre: smau, mild angst

🎧ྀི : pairing: oc!f1driver x fem!reader

📍Twitter

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by yourbff1, yourbff2 and others

Yourusername: How about everyone minds their own business, takes that silverspoon out of their asses and into their mouths for once and doesnt commit borderline doxxing.

view all 1,089 comments...

user1: holy shit

user2: im with you because DAMN

user3: okay she posted herself AND called out the gossipy bitches i already love her

user4: that attitude plus Matteo? no wonder he might actually like her

yourbff1: AMEN SIS ALSO MARRY ME

yourbff2: EVERYONE CAN FUCK OFF

user5: no theo in the comments :'((

user6: istg if these stupid teenagers who have nothing better to do than follow grown men destroyed something great before it even started im afraid i have to be restrained.

user7: gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

user8: please please please @ MatteoBrown aknowledge this somehowwww

user9: if he doesnt take her i will

user10: dunno why i'm so invested but theo's not even in the likes :(

user11: or followers im heartbroken.

📍Instagram

liked by lando, yourusername and others

MatteoBrown: Spa. Usually literally. Let's see what happens.

User1: she's in the likes!!!

User2: okay can everyone stop with this already they probably were a fling anyway

User3: PRAYING FOR WILLIAMS

User3: LIKE I BOUGHT AN ETSY PRAYER

Yourusername: win it

User4: omgomgomg

User5: aaaaand ignored

User6: yeah she probably was just a one night thing and hadn't realized it yet

User7: true, but she's really pretty so cant blame him

AlexAlbon: Get your ass out of the driver's room okay we have a meeting

lando: get your ass out of that state overall

MatteoBrown: seriously. stop.

lando: mate.

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by yourbff1, yourbff2 and others

Yourusername: free from summer studies means... i dunno we didnt plan this far :'))

view all 1,011 comments...

yourbff1: im down to just backpack, get tf out of here for change

yourbff2: tbh same

user1: i can she's just so hnnng i want that

user2: yes i was first in her likes so?

user3: even if she doesnt turn out to be a wag im still following, icon

user4: do you life in london or?

yourusername: rn yea :) not originally from here though

user5: and no @ MatteoBrown :(((

user6: am I allowed to feel like a child of divore of people who never even dated like...

user6: he has never publically dated and he's seemed like a dick on social media but i just feel like this was something

user7: he's a grown man lmao and rich. it was one night stand that's it.

user8: go interrail! i did that last year and it was so much fun :)

Messenger

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by yourbff1, yourbff2 and others

Yourusername: operations need 1 night of planning, shit ton of wine and the last of our savings

comments on this post are restricted

author -> im too impatient with anything to do with angst im sorryyyy

77 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆TB9 .ᐟ smau III.

part ii. oc infodump

🎧ྀི : summary: second ”first” meet ups, ”forgotten” hoodies and drunk flower orders

🎧ྀི : genre: smau

🎧ྀི : pairing: oc!f1driver x fem!reader

📍Messenger

📍Instagram Story

Yourusername: cafe hunting <3

yourbff: professional photographer as always

yourbff2: where were you guys?

yourusername: bit off the city centre to, y'know, avoid people :)

BycicleRide09: this is why you didn't let me drink my own coffee for 10 minutes?

Yourusername: gotta fix the aesthetic :) Yourusername: also BycicleRide09? That's your burner account? BycicleRide09: Queen's good. Yourusername: and "ride" and the "09"? BycicleRide09: I'm a driver. Maisie's birthay is on the 9th. Yourusername: huh. You do have some sentimentality in youuuu BycicleRide09: you'd be surprised.

📍Twitter

📍 Instagram

liked by lando, yourusername and others

mclaren: Amazing evening with our long-time sponsors! Thank you everyone participating. Teamwork makes the dream work 😉

view all 3098 comments...

user1: i swear mclaren's top qualification for a seat is to be effortlessly pretty

user2: did theo actually talk that's what i wanna know

user3: he doesnt have to. he can just sit and look pretty

user4: cool can yall go back to winning the championship now?

lando: great time! Hopefully some of us aren't too tired rn.

MatteoBrown: some of us dont get knocked over from few glasses of bourbon

lando: some of us have some mercy on our tastebuds and drink champagne.

ChrisManager: @ MatteoBrown turn the phone off :)

user5: omg did they get wasted i need material lmao

user6: they're rich and were probably paid thousands to just show up. i'd get wasted too.

user7: do yall need a dog? i can bark? also i drink bourbon if it's free :)

user8: crazy to imagine them drunk lol you think they're depressive 'texting her' type or dancing on the tables?

user9: lando definitely dances on the tables, Matteo definitely rolls his eyes and wishes he was at home

Charles_Leclerc: @ MatteoBrown did you get that boquet in the right address??

MaxVerstappen1: ??? Charles_Leclerc: around one am I got a notification he sent a boquet and as much as I respect him I dont think it was meant for me lando: ✍️✍️✍️ AlexAlbon: dude where's my boquet i'm your teammate MaxVerstappen1: i'm more concerned who he was trying to send flowers to in the middle of the night while drinking AlexDunne: imo very lana del rey coded ngl KimiAntonelli: use full words please. AlexDunne: when did you get here? KimiAntonelli: i was bored then I read this and now I'm invested. OllieBearman: we all are

📍 Instagram story

Yourusername; whoever's name is 'asdfgh', thank you they're very nice :)

yourbff: someone sent you flowers?

yourbff2: i WONDER who it could be

📍 Messenger

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liked by yourbff, BycicleRide09 and others

Yourusername: i think my academic genius deserves a break :)

view all 13 comments...

yourbff: was it a nice flight? have fun bb!

yourusername: it was :) no crying babies or anything and they even understood my broken french

yourbff2: i am so jealous rn but atleast i know i only have the hottest and baddest bitches on my roster.

liked by yourusername

User1: pretty!

User2: is that monaco?

BycicleRide09: looks nice.

liked by yourusername

author -> i'm binging agatha all along and im bored, here you go :) infodump on Theo has been posted you can find it here

46 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆TB9 .ᐟ smau II.

part 1

🎧ྀི : summary: late night texts, ”i dont care what people think” and f1 gossips find you

🎧ྀི: genre: smau, humor

🎧ྀི : pairing: f1driver!oc x fem!reader

📍 Stream

📍 Messenger

📍 Instagram

liked by yourbff, yourbff2 and others

Yourusername: oh you got happiness? well I got exams and a new shirt :')

view all 31 comments...

yourbff: did they have the same one?

yourusername: no :'( apparently they stopped making those like years ago but this one is probably as cute

yourbff2: girl put the phone down and focus

yourusername: butbutbut people gotta know i'm an academic weapon yourbff2: people are gonna know youre an academic butter knife thrown away soon if we dont pass this exam. yourusername: tbh i'm not above marrying someone rich yourbff: turn your account public and you'd probably get a side hustle yourusername: ... people are scary, no

user1: omg this is the girl!!!!

user2: shame there's like zero pictures of her face, she seems fun

user3: ppl read too much into this smh

yourbff2: okay @ yourusername i get what you mean

liked by yourusername

📍Twitter

📍 Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by yourusername, lando and others

F1: The Brown effect is back! @ MatteoBrown snatches p1 in Silverstone after a tough battle with Verstappen and Norris, climbing up to third in the standings. Read more about the podium finishers thoughts and Mercedes' unfortunate double DNF from the link in bio!

view all 1098 comments...

user1: LET'S GO BABY BROWN IS BACKKKK

user2: I dont think i've ever seen such intense race i was sweating i need a break and maybe an epipen.

