hola53

[hola53]

P1 in World History - OP81

Oscar Piastri x Historian!Reader

summary: no one understands how Oscar suddenly dropped facts after facts on the most random historical events

based on this request (by my favorite ever)

liked by mclaren, redbullracing and 1,300,000 others

f1 🎥 Grill the Grid: High School Edition is HERE

Watch our drivers struggle with math problems, historical dates, and chemical reactions 👀

Spoiler alert: we had some surprises.

view all comments:

lando who gave oscar a cheat sheet? be honest

charles_leclerc I would like a rematch with no ancient greek questions please

yukitsunoda0511 I said “napoleon” for everything. Not my fault it worked twice.

mclaren We are also surprised. Very surprised.

redbullracing Gonna have to bring this up to the stewards 🙂‍↔️

fernandoalo_oficial finally, someone knows I was there when Caesar was stabbed

alex_albon me watching oscar answer every history and geography question with his arms crossed like he’s on who wants to be a millionaire😭

user bro oscar even corrected the quizmaster once. is he ok?

user oscar casually dropping historical facts like it’s not suspicious at all…

user i'm so glad they are f1 drivers and not doctors or something

user why did oscar answer all of that without blinking? i’m scared 💀

user nah bc that man answered “Battle of Waterloo” like it was a pop quiz at dinner. WHO ARE YOU 😩

user oscar's not real. he’s a government experiment gone rogue

user the way he SMIRKED when he got the Cold War question right?? sir who are you trying to impress 😭😭😭

user idk if i want to kiss oscar or force him to write my next essay

user charles i expected more from you

user no but Lando getting the math question was so sweet

user when max said “well technically…” I felt that in my bones.

> user he maxplained that whole video and still lost

> maxverstappen1 I want a rematch

Oscar Piastri just added to his Instagram Story

"Great read 👍"

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 757,000 others

SkySportsF1 🎤 Oscar Piastri revealed or us the secret behind all his world history knowledge:

“It just sort of happens when you date a historian. Everything becomes a lesson. She once paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism.”

View all comments:

user not me googling “how to become a historian”

user she paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism and he STAYED??? yeah he’s in love your honor

user no bc i’d explain imperialism mid-makeout if he asked 😭

user that household must be insufferable

user I too wanna monologue to Oscar during breakfast

user imagine pausing a movie to rant about colonialism and he looks at you like it’s the hottest thing ever? god i’m weak

user and he LISTENED??? he RECALLS the info??

user she taught him centuries of world history and what did he give her back? driving lessons?

user “everything becomes a lesson” sir that is the dream 😭 i want to analyze the French Revolution over dinner too

user this is what happens when you date a girl who annotates books and knows who Franz Ferdinand is

user i want what they have. and by that i mean him. and also her brain. pls.

lando so you’re telling me i lost to oscar in Grill the Grid bc his gf is smarter than everyone at McLaren combined?

> oscarpiastri: you lost because you said Napoleon invented the calendar > yourusername: to be fair… he did change the calendar. you were just off by a few emperors > lando: OH MY GOD SHE’S HERE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T QUIZ ME

alex_albon oscarpiastri she paused a movie to explain colonialism and you didn’t RUN? bro you’re in deep

> oscarpiastri: i stayed. i took notes. there was a powerpoint. > yourusername: in my defense, it was really bad colonialism. like offensively inaccurate. > user: i am obsessed with the fact that she said “bad colonialism” like it’s a genre of film > user: alex is 100% pretending he gets this rn

georgerussell63 I want to add to the conversation that just 5 minutes ago during a chat this man casually cited the Meiji Restoration.

danielricciardo nah bc when she paused the movie he just sat there?? with his mouth shut?? couldn’t be me 💀

> yourusername he nodded. he asked questions. it was adorable. > danielricciardo stop you’re going to make the rest of us look bad

mclaren Confirmed: Oscar is now banned from date night and team trivia. Unfair advantage.

user WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL IN THE COMMENTS I’D DIE

> user she’s literally explaining history and being hot about it > user no bc she called it “bad colonialism” and suddenly I need a PhD >user someone make a TikTok of her best comments, we’re documenting greatness in real time

charles_leclerc If my girlfriend taught me history i’d listen too 🥺

> alexandrasaintmleux you can't even tell me who painted the Mona Lisa > charles_leclerc I said "history" 🙄

user do you think Ferrari can hire her to do something?

