2handsslan

[2handsslan]

f1 fic rec masterlist

hi everyone! here's my masterlist of my favorite f1 writings. i'll be updating the list as i read!

i hope you enjoy all of these as much as i do!

———————————— 🏎️🏎️ ————————————

if any of you have any fics you recommend i'd love to read them so please send them to me! I'm always looking for more authors to support!

please please please reblog the ones you enjoy to show your support for these incredible creators! and please check out their blogs for their other work!

you can find all the fics i read under the hashtag #b's fic recs

———————————— 🏎️🏎️ ————————————

Max Verstappen (MV1) , MV1 2.0 , MV1 3.0

Daniel Ricciardo (DR3) , DR3 2.0

Lando Norris (LN4) , LN4 2.0 , LN4 3.0

Charles Leclerc (CL16) , CL16 2.0 , CL16 3.0

Carlos Sainz (CS55) , CS55 2.0 , CS55 3.0

Franco Colapinto (FC43) , FC43 2.0

Oscar Piastri (OP81) , OP81 2.0 , OP81 3.0

F1 Grid , GRID 2.0 , GRID 3.0

Other drivers , OTHER 2.0 , OTHER 3.0

[2handsslan]

Puppy Love

summary: Charles thought he would just take Leo to an appointment with a new veterinarian, but he didn't know that he would find himself returning to the vet and not exactly for Leo.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Veterinarian!Reader

warnings: use of y/n, fluff, use of french, smau and a little bit of angst

Author Note: I apologize for any spelling mistakes. English isn't my first language, so I used a translator to write some things!

Leo needed to get vaccinated; Charles couldn't risk Leo getting sick. That's why he walked peacefully through the streets of Monaco, On the way to a new vet that Lewis had told him was quite good since its staff was very kind to pets. The wind gently against his face while he was walking and Leo was walking with his little paws beside him.

After a couple more minutes of walking and some photos with some fans who had recognized him on the street, he had arrived at the vet. It looked like a simple place so as not to attract too much attention. It looked peaceful, the colors were a visual beauty, and no dog whines could be heard.

Charles picked Leo up and entered the vet.

Upon entering the vet, all you could hear was the soft sound of music and the occasional bark. There were some people sitting in a small living room while petting their pets and others just seemed to be waiting. He was muttering softly in French about how quiet the place was before looking at the receptionist.

“bonjour!”

(“Good morning!”)

He said softly with a small smile as he approached the counter.

“Bonjour ! Comment puis-je vous aider ?”

(“Good morning! How can I help you?”)

The receptionist said with a smile as he turned to his computer and opened the list of appointments that day.

“J'ai un rendez-vous pour mon chiot, Léo, prévu à 10 heures du matin.”

(“I have an appointment for my puppy, Leo, scheduled for 10 in the morning.”)

said Charles, stroking Leo's head.

“Bien sûr ! Un instant, s'il vous plaît.”

(“Sure! One moment please”)

The receptionist tapped a bit on his computer to confirm the appointment before turning slightly to face Charles.

“Il nous reste une place, mais Mlle Stacy n'est pas disponible… Nous avons une autre vétérinaire disponible, mais elle ne parle pas français aussi couramment. Ça vous convient ?”

(“We have a spot available, but Miss Stacy isn't available... We have another vet available, but she doesn't speak French as fluently. Is that okay with you?”)

Charles shook his head, still with a small smile, as he settled Leo back into his arms.

“Ne vous inquiétez pas, je n'ai aucun problème avec ��a.”

(“Don't worry, I have no problem with that.”)

The receptionist smiled before he stood up from his seat, leading Charles towards the room where the vet was.

Before they could do anything, the door opened, revealing a woman in her 20s with slightly oversized glasses.

“Oh! Miss Y/N, you have a patient here!”

Said the receptionist with a slightly strange English but still with a warm smile on his face.

You nodded a little and gave a small smile allowing Charles and Leo to enter the room before you moved to close the door behind you.

Leo was snuggled up in your arms after a couple of minutes while you tried to calm him down so he wouldn't get scared by the injection.

“He is one of the most well-behaved puppies I have ever handled, he is adorable.”

Your voice, as soft as silk, echoed throughout the room, causing Charles to lift his gaze from Leo in your arms and focus on your face. Glasses now on your head, your hair tied back in a ponytail, and your smile that would make anyone forget their worries.

“Yes, and he's also a sleepyhead.”

Charles said, followed by a small laugh that you also had before laying Leo down on a small veterinary stretcher and moving gently around the room.

Your hands moved gently into some drawers in the room, your hands went to a package of gloves and you put them delicately, then you took a small package with a small syringe and you took a small bottle that contained the medication.

Charles watched your movements closely and realized that Leo had not moved from the place where you left him on the stretcher and there he realized that he had fallen asleep only with your caresses.

You walked softly to the side of the stretcher where Leo was, gently disinfected a part of his small thigh and brought the syringe closer before gently injecting it.

“He'll be a little sensitive since vaccines make puppies a little groggy, so it's normal if he wants to sleep all day after getting home.”

You said putting a lock of your hair behind your ear and looking at him while you threw the syringe into a trash can.

You took Leo in your arms and gently gave him to Charles while the puppy licked your hands a little.

“such a cutie”

You said before Charles thanked you and headed towards the door of that quiet room.

Charles_Leclerc ✓

liked by lewishamilton and 1,304,960 others

Charles_Leclerc Guess who can't wait to get back to the vet?

comments

lewishamilton told you that was the best vet!!!!♥︎ liked by the author

user1 LEOOOO 🐶

user2 Mr Leo himself 🤓

user3 name of the vet?

↳ user4 🤷‍♀️

user5 Charles is so handsome ❤️😍😘

user6 I think is Leooooooo

user7 Lewis on the comments 😭😂

↳ user8 THISSS

user9 Leo is love, Leo is life 🙏

user10 I need a Leo in my life 🥺

user11 ❤️❤️❤️

user12 who?

↳ user13 LEO 👹

↳ user14 duuhhhhhh

user15 king leo 👑🐶

To Charles surprise, he found himself going to that vet almost every day, whether for a vaccine, a dewormer, or a bath for Leo, and each time, he would start a conversation with you, which you would follow animatedly.

Anyway, things didn't just stay there, but he would also ask for your Instagram and go out as friends once in a while so you two could talk a little more.

You didn't accept the outings because your calendar was a bit full at the moment, but you agreed to give him your Instagram and your phone number so you could chat there anyway.

ynxoxo

liked by Charles_Leclerc, Yourfriend and 79 others

ynxoxo I love my jobbb 👩‍⚕️🐶🐱🐹🐰

comments

Yourfriend Leclerc? 🤨 ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ ynxoxo 🙉🙈

↳ Yourfriend 🤨

user16 WHAT IS LECLERC DOING HERE?

↳ user17 THIS 👆👆👆

your_bro_ther CUTIES 🤍 ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ ynxoxo yes we are 🙂‍↕️

user18 So cute 🥹!!!!! ♥︎ liked by the author

After a tiring day at work, take a shower, put on clean pajamas, you set out to prepare something for dinner while keeping the air conditioning on.

You walked through your apartment, the only sound you could hear was your footsteps, until you turned on a small music player in your living room.

You walked towards your kitchen while the intro of ‘Espresso’ by Sabrina Carpenter played in the background at a moderate volume in your apartment.

You were going to grab some vegetables to start making your dinner before a notification on your phone disconcerted you. You decided to check in case it was something from the vet and you needed to go urgently.

A small, silly smile spread across your face when you saw who the message was from.

You put the phone back on the table and hurried to get out everything you needed to start making dinner, except you'd have to make enough dinner for two people, for you and Charles.

The nerves of someone else coming to your house, and that someone being a boy, made you burn your dinner at least twice, making you have to open the apartment windows to let the burning smell out of the apartment and not activate the fire sprinklers.

You were about to start making dinner again before a sound distracted you: the doorbell. Charles had arrived, and you still hadn't done anything. Embarrassed, you walked to the door and opened it, seeing that Monegasque who made your heart race.

“H-Hi…”

you said softly looking into his eyes.

“Hello chéri”

(darling)

He said with a smile as he ran a hand through his hair.

You stared at him in a daze for a moment before shaking your head slightly and stepping aside.

“please come in!”

You said before Charles nodded and he went into your apartment.

He stared at your apartment for a moment before looking back at you.

“your house is very cozy”

He said before you offered to take his coat and put it on the coat rack next to the front door.

“yeah, I like how cozy it looks too!”

you said kindly before Charles started talking again.

“Did you finish dinner or do you want me to help you?”

You laughed a little nervously and ran your hand over the back of your neck nervously before you decided to say something.

“In fact... I burned dinner twice, so I really need your help.”

He smiled and looked at you before rolling up the sleeves of his sweater a little.

“count on that”

ynxoxo

liked by Charles_Leclerc and 180 others

ynxoxo Pizza Date! 🍕❣️ w @ Charles_Leclerc

comments

Charles_Leclerc I had a very good time, we should do it again soon ❤️ ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ ynxoxo YESSS 👹

user19 found Charles 🏎️ forza ferrari!!!

user20 it looks so fun! Gonna do it with my bf!!

Yourfriend hmmmmm 🧐 ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ ynxoxo hmmm 😚

user21 PIZZAAAAAA 🍕

user22 couple material 😻

user23 CHARLES IS NOT SINGLE??

↳ Yourfriend not anymore girl 🤪

↳ ynxoxo What am I going to do with you? 🤦‍♀️

You were lying peacefully in your bed, casually swiping on tiktok like any other day off until your best friend shared a link of a Twitter post with you.

You came across the post not expecting anything more than some silly message about people complaining about how expensive dog food was until you saw those tweets, the ones that already had over 1000 likes and reblogs.

“what is happening?”

You quickly started reading what was happening and then after doing so, you wished you hadn't, your eyes widened and you quickly entered your Instagram only to see thousands of people asking for access to your private account, making you start to worry and decide to send a message to Charles asking for an explanation about everything that was happening.

When you sent the message, a thousand things went through your mind. You had no idea what you had gotten yourself into, you didn't even know this could happen. You just followed your heart and it led you to what seemed to be your downfall.

You got out of bed and rubbed your forehead trying to remove the sweat that had suddenly appeared on it.

Your head was spinning and everything was confusing until you felt your phone vibrate a little in your hand after a few minutes that seemed eternal given the situation you were in.

It was the last thing you saw before you decided to turn off your phone and go out to the balcony to try to get some fresh air and calm down a little.

You were standing against the wall of your living room and your eyes were fixed on the nervous figure of Charles, who was sitting on the armchair in front of you.

“Charles, I need you to explain to me what the hell is going on.”

You said with your arms crossed on your chest and your eyebrows a little furrowed due to your noticeable annoyance.

Charles raised his gaze only to have it locked with yours for a few seconds that felt like hours until he finally decided to speak.

“Look, I understand that you're angry-”

“I'm not angry Charles, I'm furious”

You said, frowning a little more while you still didn't take your eyes off him.

“I understand and you have every right to be.”

He let out a shaky sigh and ran his hands over his face.

“I know I should have told you about how intense Formula One fans were before, and I know I shouldn't have exposed you to this world. I know you don't want to be harassed on the street or online, nobody wants that, and I understand if you want to end it all right here, but I want you to know that I truly love you, and that I will always protect you from whoever wants to hurt you.”

He looked you in the eyes and got up from the chair, walking closer to you, with soft and slow steps as if each step of his could have enough force to break you into a thousand pieces.

“I'm sorry for everything that's happening, I really am. I know it was my fault for not being discreet, but I ask you please not to abandon what we've tried to build together.”

He grabbed your hands and intertwined them with his, causing you to quickly look away. You felt something liquid fall on his hands and yours, and then you realized he was crying.

“Don't take away Leo's chance to keep cuddling with you, to spend the day with you. From the moment I saw you on that date and saw how you treated Leo, with delicacy, kindness, and how you flattered him, you completely changed my heart..”

Your lower lip trembled a little and you let out a small sob, causing Charles to wrap you in a hug, a protective hug, one you didn't want to escape from, a hug that didn't feel forced but rather felt full of love.

Your hands wrapped around him and you hid your head in his neck, breathing in his perfume while he rested his chin on your head, closing his eyes as he traced soothing circles on your back with his hands.

“we would be a beautiful family…”

You murmured softly with a small laugh before closing your eyes and beginning to fall into a deep sleep in the arms of the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with, even if it cost you your privacy on your social networks.

Charles_Leclerc ✓

liked by ynxoxo, lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari and 3,876,900 others

Charles_Leclerc I want to introduce you all, to my beautiful family, I had never felt so happy in my romantic life, I felt like my life was almost complete, and you @ ynxoxo were that almost, not only in my life, but also in Leo's life, you are a wonderful woman and I look forward to being able to tell everyone who is the woman who makes me and Leo happy every single day, I love you l'amour de ma vie. ❤️🐶

comments

ynxoxo Je taime aussi Charlie! ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ Charles_Leclerc t’aime*

↳ ynxoxo someone will sleep on the couch ☺️

↳ Charles_Leclerc just kidding mon amour 😅

↳ ynxoxo that's what i thought ☺️

user24 CONGRATULATIONS!!!

your_bro_ther Im so happy for the both of you ❤️ (but if you break her heart im breaking your legs 😊) ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ Charles_Leclerc Im going to treat her like a princess 🫡

user25 finally we have a mother 🥹

↳ user26 yessssssss finally

lewishamilton I wish you the best! 👏🏾 ♥︎ liked by the author

Yourfriend Charles x yn it’s real and im the fan number 1 ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ ynxoxo so true bestie 🫦 ♥︎ liked by the author

scuderiaferrari ❤️ ♥︎ liked by the author

user27 Charles giving likes to every yn comment it’s just 🙏

user28 adopt me 😭

user29 OMGGGGGGGG SO ROMANTIC

arthur_leclerc welcome to the family @ ynxoxo! (We all agree that Leo loves you more) ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ Charles_Leclerc Hey! 😡

↳ ynxoxo hehehe 🤭 ♥︎ liked by the author

↳ arthur_leclerc just saying

lando Destiny, give me a sign if I will find the love of my life just like Charles found his 🙏🏼

↳ Charles_Leclerc No

↳ oscarpiastri no.

↳ carlossainz55 sorry mate but no

↳ user30 no….

↳ maxverstappen1 👎🏻

↳ lewishamilton No

↳ user31 i don’t think so

↳ user32 No

↳ lando OK OK I GET IT 😓

↳ ynxoxo poor lando 😭 ♥︎ liked by the author

maxverstappen1 congratulations ♥︎ liked by the author

oscarpiastri Congratulations Charles 🎉 ♥︎ liked by the author

Charles found himself walking with Leo again through the halls of the vet where you had first met, but this time he wasn't going for Leo's vaccination appointment, he was going for you.

When he was in front of your office door, he knocked six times to let you know that he was the one there.

A few seconds were enough for you to open the door looking at Charles and almost immediately you bent down and took Leo in your arms, making the puppy lick your face and hands with excitement.

“who is a good boy? Yes you are!”

You petted Leo a little before you saw Charles leave a small bag with your favorite restaurant's logo on your desk.

“Thanks for picking up the order for me. You shouldn't have bothered…”

You said, looking at him shyly as you continued to caress Leo in your arms.

“mon amour, I've already told you that I wouldn't mind going to the other side of the world if it's for you.”

You smiled at him dazedly before laughing a little and watching Leo snuggle into your chest.

“you are like my guardian angel”

“et tu es tout pour moi”

(“And you are my everything”)

He said approaching you and stroking Leo's head a little.

He raised his hand to your chin and caressed it a little with his thumb before looking into your eyes.

“I love you”

He said, making the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter, tickling you all over your body.

“I love you too…”

After those words Charles closed the distance between his lips and gave you a kiss, a kiss so soft that it felt like a piece of heaven, like a home, it felt like everything.

As the seconds passed in your mind, all you could think about was that this was the moment you would treasure forever no matter what, right now it was just you, him and Leo.

taglist: no one for the moment 👎🏼

[2handsslan]

his hair! his smile! him!

[2handsslan]

“Yeah. I’m terrible at listening.” THIS LINE ATEEEEW

my boyfriend’s pretty cool but he’s not as cool as me

smau

oscar piastri x !dancer reader

lando norris x best friend reader

in which lando’s childhood best friend is one of the most well known dancer’s/choreographer’s in the world— she has choreographed tours for beyonce, kendrick lamar, sza—etc— when she comes to visit lando in the paddock during a tour break—a certain teammate catches her eye—it leaves the internet and lando baffled on how he managed to pull her.