WilliamsRacing: Feels great to go to Spa from here <3

AlexAlbon: Congrats @ MatteoBrown !! Well earned

user3: woooow big whoop brown wins after whining on the radio

user3: like whose fault it was you bottle the starts

user4: is he still under investigation for lap 13?

user3: NO. And what a joke, dude could probably drive into the side of LH and FIA would pat his little head be all 'no youre right THEY drove INTO you' like give me a break.

user5: forget that i wanna know about the girl are we finally getting a new wag

user6: lando talked about the thing on his stream!!!

user5: omg send me a link pls

user7: ppl need to chill when has this guy ever even dated?? doubt they even know each other

user8: yea and personally if i had beer thrown on me and then got stood up, i wouldnt give my time of the day.

MaxVerstappen1: best guy to share the podium with!

OscarPiastri: @ MatteoBrown I remember talks about a pint... on you... if you won...

Lando: He's been stuck to his phone texting but given I GET NOTHING it's probably Maisie...

Charles_Leclerc: he's turning into an ipad kid istg

Lando: okay he did the weird huff and smile thing just now

MaxVerstappen1: Huff through the nose or the mouth

Lando: there's a difference?

AlexDunne: a huge.

MaxVerstappen: for him? Gigantic

Lando: through the nose then.

MaxVerstappen1: uh-huh... i see...

📍Messenger

author -> i swear there's an infodump on Theo in my drafts if people are interested :')

93 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

♪⋆.✮ ┆TB9 .ᐟ smau

🎧ྀི: summary: an f1 driver, a typical girl, one spilled beer and other cliches

🎧ྀི: genre: smau, humor

🎧ྀི: pairing: f1!oc x fem!reader

📍Instagram

liked by yourbff, yourbff2 and others

Yourusername: Loved Ireland, loved my girlies and a HUGE, like, ginormous thanks to the guy who spilled half a pint of guinness on me before dissappearing 😀👍🏻 cheers

view all 97 comments…

yourbff: start operation ’teach some manners to men’

yourbff: youre hot though, wifeyyy, but seriously we need to find that guy, your shirt is ruined

yourbff2: yeeeeeah hate to tell you but even my nan’s secret recipe didn’t work. Now it’s just a sad little rag that looks like me on new years day morning :’)

yourusername: and I was told irish people were nice i’m actually little distraught I liked that shirt

yourusername: matched my eyes AND my boobs looked great in it. yourbff: you got those? yourusername: uncalled for. Deleting your number.

yourbrother: lmao. Was he even good looking?

yourusername: I was too distraught thinking everyone could see my red bra yourbrother:… okay i did not ask what color bra my sister wears I asked if he was hot 🙂 yourbff: yes yourbff2: yes yourbff: but he immeadiately lost about 40% of hotness when he just stared at @ yourusername and slipped into the crowd.

📍Instagram

liked by user1, user2 and others

TMZ: F1 driver Theo Brown seen back in Monaco after a vacation at family house in Ireland! Debates about possible behind the scenes tension between the irish and the Williams racing team have been simmering without a direct comment from either party. Brown is set to have another three years with the blue and white’s but due to recent car developments the irish has had struggles to reach his usual finish on the podium steps 👀

view all 19,087 comments…

user1: i cant he’s so hot even after travelling

user2: he should just go to red bull or something imo

user3: lmao why? If we ignore the fact that Red Bull had absolutely screwed up their car and making it impossible to drive if your name isn’t Max Verstappen, why would he go to them or even get in? Williams finished second in driver’s standings with him for the first time in a WHILE last season and honestly it only has been a handful of bad races so far.

user4: handful? Try two DNF’s, one DNS and three p6. user5: and still he is fourth in the standings? Your point being?

user6: i just wanna see how the next race goes after the shitshow in monza.

user7: lmao he and George have to be put on other ends of the conference table. user8: he’s just a whiny crybaby 😂 user7: theo or george? Because brown was absolutely in the right on turn 3 user8: nah he should have given it to russell, it was clear he was on the apex first. Brown is just a self-entitled, second coming of mad max who always thinks he’s either entitled to a win or he’ll take everyone within a mile radius out. user9:… i’m employed what does this mean? user10: basically brown and russel have been going at each others throats since karting. I dunno to me it just sounds like speculation because the driver’s go toe to toe sometimes but people like to pull the whole brits vs the irish narrative into it.

yourbff: @ yourusername is this the guy who killed your shirt?

📍Messenger

📍Instagram

liked by yourbrother, lando and others

MatteoBrown: cheers 💚🇨🇮

view all 3,056 comments…

user1: please for the love of god get a girlfriend or a boyfriend or even a dog so I can stop being delulu 😭😭

user2: let’s gooo

user3: omg little maisiee she's already so big

user4: real question is @ MatteoBrown can your dad fight???

Maxverstappen1: and you survived stain-free color me impressed

lando: he did, some poor girl didnt user5: omg did he spill a pint on someone

MatteoBrown: @ lando how bout you mind your business yeah?

lando: i was minding my business until you fumbled so bad I actually wanted to sink through floorboards FOR YOU Charles_Leclerc: further explanation please 🙂‍↕️ MatteoBrown: no lando: he fully spilled HALF a pint on this girl and looked like all those mighty brain cells dripped out through his ears like the beer on the floor and just walked away Maxverstappen1: mate Charles_Leclerc: dude carlossainz55: dude x2 AlexDunne: make it three MatteoBrown: yes it was bad, can you stop now? lando: nah i’m gonna remind you of this on average five times a week atleast

user6: this is hilarious pls

user7: nah just reinforces the idea he seems like an absolute douche user8: do you know him? No. user9: do YOU know him? No. But based on how he is on every media platform he either has a full alter ego for racing or then it’s just how he is. Prissy and self-entitled.

user10: seriously what is it with these fuckass hatetrains everyone has in f1??? first lando this and lando that, then you switch to theo?? who's next? Charles curses on the radio and says he doesnt like spanish food so you'll crucify him next?? jesus christ

📍 Twitter

📍Instagram DM

🎧ྀི♪⋆.✮ author -> anyway idk if this will go anywhere, would yall like some sort of continution? I dont have any plots or anything planned, but I've wanted to play around with an f1 driver!oc for a while <3

80 notes · View notes

honeyhyunn · 6 days ago

Text

what happens in vegas — po5

lando norris x !ex reader

pato o’ward x reader

they say heartbreak feels like drowning. for you, it comes in the form of grainy photos, whispered texts, and the gut-punch realization that the man you’ve loved for nearly three years chose someone else—someone you once called a friend.

so you leave monaco. you leave the apartment, the memories, the ache in your chest, and go home to the only people who have ever felt like home. elba o’ward has been your best friend since childhood, and her brother, pato, has always been there—loud, reckless, impossible to ignore.

what you don’t expect is that pato has been waiting all along. and this time, he isn’t going to let you go.

original request is here.

fc : saradeanii on ig

—

1 week ago…

yourusername

liked by elbaoward, patriciooward, alexandrasaintmleux & 1,890,000 others.