> user omg what would she even do there? > user anything is better than what they have ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, lando, mclaren and 2,400,000 others

oscarpiastri Turns out there are so many good museums in England Also I now know what mercantilism is now.

view all comments

lando i want her to quiz me

charles_leclerc I refuse to learn, but i’m proud of you

georgerussell63 do you think she tutors for fun?? asking for me

alex_albon you’re literally a walking historical source

danielricciardo please ask her to explain the entire French Revolution to me in meme format

maxverstappen1 you scare me but i respect it

user THEY ARE TOURING HISTORICAL LOCATIONS 🥹🥹🥹🥹

user i know he’s got a napoleon bobblehead

user dating a historian and surviving is proof he’s the chosen one

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, mclaren and 8,150 others

yourusername He said “teach me everything” and now he can name every Cold War proxy war. Proud of my little historian-in-training. Also yes, he scored higher than some of my students on the practice quiz.📚💋

view all comments

oscarpiastri Cold War was a vibe

georgerussell63 okay but she’s intimidating in a hot way

> oscarpiastri don’t call my girlfriend hot. LEAVE. > georgerussell63 it was a compliment 😅😅😅

charles_leclerc imagine being forced to learn at dinner 😔

lando can she explain the space race to me using memes and finger puppets

> oscarpiastri are you 2??

user “cold war was a vibe” i’m IN TEARS

user she’s not just teaching him history. she’s giving him range

user whatever taylor swift said about you know how to ball i know aristotle

user i would risk it all for her to yell about the ottoman empire in my kitchen

hattiepiastri just watched him explain the industrial revolution like it was a bedtime story

kimiantonelli who even knows what happened in 1848????

> user aren’t you supposed to be learning that in school?

user is this a kink thing?

user dating a historian sounds like a trap. a sexy, educational trap.

maxverstappen1 can you prepare me for the next grill the grid?

> yourusername sure thing!! > oscarpiastri NO

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1,450,000 others

mclaren Study season. Quiz night prep. We no longer know if this is for history or Hungary GP. 🧠🏁📚

view all comments

oscarpiastri she just asked me to rank my favorite Enlightenment philosophers. it’s 10pm. i said Kant and she said “incorrect.”

> yourusername it was a trick question. you were supposed to say “you, darling” > oscarpiastri i’m logging off before I get in trouble > user I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME

lando does this mean i can’t cheat???

> oscarpiastri she said next time you cheat off me she’s quizzing you on Byzantine trade routes > lando nevermind i’m studying. i’m SCARED.

yourusername Quiz night winner gets free coffee. Loser gets a 20-minute lecture on the French Revolution.

> mclaren we are printing flashcards as we speak

alex_albon imagine prepping for Hungary and getting hit with “define the Treaty of Utrecht” over breakfast

> oscarpiastri: she did that. literally. it was before coffee.

charles_leclerc what’s happening? Why is everyone smarter now.

> georgerussell63 she’s infecting the grid with knowledge. we’re not safe > fernandoalo_oficial finally.

user this is the power of a woman who annotates books and kisses you mid-lecture

user can’t wait until one of them starts mixing up tire degradation with the fall of the Ottoman Empire

[hola53]

ppl who celebrate fictional character birthdays are annoying pass it on

[hola53]

Can I just say your write amazingly. One of my top favourite writers. I was wondering if I can request a dad lando fic where reader is like 4 or 5 and when lando dose his drive to survive interview thing he takes his baby girl and the whole crew just love her. And she gets to snap the 🎬

Lights, Camera, Action!

The Netflix crew was already buzzing around the sleek, sunlit studio set when the door creaked open, and in walked Lando—hair a bit tousled, hoodie slightly rumpled, and one hand holding onto the tiny fingers of a girl no taller than his thigh.

She peeked in first, big eyes blinking at the brightness of the room, her other hand clutching a squishy pink bunny that had clearly seen better days.

“This her?” asked the producer, grinning as he pulled off his headset and came forward.

Lando nodded proudly, crouching down to her level. “Go on, love. Say hello.”

Yn blinked at the man, then mumbled, “Hullo…” in a shy but unmistakably British accent that made three crew members audibly coo.

The producer beamed. “And what's your name, sweetheart?”

“Yn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yn, that’s beautiful,” he said, genuinely charmed. “How old are you?”

She held up five tiny fingers. Lando chuckled, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“She just turned five last month,” he said. “And she’s very excited to help Daddy today. Aren’t you, bug?”

Yn nodded shyly but clung tighter to his hoodie.

“She’s a little shy at first,” Lando told them, smoothing down the back of her hair. “But she warms up fast. Just give her a few minutes and maybe a biscuit.”