—

hello guys— I am busy working on secrets rn but I had this in my drafts and figured I’d give you guys something while you wait. requests are always open pookies 💋

—

fc : pamela hughes

—

yourusername

gnx tour 📍

liked by lando, lewishamilton, kendricklamar & 4,324,396 others.

yourusername : gnx tourrrr mamassss!! massive thank you to kenny and solana for giving me the opportunity to not only dance on this tour but to choreograph a huge majority of it — I love you both and you both have been such a huge inspiration to me <3 this has been one of the best opportunities of my life and i am so grateful every single day.

lando : bub!!!! this is so huge! so so proud of you

liked by author

yourusername : love you lan!! see you soon 💋

liked by lando

username: omgomg yn paddock appearance??

liked by author and lando

username2 : are her and lando dating??

username : they are childhood besties

lewishamilton : Absolutely incredible. Love to see it 🖤

liked by author

yourusername : thank you lewis!! so excited to see you

liked by lewishamilton

sza : love you and your beautiful soul sooooo much🦋 you are such an incredible talent and i wouldn’t want anyone else to do the job

liked by author

yourusername : love you forever and ever — the most special angel 🐞

kikagomes : i have been DYING to see you again— come to alpine?🥹

liked by author

alpinef1team : pleaseeeeee

liked by author

mclaren : she stays with us.

yourusername : you guys can share me,, i want to see my keeks😻

liked by kikagomes

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo proud of you! cant wait to see you mon ange

liked by author

yourusername : my heartttt ily

kendricklamar : The best in the business. All the love for you.

liked by author

yourusername : the GOAT. thank you for believing in me.

username : when you get back from tour will you start master classes again???

liked by author

yourusername : absolutely! so excited to teach again!

oscarpiastri : Excited to meet you, finally. Big fan of your work.

liked by author

yourusername : same to you oscar! seems you’re having a stellar season so far😎

liked by oscarpiastri

lando : osc trying to be sly 😁

oscarpiastri : leave lando

—

lando added a post to his story!

seen by mclaren, oscarpiastri , charles_leclerc & 2,368,296 others.

charles_leclerc : alex said to tell you to hurry up and hand her over

lando : bro all she is talking about is your girlfriend it’s like she didn’t even miss me — driving her over now 😔

charles_leclerc : yay my wife 😚😚💋💋 - alex

oscarpiastri : She’ll be in the paddock tomorrow?

lando : yes lover boy she will

oscarpiastri: Shut up, Lando. I’m just preparing myself to meet the girl version of you.

lando : sureeeee😁

—

The air was thick with salt and heat—Miami’s signature cocktail. Palm trees leaned toward the track like eager fans, and the bass of engines vibrated beneath the soles of my sneakers as I stepped out of the black car. The paddock swarmed with movement: crew members, journalists, influencers dressed like it was fashion week, and the ever-present scent of gasoline and competition.

I kept my hood up—not because I needed to hide, but because it felt surreal being here, back in his world. Tour life had been nonstop: Tokyo, Berlin, São Paulo. Sold-out shows. Headlines. Backstage chaos. But I hadn’t seen Lando in person in almost a year. Not since that night we sat on the rooftop in Monaco, passing a bag of chips and talking about everything except our careers.

Now I was here, finally. And I was nervous. Which was ridiculous. He was Lando. My best friend since we were seven. The one who dared me to audition for my first dance academy. The one who called me right before my first solo show, whispering “You’ve got this,” like it was a promise.

A buzz passed through the paddock crowd. I looked up.

There he was.

Walking straight toward me with that grin—lazy, lopsided, utterly him. His race suit tied around his waist, curls messy, eyes sharp behind the sunglasses he pulled off the second he saw me.

“You actually came.”

His voice broke through the noise, and in that moment, the engines, the cameras, the heat—it all melted away.

“You think I’d miss you racing in Miami?” I dropped my bag just in time for him to scoop me into a hug that lifted me off the ground.

“You’re heavier than you used to be,” he joked, squeezing me tighter.

“I’m stronger than I used to be,” I fired back, laughing.

He set me down but didn’t let go. “God, I missed you.”

I pulled back enough to see his face—flushed, sun-kissed, and that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “You look good,” I said.

“So do you. Better, actually. Must be that stage lighting.” He poked my shoulder. “Or maybe all those standing ovations.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been watching the shows?”

“Every one I could— bits and pieces on tik tok. You kill every performance. Kendrick’s lucky to have you.” He paused, then added more quietly, “But I’m luckier.”

A silence hung between us, not awkward, but heavy with years of shared history. All the missed birthdays, the FaceTimes from hotel rooms, the stupid memes sent at 2 a.m. We’d grown up and grown famous—but we’d never grown apart.

“You look like you’re in your element,” I said, gesturing toward the chaos of the paddock.

“I am. But,” he tilted his head, “it’s better now.”

“Because of me?”

“Because you’re here,” he said, like it was obvious. “You always show up when it counts.”

He slung an arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I want to show you the garage—and maybe steal you for the driver’s parade tomorrow. You know, if you’re not busy headlining the world.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Lead the way, Norris.”

And as we walked deeper into the paddock, the sound of engines roared louder—but nothing drowned out the quiet, steady rhythm of coming home.

—

The McLaren garage was a different kind of chaos. Engineers speaking in quick bursts. Monitors flickering with data that looked like hieroglyphs to me. The hum of focus in the air—pure, precise.

Lando led the way, his voice cutting through the noise as he introduced me to the crew like I was royalty. “She’s family,” he kept saying, and they all nodded like they already knew. Maybe they did. Cameras followed us, but I was used to that. It was the vibe in here that threw me—intense, but somehow… inviting.

And then he walked in.

Helmet tucked under his arm, race suit half-zipped. Brown hair slightly tousled, brows knit in thought until he glanced up—and saw me.

Oscar Piastri.

I knew the name, of course. Rookie no more. Calm, clinical, fast as hell. Lando had talked about him in that complicated way he talks about people he respects but also wants to beat. But he hadn’t mentioned that Oscar was… cute. Unfairly cute. And tall. And had dimples, which—honestly—should be illegal.

Lando grinned wider, catching the pause. “Oscar! Come meet the real star of the weekend.”

Oscar looked between us, a little cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he was about to be pranked. “There she is,” he said with a smile, offering a hand. “Lando has told me so much about you.”

I blinked at him, then laughed. “And Lando told me you are ‘weirdly good at not talking.’”

He smirked—dimples on full display. “That sounds accurate.”

Our handshake lingered. Just long enough for both of us to realize it. Then we dropped hands quickly, both pretending not to notice.

“I saw the Brazil show,” Oscar said. “It was… unreal.”

“You watched it?” I tilted my head, a little surprised.

“Lando made me. Then I watched the rest on my own.” He shrugged, trying to look casual. Failing slightly. “You move like you’re not even human.”

“Neither do you,” I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up to mine—surprised. A slow smile. “Touché.”

I was suddenly very aware of how close we were standing. Of how good he smelled—something clean and sharp, like adrenaline and fresh laundry. I crossed my arms, needing to do something with them.

Lando narrowed his eyes like he was watching a tennis match. “Am I interrupting something here, or…?”

Oscar stepped back half a step. I did too. Guilty.

“Not at all,” I said, way too fast.

“Definitely not,” Oscar echoed.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Right. Okay. I’m gonna go check tire data. You two—try not to combust or whatever that was.”

He walked off, muttering something about “chemistry I did not authorize,” and I turned back to Oscar, trying not to smile too hard.

“So,” I said, shifting on my feet. “Is this where you pretend to be mysterious and brooding, or are you gonna show me what a car looks like up close?”

Oscar grinned. “Depends. Are you impressed by carbon fiber and too many buttons?”

I smirked. “Try me.”

He led me toward the car, gesturing like a tour guide. I followed, but my heart was beating faster than it should’ve been for a garage tour. There was something about the way he moved—confident but careful. Like he was always thinking two steps ahead.

“You know,” he said over his shoulder, “Lando said you were off-limits.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did he now?”

Oscar glanced back, and his smile was downright dangerous. “Yeah. I’m terrible at listening.”

—

The party was still going—somewhere behind the hospitality suites, i could hear the bass thumping, people shouting, champagne spraying. But Oscar wasn’t there.

I found him behind the McLaren garage, sitting on the edge of a stacked tire rack, still in his fireproofs, hair damp, champagne-stained suit unzipped to the waist. The golden Miami sunset lit the side of his face, casting long shadows behind him. The world was buzzing around him, but he looked like he’d stepped out of it completely.

“You’re hiding,” I said softly, stepping into his little pocket of silence.

He looked up—eyes tired, chest still rising a little too fast—and when he saw me, he didn’t smile right away. Just exhaled like i was the thing he didn’t realize he needed.

“I needed a second,” he said. “Before the noise catches up to me again.”

I walked over and stood between his knees, my hand brushing his. “Oscar, you won.”

He blinked slowly, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“But you don’t look happy.”

He looked down at his gloves in his lap, twisting one between his fingers. “I am. I just… I don’t know. You dream of a moment like this, and then it happens, and it feels—” He stopped himself. “It’s a lot.”

I didn’t speak. Just reached for his jaw gently, tilting his face back to mine.

“You don’t have to be anything right now,” I said. “Not the golden boy. Not the winner. Just… you.”

That broke something open in him. His shoulders dropped. His hand came up and slid behind my waist, pulling me in closer.

“You were the only person I wanted to see after the podium,” he murmured.

I smiled softly. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t want to see you like… this,” he admitted. “All sweaty and gross.”

I leaned in, forehead resting gently against his. “You just won a Grand Prix. You’re allowed to be gross.”

He laughed quietly, then stilled. “You being here—it made it feel different. Better.”

I let my fingers thread through his hair. “You made it feel real. And watching you today… I think I stopped breathing for a few laps.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his voice low. “I wanted to kiss you the second I laid eyes on you.”

I tilted my head, pulse skipping. “What’s stopping you now?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed me—soft and certain.

And for once, the chaos could wait.

—

yourusername

miami 📍

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux & 4,427,268 others.

yourusername : miami you were a slay — so proud of my little orange minions on a 1-2 — congrats boys 💋

lando : i am so hurt by the hat. take it off NEOWW.

liked by author

yourusername : ur so overdramatic #sassymanapocalypse

yourusername : and oscar gave me that one so he could put on his podium cap…you could’ve given me yours if you wanted

lando : i just think you should support your best friend sorry if that makes me sassy

username : bro she was just wearing quadrant merch at her last rehearsal

username2: and she was wearing an ln4 hoodie in the airport

yourusername : ^^tea

lando : okay im sorry im sorry i dont think before I behave

oscarpiastri : we know.

liked by author

oscarpiastri : Who knew you’d end up being my good luck charm?

liked by author

yourusername : you don’t need luck when you’re already insanely talented ;)

liked by oscarpiastri

username5 : is mr. ‘no words’ piastri flirting with her?

lando : i hope not 🤮

username10 : you look SO GOOD. eat them up pretty

kikagomes : i love you so much !! pierre and I can’t wait to come to the next show:)

liked by author and pierregasly

yourusername : love you keeks 🤩

sza : hurry up and get back to us babes!! one show without you was enough

liked by author

yourusername : omw mamas

—

f1gossipgirls posted!

26,378 likes

f1gossipgirls : Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc, Alexandra Saint Mleux, Kika Gomes, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri all attended the Grand National tour this evening which is fully choreographed by Lando’s Best Friend, Y/N L/N. She is also in the show!

username : oh Oscar is so down bad

username2 : that man never ever goes to public events like this

username5 : let alone looking as happy as he does now

username10 : guys he is just supporting Lando’s friend cmonnnn

username2 : unlikely^^

username12 : it’s so cute how much the grid supports her

liked by author

username8 : I heard lewis was there too

username7 : he was!!

—

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

seen by yourusername, lando, hattiepiastri & 2,367,533 others.

{caption 1 : good shots, mate. @/lando.jpg} {caption 2 : yourusername, you are insanely talented— i am blown away by you}

yourusername : thank you sm for coming osc— the pre show kiss really helped

oscarpiastri : anything for you, princess. love watching you do what you love

hattiepiastri : so jealous. you don’t deserve to be in the presence of yn or sza. especially sza

oscarpiastri : jealousy is a disease hattie

—

oscarpiastri

liked by hattiepiastri, lando, yourusername & 1,257,543 others.

oscarpiastri: Life’s pretty good.

username : this man is attempting to soft launch and all he says is “life’s pretty good” 😭

oscarpiastri: it’s a “soft” launch for a reason

username5 : i love sassy osc

hattiepiastri : im tagging mum

oscarpiastri : stop being a snitch

hattiepiastri : @/nicolepiastri

oscarpiastri : fuck

nicolepiastri : oscar give me a call right now please

lando : oscy boy is in loveeeee

username : with your best friend bro bro

lando : what r u talking about that isn’t yn

username2 : lando is so so oblivious sometimes

aussiegrit : 😉

username5 : MARK WHAT DO YOU KNOW

aussiegrit : Oscar never shares about his love life and he finally did and I am not gonna make him regret it. My lips are sealed.

nicolepiastri : Mark call me

aussiegrit : Dialing right now

username : AHSJWN^^

oscarpiastri : never again

—

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux & 4,267,255 others.

yourusername : fun stuff

lando : wait a minute

yourusername : what hoe

lando : who r u even dating

lando : why haven’t we discussed this

yourusename : you’ve never asked pookie

lando : answer my facetime

alexandrasaintmleux: you are so stunning it’s unreal

liked by author

yourusername : that’s all you angel

username : the caption is so oscar coded could they be anymore obvious

sza : oh my gooddd ur so beautiful

liked by author

yourusename : says you omg 😭

—

F1gossipgirls

245,267 likes

f1gossipgirls : Oscar Piastri and Y/N L/N were seen together in Australia…getting rather cozy with each other

username : I did not need this to confirm what I already knew

username2 : they r so cute together

lando : huh

username : LANDO-

username7 : baby we all knew we tried to tell you

—

yourusename

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, nicolepiastri & 5,254,208 others.

yourusername : my boyfriend is pretty cool

(our child lando is still adjusting, be kind)

oscarpiastri: not as cool as you pretty girl

liked by author

yourusername : mymanmymanmyman i love u sm

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : love you too sweetheart

lando : as betrayed and disgusted as I am— you guys are cute ig

liked by author and oscarpiastri

yourusername : lan honey the internet literally tried to tell you 100 times

lando : when I get told something I don’t want to hear I act like it never happened

oscarpiastri : a literal toddler

lando : you both will never escape me 😁

sza : so happy for you queen!

liked by author

nicolepiastri : convinced you made my son 100 times cooler

liked by author

hattiepiastri : agreed

liked by author

oscarpiastri : gee thanks

liked by author

yourusername : love you both !! pilates next week nicole??

nicolepiastri : Absolutely!

username : Oscar are you nervous for your mom and girlfriend to hang out without you?

oscarpiastri : not really, they already gossip about me all the time.

liked by author and nicolepiastri

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit, lando & 2,264,432 others.

oscarpiastri : now I can kiss her in public all I want

lando : that is not what this means

liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri : please don’t start again

lando : I was the one who said off limits and you heard OH make her your girlfriend

oscarpiastri : yes I hear what I want

yourusername : bickering like an old couple

liked by author and lando

aussiegrit : oh good I couldn’t keep the secret anymore

oscarpiastri : you literally didn’t — you told my mum

aussiegrit : doesn’t count — she scared the information out of me

nicolepiastri: you act like I threatened you

aussiegrit : I wouldn’t say you didn’t

logansargeant : Happy for you guys!

liked by author and yourusername

yourusername : does this mean I can be thirsty for you on Twitter now?

liked by author

lando : NO

oscarpiastri : yep

—

tag list : @klauslovemepls , @omgsuperstarg , @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 , @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 , @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505

[2handsslan]

OH

if i speak i am in trouble.