yourusername : a spill of my recents 📸

tagged : lando and magui_corceiro

—

view 129,000 other comments.

recent comments

username00 : oh she just posted this a week ago. poor bby

username15 : lando. when i catch you lando.

username17 : notice how neither of them liked this. backstabbers.

username77 : lando, que te folle un pez.

liked by elbaoward, patriciooward and yourusername

↳ username77 : AHAHAH HEY GUYS

username20 : her best friend and her boyfriend. that poor baby

username19 : well now that lando has fumbled ik who is first in line

older comments

elbaoward : my real life barbie 💗✨

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mi vidaaaa<3 love you forever

liked by elbaoward

lando : my girl 😻

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : my mannnnnn🥰

↳ username77 : your girl but you didn’t like this post but liked her best friends…

patriciooward : te extraño queridaaaaaa

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : te extraño más mi patitoooo🗣️ iré a tu casa si tienes el wifi nuevamente activado🥴

liked by patriciooward

↳ patriciooward : está de nuevo listo para ti, mi reina.

liked by yourusername

↳ username155 : omg yn saw the wifi nonsense too😭

↳ yourusername : SAW IT? mama i lived it. who do you think was getting called every 5 minutes out of pure boredom????

liked by patriciooward and username155

magui_corceiro : minha linda menina💓

liked by yourusername

lilymhe : so obsessed with YOU.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s so funny because i feel the same about you !!!!!

liked by lilymhe

alexandrasaintmleux : most beautiful angel xx🤍

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : love you love you love you

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

—

flashback (1 week ago…)

The day has been long — meeting in the morning, a team event in the afternoon — and the two of you are finally back in Monaco, the warm glow of late afternoon spilling across the balcony. The air smells faintly of salt and sunscreen, and Lando is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, thumb scrolling idly on his phone.

You’re curled up beside him, still wearing the oversized McLaren hoodie he tossed at you before you left this morning, your legs tucked underneath you. Your hair is still a little messy from the wind, and you’re halfway through stealing one of his crisps from the bowl on the table.

“You hungry?” he asks without looking up, voice light.

“Starving,” you reply around a mouthful of crisp, smirking when he finally glances over at you.

His smile is easy and familiar, the kind that used to make you feel like the only person in the room. He sets his phone down on the coffee table — face-down. Not unusual, you tell yourself. He does that sometimes. Still, the motion catches your eye.

“I was thinking Italian tonight,” he says, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your hoodie. “That place by the harbor you love — the one with the wine you always say is too sweet.”

You laugh softly. “You mean the wine you drink when you’ve had a bad day?”

He grins, leaning closer. “Guilty. But I figured we could walk down, maybe grab gelato after. Your favorite. The one with the little chocolate shavings.”

It’s hard not to melt at the thought — or at the way he’s watching you like he’s cataloging every reaction. You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of him.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately,” you murmur before you can stop yourself. It’s not accusatory, just an observation.

He chuckles, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Just sorting some stuff for next week. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wasn’t worried,” you say, but the unease lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the stress of the season.

His hand slides down to lace with yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Love you, you know that?”

You smile, squeezing his fingers. “Yeah. I know.”

And maybe that’s enough to make you swallow the question on your tongue. You don’t ask who he was texting. You don’t ask why his smile feels just a touch too polished tonight. Instead, you let him pull you up from the couch, laughing as he complains about how long you take to get ready, and you decide — just this once — to ignore it.

—

present day

f1gossipgirls

2,000,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : trouble in paradise? lando norris was spotted getting close to model magui corceiro at a nightclub last night in portugal, with multiple witnesses claiming the two left together before boarding a private jet this morning. what makes this even messier? magui is best friends with yn ln, a 23 year old internationally known model who has been publicly dating lando since early 2022. the two women have often been photographed together at races, vacations, and events, making this rumored fling a major shock to fans.

—

view 300,000 other comments.

username000 : nahhh this has to be fake right???

↳ username17 : i fear this is typical behavior for magui AND lando

username15 : MAGUI??? as in YN’s BEST FRIEND magui???

username23 : if this is true… i actually feel sick for her

username00 : yn was literally at his race last week smiling and supporting him… men are wild

username10 : magui better turn off her comments real quick 💀

username20 : lando better run and hide from elba bc i sense she is coming after him with something sharp

liked by elbaoward

↳ username13 : ELBA😭😭

username100 : this is actually the worst plot twist of 2025

username25 : PATOOOOOOOO OH PATOOOOO COME GET YOUR GIRL

username75 : imagine throwing away yn for MAGUI of all people

username88 : honestly queen has been booked and busy lately, she probably don’t care

—

You push open the door to your apartment in Monaco, the soft click echoing unnervingly in the quiet space. The familiar scent — a mix of sea salt, sun-warmed concrete, and faint traces of his cologne — hits your nose, and for a moment, it feels like you’re stepping back into a memory. But the warmth you once felt here is gone.

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a dull thud on the floor. You’re exhausted, drained in a way that no gig or jetlag could ever cause. Your phone buzzes insistently in your hand — notifications, messages, tags from people you barely know.

You unlock it with numb fingers, eyes scanning the screen.

An explosion of posts from gossip accounts fill your feed. The latest: photos of Lando and Magui — smiling, close, tangled in a way that used to belong to you. Shots from a club in Portugal, then boarding a private jet together early this morning.

Your heart stops.

You swipe to the comments. Hundreds of strangers, friends, fans — everyone shocked, devastated, furious. Your breath catches, tears prickling your eyes, but you blink them back. You don’t want to break down here. Not yet.

Your gaze flickers to the kitchen counter where Lando’s laptop sits — still open, like a silent witness. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, grounding yourself.

You tell yourself you have to see. You have to know.

Click. The screen brightens, the familiar interface opening. His messages.

A sea of texts stretches out — timestamps deep into the night, conversations between Lando and Magui that you never saw coming. Flirty emojis, inside jokes, whispered promises. Messages that should have been yours.

You feel the air leave your lungs, like you’re being crushed from the inside out. Your vision blurs.

Every word you read twists the knife deeper. The laughter you shared, the plans you made — all replaced by secrets and lies.

You sink to the edge of the couch, trembling, your phone slipping from your fingers onto the floor. The silence of the apartment presses in, louder than any scream you can’t let out.

You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re trying to hold your shattered pieces together. The photo on the wall catches your eye — a snapshot of you and Lando, sun-drenched and smiling on a beach vacation.

You reach out, fingertips grazing the frame, a ghost of a smile flickering before it’s swallowed by sorrow.

Then, you stand. Slowly, painfully.

You walk to your bedroom, each step heavier than the last. Your suitcase sits waiting — half-packed from an earlier trip that now feels like a lifetime ago.

You start pulling clothes from the closet, stuffing them into the bag with trembling hands. Every shirt, every dress, every little thing is a quiet declaration: this is the end.

The tears come then — quiet at first, then flooding down your cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

You don’t bother to stop them. Not anymore.

When the last zipper clicks shut, you grab your bag and head to the door.

One last look around the apartment — your home, your heart, your heartbreak.

You close the door behind you softly, but with a finality that echoes through your chest.

Outside, the Monaco sun is still shining, but inside you know — this is where you stop looking back.