The whole crew laughed at that, already softening under the spell of the little girl with the bunny and the shy smile.

The Drive to Survive crew had seen drivers in every emotional state: victorious, furious, hungover, nervous, indifferent. But this—this was something else entirely.

One of the assistants knelt beside Yn and held out a small tray of juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies.

“Would you like a snack while Daddy does his interview?” she asked gently.

Yn looked up at Lando, and he smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, poppet. You can sit just over there and watch me if you want. Or hang with the nice lady.”

“Can I watch you?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Lando melted. He really did.

“‘Course you can. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

He helped her into a small canvas director’s chair just off camera, close enough to him that he could sneak her smiles between questions. One of the sound guys handed her a set of child-sized headphones—not plugged into anything, just for fun—and Yn lit up like it was Christmas.

“All ready?” the producer called out, watching Lando settle into his seat with an amused look.

Lando looked to Yn, gave her a wink, then turned to the camera.

“Ready when you are.”

The interview started normally.

“How does it feel being one of the more experienced drivers now, after all these seasons?”

“Old,” Lando deadpanned, and the crew laughed. “I mean, I still get carded when I try to buy wine, but I’ve been here a while now. It’s weird.”

“And now you’re not just a driver—you’re a dad.”

Lando’s whole face changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and the smile that crept across his lips was involuntary and impossible to miss.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing to the side where Yn was swinging her legs, watching quietly. “I’m a dad. And it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“What’s it like, being a single parent and a full-time F1 driver?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Like, really hard. I won’t pretend it’s easy. The schedule’s mental, the travel’s constant, and trying to make sure she has stability in all of that—it’s a lot.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lando said. “Not a second of it. That little girl is my heart walking around outside my body.”

Someone behind the camera whispered a soft “awww” and a few heads nodded.

“I try to take her with me as much as I can,” Lando continued. “Because I don’t want her to feel like I’m always gone. And she actually loves the paddock. She’s got uncles everywhere.”

The interviewer laughed. “Who’s her favorite uncle?”

Lando smirked. “Now that’s dangerous territory.”

“Come on, give us something.”

“She calls Carlos ‘Uncle Giggles,’ because he always makes her laugh. And Max taught her to say ‘chicane’ properly, which is weirdly adorable coming out of a five-year-old. But I think Charles is her favorite.”

He leaned in conspiratorially.

“He sneaks her gummy bears and lets her press buttons on the simulator when no one’s watching.”

During a short break in filming, Yn walked up to her dad and tugged on the hem of his hoodie.

“Can I sit with you now?”

Lando lifted her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap.

“She’s very well-behaved,” one of the crew members commented, watching her tuck herself comfortably into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Lando said. “She’s a bit shy, but she’s got a kind soul.”

“Do you like being on set, Yn?” someone asked her gently.

She looked up and nodded. “I like the big camera. And Daddy talks nice.”

Another wave of chuckles rippled through the crew.

“Think you could help us with something, Yn?” the producer asked.

Her eyes widened, curious. Lando looked intrigued too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” the producer said, holding up the old-school film clapper. “We usually let the talent snap the board before we roll. Think she’d like to do it?”

Lando looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, bug? Wanna help Daddy start the show?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded with an eager smile.

“Alright then!” Lando grinned and helped her down from his lap. “Go on, big moment now.”

The assistant handed Yn the clapper, and she held it in her small hands like it was a sacred treasure.

“Can you say ‘Scene One, Take Two’?” someone prompted.

She took a deep breath and in her clearest little voice said, “Scene One, Take Two!” Then she clapped the board shut with both hands.

Everyone applauded. Lando’s smile could’ve lit up the whole building.

“That was amazing,” the producer said, genuinely delighted. “You’ve got a future in film, miss.”

Yn giggled and ran back to Lando, who scooped her up with ease.

“She’s gonna be insufferable after this,” he joked, kissing the top of her head. “Hollywood’s gone straight to her head.”

Lando let Yn stay in his lap for the second half of the interview.

Her bunny rested on his thigh. She leaned against his chest, occasionally whispering questions into his hoodie like, “Why does the man ask so many questions?” and “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Yes,” Lando replied both times, the second one earning her a quick kiss on the temple.

The crew was utterly smitten. One of the camera operators whispered to the sound guy, “I’d watch an entire show just about him being a dad.”

The questions turned more personal toward the end.

“What do you hope she remembers when she’s older?”

Lando went quiet for a beat.