[2handsslan]

[2handsslan]

"i asked grok" "i asked chatgpt" i asked yuki tsunoda but he hasn’t responded because his phone is in lake como

[2handsslan]

love a good enemies to lovers with max 👀

enemies to... || mv33

summary: y/n and max are longtime rivals and former friends who find themselves colliding on track in spain and being forced to confront the feelings they've both been burying

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

fc & warnings: none and angsty, bad language, suggestive if you squint

requested: nope just inspired by spain

masterlist | pt. 2

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

f1 has made a post

liked by user1, user2, yourbff, yoursibling, mercedesamgf1, user4, user5, user6 and 634,530 others

f1: following an on track incident with mercedes driver, y/n y/l/n, max verstappen has dropped to p10 with a 10-second penalty.

view all comments

user1: DESERVED!!!!

user2: should've been more than 10 second penalty are you kidding

user3: nah max did nothing wrong

user4: max needs to leave y/n alone i'm so serious

user5: these two are always fighting

user6: i stand with my cancelled wife (max)

✿

you took a deep breath as you shut off the engine, your hands still trembling as you pulled the wheel out of its place and put it on the car. you had just spent the last five laps screaming over the radio, accusing max of deliberately turning in on you after he’d been instructed to give the position back. the contact had nearly put you both out of the race but somehow you’d limped over the line and managed to finish 4th despite the damage you sustained.

a forceful tap against your helmet broke through your thoughts and you looked up to find george standing at the side of your car. he offered his hand, no words, just calm eyes and quiet support. you hesitated for a moment, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease but eventually took it. his grip was firm and grounding as he helped you out of the car.

“i heard what happened,” he said quietly once your feet hit the tarmac.

you ripped your gloves off, jaw clenched, gaze locked across the parc ferme where max’s red bull was being wheeled back into the garage.

"yeah," you snapped, pulling your helmet off your head. "and this won't be the last you hear of it either."

✿

f1 has made a post

liked by user1, user2, yourbff, yoursibling, mercedesamgf1, user4, user5, user6 and 634,530 others

f1: two very different takes following the incident involving these two rivals in spain 🫢

view all comments

user1: y/n is handling this so much more gracefully than i would’ve

user2: i’d give anything to be a fly on the wall for when these two inevitably run into each other in the paddock

user3: max doesnt need to say anything! he did nothing wrong!

user4: i dont understand why people are giving max the benefit of the doubt here.

user5: y/n should be legally allowed to punt him off the track in canada

user7: ofc the big baby doesnt wanna talk about it.

usr6: y'all are so sensitive. max was just racing her! not his fault she was in the way

user8: taking it out on y/n as if she was the reason red bull had a shit strategy??? have some shame max

✿

“frankly he cost his team and himself a lot of points by pulling what he did today,” you said, voice clipped as you adjusted the collar of your fireproofs trying to keep your breathing even. “i mean i’m 4th in the race and 4th in the championship and that’s really all that matters to me.”

the skysports mic hovered just a little closer, hoping to get a good sound bite from you. “if max wants to be a big crybaby and ruin his own races... i’m all for it.” and with that, you finished out the interview with short answers about canada and your plans to not talk things out with max.

the walk back to your motorhome felt endless especially as fans called out your name and cameras flashed around every corner. you didn’t stop like you usually did... not for selfies, not for questions, not for anything. the last thing you needed was to see his smug face again so the quicker you got out of there the better. but as it usually does... fate had other plans.

you stepped into mercedes hospitality, finally exhaling, only to be met with an agitating grating voice.

“a crybaby, huh?”

you turned sharply, the door still half-open behind you. max stood with his arms folded, his jaw tight, his cheeks still red from the heat of the race and his narrowed eyes were locked onto you like a missile. “yes,” you said dryly. “an ego-driven man child with no concept of accountability.”

a couple of mechanics quickly ducked past, awkwardly pretending not to hear. you and max had a reputation especially after a few incidents last year... max stepped forward, voice low and sharp. “a man child? you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you scoffed turning on your heel. “max, I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

“too bad,” he bit out, already following behind you, his footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway. “i don’t give a shit what you want.”

you reached your driver’s room and threw the door open, stepping inside quickly trying to shut it behind you but max caught it before it slammed in his face.

“get out!” you snapped at the dutchman.

“no!” he snapped right back. “not until you drop the ‘poor me’ act and admit you knew exactly what you were doing out there.”

“you are insufferable,” you hissed, tossing your gloves onto the couch. “you turned in on me, ignored the team and nearly wrecked both of us.”

“you dive bombed into that corner like you had nothing to lose!” he shouted.

“first of all, i did not dive bomb you and second of all, I don’t drive scared unlike the rest of the grid when big bad max comes by!”

silence crackled between you, thick and heavy, your chests rising and falling in sync as the adrenaline refused to die down. “you are the fucking worst, max verstappen,” you whispered, voice shaking with anger, frustration, maybe something else you didn’t dare name.

his eyes flicked to your lips for a half second before narrowing again. “funny. i was about to say the same thing about you.” the air between you sparked like static. neither of you moved. neither of you dared to blink.

"i hate you." he said, almost like he was trying to remind himself of it. max’s jaw ticked and for a second you thought he might back down. but instead, he took another step forward, closing the space between you. the door clicked shut behind him, whether by accident or intention, you weren’t sure.

“you think I hit you on purpose?” he questioned, voice lower now. “you think I’d throw away a podium just to mess with you?”

you let out a dry laugh, “wouldn’t be the first time you let your ego drive the car.”

he smirked, “thats so rich coming from you. you're the only person on this grid who wants to win more than they care about keeping the car on the track.”

“because I’m not here to play safe.” your eyes burned into his. “i race to win and if you can’t handle that -”

“i can handle you,” he said, stepping so close your chest brushed his. “that’s the problem. you don’t scare me, lieverd.”

the dutch slipped off his tongue like a challenge, like something heavier than an insult, something personal. your heart thudded against your ribs. “oh, you think calling me ‘darling’ in dutch is going to make me melt?” you scoffed, shoving at his chest. “newsflash, verstappen! i’m not one of your fans.”

his hand caught yours as it hit him, holding it firm between your bodies. his touch was calloused, warm. infuriatingly familiar.

“no,” he said, not taking his eyes off you or letting go of your hand despite you trying to pull it away. “you’re worse. you get under my skin and stay there.”

you hated how close he was. hated how your body betrayed you and wanted nothing more than to lean further into him. and before you could stop yourself, before logic could win over impulse... you grabbed his face and crashed your mouth against his.

it was teeth and frustration, months of tension and post-race fury unraveling all at once. his hand came up to the back of your head messing up your hair and anchoring you like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

a loud knock pounded at the door a short second before it swung open, "y/n/n, i wanted to check on you after -" the familiar sound of lando's voice filled the room and despite the speed at which you and max had pulled away from each other.. he absolutely saw it all. "oh wow! ok so…. you're fine i guess." he smirked.

you quickly patted down your messy hair and took a few steps away from max, "lando for the love of god you have to wait until someone replies back to your knock before barging in!!"

lando looked between you and max, completely ignoring your comment. "is this some sort of weird foreplay for you both?"

"lando," max warned. "please pretend like you never saw this."

"uhhh yeah, sure mate!" lando nodded but he was just about the least capable person you knew when it came to keeping secrets.

"i'm dead ass begging you to not tell anyone," you pleaded again.

"i won't."

✿

lando has added to his private story

view all story replies

maxverstappen1: say 1 word and no more trips on air max

lando: mmmm i think id survive mate

maxverstappen1: lando im begging you. this was the first and only time this has ever happened and i think her and i need to figure out what’s going on before the whole paddock gets involved

lando: 🫣 you two are no fun!! tho i really think you both need to be honest with each other because i am fairly certain you both have a thing for the other one and i just need all this feuding to end

ynuser: you literally stepped out of the room 2 seconds ago!!!!!!

lando: and? i’m efficient

ynuser: lando you’re my best friend and all but don’t think i won’t pull a max and try to run you off the track if you leak this

lando: only if you kiss me afterwards

ynuser: UGH NO

lando: don’t worry i’m just making you both sweat i won’t explicitly tell anyone

ynuser: 😔😔😔😔 in the 15 years i’ve known you you have never once been able to keep a secret

lando: slander! i kept the secret when you hid max’s gloves in karting and he couldn’t find them

lando: now that i’m saying that … have you had a crush on him since karting?????????

ynuser: you did not keep that secret you gave them back to him and no!!!!! i don’t know!!! i don’t think so!!!

lando: ughhhhh you don’t think so?! how do you not remember girl

ynuser: i mean maybe i did! i was more focused on hating his guts because he wouldn't stop beating me

lando: sounds like a crush to me

ynuser: shut UP!! i need to process this

oscarpiastri: story time !

lando: YIPPEEEEEE

georgerussell63: TELL NE TELL ME TELLLLL MEEEEE

lando: i unfortunately can’t

georgerussell63: you’ve gotta be kidding me mate

lando: the subjects of the story have threatened my safety

georgerussell63: so the story involves max?

lando: HAHAHAHAHA

lando: it doesn’t not include max

georgerussell63: and from there i’m gonna guess it also involves y/n/n

lando: you’re too good george

georgerussell63: i’m gonna keep stewing on the rest of this story. will report back when i think i figure it out

maxfewtrell: is it even a question mate???

lando: well … no!

carlossainz55: spill the beans mi amigo

lando: technically not allowed to spill any beans but catch me in the paddock and i might whisper some hints

✿

thankfully, max’s place in monaco was only a short walk from your own. under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have minded driving but in a place where everyone had a phone and every movement became a series of photos on some fan page as it often did in moncao, the last thing you needed was to be spotted pulling up to his building in one of your unmistakable cars. if someone clocked you heading toward the max verstappen’s apartment, alone, it wouldn’t take much for the internet to piece things together.

so instead of hopping into your mercedes, you opted for stealth. you dressed down in plain athletic shorts, a random hoodie you stole from george and a baseball cap repping some obscure american university with oversized sunglasses and headphones in, you looked more like a jet lagged tourist than a world-class driver sneaking off to see her biggest rival.

each step of the 1 km walk was filled with overthinking and stress. you kept replaying the past in your head, combing over all the little things max had done through the years, things you hadn’t ever though too hard about until now. maybe lando was right even though it pained you to admit that he may know something. max had unfortunately made it obvious you just hadn't been paying attention. from the karting days when he’d chase off any guy who got too close on track, to f3 when he picked fights with anyone who so much as looked at you twice in the paddock.

and then there was your 17th birthday party, mid-f3 season, when max had looked you dead in the eyes and told you you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. you thought he was just being nice since it was your birthday and you had a pretty rough race the day before but maybe he’d been serious. maybe you’d just been too naive to see it for what it was and too busy gaslighting yourself into believe max would never be interested in little old you.

you groaned under your breath, frustrated with yourself. how could you have missed all of it? you’d chalked up his distance after the f3 season to the pressures of moving up to f1 but maybe it wasn’t just that. maybe it was you.

by the time you reached his building and knocked softly on the door, your heart was already racing. there was a beat of silence then the sound of shuffling footsteps before the door swung open.

“you’re late,” max said, eyes scanning your face and outfit with that unreadable expression of his.

you glanced at your watch. “only by 2 minutes.”

he rolled his eyes and stepped aside to let you in. “can I get you anything? dinner’s still cooking.”

you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag onto the counter, trying to steady your nerves. “just water.”

he moved through the kitchen quietly and when he placed the glass in front of you, he didn’t say a word just went back to stirring the pot on the stove. the silence was heavy and the tension was palpable.

without turning around he cleared his throat. “so… I wanted to talk and I thought it would be better face to face. so, thank you for coming.”

you nodded, picking nervously at your nails. “yeah. no problem.”

he turned off the burner and set the pot aside before finally facing you. “first off, i’m sorry. for spain that is... i shouldn’t have driven like that.”

you raised your hands slightly, voice soft. “it’s okay. we’ve both made dumb decisions on track.”

max shook his head. “yeah, but I could’ve hurt you. and if I had… i don’t know how I’d live with that.”

there was a moment of silence as his words sank in. “my behavior’s been childish,” he admitted. “i’ve been bitter and i'm fully ready to admit that i've also been jealous. i was so very jealous of the friendship you, lando and george had and still have and of how you're always able to light up a room when you walk into it and of how you so effortlessly always get everyone to like you."

"max-" you started before he continued.

"i know it sounds pathetic but i wanted nothing more than to be your friend all through karting and through f3. i did everything i could to try and get you to like me and i got so stupidly infatuated that i ended up messing it all up in the end. i just... i don't know... i pulled away after f3 because I was embarrassed. when I asked you out at that party and you rejected me, I didn’t know how to face you again. and then when you didn’t reach out either, i assumed you didn’t want me in your life anymore.”

“i didn’t realize you were asking me out,” you whispered. “i thought you just wanted to hang out as friends which we already did. and when you moved to f1, i figured… i just figured you wouldn’t want to waste time on someone stuck in f2. you were and are so good and focused and determined that i always felt intimidated and like a silly little distraction.”

max let out a short, breathy laugh. he ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the counter, still not fully looking at you. “god, we’re idiots,” he muttered and this time you cracked a small smile despite the lump in your throat.

“yeah,” you agreed softly. “world class athletes and total emotional amateurs.”

that got a quiet chuckle out of him, and finally, he brought himself to look at you. "why did you kiss me?" he asked and you could see the vulnerability written all over his face.

"because despite our silly year long feud which we apparently could have avoided, i haven't been able to let go of the crush i've had on you since we were kids."

he pushed off the counter, slowly stepping toward you. “so then you feel the same way about me?”

you looked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. “max… i--”

“i’m not asking for you to tell me that you love me or anything like that. not right now. i just want to stop pretending like i hate you. i want to stop turning every interaction into a fight because i don’t know how else to act around you. i want to be around you… properly. at the very least just as your friend.”

your stomach flipped at his words. all the years of missed chances and misread signals crashed into you like a wave. “and if i say i want that too?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled it was soft and hopeful, a little nervous. “then i'll do everything in my power to do it right this time. starting by actually communicating my feels instead of bottling everything up.”

you stood from the stool, your steps slow but steady until you were right in front of him. “i guess i can give you a chance,” you said, teasing gently.

max raised a brow, a smile creeping to his lips. “just a chance?”

you let your head fall back with a laugh. “don’t push your luck, verstappen.”

he grinned, and for the first time in what felt like years, the tension that had formed between you began to finally unravel.

✿

f1 has made a post

liked by mercedesamgf1, lando, yourbff, redbullracing, isackhadjar, ynuser, yoursibling, maxverstappen1, and 834,222 others

f1: looks like our two favorite rivals have squashed their beef! y/n y/l/n and max verstappen arrived to the montreal paddock for media day together 👀🇨🇦

view all comments

user1: too worried about how shes out mogging him so hard to even be able to comprehend whats happening

lando: war is over! if only anyone listened to me EVER

danielriccardo: or me!! a certain dutch lion didn't listen to me either

lando: SMH

user2: not them walking in like they didn’t try to kill each other in spain 😭

geogerussell63: confused? ynuser unlock your driver room door rn i've been knocking for 3 whole minutes

ynuser: girl i'm not in there. i'm at the briefing YOU ARE ALSO SUPPOSED TO BE IN

georgerussell63: RUNNING

user63: nah i love yngeorge duo so much i wanna be their friend

lando: apparently everyone wants to be friends with y/l/nnorussell user63

ynuser: lando keep his mouth shut challenge failed

user63: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!

user3: we’ve entered the enemies to lovers era and i’m not emotionally prepared for this. i give it 3 more races till we get pics of them kissing behind the garages

isackhadjar: the plot twist of the century? are we being for real right now?

liamlawson31: i saw them with my own to eyes laughing together earlier

yukitsunoda0511: should we be afraid?

user4: this is why i trust slow burns. THIS is why!!!!

estebanocon: i’m scared

oscarpiastri: real

user5: now what in the fanfiction is this

skysportsf1 has posted an interview

view transcript

[reporter] “max, I have to start with the question everyone’s asking. you showed up to the paddock today with y/n y/l/n. should we be expecting fewer fireworks between you two this weekend?”

[max] “that depends. if she stops driving like shes in a demolition derby, maybe.”

[reporter] “so... not exactly a truce, then?”

[max] “we had a conversation and we’ve cleared a few things up.”

[reporter] “ok but things got heated after spain. you were both pretty vocal over the radio. what changed?”

[max] “sometimes you say things in the heat of the moment. doesn’t mean they’re the full story. we’ve known each other a long time and i think we forgot that for a while.”

[reporter] “so where does that leave things now?”

[max] “we’ll race like we always do. hard. but with a bit more respect, i think. maybe less screaming but who is to say.”

[reporter] “should we be reading into that very coordinated arrival this morning?”

[max] “you can read into whatever you want. i'm just here to win races.”