—

The low, constant drone of the private jet’s engines vibrates beneath you, a dull hum that fills the cabin but does little to quiet the turmoil in your mind. Outside the small oval window, the world shrinks away into a blur of clouds and sky, but inside you’re trapped, the weight of everything pressing down like gravity itself has turned cruel.

Your hands shake as you pull your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up with Elba’s name — the one lifeline you still trust, the one person who feels like home even when everything else feels broken.

You hesitate, swallowing hard before pressing the call button.

The phone rings, once, twice… then Elba’s voice, calm and familiar, fills your ears.

“Hey. It’s me,” your voice barely carries, raw and fractured, like you’re speaking through a fog.

“Mi cariño.” Elba’s voice shifts instantly — soft, comforting, a shield against the cold reality crashing down around you. “I saw everything online. I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.”

You close your eyes, biting back a sob. “I didn’t want to believe it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t real. But then… the messages. The texts. It’s worse than I ever imagined.”

There’s a pause, the kind that holds space for pain without rushing it.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Elba says finally, her voice steady and warm. “You can come stay with me. For as long as you need. There’s no rush, no pressure — just a safe place, a home to heal in.”

That word — home — lands like a gentle hand on your heart, softening the edges of your pain for the first time in hours.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I thought I had my life figured out… that we had a future. And now it feels like everything’s crumbled.”

Elba’s voice is unwavering. “You had a life with him, but that wasn’t your whole life. You’re so much more than that chapter. And I’m here, okay? I’ll be here through all the mess, the anger, the tears — every step.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. For the first time since it all started, you feel a flicker of something you thought was gone — hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this without him.”

Elba’s laugh is quiet but full of love. “That’s why we’ll do it together. You’re not alone, mi vida. I’ve got you.”

The plane’s engines hum steadily as you lean back, eyes fixed on the soft light of the cabin ceiling. Outside, the world is vast and unknown, but inside, there’s a promise. A promise that maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself again.

—

The plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud that echoed in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. After all the chaos and heartbreak, you were finally here — home.

The cabin lights brightened, and you slowly gathered your things. Your fingers trembled as you zipped up your bag, your heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope.

Each step down the jetway felt surreal. You wanted to believe that once you saw Elba, everything would somehow begin to heal.

The bustling airport surrounded you, voices and wheels rolling across polished floors blending into a distant hum. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching. Then you saw her — Elba, standing near the arrivals gate, her phone still in hand, eyes wide with relief as they locked onto you. Without hesitation, she broke into a run and threw her arms open.

You didn’t stop yourself. You rushed into her embrace, collapsing into the warmth and safety you’d missed so desperately.

“It’s okay,” Elba whispered softly, her voice steady yet filled with tenderness. “You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Your tears spilled freely, your face pressed into her shoulder as all the pain, confusion, and exhaustion poured out.

“I… I didn’t know what else to do,” you choked out between sobs. “I thought I had it all figured out. And then—”

Elba tightened her hold. “Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. You just need time. And I’m here, always.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes red and shining. “Thank you… for everything. For being here when I didn’t know who else I could trust.”

She smiled, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re not alone. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

You nodded, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.

Elba squeezed your hand gently. “Let’s get you out of here and into some sweatpants. I’ve got a whole weekend planned — rest, junk food, terrible movies, and zero pressure.”

A small laugh escaped you, and you let yourself believe that maybe this was the fresh start you needed.

—

The moment you step inside Elba’s warm, inviting home, a soft sense of relief settles over you like a weighted blanket. The walls, adorned with photos of family and laughter, feel like a gentle promise that this place is different — a sanctuary.

Elba’s husband, Brent, greets you at the door with a warm smile and a quiet hug that feels like an unspoken welcome. His eyes hold kindness, but he quickly senses the heaviness you carry.

“Welcome home, YN,” he says softly. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Elba nudges him and jokingly states. “Give us some space. She needs time to breathe.”

With a nod and a knowing smile, Brent steps back, leaving the two of you alone.

You follow Elba to the living room, where soft blankets and plush pillows are waiting. “I’ve stocked the fridge with all your favorites,” she says, her voice bright but tender. “Tonight, we do nothing but rest.”

You manage a small smile, sinking into the couch’s comforting embrace. But exhaustion weighs on you heavier than anything, and soon Elba helps you up.

“I set up the guest room for you. It’s just down the hall,” she says, leading the way.

Your footsteps echo softly as you enter the calm, softly lit room. The bed is made with fresh linens, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air.

“Try to get some sleep,” Elba says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll take it slow.”

You nod, grateful, and let the quiet pull you under.

Hours later, just as the moon casts silver light through the window, the front door opens quietly — Pato is home.

Elba catches his eye from the kitchen, a silent question passing between them. She gently pulls you aside, kneeling to meet your gaze.

“Would you like to see him? He’s asked about you a lot.”

Your heart skips, nerves fluttering but warmth blooming just beneath.

“If you’re okay,” you whisper.

She smiles softly and leads you to the living room where Pato waits. His usual energy is softened, replaced by a tenderness reserved only for you.

When you step inside, his face breaks into a gentle grin. “Hey,” he says simply, reaching out to take your hand.

You lean into his touch, the years of friendship and unspoken feelings wrapping around you like a safe harbor.

Without words, he pulls you into a hug — steady, grounding, full of the promise that you don’t have to face this alone.

You sigh against his chest, the weight of pain lifting just a little.

“I missed you,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you breathe.

For the first time since everything fell apart, you feel the soft pulse of hope — fragile but real — blossoming between you.

Elba watches with a smile from the doorway, silently thankful that her two favorite people are finally beginning to heal together.

—

Sunlight streams gently through the large kitchen windows, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sweet aroma of sizzling bacon and warm pancakes, wrapping around you like a comforting hug as you slowly wake from a deep, peaceful sleep.

You stretch beneath the soft duvet in the guest room, the soft scent lingering in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel the crushing weight of sadness pressing down on your chest.

Downstairs, muffled laughter floats up to you — the familiar, easy sound of Elba and Pato sharing a quiet moment. It’s like a balm to your soul, reminding you that you’re not alone anymore.

Pulling on a soft, oversized sweater and your favorite sweatpants, you make your way down the stairs, the floor cool beneath your bare feet.

Elba is at the kitchen island, carefully setting the table with fresh fruit, pancakes stacked high, fluffy scrambled eggs, and the perfect mugs of coffee — just how you like it.

“Good morning,” she says, turning with a warm smile that reaches her eyes, full of kindness and unspoken understanding. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I thought I would,” you admit, sliding into a chair beside the table. The soft cushions welcome you, and for a moment, you just breathe, letting yourself settle into this moment of peace.

From the stove, Pato flips a golden pancake with ease, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I’m guessing the guest room isn’t half bad,” he teases, catching your eye with a sparkle of warmth.

You chuckle softly. “Definitely better than the loud nights in Monaco.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous light. “You know, you could’ve told us you were coming. We might have planned a welcome party.”

Elba laughs, pouring you a fresh cup of coffee and sliding it across the table. “Party or not, you’re here now — and that’s what matters.”

You reach for the warm mug, the smooth ceramic grounding you. “Thanks, both of you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Pato’s grin softens, and he pushes off the counter to sit beside you. “We’ve been waiting for you to let us in. It’s okay to lean on us.”