“I hope she remembers that I tried,” he said softly. “That I tried to give her everything. That even if I wasn’t always home, I was always hers. I hope she remembers feeling loved. Safe. Seen.”

There was a lump in the interviewer’s throat. He glanced at Yn, who was now playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie, humming quietly to herself.

“You’ve made a beautiful little human.”

Lando smiled down at her. “Yeah. She’s everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

[hola53]

HIII omg i love your work!! you lwk made me an alex albon stan (i alr love lily, she’s so iconic) with the wag x 3 fic.

i was wondering if you could please write a poly!fic but with isack hadjar and oscar piastri? i know it’s a weird pairing but they’re two of my faves. it’s ok if not!! 💗💗

mentor or more? — op81 + ih6

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x reader x isack hadjar

they were the couple no one saw coming. yn—loud, radiant, effortlessly magnetic. a globally adored model with a laugh that turned heads and a presence that owned every room she walked into. and then there was oscar—quiet, sharp, always a little awkward in interviews but impossibly endearing. somehow, the two of them just worked. they were happy. solid. untouchable. until the new season arrived—and with it, isack hadjar. fresh faced and full of ambition, isack comes looking for guidance, and oscar—ever the reluctant mentor—takes him under his wing. it is harmless. friendly. until isack discovers feelings for oscar and then lays eyes on yn and finds himself completely undone.

there’s only one problem— they only just belong to each other…right?

fc : isabelle mathers

(a/n) : omg hiiii. glad i could help bc everyone needs to be an alex albon stan. thank you for the love and i am sorry this took so long- i am behind on requests and i had to be real creative with this pairing- but i do not mind!! i like to be challenged. hope u love!! loveuuu

—

yourusername

france📍

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and 5,010,553 others.

yourusername : paris + cannes w my man before the season begins 💋

tagged : oscarpiastri

—

view 187,090 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the city of love looks great on you both! (pls stop making the rest of us look bad)

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

olliebearman : when i grow up i want to be just like oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : only 4 years older than you mate.

↳ olliebearman : still old.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

georgerussell63 : give us a travel vlog or we riot

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : was oscars mukbang with french pastries i sent not enough???

liked by georgerussell63, oscarpiastri and carmenmmundt

↳ georgerussell63 : the audience has spoken and they want MORE.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

hattiepiastri : you are sooooo hot and then there is oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : can't even argue. she is stunning.

liked by yourusername and hattiepiastri

↳ yoursername : my hattie 🥹 my oscy 🥹

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

lando : that is the face of a man who knows he is winning in life 😏

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

nicolepiastri : since oscar is about to go into full race mode and ignore me...weekly pilates where we gossip about him?

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : weekly pilates AND i will get him to call you at least once a week.

liked by nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ nicolepiastri : my god, i love you. i always wanted a daughter in law who keeps my son in line and wants to be my best friend 😘

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ hattiepiastri : one thing oscar did right

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : yet again, surprisingly not insulted. it's true.

↳ username000 : god yn's relationship with oscar's family is the cutest.

↳ username0 : did you see the video from the race where nicole hugged yn before she hugged oscar???

↳ oscarpiastri : i tend to lack importance with my family when yn is around.

liked by yourusername, hattiepiastri, username0 and nicolepiastri

—

The first Monaco morning after the off-season always hits different. The windows are cracked open, letting in the early sun and the sounds of the port—distant engines humming, boats clinking in the water, birds that clearly didn’t get the memo about your need to sleep in. But you don’t mind. Not when you’re wrapped up in his bed, limbs tangled with Oscar’s, skin still warm from sleep. He’s curled around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go—one arm under your head, the other draped lazily across your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip under the blanket.

"You awake?" he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Mmm. Kind of." You stretch against him, pressing a sleepy kiss to the underside of his jaw. "We should stay here forever."

Oscar laughs, low and soft. "Tempting. Very tempting. But I did promise I’d meet up with a new rookie today. Isack. Doing some training together—get him settled in, you know."

You blink up at him, amused. "Oscar Piastri willingly doing social interaction? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?"

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a grin. "I can be social. When absolutely necessary."

"Right. You just happen to prefer doing it in gym clothes and under the guise of cardio."

"Exactly."

You trace little circles on his chest with your finger, pretending not to notice how he shivers slightly at your touch. "Isack… that’s the...French one? Racing Bulls? Almost ran someone over with a scooter?"

Oscar chuckles. "Yep. That’s him. Kid’s fast though. And a bit chaotic, but in a good way. I think he’ll be fun to have around."