[reporter] “right, right. and if you win this weekend, will y/n be the first to congratulate you?”

[max] “she better be.”

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: i love a past friends to enemies to lovers fr. part 2 perhaps?????

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[2handsslan]

he knows cars, she knows aristotle

Oscar Piastri x Teacher!Reader smau

in which your students are determined to make your dreams of meeting your favorite F1 driver true

(reader is a teacher and a physics student)

based on this request

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

To: agent@championsukplc.com, guest.relations@mclaren.com, experiences@mclaren.com Subject: Meeting Oscar Piastri Hello! My name is Blake and I speak in name of my whole class from the Harvington Prep School. First of all, I would like to apologize for the 100 e-mails I sent previously. But It's important. Our teacher, Miss Y/L/N, is a big fan of your Formula 1 driver, Oscar Piastri. She is our favorite teacher ever and we would like very much for her to meet him in honor of Teacher's Day. Please! It would make her very happy and us too! Have a nice day!

yourusername posted on their story

"What is life??"

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 5,877,888 others

McLaren What's the best way to celebrate Teacher's Day other than taking your favorite teacher to meet their favorite driver?

view all comments

yourusername it was a pleasure!! a dream coming true!!🧡

user awww that's so cute

user my teachers weren't this cute 🙄

user oscar looks so happy 😍😭

user THE KIDS DRESSED IN SUITS 😭😭😭😭

yourusername added to their story

"best afternoon I had in months"

liked by yourusername, mclaren, lando and 4,453,600 others

oscarpiastri Had to do it for the kids.

view all comments

user are those the same kids from the MTC visit???

>user lol oscar really adopted them >user mclaren has a little papaya army

yourusername they loved it! 🧡

>user oh the cute teacher is here!! >user who is she?? >f1gossipofficial her name is y/n and she is also a physics student 👀 >user are her and oscar a thing?? >f1gossipofficial not officially

lando if by "kids" you mean the cute teacher you won't shut up about

>user SPILL LANDO >oscarpiastri mate are you with me or against me?

mclaren well done Osc!! 💪

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri and 3,577 others

yourusername Nothing more fulfilling than seeing my unofficial kids happy 🧡🥰

view all comments

mclaren we hope you had a good time!

>yourusername always! > mclaren maybe you'll be a frequent guest here? 👀 >yourusername if you keep spoiling me, i'll always come back haha

user I feel like a stalker here

> user then leave

user no yeah they are definitely dating

oscarpiastri told you I'd get you that win

>yourusername you made lots of people happy today! (me included) ❤️liked by oscarpiastri

user but like the concept of oscar dating a teacher is so cute!!!

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 3,566 others

HarvingtonSchool A honor to have such high figures on our Career Day today! Thank you so much to Zak Brown, Oscar Piastri and the McLaren team!

view all comments

user this is so random but i'm not complaining

user bro oscar piastri never came to my school

user maybe i'd go to school if oscar was there

yourusername love this🥰

>user why do i get the feeling she had something to do with this??

oscarpiastri always a pleasure! 😊

lando why was I not invited?

>georgerussell63 maybe it's because you're not teacher's pet >lando you have a point >oscarpiastri get out of her school instagram you two!!

mclaren we love to see this content!

oscarpiastri added to their story

"she's in her element"

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 600,211 others

yourusername got the boy, a surprise, a lego bouquet and an accepted thesis. Life is treating me so well ❤️

view all comments

user OH HE GIFTED HER LEGO FLOWERS

>user OMG HE SURPRISED HER???

oscarpiastri congratulations, pretty! You deserve it! ❤️

>yourusername I still can't believe you showed up >oscarpiastri I told you I'm never busy for you >user shut up this is adorable

user a cool wag for once

mclaren congratulations for our favorite teacher!

user she is pretty AND smart

lando @ oscarpiastri you never got me lego flowers 😭😤

>oscarpiastri are you a cute smart physics grad or do you teach little kids? >lando no... >oscarpiastri then you won't get my lego flowers

[2handsslan]

😭😭😭!

[2handsslan]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had this as a dream and I woke up all grumpy because I wish it was real 😭😭😭

Basically, reader is a reserve driver for Mclaren but also in f1 Academy, and she and Lando have always been super close. One day, she has to race instead of Oscar, and she ends up leading the race. However, near the end she asks the team to swap with lando (who she kept within DRS to help him out) because she knew he could use the points more than her since she's not an official f1 racer. Lando refuses, and reader wins her very first race. Lando is overwhelmed by how much he loves her and he just marches up to her and pulls her in from her waist to kiss her (could be private or public) and they're both just so proud of each other and so down bad 🥹🥹🥹

In the Slipstream

summary: where a surprise victory, a selfless offer, and a kiss at the finish line—some moments change everything, on and off the track. warnings: none

You never really expected to race in Formula 1—not yet, anyway.

Being McLaren’s reserve driver was already a dream you clutched tightly, and your time in the F1 Academy was sharpening your edge, day by day. You were grinding for the future, for the chance that maybe, if the stars aligned, you’d get that one golden shot. Still, you didn’t expect it to arrive on a cool spring weekend in Imola.

Oscar had come down with a stomach virus—something violent and sudden. When the team principal tapped your shoulder that morning, the pit lane buzzing behind him, you felt your stomach flip in sync with the revving engines.

“You’re up.”

You didn’t even have time to be nervous. It was all a blur—briefings, simulator data, seat fitting, strategy talk, and a surprising amount of people suddenly treating you not like the F1 Academy kid, but like McLaren’s actual second driver.

And then there was Lando.

He was always your rock. From the earliest days at the McLaren simulator to now, he was the constant thread in the chaos. He teased you like an older brother when you first joined, but somewhere along the line, it shifted. Quiet moments in the motorhome, texts that lingered, eyes that held yours just a little too long. The bond between you deepened—unspoken, but undeniable.

As you stood side by side before the race, helmet in hand, Lando bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Nervous?”

You smiled, adjusting your gloves. “Terrified.”

He grinned, green eyes twinkling. “Good. That means you’ll be sharp.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread like fire.

The race began in a flash.

Lights out. Your start was electric. Years of F1 Academy training and sim practice paid off instantly. Clean overtakes. Smart tire management. You quickly moved through the midfield, shock and awe blooming around you like wildfire.

And then… you were leading.

Not by much—but enough to see the papaya blur of Lando’s car in your mirrors, stuck tightly in your DRS range. You’d coordinated perfectly without speaking, both of you playing the strategy game like chess masters. You gave him DRS when he needed it, pulled when it counted, and he protected your tail like a guardian.

But you knew what was at stake.

You weren’t supposed to be here—not permanently. This race didn’t count toward a championship for you. For Lando, it could mean everything. A podium. A shot at the title. Or even just the points to prove himself in a field that always underestimated him.

So with ten laps to go, your voice broke over the radio, steady but full of emotion.

“Tell Lando… he can take the win. I’ll open the door in sector two.”

There was silence. Then the engineer’s voice returned, startled. “Say again?”

“I want him to take it. I’ll back off.”

More silence.

Then a voice crackled in—his voice.

“Don’t you dare,” Lando snapped. “You earned this. I’m not taking it.”

Your throat tightened. “Lan—”

“No. You’re not giving it away. Not to me. Not to anyone. Finish this.”

You blinked rapidly, fighting the sting in your eyes as the turns blurred.

Lap after lap, he stayed on your tail—but didn’t challenge. Not once. Just close enough to show he was there. That he believed in you.

You crossed the checkered flag, engine screaming, heart slamming, and your name ringing through the paddock for the first time in F1 victory.

Race winner: (Y/N), McLaren.

You pulled into the pit lane, overwhelmed, hands shaking. The team was screaming over the radio, cheering like mad. You climbed out of the car and tugged your helmet off, letting the cool air hit your sweat-damp hair.

And then—he was there.

Lando walked straight toward you with purpose, jaw tight, eyes wild. No words. Just energy.

Before you could say a thing, he reached for you, hands gripping your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

Then he kissed you.

Hard, desperate, and real.

The paddock didn’t exist. The cameras didn’t matter. All you felt was him. His hands. His breath. The quake of his chest against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still shut.

“I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispered. “And I’m so in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop crying. The win, the adrenaline, the months of quiet longing—it all came crashing down in that single moment.

You held his face gently, brushing a thumb over the smear of sweat at his temple.

“I love you too,” you said softly, voice cracking. “I wanted you to win because I love you.”

He shook his head, still smiling.

“I wanted you to win. Because you deserve the world.”

The press didn’t let it go.

That kiss was everywhere. The headlines blared: ‘MCLAREN’S SURPRISE STAR STEALS HEART AND WIN’, ‘F1’S NEWEST POWER COUPLE?’, ‘Lando and (Y/N): Love in the Fast Lane’.

You didn’t care.

That night, after the whirlwind of interviews and champagne and congratulations, you sat together on the edge of the hotel balcony, legs tangled under a shared blanket. The Italian moon cast a silver glow over everything.

Lando rested his chin on your shoulder. “So… world champion next?”

You laughed softly. “One race at a time.”

He kissed your neck. “Then let’s make it the most beautiful one yet.”

[2handsslan]

omg i need more of those asap, im so excited to see reader and oscar’s friendship grow

Oddity¹ ! LN04

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader, Oscar Piastri x PA! FemReader ( platonic )

SUMMARY 𝄡 Though Oscar's teammate is the strangest man you've ever met, you cannot help but find this oddity charming.

IN THIS CHAPTER... Desperate for a job, you apply to be a personal assistant for a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports.’ It's harder than it looks, but only because your new employer is dead set on being a pain in the ass. And what's the deal with his new teammate?

TAGS 𝄡 Angst. Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 6k.

NOTE 𝄡 Everyone loved the pairing, so I wrote the series⏤it's as simple as that. What do we think? Not much Lando in this chapter but Oscar and Reader's subplot has my entire heart! I tweaked the chronology a bit because I can. ( not edited. if you see a typo⏤no, you didn't. ) <33

For a better experience, read this story in light mode! ( use of black writing on transparent background )

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ ❦ Chapter II.

‘Mark Webber’ sounded like an important name, enough to have its gold plaque hanging on a solid oak door.

The man who opened it matched that image—serene and proud, the kind of man that had known glory, however small, in the past. Mark Webber's charisma was undeniable, yes, but the expectation that lit up his face as he extended a hand toward you, the need for recognition clearly visible in his eyes, made him so painfully human that your shoulders relaxed.

He may have been the manager of your future client—a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports' according to the job description—but he was still a man, and you knew how to deal with those. Had been doing it for years during your bachelor’s degree and, later on, your master’s in business administration and management. Those so-called “sons of” or “self-made men” proliferated in Harvard, waiting for one thing only: for you to recognize them without ever needing to introduce themselves.

But because you desperately needed this job and hadn’t gone through three interviews for nothing, you swallowed your pride, smiled, and extended your hand.

“Mr. Webber, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss L/N. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m afraid time is not on our side right now. I do hope you had a moment to look over the contract HR sent you.”

He led you to his office, cluttered with paperwork. You winced at the chaos, resisting the urge to bring order to the madness. Instead, you sat down, crossed your legs, and pulled the employment contract from your folder.

Your very own Holy Grail.

“Here’s my copy. Initialled and signed.”

You had shed a few tears as you slid the pen across the page—a strange blend of relief and frustration. One of those emotions only fate itself could concoct. Because you had not planned this. Not at all. For years, you had envisioned yourself as a talent agent, maybe a manager at a publicly traded company—but certainly not the personal assistant to one Oscar Piastri, whose name you hadn’t even known three weeks earlier.

When life gives you lemons, learn to make lemonade or suffer their bitterness, your grandmother used to say.

You had chosen your side quickly, picked the lemons yourself, pressed them, sweetened the juice, and learned to savour the taste. You who had never liked citrus fruits had now convinced yourself to see in that pale yellow flesh a sign of future success, of stability.

How many lemon trees would you need to harvest before your parents got used to the sourness?

Watching their prodigy of a daughter become a ‘rich man’s servant’, after paying for five years at Harvard, was a truth they struggled to swallow—a sourness lodged in the throat, leaving behind the bitter tang of defeat.

When you had graduated summa cum laude, your parents had imagined you’d be drowning in job offers. But reality hit hard. Brutally hard. Intelligence alone wasn’t enough. The world’s best companies didn’t hire without connections, and you had none.

The first disillusionment in life stings like nothing else.

So, you had to swallow your pride, lower your standards, and look elsewhere. Anything, really—anything but unemployment and long days spent contemplating the wreckage of your ambitions.

Anything but failure.

The job description had arrived in your inbox amid hundreds of others. That night, you had drunk two glasses of red wine—maybe more—your cheeks streaked with mascara and the remnants of your frustration. You had received two rejections that very morning. Overqualified, they had said.

Bullshit, you replied. They just didn’t want to pay you what your degrees were worth.

For months now, you had been suffering—stuck in this purgatory. Too qualified for some roles, not enough for others. The adjectives varied, but the outcome remained the same. You barely needed to read the emails anymore. You knew the words by heart.

After reviewing your profile, and despite its many strengths, we have decided not to move forward with your application.

It was with those words echoing in your mind that you clicked on the job offer. Personal Assistant. Your eyes widened at the jaw-dropping salary and the list of benefits.

“What the actual fuck?” you mumbled.

Suddenly sobered, you sat up straight and read the required qualifications eagerly, a flicker of hope warming your chest for the first time in weeks. The words were generic—experience, organisation, management, flexibility—but you welcomed their familiarity.

Your internship with one of New York’s top CEOs—the one your classmates had mocked, claiming “it wasn’t a real internship with real responsibilities”—was finally proving useful.

You took another long sip of wine and hastily drafted a cover letter, attached your resumé, and submitted them via the designated portal.

The next day, you received an email with an interview date.

A month later, you found yourself in the heart of London, ready to sign your first real contract—no matter what your parents thought on the matter.

You blinked away the sound of their voices. You wouldn’t let a few bitter scraps of lemon zest ruin what was beginning to look like a stroke of fate. Instead, you watched Mr. Webber sign the contract. With each initial written on the paper, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

That’s it, you thought. I have a job.

Yes, being a personal assistant wasn’t the career you had dreamt of; yes, you were overqualified—but it was still a job. And a well-paid one. Probably better than a quarter of your former classmates now working as marketing consultants.

Mark Webber capped his pen and smiled at you.

“Well then, welcome aboard.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh of pure relief that shook your shoulders as you tucked the signed contract back into the folder.

Webber rummaged through the chaos on his desk and pulled from its depths a rectangular white box, which he slid across to you. A brand-new iPhone 14.

“Here’s your work phone. I’ve already inserted the SIM card. I don’t know if you’ve worked with this kind of setup before, but it’s a bit different from a regular iPhone—more secure, more restricted. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: HR should send you an email within the next couple of days with information you need to have, including Oscar’s number.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough. I’d like the two of you to feel comfortable around each other as soon as possible. It’s his first season as a full-time driver and his first time working with a personal assistant. I want everything to go smoothly.”

“Naturally.”

Mark Webber sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on you. You held his gaze. He smiled.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you. I had it the moment I saw your CV.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Just like Mark—who had insisted you call him that—had said, the meeting with Oscar came swiftly. An email arrived in your inbox four days after your interviews, listing a time and an address.

Six days later, as winter tightened its grip on England with sharp winds and grey skies, you wandered through the deserted streets of Hertford for several minutes before stumbling upon a building that looked quintessentially British—red brick walls, single-hung white windows—the kind your grandparents had once lived in. It was unremarkable, to the point that you wondered if you had typed in the wrong address in Maps. Didn’t Formula 1 drivers earn outrageous salaries?

A gust of wind stung your cheeks. You pulled your coat tighter around you and pressed the doorbell labeled “O. Piastri.” The ink on the name was nearly washed away, chased by the rain and all the other pleasantries of English weather. Mother Nature herself seemed determined to guard his anonymity.

“You can come up. Third floor, last door on the left.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the intercom, as though his client had no voice of his own. Your mind wandered: would he sound the same, or had his years in England worn away his accent, like the ink on his doorbell?

Apartment 3B’s door appeared sooner than you expected, leaving you no time to steel yourself. This was a decisive moment. If Oscar Piastri didn’t like you—if he deemed you unfit for any reason—they would terminate your probationary period, and you would be cast back into the labyrinth of professional limbo.

I just need him to like me. Simple enough, right?