Elba joins you, her hand brushing yours across the table, a quiet promise that you’re not alone. You smile, a genuine, small smile that feels like a seed of hope growing inside your chest.

Pato leans in with a teasing smirk. “So, when are you going to stop being mysterious and let us in on all your secrets?”

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “I suppose they were his secrets more than mine.”

“Touché,” he replies with a chuckle. “But you’ve been holding back. We’re here for all of it — the good, the messy, everything.”

Elba nods, squeezing your hand gently. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let us be your strength.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease for the first time in weeks.

As you share breakfast, laughter, and quiet moments, the warmth between you feels like the first soft light after a long, dark night.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to believe in new beginnings — fragile, yes, but glowing with hope.

—

The late afternoon sun bathes the quiet neighborhood in a soft, golden light as you and Pato step outside, Norbi happily bounding ahead with his short legs and fluffy tail wagging like a little flag. The fresh air fills your lungs, carrying with it a calmness that feels foreign but desperately needed.

You let your fingers brush against Pato’s as you walk, the easy contact grounding you in the moment. Norbi sniffs eagerly at every tree and bush, blissfully unaware of the heavy thoughts weighing on your heart.

Your phone buzzes sharply in your pocket. You pull it out and glance down — Lando’s name glaring up at you, unwelcome and intrusive. You don’t hesitate. Without a word, you press the power button, silencing the call.

Pato’s gaze shifts to you, concern etched across his face. “Did he call again?”

You nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I’m just… not ready.”

He falls into step beside you, his presence quiet and reassuring. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But after a moment, you realize maybe you do. Maybe finally, after all this time, it’s time to stop carrying the weight alone.

You stop near a small park bench, the soft hum of distant traffic and rustling leaves filling the space around you. Norbi settles down at your feet, looking up with bright eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Pato’s steady gaze. “You know about what happened with Lando. About the cheating.”

He nods slowly, fingers entwining with yours. “I figured. But if you want to tell me more… I’m here.”

Your voice trembles as you begin. “When we started dating, it was everything I wanted — fun, support, laughter. But slowly, things changed. The late nights on his phone, the missed calls, the excuses.”

You look down, the memory sharp and painful. “I tried to ignore it, convinced myself it was stress or work. But deep down, I felt the distance growing.”

Pato squeezes your hand gently, encouraging you to keep going.

“It wasn’t just the cheating,” you confess, voice cracking. “It was how it happened. Magui — she was my best friend. Someone I trusted with my whole heart.”

Your eyes glisten with tears you don’t try to hide. “When I found out, it wasn’t just the betrayal of the relationship. It was the betrayal of friendship. The way they hid it from me, all while I was still believing, loving him.”

Pato’s face softens, the pain in your words settling deep in his chest. “I’m so sorry, cariño. That is more than anyone should have to endure.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize until I left Monaco. I had to get away — away from the lies, from the people who pretended everything was fine.”

You squeeze his hand, a fragile hope blooming between you. “You’ve always been so patient with me. Quiet. Steady. And for the first time, I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.”

Pato smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into the cold corners of your heart. Norbi barks happily, breaking the silence, and in that simple moment — beside someone who truly sees you — it seems like the future might be bright.

—

several weeks later…

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yourusername : vegas w my pookies 🎰✨🪩

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—

You’re curled up on the couch in Elba’s living room, wrapped in a cozy blanket and scrolling mindlessly through your phone when Elba pops her head around the corner, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Hey, you,” she says, “how about a quick escape?”

You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Escape from what exactly?”

Elba winks. “All the drama, emails, social media chaos — basically, life. You need a break.”

Before you can answer, Pato strolls in, holding Norbi in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

“And I brought snacks and corgi kisses,” he announces, plopping down beside you with a cheeky grin.

Elba nudges him. “See? We come bearing gifts.”

Pato’s eyes twinkle as he adds, “And more importantly, a promise— all fun. No drama, no phones, just good vibes.”

You laugh softly, setting your phone aside. “I don’t know. Vegas is… a lot.”

Elba flops down next to you, mock serious. “It’s Vegas, baby! Neon lights, silly hats, endless buffets. Plus, I’m telling Brent to bring his best poker face.”

Pato chuckles. “And I’ll be your personal dealer. Cards, cocktails, and cuddles. All you can take.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “Alright, alright. But if I end up losing all my chips, I’m blaming you two.”

Elba beams. “Deal! Vegas, here we come.”

—

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the three of you stepped out into the lobby of the restaurant. Warm golden light spilled from chandeliers that sparkled overhead, casting a glow over plush carpet and crystal glasses. The soft hum of conversation, the clink of silverware, and the faint scent of truffle oil and fresh bread wrapped around you like a warm welcome.

Elba was already striding ahead, her white silk dress catching the light with every step. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine shoot, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she owned the room without even trying.

Pato, trailing behind you. “Remind me never to stand next to my sister in photos.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Relax, you clean up alright yourself.”

His grin was shameless. “Just alright?”

Your laughter followed you to the table the hostess led you to — a corner spot with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. The view was insane. The entire city was lit up like it was trying to outshine the stars, neon signs blinking and massive LED billboards flashing in colors you didn’t think existed in nature.

“This,” Elba said as she sat down, smoothing her dress, “is the vibe.”

Pato leaned back in his chair, smirking. “This is the appetizer. Wait until we hit the casino.”

Menus appeared in front of you, along with a bottle of deep red wine and warm bread that you tore apart instantly. Conversation flowed like the wine — easy and bright. Elba told a story about a disastrous hotel pool party she once went to, and Pato launched into a retelling of a ridiculous karting race from when you were kids. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt before your entrées even arrived.

By dessert — a decadent chocolate soufflé you pretended to share but definitely ate most of — Elba leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so here’s the plan. Blackjack. Loser buys the first round of drinks.”

Pato raised an eyebrow. “Is this before or after I take all your chips?”

“Oh, it’s cute you think you’re that good,” you teased.

Twenty minutes later, the three of you stepped onto the casino floor, and the atmosphere swallowed you whole. Bright lights flashed, chips clinked, and the low murmur of dealers calling bets mingled with bursts of cheers from lucky winners. You’d never been in a place that felt so alive.

Pato dragged you to the blackjack table while Elba went hunting for a slot machine with “a good vibe.” You sat next to him, a little intimidated at first, but quickly got into the rhythm — hit, stand, double down. The stack of chips in front of you wasn’t massive, but it was growing.

“Beginner’s luck,” Pato muttered when you beat him for the third hand in a row.

You smirked. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

His arm found its way around your waist halfway through the game, warm and steady. His thumb brushed absentminded circles against your side, and you tried to focus on the cards in your hand instead of the way your heart was suddenly hammering.

Elba eventually reappeared, waving a handful of small winnings. “Drinks are on me!” she announced.

The three of you ended up in a plush booth near the bar, neon lights from the casino spilling across the table. You leaned back, your legs tucked under you, and Pato’s arm stayed exactly where it had been all night — around you, grounding and warm.

At one point, he leaned in just enough for you to hear over the music. “Told you Vegas would be good for you.”

You met his eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “Yeah… you were right.”

When you finally left, the Strip stretched out before you, buzzing with life. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of street food and perfume. Elba linked her arm through yours, and Pato walked close enough that your shoulders brushed with every step. You hadn’t expected to feel this light again — not yet, not so soon. But walking back to the hotel, laughing at something ridiculous Pato said, it hit you. You were happy. Really happy.