You hum in response, already picturing Oscar trying to wrangle a hyper rookie while also trying to pretend he’s not as soft as he actually is.

"What about you?" he asks, shifting so your faces are closer, nose brushing your cheek. "What’s on your Monaco agenda today?"

You grin. "Brunch with some of the girls. Carmen, Lily, maybe Kika. Haven’t seen them in ages. And we’re probably doing a little shopping after—someone said new collections dropped in that tiny boutique on Rue Grimaldi."

Oscar groans dramatically. "So I’ll come home to you with ten new bags and an ‘oops’ face."

"Exactly. Consider it my version of training for the season."

He leans in and kisses you—slow and sleepy and so full of affection it makes your chest ache. “Just don’t fall in love with a handbag while I’m out bonding with the rookie.”

You smile against his lips. “Could never love something more than you.”

“Good. That's what I like to hear.”

You giggle and pull the covers tighter around both of you for just a few more minutes of quiet before the season chaos begins.

—

You sip your oat milk latte as you walk down Rue Grimaldi, arms linked with Carmen and Lily, the three of you gliding past boutique windows like you own the place. Your sunglasses are oversized, your sneakers are overpriced, and the breeze smells like sea salt and money. Monaco in pre-season is the calm before the storm, and you’re soaking up every second of it.

“I’m just saying,” Carmen starts, pointing at a display window, “if you wear that to the paddock, Alex is going to crash into the pit wall.”

Lily snorts beside you. “He is going to crash anyway, but sure. Let’s blame the dress.”

You laugh, taking another sip of your coffee. “You two are menaces.”

“And yet,” Carmen says sweetly, “you are friends with us.”

You chuckle and the three of you walk into the boutique. Inside, the boutique smells like fresh leather and delicate perfume. You let your fingers skim over silk dresses and tweed jackets, the kind of pieces that look like they belong in a Vogue editorial—not an F1 paddock. But Carmen’s already in the back holding up shoes that could kill a man, and Lily’s trying on sunglasses in the mirror like she’s about to walk a red carpet.

You snap a few mirror selfies, mostly for yourself, but you know Instagram will get them later. The three of you float from rack to rack, gossiping, laughing, indulging. It feels easy. Familiar. Normal in the way your life never used to be, and yet somehow is now. There’s brunch after, on a little terrace tucked away from the main street. You order fruit and flaky croissants and something bubbly. Lily tells a story that has Carmen spitting orange juice, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in sunlight and friendship. You’re happy. Settled. Loved. What you don’t know—what you can’t know—is that across the city, your boyfriend is meeting someone who’s about to turn all of that upside down.

—

third person pov

Oscar had almost forgotten how loud training facilities could be when rookies were involved. He spotted Isack immediately—chatting animatedly with one of the trainers, all restless energy and too big ambition packed into a very fast, young driver.

“Piastri!” Isack called the second he noticed him, practically jogging over. “Hey, man. Thanks for doing this.”

Oscar raised a brow, amused. “Didn’t know I had a choice.”

Isack laughed, and Oscar noted the nervous edge to it. The kid was eager—not in a bad way. Just... hungry. The kind of energy Oscar remembered having himself not too long ago.

“Seriously, I appreciate it,” Isack continued. “It’s been... a bit overwhelming. Everyone’s either too busy or too intimidating.”

Oscar handed him a water bottle. “You’ll get used to it. The key is pretending like you belong until you actually do.”

“Fake it till you make it?”

“Exactly. And don’t crash. That helps too.”

Isack laughed again, this time looser. “Noted.”

They began the session with light drills, a bit of cardio, some quick coordination work. Isack was fast, sharp, and relentlessly chatty, peppering Oscar with questions about car setups, simulator quirks, and pre-race routines. Eventually, during a break, Oscar leaned back against a bench and took a sip of water.

“So,” Isack said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You live in Monaco with your girlfriend, right?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

Isack gave him a look that was half curiosity, half admiration. “She’s the model, right? YN?”

Oscar smirked. “That’s her.”

Isack let out a low whistle, eyes wide. “Damn. She’s... she’s amazing.”

Oscar chuckled, not unkindly. “Yeah. She is.”

And that was it—just a comment. Harmless. But something flickered behind Isack’s eyes. Something curious. Something that hadn’t quite formed yet, but would. And Oscar—cool, composed, always two steps ahead—missed it completely.

—

your pov (2nd)

By the time you get back to the apartment, the sun has dipped low enough that the buildings outside are tinted pink and gold, and your heels are in your hand because you gave up on the idea of suffering five minutes ago. You open the door with your hip, already smiling.