As you adjusted the collar of your sweater, the door opened to reveal Mark. He greeted you with a nod and stepped aside. You didn’t spare a glance for the apartment. Instead, your eyes fell immediately on the young man seated at the table. Your gazes locked.

You gulped.

You had read Oscar Piastri’s Wikipedia page, of course. Before you became an assistant, you had been a student, and if there was one thing you had mastered during that time, it was research. You had stuck only to the facts, never clicking on the suggested videos or press interviews—resolute in forming your own impression.

“Hello. I’m Y/N, pleased to meet you.”

“Oscar.”

Your handshake offered little reassurance, nor did the driver’s impassive expression. You swallowed again and instinctively hugged your notebook to your chest before taking a seat opposite him.

You listened half-heartedly as Mark launched into a stream of benign, reassuring remarks—an overview of your role you had already read over multiple times. Realizing you wouldn’t need to speak, you let yourself drift from the monologue and instead studied the boy you would be working for, scanning his impassive face for any hint on your potential dynamic.

Like many, you had seen The Devil Wears Prada, and while you were aware you weren’t going to work for Vogue, Formula 1 seemed every bit as cutthroat as the fashion world—catfights and sabotage didn’t seem far-fetched in a microcosm so thoroughly built by and for men.

“So, that’s everything,” Mark concluded. “Any questions?”

Oscar shook his head. You mirrored the gesture.

You both shook hands again, before you left Hertford with a new file in your handbag and a knot in your stomach.

December faded; January dawned, bringing with it a new year and its obligations. You moved to Hertford, into a small townhouse not far from Oscar’s apartment, though you never found the courage to cross the neighborhood that separated you.

Instead, you improvised a home office on your dining table, where you set up your laptop and phone—devices you would stare at for hours, waiting for the screen to light up, though it never did despite the messages you had sent Oscar.

Would you like me to order a coffee for your video call with Zak Brown?

Do you need anything specific before your trip to Monaco?

When are you planning to leave for Australia? I’ll book the tickets.

You always left your ringer on, even through the night. Just in case he calls, you told yourself. But it never came. No calls. No messages. No requests. Just silence—heavy—and that infuriating “seen” icon.

At least Mark had the decency to keep you in the loop regarding Oscar’s upcoming obligations. The driver himself had all but vanished. His absence brewed a storm of emotions in you.

First doubt. Then anger.

Did Oscar think you incompetent? Did he consider himself above you?

You lasted a week before you snapped. One week of avoidance. One week of “seen.” One week of voicemails.

You retreated from your desk to your bed, turned off your ringer, and replaced calls and messages with emails—though those, too, went unanswered.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: London–Australia Flight / Dec 14, 10:30

Dear Oscar,

Please find attached your outbound ticket to Melbourne, departing from London Gatwick on Dec 14 at 10:30 AM. A taxi has been booked to pick you up at 7:00 AM.

Let me know your preferred return date, and I’ll handle the booking promptly.

P.S. Don’t forget your Zoom meeting with Mr. Ellis Woodward from McLaren HR on Dec 18 at 9:30 AM London time (6:30 PM Melbourne time). Here's once again the link: https://zoom.us/j/814553

Wishing you happy holidays.

Kind regards, Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Flight_OPiastri_LGWMEL_1412.pdf]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Offlane B.V. Meeting

Oscar,

Offlane would like to schedule a video call to discuss your website’s new branding. Mark emphasized that it should be handled before the New Year. Please let me know your availability.

Attached are the proposed designs for your review.

Regards,

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: OSCARPIASTRI_FINAL_1224.zip]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Schedule & Meeting Change / Dec 30–Jan 5

Please find attached your schedule for the week. I’ve managed to free up Dec 31 to Jan 2.

Note that your meeting with Thomas Rogers from McLaren’s comms department has been moved from 7:30 PM to 8:30 PM (Melbourne time).

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Schedule_OP_06120125.pdf]

“I don’t understand why you hired me if Oscar flat-out refuses my help," you said one day, matter-of-factly. “He won’t even answer my emails.”

On your MacBook screen, Mark sighed. The sound crackled harshly in your ears. You grimaced, but quickly composed yourself, afraid he’d take the gesture personally, before turning the volume down and glancing around.

You had chosen this café for its peace. The barista was humming a familiar tune as he prepared lattes, and the only other customer was far too engrossed in her novel to care about you.

You found comfort in this silence. It was unlike the one at home—less oppressive, more soothing.

Your latte, sweetened with vanilla syrup, was going cold. Yet even masked by sugar, you couldn’t get rid of the bitterness that had seeped into all your meals.

Lately, the lemons life gave you were either underripe or rotten. Oscar Piastri had spoiled the lemonade recipe you had spent years perfecting. You had forgotten its tangy sweetness and were now biting into the bitter rind of failure.

“Oscar is... a guarded young man,” Mark replied after a suffocating pause. “That mess with Alpine and his contract didn’t help. From his perspective, you could betray him just like they did. McLaren are the only one he trusts right now. I think that’s why he’s counting on their PR assistant for now.”

You frowned. The statement stung more than you cared to admit. Mark must have sensed it, because he quickly added: “But don’t worry—I’ll speak to him. Things will improve. Whether he likes it or not, he needs an assistant. I’ve made that clear. Everything’s about to speed up come late January, and I want him focused on racing.”

“Then why didn’t you ask McLaren to hire someone if he trusts them so much?” you asked, your tongue thick with resentment.

“Because a contract is just that. A contract. It expires and no one knows what tomorrow will bring. I want him to trust someone outside of that system. And if that means we pay your salary ourselves, so be it. It’s worth it. Loyalty is rare in this sport. I want to give it a chance to bloom without any influence.”

You nodded, but a lump had settled in your throat. Guilt. On your parents’ advice, you had begun quietly looking for other jobs.

You can’t go on like this, they’d told you. You deserve respect. And painful as it was to admit—they were right.

“I understand,” you finally said. “And I understand his trust issues. God knows I’ve been betrayed more than once during internships. I don’t blame him for that. But I’d appreciate it if he at least acknowledged my emails.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Mark repeated. “In the meantime, keep doing your job. I see every email you send, and I want to commend you—not just for your efficiency and initiative, but for your professionalism despite Oscar’s behaviour. Your efforts are not in vain.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded. It was hard to accept praise when the one person you were meant to work for gave you no recognition at all.

“I have to go. McLaren call in five minutes. Keep it up—I’ll handle Oscar.”

Your tired and discouraged face stared back at you on the black screen. You sighed, took a sip of cold coffee, and began typing a new email.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Quad Lock

Oscar,

As Mark and your new McLaren PR assistant may have informed you, Quad Lock (an Australian brand for sports phone mounts) is interested in sponsoring you in 2023.

They’re only available on Thursday, January 16 at 10:30 AM, but you’re scheduled for a padel session then. Would you prefer I reschedule, or can you make yourself available?

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

That evening, you nearly choked on your red wine when your phone buzzed. You immediately recognized the sound—your inbox—and tapped the notification with a trembling finger.

"What the fuck?"

From: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > To: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: RE: Quad Lock

Jan 16 works. Cancel padel.

Oscar

You ended up staring at the screen for far too long. Since when did a simple email affect you so deeply? You had studied at Harvard, for God’s sake. Interned at prestigious firms. Yet here you were—shaken by a curt reply from a bull-headed driver.

If your parents could see you now, they’d sigh.

You typed a reply, erased it, retyped the same one, changed a word, fixed a typo, then—uncertain—rewrote it altogether.

Then deleted it again.

And finally typed: “Thanks, I’ll inform them.”

You tossed your phone across the bed and drained your wine in one big gulp.

You didn’t know what to make of the sudden shift, but one thing was certain: you could count on Mark. And there was nothing more reassuring than not feeling alone in your corner.

You longed for the sense of excitement that had animated you when you had signed your contract in this very office, just a few weeks ago. The golden plaque on the door still bore Mark’s name but it no longer gleamed as it had that first day. It appeared dull now—faded, even.

He had summoned you to discuss Oscar’s upcoming first days with McLaren, and the logistical arrangements it would require.

Upon your arrival, the secretary had promptly informed you that the Australian would be running late. Something about a meeting “too important to be cut short.”

So, you had sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and begun flipping through your notebook to review the brief Mark had sent two days prior. But muffled voices soon broke your concentration.

You looked up. The office door stood slightly ajar.

You immediately recognized Mark’s voice. Another, deeper and more assertive, kept interrupting him.

Oscar.

Eyes wide, you gently closed your notebook and placed it on the seat beside you before moving closer to the door.

“This can’t go on,” said Mark. “Besides your blatant lack of professionalism, you're making things harder for yourself on purpose.”

“I don’t need an assistant.”

They’re talking about me, you realized.

You swallowed hard and leaned in.

“And I’m telling you that you do. You’re stepping into the big leagues, Oscar. That means four times the responsibilities, four times the meetings. Your little Google Calendar might’ve worked in F2 and in 2022, but that’s no longer the case. You need someone.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here to help you negotiate contracts, not book your flights or your hair appointments. I have enough on my plate as it is, and you do too. You’re literally starting at McLaren in two weeks!”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But why Y/N?”

 “Why not?”

“I’ve read her résumé. She doesn’t belong here,” he spat.

You recoiled. The words stung, not just because of what he said, but how he said it. You had expected indifference from Oscar, but never cruelty.

“You can complain all you want,” Mark replied coolly. “It won’t change a damn thing. She is your assistant—and given the excellent work she’s done despite your shitty attitude, she will remain as such. So get used to seeing her around.”

“Whatever,” Oscar muttered.

Silence followed, then soft but steady footsteps.

Your stomach twisted. You scrambled back to your seat, notebook now trembling in your damp hands. Your heartbeat was so loud you could feel it pounding in your temples.

Oscar soon appeared in the doorway. His dark eyes immediately found yours. You froze, gaze fixed on a blurry sentence, your heart in your throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stop. His stare scorched the right side of your face. Your cheeks burned—whether from fury or adrenaline, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

After what felt like an eternity, the driver turned and walked away. Without a word. As always.

He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face, you thought.

Something inside you cracked at that realization—the last stronghold of patience, the final tower of understanding.

Rage surged through your veins and turned your chest into a battlefield. Amid the carnage, a voice pierced your armour. You looked up and saw Mark, one hand on the door handle.

“Are you coming?”

You followed him into the office mechanically, sat down in the leather chair, opened your notebook, nodded silently at every sentence he spoke, scribbled down notes you knew you would never read, and asked no questions.

More than once, Mark raised an eyebrow at your uncharacteristic silence, but you deliberately ignored his questioning glances.

Gone was the eager assistant, determined to prove herself, always anticipating her client’s needs. In her place sat a woman with furrowed brows and brisk, sharp movements—hardened by a fresh wave of anger.

One of the first management courses you had taken at Harvard had introduced the idea of professional archetypes. Who was motivated by emotion? Rewards? Everyone prided themselves for their individuality, their uniqueness, but, at the end, we all fell a category. And you knew you thrived for acknowledgment—something Oscar had never given you. Not once.

And that hurt.

So no, you didn’t feel guilty for not listening during the meeting. Mark continued with his verbose explanations, but you knew the spiel…

Oscar’s debut at McLaren was fast approaching. It would be a critical moment—for him, for Mark, for you.

And yet, despite knowing all that, you couldn’t bring herself to care.

She doesn’t belong here.

At the memory of those words, you tightened your grip on your pen.

“Y/N,” Mark said eventually, his tone tentative. “About Oscar… I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”

You stifled a bitter laugh and nodded. He eventually dismissed you, realizing you had nothing further to say, and you didn’t hesitate to walk out—slamming the door behind you, decorum be damned.

Once home, you glanced at your makeshift desk on the dining table, then at your work phone—silent, as always.

That was the final straw—the dark screen.

On impulse, you reached out to your cousin, a doctor.

One of your professors had once spoken at length about the value of networking and connections. You finally understood the importance of those when, thirty minutes later, a five-day medical leave form landed in your inbox.

You forwarded it to Mark, turned off your phone, and threw it into a drawer.

If Oscar didn’t need you, then he could handle his McLaren debut on his own.

During the first two days, you didn’t leave your bed. You stayed under the covers and ignored the world outside—though the latter seemed determined not to ignore you. Your parents kept sending you links to job offers, and Mark had started calling your personal number.

On the third day, someone knocked.

Oscar.

The moment you saw him standing there, you didn’t think—you tried to slam the door in his face. But the driver was faster—damn reflexes—and caught it with one hand.

“We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please.”

That one word made you falter.

“I know you took medical leave,” he continued. “Mark told me. I also know you’re not really sick and it’s because of me.”

That caught your attention. Oscar took advantage of the hesitation and slipped through the gap. You protested, pushed against his chest to get him out, but you were no match to his strength.

Soon, Oscar Piastri was standing in your apartment.

The sight was so surreal you blinked, convinced you were hallucinating. But no, he was real and had just turned your worst nightmare into reality.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I was an asshole.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

Oscar took your hand and held it in his.

Your eyes widened.

“I thought I didn’t need an assistant, but I was wrong.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling away.

“Oh, right. So what? You had some epiphany while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“I missed three meetings with McLaren and was late to two others because I didn’t get your reminder emails.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mark didn’t send anything?”

It was surprising, given how insistent he’d been about professionalism before Oscar’s debut.

“He said it was to ‘help me realize how much I fucked up.’”

You stifled a smile as a warm wave washed over you—part pride, part relief. Mark had stood up for you. Your heart felt just a little lighter.

You looked up at Oscar.

But then a memory—sharp and cold—soured the moment.

“You said I didn’t belong there,” you whispered.

You hated yourself for voicing it, for letting the insecurity slip through. The same one your parents had spent years nurturing.

A heavy silence followed.

“You heard us,” he simply said. “Mark and me. The other day.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer. Oscar ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You don’t belong here. That’s true.”

You opened your mouth in disbelief.

“Did you read your résumé?” he went on, undeterred.

“What kind of stupid question is–”

“Because I did,” he cut you off. “And you’re overqualified. You graduated from Harvard, for fuck’s sake! You deserve so much more than being my personal assistant.”

For the first time, you were speechless.

“But I guess I’m selfish,” he sighed. “I still think you deserve better, but now that I know how much I need you, I don’t want you to leave.”

He stepped closer.

“So please, forgive me. I’ll give you a raise—just name your price. But don’t quit.”

You hesitated, frozen in the middle of your living room, facing a visibly nervous Oscar. Were you making a mistake? Giving in too easily? What if this was just a momentary change of heart? What if, in three weeks’ time, everything went back to how it was?

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar took another step and rushed to reassure you.

“I’ll try harder. I’ll communicate better. I’ll learn to trust you.”

“And reply to my emails?”

He smiled, and the sight of those bunny teeth softened something in your chest.

“That too.”

You had come to love this job in the past weeks. It quenched your thirst of order and precision. And, Oscar aside, it was relatively simple.

The salary didn’t hurt either.

“You have no self-respect, woman,” you muttered under your breath before taking a deep breath and speaking aloud. “Fine.”

You said it quickly, as if speaking too slowly would give regret the time to catch up.

Maybe forgiving him wasn’t the best decision. Maybe your first impression hadn’t been good either.

Maybe you had both made mistakes.

“What?”

“I said, fine.”

Oscar looked as though he wanted to hug you—you saw it in the way his muscles tensed—but he thought better of it and rested a hand on your shoulder instead.

“Thank you.”

Yoy offered him a small smile and straightened up. Oscar’s hand fell back to his side.

“Well… Let’s start over, shall we?”

You held out a hand.

“Hello, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your personal assistant. If you need anything, I’m here.”

Oscar took it and gave it a gentle shake.

“Hi, I’m Oscar and I won’t screw up this time.”

Woking was a rather dreary town, you concluded as you watched its brick buildings pass by through the window of Oscar’s car. A typical English town, with uniform neighbourhoods and a colour palette of browns and whites.

“Feeling nervous?” you asked, glancing at Oscar’s hands, clenched so tightly around the steering wheel they were turning white.

“Yes."

“Good. It would’ve been strange if you weren’t. It means you care.“"”

He sighed and turned down the radio.

“Mark warned me they’d drown me with information. I’m worried I won’t remember anything and that I’ll come across as a rookie.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Just try to remember the essentials, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you replied, giving your black notebook a shake.

The movement caught Oscar’s attention, and he glanced away from the road for a second. He hummed in acknowledgment, and silence settled once again over the car.

There remained in your interactions traces of your chaotic beginnings. The team-building week Mark had forced you into, squeezed into the slim window of time leading up to today, had helped, but one didn’t simply erase a month of mutual silence with the wave of a wand.