—

The next night in Vegas had a completely different energy. Elba and Brent had their own dinner plans — something about a show and “grown-up time,” as Elba called it — which left you and Pato on your own.

He knocked on your hotel suite door just as you were finishing your makeup, leaning casually against the doorframe in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled. The sight made your stomach do something suspiciously close to a somersault.

“Well,” he said with a grin, giving you an obvious once-over, “if we’re going to dinner, I’m going to have to up my game. You’re making me look underdressed.”

You smirked, stepping past him and locking the door behind you. “You say that every time, and yet…”

He held out his arm dramatically. “Shall we, señorita?”

The restaurant was the kind of place you wouldn’t dare step into without reservations — dim lighting, sleek black marble tables, soft jazz playing under the quiet hum of conversation. The kind of place where you didn’t just eat; you lingered. You drank wine that was far too expensive, ate pasta that tasted like it had been blessed by angels, and let conversation flow as easily as the champagne. At one point, you caught him watching you over his glass, that familiar little half-smile playing at his lips.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest feel warm, and you had to look down at your plate to keep from staring back too long. By the time you left the restaurant, you were both a little tipsy — giggling too loudly as you made your way through the hotel to the club inside. The bass hit you the second you stepped in, deep and pulsing, vibrating through your chest.

Pato found you a spot near the back, tucked into a booth but still close enough to the dance floor to feel the energy. Drinks appeared — cocktails in tall glasses with neon straws — and the night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and the comfortable way he leaned close to talk in your ear.

At some point, you ended up on the dance floor together, the crowd pressing in, the beat heavy and intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, his arm slipping around your waist like it had a hundred times before. But this time, it felt different.

You were laughing at something he said — you couldn’t even remember what — when you looked up and really saw him. The lights were flashing, painting him in shades of pink and blue, and his smile was so genuine it made your chest ache.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It was quick, almost clumsy, and you pulled back immediately, cheeks burning. “Sorry, I—”

He laughed, shaking his head, his hand still warm on your waist. “You’re drunk,” he teased gently.

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “So are you.”

And maybe that was all it took — because then he was leaning in, his forehead brushing yours, and his mouth met yours again. This time slower. Softer. The noise of the club seemed to fade, the lights dimming in your periphery. All you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his thumb traced absentminded circles at your hip, like he’d been waiting for this for a long time but was in no rush to ruin it.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he didn’t move far. His eyes were warm, a little dazed, like maybe he felt the same thing you did — that something had shifted, quietly but completely.

“You’re are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you teased, trying to keep your voice light.

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess we’re both in trouble then.”

The rest of the night was a blur — more dancing, more laughing, and his hand never leaving yours as you stumbled back to the hotel together, the city glowing below like it had been lit just for you.

—

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the headache — though, yeah, the pounding in your skull was pretty unforgiving — it was the warmth next to you.

You cracked one eye open to find Pato sprawled sideways across the other half of the bed, fully clothed in last night’s button-up and jeans, one arm dangling off the side like he’d fought a war with the mattress. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up in every direction, and his face was buried halfway into a pillow. You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The movement made him stir.

“Mmm…” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “Tell me we didn’t agree to an early breakfast.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Relax. It’s—” You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. “—almost eleven.”

His eyes cracked open just enough to catch sight of you sitting there, hair messy from sleep, wrapped in the hotel duvet. A slow grin spread across his face. “You look like a burrito.”

You tossed a pillow at him. “You look like a disaster.”

“Yeah, but a charming disaster,” he shot back, sitting up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to make your still hazy brain short circuit. Your mind flickered back to last night — the dancing, the drinks, the kiss. You wondered if he remembered all of it, but before you could ask, he gave you that same warm look he’d given you across the dinner table.

“Feeling okay?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Better than I thought I would.”

“Good,” he said, reaching over to ruffle your hair gently. “If you were going to have your first Vegas hangover, at least you had an elite level babysitter.”

You laughed, but it was cut short by the sudden vibration of your phone against your leg. You glanced at the screen — and froze. Lando. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, hadn’t wanted to, and now his name was glowing across your screen like some kind of bad omen.

Pato noticed immediately. “You don’t have to—”

But you were already swiping to answer, curiosity and stubbornness winning out. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” His voice was sharp, no greeting, no pause.

“None of your business,” you said evenly.

There was a beat of silence, then, “I saw your pictures.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Congratulations, you follow my Instagram.”

“You’re with him?” The edge in his voice was unmistakable — jealousy, raw and ugly. “Pato? Really?”

You glanced sideways at Pato, who was now sitting cross legged on the bed, watching you with a small, curious smile like he could hear enough to piece it together.

“Yes,” you said simply, even though it wasn’t technically official. “He’s been here for me. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“That’s—” Lando started, his tone growing defensive. “That’s different.”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharpening. “It’s not. You cheated on me with my best friend, Lando. And now you’re jealous? You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore.”

On the other end of the line, you could practically hear him breathing hard. “He’s not right for you.”

Pato raised his eyebrows at that, mouthing Wow.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the phone. “The thing is, he’s exactly right for me. And if that bothers you… that’s your problem.”

Before he could respond, you ended the call, tossing the phone aside. For a moment, there was just silence in the room. Then Pato leaned back on his hands, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well,” he said, “that was… hot.”

You laughed, a little surprised at yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, standing and stretching again. “But I think you just made my entire week.”

And when he offered you his hand to get up, you took it — the unspoken weight of last night and this morning hanging in the air between you, warm and electric.

—

The next night felt different. Not in a we’re going to a club and making questionable decisions kind of way, but in a softer, more deliberate sense.

Pato had knocked on your hotel room door right before sunset, wearing a crisp black shirt and black trousers that fit him almost too well. He had his hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all, and when you opened the door, he just stood there for a second, looking at you like you were the only person in the building.

“You look…” He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly over your dress. “Wow. I was gonna say ‘beautiful,’ but that doesn’t even cover it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You look pretty good too, O’Ward.”

He grinned and offered you his arm. “Ready?”

The restaurant he’d chosen was tucked away from the chaos of the main Strip — dimly lit, all warm golden tones and candles on every table. You were seated in a private corner booth, and it almost felt like the rest of the world had been shut out.

Pato was charming as always, telling you ridiculous stories from his racing career and making you laugh so hard you nearly snorted wine. But there were also quieter moments — his hand resting close to yours on the table, his eyes soft when you spoke, the way he seemed to actually listen, not just wait for his turn to talk.

At one point, between the main course and dessert, he leaned back in his seat and studied you for a moment.

“You know…” he said slowly, “I’ve wanted to take you out like this for a long time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a little nod. “But I didn’t want to push. I figured you might not be ready for… all of this.” He gestured vaguely between you, his voice warm but careful. “And I don’t want to be that guy who swoops in just because someone else hurt you.”

Your heart squeezed a little. “Pato…”

He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “That being said,” he added with a small, almost shy smile, “I do want to be yours. Whenever you’re ready.”

You didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’m ready now,” you said softly.

For a second, he just blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his whole face lit up in a grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the Vegas Strip.

“Yeah?” he asked, almost boyishly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, reaching over to take his hand. “I want this. I want you.”