“Oscar?” you call out, voice echoing softly down the hallway.

“In the kitchen!” comes the reply, muffled, cheerful, followed by the sound of cabinets opening and closing in that way he insists is not chaotic.

You kick off your shoes fully, drop your bags in the entryway, and pad in barefoot, finding him exactly as expected-in a McLaren hoodie, socks half off his feet, hair slightly messy from wherever he flopped earlier. He’s standing in front of the fridge like he’s forgotten why he opened it. He turns when he sees you, face brightening instantly.

“There’s my favorite person.”

“You say that,” you grin, walking over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “but you haven’t even asked about my day yet.”

“I’m just assuming it was amazing because you were in it,” he says, smug, before wrapping his arms lazily around your waist. “Was it?”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Carmen and Lily are a terrible influence. I bought a pair of shoes that might require their own seat on the flight to Australia.”

He laughs, pulling back slightly to look at you. “How much damage did you do?”

“Enough to boost the economy.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds necessary,” you shoot back.

You move over to sit on the couch as he grabs two glasses of water, joining you a moment later and kicking his legs up beside you like he hasn’t trained all afternoon. You take one look at him and raise an eyebrow.

“You look like someone who ran five miles and answered rookie questions for three hours straight.”

Oscar groans. “Pretty much. He is quite special.”

Your interest immediately piques. “Oh?”

He nods, passing you the glass. “Kid’s fast. Like… Max-level fast. And talks more than Lando after too many Monsters. But he’s cool. I think he’s nervous, but in a charming, I have no filter way.”

You take a sip, smirking. “You made a new friend.”

Oscar frowns dramatically. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

He nudges your knee with his. “He asked about you, by the way.”

You glance over, surprised. “Me?”

Oscar shrugs, casual. “Yeah. Just asked if you were the model. I said yeah, that’s her. He looked kind of stunned.”

You laugh softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

Oscar grins, leaning back. “Yeah, enjoy it now. Wait until he sees you in person. He might short circuit.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just preparing myself for the moment my girlfriend becomes a rookie’s emotional support fantasy.”

You chuckle, eyes fluttering shut. “If he’s anything like you were your rookie year, he’ll be too busy trying not to throw up before races to flirt with anyone.”

Oscar hums thoughtfully. “Fair point.”

You both fall into a quiet, comfortable silence after that. Outside, Monaco glows. Inside, it’s just the two of you—legs tangled, matching heartbeats, the season creeping closer by the minute. And somewhere in the distance, fate takes one small step forward.

—

several weeks later...aus gp...rewriting history bc in my mind osc won his home race (im delulu)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, isackhadjar and 7,001,008 others.

yourusername : oscar doubted me when i told him that i bought new heels bc the universe said he was gonna win his home race if i bought them...he made fun of me...but he won and i looked great in the heels. never underestimate the power of a good shoe. also i love australia.

tagged : nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and lando

—

view 227,030 other comments.

oscarpiastri : okay fine. i’ll never question the shoe gods again.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mhm mhm that's what i thought piastri.

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : how about i buy you 5 new pairs to make up for it?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : deal.

nicolepiastri : australia LOVES you. i missed you so much, my pretty girl.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you moreeee

lando : can you tell the shoe gods that lando needs help too?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : shoe gods say no...unless you buy me a pair.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : ...what size are you?

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

franciscagomes : goddess. kiss me.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : on my way!!

liked by franciscagomes

hattiepiastri : the way that oscar literally did nothing to deserve your level of beauty is insane. so fun to see you sista:)

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you to the moon and back hattieeeee

isackhadjar : it is insane how beautiful you are in person. so nice to meet you, yn!

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

↳ yourusername : haha thank youuu. it was nice to finally meet the man who has been stealing my bf from me;)

liked by oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

third person pov

The hospitality suite buzzed with the usual pre-session tension, engineers huddled over screens, press staff darting between schedules. Outside, the sun was bright but not yet cruel, and the paddock was alive with noise—fans cheering just beyond the fences, radio chatter filling the air, tires squealing softly as cars rolled out of garages. Oscar and Isack were tucked away on a low couch in a shaded corner near the back, both of them in their race suits, helmets resting on the floor like sleeping animals. They had been hanging out a lot lately. More than Oscar probably realized. Training sessions, video games back at the hotel, quiet dinners when everyone else scattered after briefings. It had started as a mentor-rookie thing. Now, it was something else—something easier. Something closer. And yet, for the past few days, Isack had felt… off. He couldn’t quite name it. Not out loud.