Both of you had promised Oscar’s manager to try. You had sealed the pact without hesitation—anything was preferable to playing yet another damned escape room.

Oscar eventually gestured toward the notebook with a nod.

“You’ll need an orange one.”

You clutched it to your chest with a grimace. Loose pages and stray Post-its crinkled against your wool winter coat. It was an organized chaos of contracts and printed emails—a reflection of the turbulent start to Oscar’s F1 career, and their own beginnings.

“It’s not even full yet! And I don’t like orange.”

“A sticker, then.”

You pursed your lips.

“I suppose. But only if I get to pick the design.”

‘It has to be related to the team or me, though.”

“It is related to you. It contains your entire life for the next eight months.”

Oscar cut the conversation short when he took a sharp turn.

“Look—we’re here.”

You blinked at the building.

What kind of Avengers shit is this?

The building looked like it had been plucked straight from the future and placed with uncanny precision beside the lake. Everything about it exuded innovation and ambition—the kind of place you had imagined yourself working for after graduating.

Today, you were entering it as a mere personal assistant.

A part of you felt bitter at the thought, but you quickly buried the feeling when Oscar opened his door and offered you a hand.

Mark was already waiting at the entrance, flanked by a man you recognized as Zak Brown, and another with tanned skin and graying hair.

“Andrea Stella, the team principal,” Oscar murmured in your ear, seeing your confused expression.

Zak and Andrea greeted you politely—nothing more—before turning their full attention to Oscar. Mark, on the other hand, walked over to you with a sly smile on his thin lips.

“You managed the drive without killing each other? I’m impressed.”

As if he hadn’t just forced the two of you into a three-hour tug-of-war last Wednesday…

You all entered the building together. You were left speechless by the modern architecture and followed the group of men on autopilot. Very quickly, Oscar began meeting the team—one person after another. The receptionists. The mechanics. The engineers. The technicians. The designers. You jotted down as much as you could in your little notebook, but even you soon felt overwhelmed, your wrist aching.

“Of course you know Cecilia, your PR assistant,” announced Zak Brown as they entered the office area.

That was enough to catch your attention. You snapped your head up so fast your neck cracked. You couldn’t help narrowing your eyes, givng a once-over to the woman who’d had such a good job back in November. Beside you, Mark stifled a laugh.

“Careful—you almost look jealous.”

“I don’t care.”

But you couldn’t hide your satisfied smile as you observed the interaction between the two—cordial and awkward.

Take that, Cecilia.

“Ah!” Zak exclaimed. “Just the man we were looking for! Lando, come meet your new teammate.”

You rose onto your toes to catch sight of the newcomer.

Of course, you knew who Lando Norris was. A McLaren driver since 2019 and now Oscar’s teammate. Nothing more—just the essentials. That was enough. Memorizing the information Mark and Oscar fed you already took up a quarter of your time; you didn’t have room for another driver.

He shook hands with everyone with the ease of someone familiar in his environment. There was no hesitation in his movements, just a quiet confidence.

“Nice to meet you, Oscar.”

“Likewise.”

The Australian stepped aside, revealing you behind him. Your eyes met. Lando’s widened.

“And this is—”

But before Oscar could introduce you, Lando stumbled and fell at your feet.

You blinked. Then rushed to help him. Your knees hit the smooth floor, but you had no time to feel the pain; your hand quickly found the Brit’s shoulder.

“My God! Are you alright?”

Lando sprang back up and recoiled from your touch as though burned, his face flushed crimson.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, eyes fixed on the floor.

He mumbled words you didn’t catch—something about an engineer and a meeting—then spun around and disappeared down the corridor.

You blinked once, twice, then shook your head and hurried to rejoin the group for the rest of the tour, which lasted another two long hours.

“Lando…” you began once you and Oscar were back in the car.

“What about him?”

“He’s a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

Oscar shot you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. Already, the McLaren Technology Centre was nothing more than a vague grey blur in the rearview mirror. The engine roared, churning your stomach—or perhaps that was the regret creeping onto your tongue.

You and Oscar weren’t yet close enough for you to speak so freely. What would he think of you, openly criticizing his future teammate?

“I suppose,” he admitted, to your utmost relief. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk with him yet. We’re planning to meet up before the first tests. He mentioned something about padel.”

You pulled your notebook from your bag and uncapped your fountain pen, glad for the change in topic.

“Do you already have a date in mind?”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

[2handsslan]

this was so heartbreakingly beautifully written.

no surprise here that i loved your work once again!!

slow motion (i'm watching our love)  ⸻  lewis  hamilton  x  reader  .

featuring  lewis  hamilton  ,  past  relationship  ,  second  chance  romance  ?? word  count  2k author’s  note  my  first  lewis  fic  WE  CHEERED  !  requested  by  @lewismcqueen  -  lightning  ,  i  know  you  asked  for  a  drabble  but  sorry  !  this  one  got  away  from  me  .  i  can  only  hope  it  lives  up  to  your  gorgeous  work  .  your  writing  is  so  creative  and  daring  that  it  forever  inspires  me  to  explore  !!  i’m  so  so  honored  to  be  your  moot  <3  i  hope  you  enjoy  !!  please lmk what you think or just come chat to me i love hearing from yall !! title  is  from  supercut  by  lorde  (best  song  of  all  time  btw  .  that’s  how  much  i  love  lightning)

6:  a  crushed  velvet  sofa  and  a  video  camera  .

The apartment in Monaco feels emptier when the season slows down enough for Lewis to actually inhabit it. 

He’s been making himself busy in the months since the breakup, flying to Maranello every off weekend, relentlessly trying to fix whatever Ferrari has broken this week. Anything to keep himself in forward motion, to manage the hurt of missing you down to a dull ache. But somewhere between Montreal and Austria, the calendar thins and he gets stuck in the home the two of you had built together, stuck in reminders of the life you’d walked away from. He wanders through rooms you decorated that feel like they only know him in passing, touching surfaces that have gathered dust in his absence.

He finds it nearly by accident, digging through desk drawers he hasn’t had the chance to clean yet. The old Panasonic is half-buried under festival brochures and screenplay drafts heavily annotated in your loopy script. His fingers trace the familiar weight of it, the nicks and scrapes in the well-loved metal frame. How many times in your relationship had he rolled his eyes affectionately as you insisted on documenting everything — your filmmaker’s eye at work, always searching for a moment worth preserving? Shots of busy sidewalks, of sunlight filtering through paddock walls, of the overheard laughter of strangers. Just you and your camera, catching what everyone else’s mind forgot. 

He doesn’t really know why he plugs it in. Maybe he’s curious. Maybe he wants to see through your eyes for a minute. Maybe he just wants the chance to hear your voice again, the sound of your laugh. Whatever the reason, he finds himself digging around for a charger, watching the little camcorder hum to life before he plugs it into his laptop. 

There’s one file that pops up. Titled for L, like it’s a love story, or something. He presses play on instinct. 

The screen is black for a moment. Then all of a sudden, Lewis goes back in time. 

His hands on a steering wheel, golden sun slanting through the windows. Not a Ferrari, or a Mercedes, or even a McLaren — it’s your beat-up old Mini Cooper, the car you were driving when the two of you first started dating. He’d begged to buy you a new one for years, but you refused to get rid of it. 

The film is bright, dreamlike, overexposed, and he’s laughing already on screen when the clip starts. “You’re supposed to be navigating, love,” his voice says, trying to be stern and failing miserably. “Not making a documentary on my driving.”

“I can multitask,” your voice pipes up from behind the camera, and the mere sound of it makes Lewis’s breath catch in his throat. “I mean, it’s not every day you get behind-the-wheel footage of theeeeee Lewis Hamilton, two-time world champion.” Your voice is teasing as the camera pans up to his face, younger, more carefree. “Besides, your hands are so beautiful when you drive. Like, breathtaking. The way you hold the wheel…”

“You’re ridiculous,” past-Lewis says as he looks past the camera at you, smile soft and unguarded in a way it never is anymore. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, the love in his gaze so apparent that it feels like it could pour out of the screen.

Present-Lewis hits pause, chest tight. He remembers that drive — down the Cote d’Azur to that little town he can’t remember the name of anymore, when you were scouting locations for your first film. You’d just started dating, then, and everything felt perfect, all his memories bathed in that same golden hour light. 

He takes a deep breath and presses play again. 

The footage jumps through time, a mosaic of fragments of your life together. A late night in Singapore, both of you older, him grumbling into a pillow about a qualifying lap he barely remembers now. You zoom the camera in on him, giggling “You’re cute when you’re grumpy, Hamilton.” He rolls over and flips the camera off, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips, one that you put there. His hand reaches for the lens before it cuts to black.

Another clip, one he’s not sure you meant to film. The camera is laying on its side, trained on an overstuffed velvet couch. It’s his driver’s room, he thinks, from a few years ago. Then your voices, somewhere above the camera, unmistakable.

“I’m here. I’m trying, Lewis,” you say, breathless. “But it’s like nothing I ever do is enough for you.”

“But you’re not here, are you?” he snaps, voice low and sharp in a way that makes him wince to hear. “You’re still stuck behind your fucking camera. That’s what you’re thinking about. So don’t talk to me about being enough for me, when you can’t even be bothered to actually pay attention to what matters to me.”

There’s silence, for a moment. “I thought I mattered to you,” you say, voice small. 

He doesn’t respond. There’s the sound of a door creaking open, then slamming shut. A sniffle. And then the camera tilts dizzyingly and the film cuts to black again. 

When the screen lights up, it’s the two of you in the kitchen of your apartment, boxes still stacked in the corners. The camera is set up on the counter, so you’re in the frame for once.  Seeing you hurts in the best way. He’d forgotten how striking you were, how visceral your beauty always felt to him. You’re wearing one of his Mercedes hoodies, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, flattening out pizza dough on the counter. He’s behind you singing along to some 2000s R&B track he doesn’t remember the lyrics to now, a glass of wine in one hand and the other resting on your hip as he dances lazily with you. You hum along, rolling the dough a little too aggressively, and the camera falls sharply to the side. The two of you freeze, looking at each other, and then both burst into laughter so loud that the audio clips. He’s just wrapped you into his arms, nearly swinging you into the air as he peppers kisses against your skin, when the footage cuts again. 

In the next clip, you’re in a hotel room he doesn’t recognize. The camera is set up in the corner, the two of you lounging on a bed. Your bare legs are thrown over his lap, and there’s something playing softly on the TV that he can’t see. Your mouth is moving, but he can’t quite hear what you’re saying. Probably mouthing the words to your favorite quotes, the way you always did during your favorite movies. You knew practically every word of Casablanca, once upon a time. Lewis wonders if you still do. 

“Nerd,” he says fondly on screen, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He’s not even pretending to watch the movie.

You lean into his touch, eyes flicking between him and the TV. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he corrects, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. You sigh happily, hand wrapping around to the nape of his neck and pulling him back down to your lips again, movie forgotten. You’re about to pull him on top of you when the screen goes black again.

Then you’re back in the kitchen in the Monaco apartment, fully decorated this time. Past-Lewis is sitting exactly where present-Lewis sits, watching something on your laptop just like he is now. It’s trippy enough that it takes him a minute to focus on the conversation playing out on screen. You’d asked him to watch one of your films, he thinks. 

“What do you think about the ending?” you ask. There’s a note of nervousness in your voice that he didn’t notice then. Like even though he was hopeless with all the film stuff, couldn’t tell aspect ratio from frame rate, you really cared what he thought. 

His recorded self looks directly into the lens. “Honestly, love? I think it’s a cop-out.”

Your voice, sharp. Like a warning he didn’t quite catch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You always pull back when things get too perfect. Like you have to prove a point instead of letting yourself enjoy a happy ending.”

There’s a long pause. The frame trembles slightly, focusing on his face as he looks back at the screen. “Maybe,” you say, so quietly that Lewis has to rewind and turn up the volume on his laptop so he can hear. “Or maybe I just know happy endings don’t always last.”

The footage keeps going — Silverstone, Monaco, New York. It’s not a love story like he’d expected, not exactly. It’s something messier, out of order, more imperfect. Fights and kisses. Airports and cheering crowds. Double exposures, strange angles, that same dreamlike lighting. None of it plays like a highlight reel. It’s not curated to be beautiful. 

It just is. 

The final clip is of his car, sitting in your driveway. It’s raining lightly, the soft patter audible in the film, and Lewis has to squint for a moment before he sees himself in the driver’s seat. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, head bowed with exhaustion. The footage goes on like that for several minutes before he gets out of the car, walking towards your door. He’s wearing the same outfit from that final day, when you walked out. When he let you. 

Lewis’s stomach drops as past-Lewis disappears from the frame. After a minute, there’s a hesitant knock on the door, but the camera stays trained on the empty car.

Then the screen goes black for the last time, and it’s like you left him alone in the apartment again. Nothing but deadly silence, and the ache of missing you. 

Maybe you’d been right. Maybe happy endings didn’t last. Maybe you were right not to trust them. But maybe that was never the point. Maybe the point is that a happy ending happened, at least for a brief and perfect instant. That between the frames of hurt and misunderstanding and falling apart, there were moments of beauty that you’d painstakingly captured, like you were saying this is real, this is worth saving, this matters. 

He’s picking up his phone and scrolling to your contact before he can think too hard about it. He may not remember the name of the town you drove to, or the lyrics to that song, or even what movie you were watching. But he remembers the way you laughed, how you felt in his arms, how you watched him like everything he did was something worth preserving. 

For the first time in a long time, Lewis really remembers how it felt to love you, to be loved by you. Even when it was messy. Even when it hurt. 

Found your camera, he types, fingers trembling over the letters. I remember everything. Everything that matters, at least. I guess what I mean to say is I remember you. I miss you, love. 

He sends it before he can second-guess himself, throwing the phone facedown on the counter like it might burn him if he holds it too long. You probably won’t respond. It’s been months now. You’ve moved on, surely, to your next film, your next subject. The thought makes his chest tighten. He shouldn’t have sent it. Maybe this was just your way of saying goodbye. It was stupid of him, reckless, selfish —

His phone buzzes against the granite, and when he flips it over, your name is glowing on the screen.

Like the first frame of something new. 

[2handsslan]

worth the wait

pairing: lando norris x williams driver!reader

summary: winning the monaco grand prix brings to light some not so hidden feelings between yourself and a certain papaya wearing driver. (7.6k)

warnings: friends to lovers, mutual pining, use of Y/N, sexual insinuations but nothing graphic. the FW46 is not a tractor—also fictional. takes place in the 2024 season.

a/n: started writing this a little after monaco last year, didn't finish it until now 😭 my first major attempt at driver!reader, and also perhaps the longest one shot fic i've ever written?? i can't remember but i hope you all love her as much as i do <3 also sorry to charles for erasing his home win i still love you babe

“That’s P1, Y/N. Repeat, that is P1, congratulations.” 

You can barely hear your race engineer over the beating of your heart in your chest, the roar of blood in your ears as you make your way far past the checkered flag. Looking at your surroundings as you zoom by, you see people waving at you from all around you, people cheering at the top of their lungs, and you wave back. 

“Oh my god…” You say softly, just for yourself to hear. 

You’ve done it. 

You’ve won your first race, won Monaco, and you have no earthly idea how to react. It feels weird, like you know you’ve won but at the same time, it doesn’t feel quite real. 

Like you’re asleep and you’re about to wake up to find it’s all been just a dream. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Y/N, do you copy? Radio check, please. Can you hear me?” 

Blinking a few times to ground yourself, you manage to hit the radio button on your wheel to respond to your team. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m here, I’m—wow, that’s…thank you, everyone. Couldn’t have done any of this without you guys. I love you all, thank you for everything, really.” 

You can hear cheering on the other end of the channel, gleeful whoops and lots of clapping. They’re all absolutely wild with happiness, as you’re sure you should be too. 

You are happy. You’re so happy you can’t even feel anything except the familiar rumble of your trusty car. 

“Make your way to the grid. We’ll see you soon.” 

It begins to trickle in now, the realization that you’re now a Formula 1 winner, and here at Monaco, no less. 

You break into a face-splitting grin, letting a disbelieving laugh bubble from your mouth, which soon turns into a series of loud whoops you’re glad you’re the only one who can hear. 

It’s just you and your car out here right now, soaking it all in. 