He squeezed your hand back, and that smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of dinner. The ride back to the hotel was quiet in the best way. You sat side by side in the back of a black SUV, his fingers loosely linked with yours, the neon glow from the Strip flashing across his profile as you passed by casinos and endless signs.

At one point, the car slowed as you passed one of those tiny wedding chapels — white lights strung along the roofline, a big sign advertising “Elvis Officiants” and “Same-Day Marriages.”

Pato’s gaze flicked toward it, and then he let out a low chuckle. “One day,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I’m bringing you back here. We’ll get married in some ridiculous little chapel, and I’ll make sure they have the tackiest Elvis impersonator they can find.”

Your head turned toward him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Oh, really?” you teased, but your voice was softer than you expected.

“Mmhm,” he said, giving your hand another squeeze. “We’ll have champagne in paper cups, and Norbi will be the ring bearer.”

You laughed, leaning into him a little. “That’s… oddly perfect.”

He glanced down at you, his expression gentler now. “Don’t worry. I’m not saying we need to run off and do it tomorrow. But one day… yeah. I can see it.”

And the thing that surprised you most wasn’t his words — it was how easily you could see it too. By the time you reached the hotel, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

—

Back at the hotel, Pato unlocked the suite door and held it open for you, still grinning like he couldn’t quite believe the night had happened.

“After you, mi novia,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The word hit you right in the chest — my girlfriend. You didn’t think you’d hear that again so soon, let alone in a way that made you feel this… light.

You stepped inside, kicking off your heels, and he set his keys on the counter before nodding toward the windows. “Come here. The view’s better from the balcony.”

The Vegas Strip stretched out below, glittering in a thousand shades of neon. You could see the fountains at the Bellagio dancing to some faint music, the glow of the Eiffel Tower replica across the street, the constant buzz of life even at this hour.

“Not bad,” you murmured, leaning your forearms on the railing.

Pato stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I was actually talking about the view right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Cheesy.”

“Accurate,” he countered, turning so he could really look at you. The cool night breeze stirred your hair, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

He reached up, tucking a strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. But somehow, this is better than I thought.”

Your breath caught a little. “What moment?”

“This one,” he said simply, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Standing here with you. Knowing you’re mine. Finally being able to do this—”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or heated like the club — it was slow, intentional, the kind of kiss that said I’ve been waiting, but I’m not going anywhere. His hands settled at your waist, pulling you closer, and you curled your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, deepening the kiss just slightly before breaking away with a soft laugh.

“You’ve been holding out on me, O’Ward,” you teased.

He smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I told you. I wanted to do this right.”

The city kept buzzing beneath you, but up here, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you — his warm hands, his steady heartbeat, his smile that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust love again.

—

4 months later...

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—

You’re leaning against the railing, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the mid afternoon glare, when you hear your name. Not just your name — his voice saying it. You freeze.

“YN.”

You turn slowly, heart pounding in your ears, and there he is. Lando. In his McLaren gear, cap pulled low, a look on his face you can’t read. You feel Elba stiffen beside you, her hand curling around your forearm like she’s ready to physically block him if needed.

“What do you want?” Elba’s voice is cool, her posture sharp. She shifts, subtly stepping between you and him.

“I need to talk to her,” Lando says, gaze fixed on you.

“You’re not—” Elba starts, but you place a hand on her arm.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, though your chest feels like it’s tightening. “Two minutes.”

Elba gives you a hard look — the kind that says she doesn’t like this, not one bit — but she nods and stays close enough to hear if you raise your voice. You follow Lando a few paces away, just far enough from the crowd. He takes off his cap, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment you see a flicker of the boy you used to love.

“I made a mistake,” he starts, his voice low but urgent. “I never should’ve—”

You hold up a hand. “Lando, stop.”

“No, listen to me,” he insists. “I messed up, okay? With Magui, with everything… I was stupid. I was stressed, I—”

“You cheated,” you cut in, each word deliberate. “You didn’t trip and fall into her. You made a choice. Multiple choices.”

His jaw tightens, but he presses on. “I thought… I thought maybe we could fix it. We were good together, YN. You know we were.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Were. Past tense.”

“I can be better. I can prove it.”

“Lando…” You shake your head, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “You didn’t just break my heart, you broke my trust. You broke… us. And I’ve moved on.”

His eyes darken. “With him? With Pato?”

You lift your chin. “Yes. With Pato. And I’m happy.”

“That’s not real,” he says, stepping closer. “You can’t be—”

“Enough,” you snap, taking a step back. “You don’t get to tell me what’s real. You lost that right the second you decided being in my best friend was worth more than our relationship.”

He flinches, but you don’t soften.

Elba appears at your side again, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “We’re done here.”

Lando’s jaw works, like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods once, shoving his cap back on before walking away. You exhale, your whole body trembling. Elba slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back inside. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

—

Pato finds you in the motorhome an hour later, fresh out of the car and still buzzing from practice. His hair’s messy under his cap, his race suit halfway unzipped, but the moment he sees your face, his expression changes instantly.

“Princesa…” He drops the water bottle in his hand and walks straight to you. “What happened?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the coffee cup Elba shoved into your hands earlier. “Nothing—”

“Don’t,” he says firmly, crouching in front of where you’re sitting. “Your ‘nothing’ face looks a whole lot like your ‘I’m about to cry but I don’t want to make a scene’ face.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. It’s Elba who answers from the couch across the room, voice sharp. “Lando happened.”

Pato’s entire body goes still. He looks at you again, and it’s different now — softer for you, but there’s a storm brewing just under the surface. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “He just… he cornered me outside and started talking. About wanting me back. About—” You exhale shakily. “About how what I have with you isn’t real.”

Pato’s jaw clenches. He sits back on his heels, trying to keep his voice even. “He said that to you?”

You nod.

“Cabron…” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Then he stands, pacing once like he’s trying to burn off the urge to march straight to McLaren’s garage. Elba gives him a look, warning.

Pato stops pacing and turns back to you, his expression shifting again — the anger still there, but now wrapped in something gentler. “Hey,” he says, kneeling back down so you’re eye level. “You know that’s crap, right? Every word. What we have—” He takes your free hand, squeezing it. “—is the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

You blink hard, your vision blurring. “I know. It’s just… hearing him say it—”

“—doesn’t make it true.” His voice is firm but quiet, and it sinks in deeper than you expect. “You’re not going to waste another second doubting yourself because of him. Not while I’m here.”

There’s something so steady in the way he says it that it breaks you open a little. You let out a shaky laugh, brushing at your eyes. “You’re a good one, Patito.”

He grins, just a little. “The best one you’ve got.”

Elba snorts. “Alright, lovebirds, enough. You’re making me gag.”

Pato doesn’t even look at her — just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and says, “Ignore her. I’ve got you. Always.”

And you believe him without hesitation.

—

The garage is pure chaos after the checkered flag drops. Mechanics are yelling, hugging, slapping each other’s backs. The monitors still flash P1 next to Pato’s name, and you’re standing there in the middle of it all, heart pounding like you were the one out there pushing the car to its limits.

You watch him on the feed, helmet still on, standing on top of the car and soaking in the roar of the crowd. He’s grinning so hard you can feel it from here. And then — the camera cuts to his podium moment. He lifts the trophy, champagne spraying, and you swear the whole place feels like it’s vibrating with pride.