Oscar nudged him with a water bottle. “You look like you’re buffering.”

Isack blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve just been staring at the garage for like two minutes,” Oscar said, smiling faintly. “You okay?”

“Oh—yeah. Just zoned out.”

He wasn’t lying, not really. He had zoned out, mostly because Oscar was leaning back against the wall, hair still slightly messy from his helmet fitting, eyes bright and full of that quiet determination Isack was beginning to know all too well. And that was the problem. Because lately, when Oscar smiled at him like that, Isack felt his chest tighten. Not in the normal, adrenaline fueled way. In the oh shit I’m not supposed to think that way.

Desperate to shake it off, he cleared his throat. “Where’s YN? Looking forward to meeting her.”

Oscar glanced up from the schedule in his hand. “Pilates class with my mum,” he said, voice casual. “Something about grounding her nervous system before the season starts.”

Isack blinked. “With your mum?”

Oscar laughed. “Yeah, they’re close. She loves YN more than me, I think. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s coming with mum and my sisters.”

“Oh.” Isack looked away quickly, a little too quickly. “Cool. That’s… cool.”

Oscar reached down to grab his gloves, then looked over again, brow furrowed slightly. “You sure you’re good?”

Isack nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just hungry, probably.”

Oscar didn’t push. Just stood and offered a hand to pull him up, his grip firm, warm, grounding. The kind of touch that made Isack’s heart stutter a little too sharply in his chest. He let go as fast as he could without it looking weird. Oscar slung his towel over his shoulder and started toward the garage, talking about the car setup, something about corner exit speeds and throttle response. Isack heard every word—and none of them.

His brain was stuck on one thing- YN. And Oscar. And them.

He’d barely met her, had only seen her on Oscar’s phone screen. But she was magnetic—gorgeous, smart, somehow both intimidating and welcoming all at once. And now she was in Pilates with Oscar’s mum, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t just dating. They were entwined. And he liked them both. Not just liked—he felt something. The kind of something that made his chest ache and his thoughts scatter. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Oscar turned back, grinning, the sun hitting his cheek just right. “Come on, rookie. Try not to crash into the wall this time.”

Isack forced a laugh and jogged to catch up. “No promises.”

But as they disappeared down the paddock tunnel together, something in his chest twisted—equal parts awe and confusion, affection and panic. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a crush. It was two.

—

2nd pov

You arrive with the sun at your back and Oscar’s sisters clinging to both arms, talking a mile a minute about anything that comes to their minds. Nicole walks ahead with purpose, sunglasses on, carrying a huge cardboard cutout of Oscar's face, her protective energy leading the way through the paddock like she’s still half in mum mode, half in PR mode. You love being here—at the first race, in Oscar’s home country, surrounded by the buzz of something about to begin. The nerves haven’t hit yet, not properly. For now, there’s just warmth and momentum. You adjust your sunglasses and exhale, soft and content. And then you see him. Isack.

He’s standing just outside the McLaren garage next to Oscar, shorter frame half casual in his suit, towel slung over one shoulder. He looks distracted at first—until Oscar nudges him and the two of them begin walking toward you. You’ve seen photos. Heard stories. Watched him ramble his way through press duties with a charm that’s either accidental or scarily calculated. But in person, he’s different. Softer. Quieter in the face. There’s something curious in the way he looks at the world. In the way he looks at you.

Oscar grins and slides a hand around your waist without even thinking. “YN, this is Isack. Rookie. Bit of a menace. You’ll like him.”

You step forward slightly and offer him a smile, already amused by the boyish hesitation flickering behind his eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you, Isack,” you say, your voice warmer than you intend. “Oscar’s told me a lot.”

He stares for half a second too long before blinking out of it. “Only the good stuff, I hope?”

You drop your sunglasses just enough to meet his eyes. They’re brighter than you expected—like he hasn’t quite learned how to hide what he’s feeling.

You smile, slow and honest. “The very good stuff.”

Oscar gives your hip a gentle squeeze, grounding you. And still—still—you feel Isack’s gaze lingering.

It’s not creepy. Not even bold. It’s quiet, observant, almost reverent in a way you’re not used to. You’ve been around drivers for years—used to cockiness, confidence, bravado. Isack is none of that. Or maybe he is, just not with you. And that unsettles you more than it should. Oscar’s joking again—something about Isack being a fanboy—and you laugh, leaning into him, chin on his shoulder for a second. But you feel it. That tension in the air. That something.