The other two cars are already parked at their respective signs when you finally roll up to the grid after a celebratory cooldown lap, a Red Bull and a McLaren flanking your open spot on the left and right as they wait for you. Their drivers are standing by too, waving around at the fans. You spot Lando’s bright helmet immediately and Max a few feet away. 

You kill the engine as soon as you’re in place, shaky hands gripping the halo to pull yourself out of the cockpit. The roar of the cheering is loud even through your helmet, but the thump of your heart threatening to beat out of your chest seems more deafening. 

You aren’t entirely sure that your knees won’t give out when you step onto the hood. 

Nevertheless, you step out as confident as you can, punching both hands above your head in a sweeping motion, fist pumping the air once, twice, a third time. Each swing brings a louder cheer from the crowd, and you take it all in, clasping your hands as if to say thank you to anyone who’s watching—which is everyone. 

Everyone’s watching you as you take off your helmet and peel off your balaclava. Your fingers fumble with the cord of your earpieces, but you manage to wrench those off too, stuffing everything into the interior of your helmet clumsily. 

You hop down from your car, and immediately you’re swept off your feet. Lando crashes into you so hard you’re surprised he hasn’t knocked you both to the ground. He hugs you tight around the waist, swinging you around, and he’s laughing joyfully, that high pitched, squeaky laugh you’re only used to hearing when he’s extremely excited about something. 

If you hadn’t gotten P1, you would’ve thought he’d gotten it by the way he’s celebrating. 

“You did it!!!” He exclaims. “Oh my god, I knew you could do it!”

You’re both sticky with sweat and still breathing hard from those seventy odd laps, but his embrace feels welcoming. Familiar. It always has. You’ve known each other for a while now, having been rookies in the same season, and you’re close with him off the track too. 

Your helmet falls to the ground with a loud thud as you return Lando’s crushing hug. “Thank you,” You breathe, another disbelieving laugh spilling from you. “Holy fuck, it really happened!”

“You made it happen, Y/N. I’m proud of you. Seriously. You deserve this win and so many more,” He says sincerely. He sets you back down now, hands sliding from your shoulders down to your elbows, holding you almost tenderly. It’s a total opposite from the pure excitement he’d had mere seconds ago. 

Something in his eyes seems to deepen, though you can’t put your finger on exactly what. You can’t bring yourself to look away.

If you weren’t so attuned to Lando’s expressions by now, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his gaze flicked down to your lips for a split second. But you are, and you do notice. 

His lips part slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he visibly gulps. 

It feels like you’re the only two people in the world in this moment, not as who the public sees you both as, but as the versions of yourselves you really only get to be with each other. You’ve had the privilege of getting to know exactly who Lando Norris is, away from all the cameras and the media. 

Lando is kind and warm and genuine and would go to war for the people he cares about, but he’s still young. Despite having matured a lot in the past few years, he still hasn’t lost that boyishness he had about him when you first met him just before your rookie season together. He still has that spark that pulled you in from the beginning. 

A chant of your name begins to ripple through the grandstands, and just like that, the moment breaks. You remember that not only are you in front of thousands of people, but on the screens of millions more too. 

You inhale sharply and step away from him to pick up your things. He clears his throat, probably realizing the same thing you just did. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in this position with Lando, and maybe it’s the adrenaline high, maybe it’s all the years of dancing around each other and your own feelings, but you can’t say for certain that you would’ve been able to hold yourself back if he’d looked at you that way any longer. Either way, you’re sure of one thing. 

In that moment, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to kiss you. 

He backs away before you have time to process any of the information firing its way through your brain, giving a little wave of his gloved hands as if to say ‘This is your moment. Take it in.’

Max is much more contained than Lando in his congratulations, giving you a nice pat on the back and firm handshake with a smile that feels genuine. You still can’t quite wrap your mind around the fact that you’d finished ahead of him for the first time. 

You make a run for your team just behind the barrier next, all but throwing yourself into them to celebrate not just your win, but theirs too. It truly takes a village, and you wouldn't have been able to do much of anything, let alone this, without yours. 

You want to stay with them for much longer than you’re allowed to, but you’re redirected by a few of the track marshals far too soon. 

The walk down the outside of the track is mostly a blur. Fernando clasps a hand over the back of your neck, telling you how proud he is of you and your hard work. His pride reminds you so much of your own father you can only squeeze his arm in a silent thanks. 

Charles and Carlos sandwich you into a congratulations group hug of Ferrari red, Lewis ruffles your hair like an older brother would. Daniel squishes you in such a tight hug that the breath gets squeezed out of your chest. 

You’re vaguely aware of various other people coming to congratulate you, clapping you on the back, jostling you excitedly. Reporters, photographers, track marshals all clamoring for your attention, shaking your hand, cameras hovering in your face. All while you're trying to wave to the fans and listen to the multitude of things being told to you by so many people. 

It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way. 

Next is Alex, who wraps you up in a hug with such a fierceness that rivals Lando’s when you get to where he is, a beacon of familiarity for you. When people say Formula One teammates can never truly be friends, they’ve never seen you and Alex before. There’s some competition there, obviously, but it’s a healthy kind. You push each other to be better. 

He keeps you company until you need to split off for the cooldown room. Even then, he promises to find you afterwards. 

It feels like everyone is beyond happy for you, and you revel in it. This is the first and last time you’ll ever get to experience that maiden win feeling. 

The air conditioning in the tiny room feels like heaven on your sweaty skin when you finally make it there, and even though there's a chair you know you should be sitting in, the ground looks much more enticing. 

Your sore limbs scream as you lower yourself down to the floor, but it feels nice and cold when you extend your legs out in front of you with a noise that somewhat resembles a strangled groan. 

Max takes a seat in his assigned chair with an amused shake of his head. You expect Lando to do the same, but he makes a beeline in your direction, throwing himself down next to you with a reaction not dissimilar to the one you’ve just had. It takes all you have in you not to smile like a fucking idiot when he holds his hand out for a high five. 

You’re still buzzing as you sip your water while watching a few moments from the race on the screen. One of the clips that rolls is you crossing the finish line, which makes a lump rise up in your throat. You’re able to hear some broadcast commentary as it plays, and it feels surreal.

“And she’s done it!!! Y/N L/N wins the Monaco Grand Prix! First P1 ever for the Williams driver, here at the historic circuit in Monte Carlo, and Williams’ first Monaco title since 2003! That’s gonna have to be a win for the books, I’d say,” He’s saying. He sounds ecstatic. 

You do your best to swallow the lump down, sniffling quietly a few times. 

What you’re not going to do is cry in front of these cameras. You refuse to give the people who ever doubted you any ounce of ammunition against you. 

Lando hastens a look over at you, spots the tiniest crinkle of your brow, and nudges your knee with his water bottle. When you meet his eyes, he mimes taking a deep breath, smiling reassuringly. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

You match the rise and fall of his chest, finding that it helps. He doesn’t even have to say a word. 

“Wow, that was turn 10, wasn’t it? Where you overtook me?” Max asks suddenly, looking over to you for an answer. Your gaze slips back to the screen, where you see your Williams sneaking around his Red Bull at the chicane right after the tunnel, then over to him for a sheepish nod. 

It’s not everyday you can say you’ve gotten past a three time World Champion. 

Max looks almost impressed. “That was a bold move, but I’ve got to hand it to you—it was a pretty solid overtake. In a tricky spot too. Nice one.” 

He’s always been nice to you on the track, and you’ve even spent some time together in the offseason, but any ounce of praise from the Max Verstappen still feels like it’s coming from a legend. Even if you’ve witnessed that legend absolutely smash it at drunk karaoke at Charles’ Christmas party a few years ago. 

Your time in the cooldown room also seems far too short, and before you know it, the podium awaits. 

You manage a peek outside whilst the announcer is welcoming Max to the podium, and you’re absolutely floored. The crowd is a sea of different colors, all different teams gathered to witness your very first time on the top step of the podium. You spot yours front and center chatting excitedly amongst themselves, eagerly awaiting your arrival. 

“Feels different, doesn’t it? Knowing you’re about to climb to that winning step,” Lando asks, pulling his P2 hat down over his damp curls. 

He’s right. You’ve been on the podium before, but anticipating being at the top of it, anticipating finally getting to hear your home country’s national anthem—it’s something different entirely. 

“I feel like I’m about to shit myself,” You answer honestly, not bothering to censor yourself in any way. It’s Lando; he’s heard you say much worse before. 

“I would advise against that, but hey, everyone celebrates in their own way. To each their own and all that.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender, shit-eating grin present on his face. “Just know, I’ll never let you live it down if you do.” 

“That’s rich coming from the guy who nearly peed himself when he got his first podium!” You scoff. 

Lando’s teasing grin morphs into an offended drop of the mouth. “I did not!” 

“You so did, don’t even try to lie about that.” 

“Right, well if I did, and that’s a huge fucking if, it was only because I didn’t have time to hit the toilet before the ceremony.” 

“I’m sure it was.” 

“Say, we should celebrate tonight. I was thinking about going out clubbing later, if you’re up for it?” He offers, effectively changing the subject. His brows raise mischievously a beat later, eyes full of mirth. “Unless…you’re too tired, of course.”  

“Ha, nice try! I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight, so you’re on,” You shoot back, tilting your chin up in challenge. 

“That’s my girl.” Lando’s expression turns warm and fond, and it makes your insides go fuzzy. You know it’s just a phrase. It isn’t even the first time he’s said it, but this one feels different. 

The way he’s looking at you feels different. It feels like he’s staring into your soul with those eyes of his you still haven’t quite figured out yet. Were they green, were they hazel? Truth be told, you’d been wondering about it since what feels like forever. 

Lando steps forward—once, twice, a third time. Three steps and he’s right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand comes up to run along the length of your arm, thumb rubbing over the sleeve of your race suit. 

There’s no cameras here this time. The people around you aren’t even paying any attention to the two of you. It would be so easy just to let it happen, to just close the gap between you and…kiss him.

Before either of you can make a move, you hear his name echo from outside, followed by even more cheering. Lando opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but no words come out. 

You give him a light shove, pushing down your disappointment in favor of a smile. “Go. You deserve to bask in the glory. Before I steal the show, I mean.” 

Lando looks like he doesn’t want to go, but really, he doesn’t have a choice. There are people waiting for his grand arrival out to the podium, and yours too. Before he leaves, he squeezes your hand once, and then he’s gone. The roar of the crowd grows louder. 

You take a few centering deep breaths to calm yourself. This moment is what you’ve been waiting for your entire career, and you’d be damned if you let anything, let alone your own running thoughts, take away from it all. 

The sunlight nearly blinds you when you round the corner, but you take it in stride, waving at the crowd as you take that rightful top step. You aren’t sure if you could stop smiling even if you tried. That smile only grows as your home anthem fills the air, and you swear it’s never sounded more like music to your ears than it does right here and now. 

It’s all for you.

You inhale deep, soaking in every bit of the moment as much as you can before it ends, and as you exhale just as deep, your shoulders sag with relief. It still feels surreal. 

The final notes of the anthem fade, and then you’re being handed a huge trophy by the literal Prince of Monaco, which is mindblowing in and of itself. You like to think you’re playing it cool, but you’re sure if you watch back anyone’s footage of the moment sometime later, you would probably see how not cool you were being. 

Nonetheless, the trophy is a welcome weight in your hands, and when you look down at it, all you can see in the sleek metal is a promise of things yet to come. The pride you feel is insurmountable—of yourself, of your team, of every little thing that has happened to bring you to this day, bad or good. Everything has led you here. 

You beam bright, hoisting it above your head proudly to the tune of hooting and hollering and whistling. 

It feels…well, the only word you can think of to explain how being up here feels is glorious. Even when you’re suddenly being blasted with champagne from all sides, you feel like you’re on top of the world. You can’t see a thing, but you don’t need to in order to know that you could get used to this. 

You don’t feel like you’re truly back down on the ground again until you make it back to the paddock. Natalie Pinkham from SkySports is waiting for you with a proud smile, waiting patiently as your media officer ushers you towards the group of cameras in the media pen. 

“Natalie, hi!” You greet her with a hug, having become extremely familiar and fond of the reporter in your few years of racing. There’s a reason why she’s a favorite amongst most of the grid. 

“Hi, Y/N! Thanks for taking the time to chat with myself and SkySports, I’m sure you’ve got a thousand things to do before calling it a day and going home. Or going to celebrate, maybe?” 

You bob your head, chuckling lightly. “Celebrating, definitely. Dunno what’s in the cards yet, but one of the many good things about Monaco is that afterwards I can sleep in my own bed for once.” 

“That definitely sounds like a win to me. Speaking of wins, massive congratulations on today! Now I have to ask, did anything feel different about the race or qualifying, or even any of the practices that made you think, ‘this is the weekend, today is my day’?”  

“The car’s felt amazing all weekend. Even though I wasn’t on pole, I still managed to move up in the race, and I think my pace was pretty good from the start today. Y’know, obviously nothing was perfect, there’s always bound to be a few hiccups here and there, a few unexpected things to come about at times when you don’t want them to, but overall?” You explain, letting your shoulders drop in a shrug. 

If you wrack your brain, there really hadn’t been anything that clued you into how this weekend would go. You were always confident in your own skills as a driver, but you’d been doing this long enough to know that most of it boiled down to luck, especially with a track like Monaco. 

“Overall I think things went nice and smooth this weekend. I’m not sure what could’ve made it different from other races, if I’m being completely honest, but I’m very happy with the way everything turned out in the end.” 

“Oh, you’re being modest now, aren’t you? Your first ever win, here of all places. You must be over the moon!” Natalie laughs. You chuckle too. That seems like an understatement. “Tell us a little bit about that. How does it feel to not only have that maiden win finally under your belt, but to also be the first female Formula 1 driver to win here at Monaco?” 

It’s a loaded question, of course. 

How does it feel to have beaten nineteen of the best drivers in the world? How do you feel about the highest point of your racing career so far? How does it feel to be amongst the names of all the greats who’ve driven and won this race in the past? 

You’re really not even sure where to begin, but for some reason, you laugh. Your emotions feel jumbled up right now, so much you can barely cobble together a well thought out answer to the question. 

“Sorry, I don’t—gah, I’m all over the place right now, I’m sorry,” You manage to say, taking a cleansing deep breath in an attempt to center yourself. Good thing she just nods encouragingly, giving you time to recompose. 

You can see Lando doing his own interview off to the side, talking animatedly with the biggest smile gracing his face, and you flash back to that moment on the track just a little while ago. The way he was so happy for you despite missing out on P1 himself by less than two seconds, how hard he’d hugged you as soon as you’d climbed down from your car. 

The way he looked at you right after he did, some foreign emotion lingering in his eyes that you couldn’t shake your thoughts free of. 

It’s as though he senses you looking at him, because he glances over at you, catching your gaze for a moment. He smiles even bigger, if at all possible, before turning back to his own reporter seamlessly. It makes you feel giddier inside by a tenfold, which definitely doesn’t help your focus. 

You manage to tear your attention away from him at last. You hope nobody’s noticed you looking at each other. “Okay. Alright, I’m good. Sorry again. I…I think for any driver, winning at Monaco is the dream, with all the history behind the track and—and the stories you hear. Um, it’s definitely always been a dream of mine, ever since I got into karting as a kid, so actually being able to make that dream come true is absolutely unreal to me.” 

You will yourself not to let your voice waver, on live television of all places. You kind of want to cry again (in the best possible way), but you steel yourself, keeping your head held high. This is your time. 

“This win is—above all, it’s extra special, especially since it’s my first win ever and because I’m the first female driver to win. It’s…truly, it’s such an honor. And to be racing among so many other talented drivers this season too, winning is certainly a high point. I think the rest of the season is looking up for Williams. Feels like this is only the start. I don’t really know what else to say other than that.” 

“You’re part of Monaco history now, congratulations again, Y/N. One more question and then I’ll let you get back to your celebrations,” Natalie replies, looking genuinely thrilled for you. That’s something you’ve always admired about her, the way she seems to really care about the people she’s interviewing, instead of rushing through things like you were just something to check off a list. You nod happily for her to continue. “What do you have to say to all those girls watching at home right now, watching you pave the way for future drivers, wanting to race in Formula 1 one day?” 

“I’d say exactly what my dad said to me before every one of my karting races. You’re strong, you’re determined, and you can do anything you put your mind to. Just work hard and keep the focus, but have fun too.” 

“Truly lovely advice from Monaco’s newest Grand Prix winner, thank you so much, Y/N. And congratulations again on the accomplishment! Very proud.” 