When the celebrations on the stage wrap, you figure he’ll go off to media duties first, like always. But the moment he disappears down the stairs, you hear the commotion outside the garage door — shouting, running footsteps, and then—

“Princesa!”

He doesn’t slow down. Still in his race suit, still sticky from champagne, Pato charges straight into the garage, vaults the barrier like it’s nothing, and grabs you.

You barely get a breath out before you’re wrapped up in his arms, feet lifting off the floor as he spins you once, twice, laughing into your neck. And then he pulls back just far enough to look at you — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with pure joy — and kisses you.

Not a quick peck. Not something shy. This is a full, grounding, I just won and you’re the first person I needed to see kiss. You hear the cheers from the crew around you, someone wolf-whistling, someone else yelling, “Get a room!” but neither of you care.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your hands still gripping the front of his suit. “Pato—”

“Had to find you first,” he says, forehead pressing to yours. “None of this means anything without you here.”

You don’t even notice Lando at first. But then, over Pato’s shoulder, you catch him — standing just beyond the crowd, still in his McLaren kit, expression unreadable but his jaw set tight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just watches. Pato notices where your eyes have gone. He follows your gaze for half a second, then turns back to you and smiles like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Like he’s choosing to make a point without ever having to speak. He kisses you again — slower this time, deliberate — and the message is clear: you’re his, and he’s not afraid to let anyone see it.

When he pulls away, he grins. “Let’s go celebrate, mi vida.”

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the weight of the past tugging at you. Only the warmth of now.

—

6 months later...

patriciooward

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patriciooward : kept my promise, brought her back and made her mrs. o'ward <3 love you forever and always mi vida

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—

The roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in the back of your mind as you stepped into the hotel suite. The adrenaline from the race had worn off, replaced by a warm buzz of happiness. Pato had just taken the checkered flag again — another incredible victory — and you couldn’t stop smiling. He was already there, leaning casually against the window, his race suit replaced with a simple white shirt and dark jeans. The city lights flickered behind him, casting soft glows that made his eyes shine even brighter.

“You looked amazing out there,” you said, dropping your bag by the door.

He turned, that signature grin lighting up his face. “Only because I had the best support.”

You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the familiar steady beat of his heart. “You earned this.”

He kissed the top of your head softly, then suddenly stepped back, a little nervous energy replacing his usual confident swagger.

“YN…” His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask you this.”

You blinked, curiosity and excitement mixing in your chest. “Ask me what?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring — a simple band with a single sparkling diamond that caught the light perfectly.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, dropping to one knee without hesitation. “Will you marry me? Fly out to Vegas with me this weekend and say yes?”

Your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes before you even had time to answer.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I will.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you up into a tight, trembling hug. “You make me the happiest man alive.”

You laughed through the tears, resting your forehead against his. “I think this is the best win of your career.”

He chuckled, kissing you again — soft, slow, full of promises. The city glittered around you, but all you saw was each other.

—

The morning sun filtered softly through the wide windows of the suite, casting a gentle glow over the room filled with quiet excitement. You stood in front of the full length mirror, the delicate lace of your dress brushing your skin like a whisper. Elba was beside you, carefully fastening the tiny buttons up the back, her hands steady but her eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Can you believe this day is finally here?” she asked, her voice low and warm.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I’ve dreamed about it... but somehow, it feels even more real now.”

Elba reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You caught her reflection and saw the affection there — not just as your best friend, but as your sister in every way that mattered. As Elba finished the last button, Norbi — ever the lively corgi — padded into the room, tail wagging wildly. He hopped up onto the soft rug, circling around your feet before settling contentedly by the chair.

“You’re the best ring bearer anyone could ask for,” Elba teased, kneeling to scratch behind Norbi’s ears.

He responded with a happy bark, making both of you laugh. The door to the suite opened quietly, and a few close family friends filtered in — smiles bright, eyes warm with love and celebration. You could feel the hum of joy and nervous anticipation mingling in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Elba caught your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ready for this?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath that filled your lungs with confidence and hope. “With you here? Always.”

Together, you stepped away from the mirror, hearts aligned and spirits soaring, ready to begin the next chapter of your story surrounded by love.

—

The ceremony was set in a beautiful garden terrace just off the hotel, surrounded by lush greenery and delicate white flowers that danced gently in the breeze. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft golden light, making the scene feel like something out of a dream. You stood just behind the archway, your heart hammering wildly as soft music played. Elba squeezed your hand one last time before stepping aside to take her place among the guests. And then, you saw him.

Pato was standing at the altar, the most radiant smile on his face, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. The moment your gaze met, his breath hitched, and a flood of emotion crossed his features — pride, awe, pure love.

With each step you took down the aisle, the world seemed to slow, every detail sharpening — the shimmer of your dress, the warmth of the sun, the steady beat of Norbi’s little paws padding beside you as he proudly carried the rings tied to his collar.

Just as you reached the altar, Norbi decided this was the perfect moment to get a little distracted by a stray leaf fluttering across the grass. He chased it with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, prompting a ripple of laughter through the guests and a gentle shake of the head from Pato.

“You ready for this, mi vida?” Pato whispered as you took his hands, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve never been more ready,” you said, smiling through tears.

The officiant began the ceremony, but all you could focus on was the way Pato’s eyes held yours — steady, loving, and filled with promises that went deeper than words. When it came time for the vows, you spoke first, your voice clear but tender.

“Pato, from the moment you came into my life, you’ve shown me a love that is patient, kind, and true. You’ve stood by me through every high and low, and with you, I am home. Today, I promise to be your partner, your friend, and your biggest supporter — now and always.”

He squeezed your hands, his eyes shimmering, before speaking his own vows.

“YN, you are my light, my strength, and my heart. You’ve made me better in every way and taught me what it truly means to love. I promise to cherish you, protect you, and laugh with you for the rest of our days.”

As the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Pato leaned in to kiss you — a soft, lingering kiss that was met with cheers and applause. Norbi, still energized from his earlier distraction, bounced around excitedly, barking happily as if celebrating right along with everyone else. Later, as you and Pato walked hand in hand down the aisle, the sun setting behind you, the world felt perfect.

—

The reception was held in a softly lit ballroom filled with laughter, music, and the warm hum of celebration. Twinkling fairy lights were strung overhead, casting a magical glow over the tables where friends and family gathered, glasses raised in joyous toasts.

You slipped through the crowd, arm in arm with Pato, the band playing a slow, romantic song that made your heart flutter. Elba was nearby, radiant in a flowing white dress, her eyes shining with happiness as she caught your gaze and smiled.

At one point, Pato pulled you gently onto the dance floor, his hands steady around your waist as you swayed together. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you, moving in perfect rhythm.

Elba watched for a moment before joining you both, tugging Pato into a playful hug that made him laugh. “Look at you two,” she teased. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“You should know,” Pato said, grinning, “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid.”

Elba smiled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “And you, YN, you’re the best sister I could have ever asked for. You two make everything brighter.”

You felt a rush of love for them both — the bond of family, friendship, and something even deeper. As the night wore on, Norbi made his rounds, charming guests and sneaking bites of cake when no one was looking, and the three of you found a quiet moment on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below. Pato wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, while Elba leaned into you both with a contented sigh.

“To new beginnings,” Elba said softly.

“To family,” you and Pato said in unison, smiling into the night — knowing whatever came next, you’d face it together.

—

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