You thank her and give her another quick hug before you’re shown off towards another gaggle of reporters to answer their questions. These feel less daunting than the first, maybe because you now have somewhat of an idea of what to say, but you still need to keep things professional—no matter how much you want to shout from the rooftops. 

Maybe you’ll do that later, after you’ve been released from your media duties. 

-------

The club is so loud you can barely hear yourself think. 

You’ve shaken hands and taken pictures with so many people you begin to lose track of who’s who, though you also suspect that might be because of how many drinks you’ve had so far. But it is a celebration—a celebration for you, so really, who’s counting? 

“This is the best night of my life!” You exclaim, plopping down into the empty seat between Alex and Lando. Lily sits on the other side of her boyfriend, stifling a laugh at the state of you. 

“Having a good time?” She asks, reaching over Alex to pluck some confetti out of your hair. You beam at her brightly, nodding. “Good. You deserve to celebrate!” 

“I love you, Lil,” You sigh, squeezing her hand gratefully. “You’re my favorite person.” 

“Um, hello? I’m sitting right here, you know.” Alex sounds and looks genuinely offended, squinting at you in disbelief. You only smile guiltily. “Oh, that’s mean. You’re a mean drunk, did you know that?” 

Lando giggles loudly into his nearly empty glass, lips working the straw intently to get the last few drops out. 

Alex turns his attention on him, raising a brow. “Easy there, tiger. There’s nothing else in that poor glass.” 

“Whatever, dad,” Lando huffs drunkenly. He plonks the now empty glass onto the table with a pout. 

You let out a cackle at that, keeling over into Alex’s shoulder with the force of your laughter. “Dad! You’re an old man, Dad!” 

“I’m only four years older than you two,” He deadpans, seemingly unamused. 

“I’m getting another drink. Don’t miss me too much,” Lando announces to the general vicinity, clambering to his feet with a dangerous sway to him. 

You pop up from your seat too and he notices, holding out a hand for you to take. When you do, he pulls you in even more, tucking you under his arm so you won’t lose each other in the crowded club. 

Alex watches the two of you weave through people together, leaning towards Lily. “Hundred pounds says they’re going home with each other tonight.” 

She rolls her eyes playfully at her grinning boyfriend, scoffing. “You’re not getting my money that easily, Alex. Make it higher stakes next time.” 

Before you can make it to the bar, you tug at Lando’s hand gently to get his attention and he turns immediately, ducking in close so he can hear you over all the noise. “I need to use the toilet.” 

“Go. I’ll order for you.” He nods, giving you a gentle push towards the restrooms. You stumble a little, but right yourself quick, straightening out on your way. 

The corridor right outside the toilets is fairly quiet, and you slump against the wall to catch your breath. Fatigue is starting to set in at this point, the adrenaline from today fizzling out until you’re left feeling tired. You still haven’t quite come to terms with everything that’s happened today. 

You’re a fucking Grand Prix winner. A Formula 1 winner. 

It’s what you've dreamed of since you were a kid, something you’ve worked so hard and so tirelessly for. You’re still happy, of course, but there’s something else biting at you that rings louder in your subconscious. 

What the hell are you supposed to do now? 

The obvious answer is to do it again, and again, and again, until one day you have what it takes to be World Champion, but you're far away from that ever becoming a reality yet.  

What if this win was just a stroke of good luck? 

It’s a miracle you got past Max when you did, but really, it was the track that helped you keep your position. Monaco is notorious for making it near impossible to overtake the car in front of you. 

Had he been just a few inches over to the other side, you would’ve caught too much kerb, maybe even locked up right before the apex of the next turn. It could’ve ruined your entire race, but you got lucky. 

What if you can’t win any more races? What if this was the peak of your career and you’re destined to go downhill from here? What if you lose your seat? 

Tears slip down your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying, your pesky ability to overthink everything taking its toll once again. You dig the heels of your palms against your eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. 

Now is not the fucking time to be second guessing yourself. 

“There you are!” Lando’s voice echoes from the end of the corridor, and you swear quietly, swiping at your cheeks to rid yourself of tear tracks before he reaches you. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into the—” His teasing remark dies on his lips the moment he lays eyes on you. Immediately, you know he can tell something’s off. “Why are you sad? What happened? Did someone do something?”

You shake your head through his bombardment of questions, squeezing your eyes shut with a heaving sigh. “Nothing happened, Lando. Everything’s fine.” 

“I’m sorry, but that’s a load of crap. You’re sat out here crying when you should be celebrating the biggest moment in your career, and you say everything’s fine, but those aren’t happy tears,” Lando insists. “You can talk to me. You know that. Let me help you with whatever’s wrong.” 

You open your eyes and he’s looking at you like he’s in pain, and suddenly you feel like your chest has cracked wide open. “What if the only reason I won today was because I got lucky?” 

“Don’t say that,” He says, shaking his head firmly. “C’mon, don’t talk like that. You’re being ridiculous, alright?” 

You scoff weakly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you were here to help, not bully me.” 

“This isn’t bullying, this is tough love. I wish someone would’ve had this talk with me after Miami, ‘cause I went through the same headspace you’re going through right now. What if it’s just a one off, what if I can’t live up to the brand new expectations everyone else has for me now that I’ve won a race?” 

“So you know the feeling?” 

“Yeah, I do. But you’ve got to ignore it. Whatever you think you can’t do, push it down. Lock it away and throw out the key.” 

“But what if people are right? What if this is the best I can do?” 

“When has anyone ever been right about you?” Lando asks sharply. You feel a bit taken aback at the bluntness of his question, but you bite your tongue. He’s going somewhere with this, if you just wait. “They said you wouldn’t be able to get a seat on any team, you proved them wrong. They said you’d never make it in this sport, now look at what you’ve managed to do! You’ve won the most coveted race in history, and you’re the first female driver to do it. You’re constantly smashing glass ceilings, every single day, and if anyone ever says otherwise, they don’t know you. Not like your team knows you. Not like I know you.” 

If you think back all these years, even to the very beginning of your career, Lando has always been one of your fiercest supporters, always in your corner rooting for you. Even though you’re rivals on track, off the track he’s been a fantastic friend. You’re lucky to have someone like him. 

And now, as he stands here before you, looking at you with such unwavering support and admiration, you’re whisked back to the last time you were this close to each other, mere hours ago. The only difference is, you didn’t kiss him then, but now…

Your mouth is on Lando’s before your brain even registers the movement, but even then, you can’t bring yourself to pull back. Especially not when his hands come around your waist to steady you both.

You’re kissing him and he’s kissing you back, and it’s everything you’ve imagined it would be like despite it happening outside the bathrooms of a club. 

The weight of what you’re doing dawns on you a split second later. You jerk back, eyes wide as Lando’s mouth drops into a tiny, dazed oh. 

You let go of your grip on the front of his shirt, dropping your hands back down to your sides. You aren’t sure how you can even begin to explain this one. “I’m—fuck, Lan, I’m sorry. I didn’t—” 

Lando smothers your weak excuse of an apology with a searing kiss, only this time you’re the one caught by surprise when his tongue darts out, swiping over yours expertly. 

Fuck, he’s really good at this. 

He pulls away before you can think too much on it, blinking at you slowly. “I think—” He pants, licking his lips, “I think we should leave.” 

“Your place?” 

He nods quickly. “My place.” 

You drop by where you’d left Lily and Alex to let them know you’re leaving without letting them know why you’re leaving, but judging by the not-so-subtle back and forths their eyes do between Lando and yourself, it isn’t exactly a secret. 

The constant buzzing of your phone in your purse in the car taking you back to Lando’s place is most likely Lily wanting all the details as soon as possible. 

It feels as if you can’t keep your hands off each other as you stumble down the quiet corridor after Lando, fingers interlocked as he tugs you towards his apartment. 

Every so often, he stops in his tracks, turning around to capture your lips in a quick kiss before remembering where you’re going and forging ahead again. It seems like forever until you manage to get inside with the door shut behind you. 

You’re nudged up against the back of it by one of Lando’s hands splaying flat over your torso the moment the locks click shut, the other one bracing him next to your head as he leans in, kissing you fervently. It’s messy and rushed and frantic, but you’ve both waited way too long for each other to even give a fuck. 

You thread your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, giving a testing tug at the curls. What you’re not expecting is the whine that escapes his mouth against yours, the ever so slight buckle of his knees that follows.

You freeze. 

It seems like he wasn’t expecting it either because he does the same, retreating just enough to gauge your reaction to his slip up.  

“That was cute,” You murmur, lips quirking into a smug smile. 

“Nuh uh. Not another word about it.” 

“I said it was cute!” 

“I don’t want you to think I’m cute right now, I want you to think I’m sexy.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I do think that. Like that thing you always do with your tongue when you’re thinking? Hot.” 

“Yeah?” He hums, mouth lifting into an easy smirk. You roll your eyes at him. It’s so like Lando to be flustered one moment, but able to turn on the charm in a blink. But then he hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing, and suddenly now you’re the flustered one. “You like that?” 

Your breath hitches in your chest, but you manage a nod. 

“Wanna see what else I can do with it?” 

-------

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the terrible pounding in your head. It feels like a hundred little people in your skull, banging little hammers everywhere like they’re making an attempt to escape. You want to lay in this bed and hibernate for the next three days, at least. 

The second thing you notice is that the bed you’re laying in is certainly not yours. Your duvet isn’t dark blue, and you don’t have a shelf full of helmets across the room. 

But you know who does. 

Slowly, you turn your head to the side. You pretty much already know who you’re going to see in the spot next to you, but it can’t hurt to check, right? 

The moment your gaze lands on a head full of dark curls smushed face first into the pillow and tanned skin, your suspicions are confirmed. You’re not wearing much of anything, and if you lift the duvet covering Lando, you’re sure you’ll find him in the same way. 

Everything that happened last night is starting to come back to you. 

Lando stirs right at that moment, a rather loud yawn accompanying the stretch of his long arms above his head as he rolls onto his back. 

“Hey,” You say hesitantly. Quietly. 

Apparently you aren’t quiet enough, because he startles easy, scrambling into an upright position and pulling the covers over his chest like he’s accidentally exposed himself. Once he realizes it’s you, though, he relaxes. 

“Hi,” He breathes, smiling. He seems to connect the dots about what happened at this moment, because he takes in the mess of clothes trailing from his bedroom door, then looks back at you with a furrowed brow. “So, last night…happened.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay. Do you—I mean, should we talk about it?” He lets the blankets pool back down at his waist, rubbing his eyes furiously to rid them of sleep. Your eyes skate over the marks littering his chest and neck, and it makes you think back to last night when your mouth was the one planting them there. 

“I’d kill for some breakfast first.” 

“I’ll make you something.” 

“Uh, no. The last time you cooked for me I had food poisoning for a week. I’ll handle the cooking, thank you very much.” 

Lando makes a face at you, lips screwed up into a pout. “I already said I was sorry, like, a million times! How was I meant to know the cream was expired?” 

“Expiration dates, Lando. That’s what expiration dates are for.” 

“Those are a suggestion.” 

“They’re really not,” You insist, to which Lando merely shrugs. “You’re so weird. D’you mind closing your eyes while I grab my clothes?” 

He snorts, chuckling. “Why? S’nothing I didn’t see last night.” 

“I know, but—whatever. Can you just look away?” 

“Yeah, fine. Just take my shirt though, it’ll be easier to put on.” He slaps a hand over his eyes, gesturing for you to go with the other. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you move quickly, scurrying across the room grabbing what you need before locking yourself in his en suite. 

Your hair is a mess, you’re fairly certain your breath is absolutely rank, and you’re on the verge of freaking out. Last night happened way faster than you were expecting it to, and you don’t regret it one bit, but now in the light of day and a fully sober state of mind, you’re not sure what to do next. 

But then you think about it a little more and quickly come to realize that whatever it is, whatever happens, you’re going through it together. 

You’ll cross that bridge together. 

Lando isn’t in bed anymore when you finally hype yourself up enough to reemerge, though the banging of cupboards coming from the kitchen is a clear indicator of where he’s gone. Always making such a racket, he is. 

As you work with what little food he has in the fridge (which to be honest, really isn’t much), he quietly makes two giant mugs of tea for you both. You decide eggs and toast are the safest bet. 

You’re already well attuned to where things are in this kitchen, so you don’t need much help finding what you need. Still, that doesn’t stop Lando from cozying right up behind you as you reach for something in the spice cupboard, one hand curling around your hip to thumb at the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up. 

It feels natural to accept the kiss he sneaks to the side of your neck where he’d nipped at last night, to lean back into his chest in the fleeting second his nose nuzzles in just below your ear. 

In no time, the two of you are scarfing down the food like you haven’t eaten in days. It isn’t until your plates are nearly empty that you look at each other again. 

“Are we—” 

“Do you think—” 

Both of you stop mid-sentence, giving each other matching sheepish smiles. You gesture for him to go first. 

“Is this—was this just a one off because we were drunk, or did last night mean something more?” He blurts, setting his fork down.

“What d’you want it to be?” You’re testing the waters now, putting out your feelers to see what Lando thinks of the situation. You know what you want, but whether or not he wants the same thing is a total unknown factor.

He blinks for a concerningly long amount of time, clears his throat before responding. “I want it to be whatever you want it to.” 

That doesn’t answer any of your questions. Great. 

“Same,” You decide, struggling to remain neutral. What you want to do is drag him in by the front of his jumper and kiss him again, but you’ll restrain yourself. 

“So…what would that be?” 

“Promise me no matter what, I won’t lose you.” 

“You won't. You could never lose me,” He says softly, reaching across the table to curl his fingers over yours. “Just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. I know you’re thinking.” 

You gnaw on your lip in contemplation. Well, here goes nothing. 

“We’ve worked basically our entire lives to get where we are today.” 

He bobs his head in agreement. “Sure did.” 

“So it would be selfish of us to let anything get in the way. Distract us from the main priority.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“And you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” 

Lando offers up a cheeky grin, tilting his head to one side. “Not one bit, no.” 

You roll your eyes at his sass, moving to take your plate to the sink. He intervenes before you can get far, easing the dish out of your hands in favor of intertwining your fingers. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’ll be serious now, I promise,” He insists, nodding sharply. You raise a disbelieving brow. “Look, I’ve had feelings for you since we were nineteen and didn’t know what the hell we were doing outside of racing, and ever since then, I’ve waited for the day I finally got my head out of my arse and did something about it.” 

“Is today that day?” You ask softly, only partially teasing.

“Depends on if you feel the same way,” Lando says softly. “Do you?” 

“Am I a Formula 1 winner now?” 

The smile that stretches across his face grows big enough to make his eyes squint, and he nods enthusiastically. “Fuck yeah, you are.” 

“There’s your answer then.” You drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers linking around the back of his neck loosely. “I love you, Lan.” 

He surges forward right there and then instead of using his words, connecting your lips in a second. 

Yesterday’s kisses felt like zooming towards the checkered flag mere hundredths of a second at the front of the pack, putting everything you have into crossing the line first. Fighting tooth and nail for your points, clawing your way up to the top and digging in your heels so you stay there. 

Frantic, urgent, like you’re running out of time. 

Right now is a total juxtaposition to that rush of adrenaline. 

Right now, Lando kisses you like he has all the time in the world to do it. It’s slow and sweet and more like lazy mornings in bed on an off day. Of sunshine pouring through the curtains as you gradually wake up on your own time. No plans, no training, no work. Just peace. Not something you’re used to, but definitely something you’d love to do more. 

You’re both breathless when you break apart for air. 

Lando’s still smiling hard as he studies you, that dizzyingly gorgeous swirl of the blue and green in his eyes flitting all around your face like he can’t quite believe you’re real and in front of him right now. 

“I love you too,” He says happily, grinning even bigger as the words slip off his tongue. You’re beaming just the same, so big your cheeks are starting to ache a little bit, but you don’t care. 

Finally, after years and years of telling yourself it just wasn’t your time, you’ve got the two things you’ve wanted more than anything. You’ve got your first win, and you’ve got your first love. 

Both have been beyond worth the wait. 

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[2handsslan]

when you just finished one of the most beautiful fics ever written and you see that the author has a masterlist full of other fics

[2handsslan]

oscar piastri really is the funniest motherfucker out there because wym he's had his biggest televised crashout and the next day we hear that he's signed with the same modeling agency as the hadids and alex consani

[2handsslan]

"it was a good race for oscar as well. i gotta give my credits to oscar, he was fast the whole way. so yeah, a round of applause for oscar." 🥹🫶🏻