And when you glance back toward Isack, you catch him looking again. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment. Like he knows he shouldn't be thinking what he’s thinking. And, god, part of you is thinking it too. Just for a second. You shake it off. Smile wider. Turn back to the girls and let Oscar lead you toward the garage. But the impression lingers. Like the heat of someone else’s stare clinging to your skin.

—

You’re wandering. Oscar’s still caught in media debriefs, and you’re killing time before dinner, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, sneakers scuffing along the pavement as the sun starts to dip behind the paddock buildings. The air smells like rubber and champagne residue, like adrenaline that hasn’t quite settled. And then you hear it—footsteps behind you, a shuffle, a clearing throat. You glance back. It’s him. Isack.

He’s changed out of his suit, hair still damp from the shower, black t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, backpack half-zipped over one side. He looks surprised to see you—but not in a bad way. Just caught off guard.

“Hey,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you.”

You smile, casually slowing your pace so he can fall into step beside you. “Oscar’s still stuck with media. I’m avoiding fluorescent lighting until absolutely necessary.”

He laughs softly, glancing sideways. “You look different out here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Out here?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “I mean—not in the paddock. Less cameras. More… real?”

“Is that your polite way of saying I looked intimidating earlier?”

“No,” he says quickly, then grins. “Okay—yeah. A little. You walked in like you owned the place.”

“I walk like that everywhere,” you tease.

And he looks at you again—really looks. Like he's searching for something beneath the joke. There’s a pause, too long to be friendly, too quiet to be normal.

“Isack,” you say, breaking the silence, “are you always this intense with people you’ve known for two days?”

He flushes, just slightly. “Not usually.”

You don’t know what possesses you to say it, but you do—soft, playful, and just a little dangerous.

“Must be something in the air, then.”

Another pause. Another look. And then—

“I think you’re kind of incredible,” he says, quiet, like it’s a secret he didn’t mean to tell out loud.

You stop walking. Just for a beat. Not because you’re shocked—but because of how genuine it sounds. Like he doesn’t even want anything from you. Like he’s just saying it.

You meet his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he replies, steady now. Bolder.

The tension curls between you like a wire pulled taut. And somewhere deep in your chest, you feel the twist of it, the ache of curiosity you’re trying hard to ignore. But it’s there. And it’s growing.

You break the moment with a smile—cool, composed, the way you’ve trained yourself to be. “You’re trouble, Hadjar.”

He shrugs, smirking faintly. “Only on weekends.”

You walk away before either of you can say anything else. But you feel him behind you. Still watching. Still wondering. And the worst part? You are too.

—

You’ve been flying for two hours, and Oscar is asleep. Not just half-asleep, either—fully knocked out, mouth slightly open, arms crossed like he’s trying to convince himself he didn’t lose consciousness mid-movie. You glance over your shoulder from your seat, already biting back a grin. The in flight light above him glows soft against the corner of his jaw, casting him in a kind of peaceful shadow. You’ll tease him about this later. You always do.

Isack chuckles from the seat across the aisle. “Out cold?”

You nod. “He made it exactly 27 minutes into Heat before he gave up. Record breaking, honestly.”

You turn back around, letting your head fall gently against the plush leather of the seat. Your legs are tucked beneath you, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning your frame, headphones still tangled in your lap even though your playlist ended twenty minutes ago. Across from you, Isack shifts. Not fidgety—just restless in the way of buzzing with energy and nowhere to put it. He has one AirPod in, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t played anything for a while either. He’s been stealing glances at you ever since Oscar fell asleep. And you haven’t stopped noticing.

It’s not weird. Not really. You’ve spent the past month getting closer. Training days. Dinners. Stolen jokes in the paddock while Oscar gave interviews. You three have become a unit—something unspoken and unlabelled. Something tight-knit. But it’s also not not weird. Because sometimes, Isack looks at you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. And other times, you catch yourself looking back. Right now is one of those times.

“You ever get tired of traveling?” he asks suddenly, voice low.

You blink yourself out of the haze. “Of planes or of never really being anywhere?”

“Both,” he says, eyes soft but serious.

You think about it. “Sometimes. It feels like living in between places, you know? Like you’re always packing a suitcase, but never fully unpacking one.”

Isack nods slowly. “Exactly.”

You shift a little in your seat, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “But then… there are moments like this. Where it’s quiet. Where everything slows down.”

He’s looking at you again. Like you’re saying something important even if you’re not.

“You make the in between feel kind of… okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s the kind of thing you should laugh off. The kind of thing that should sound like a compliment and nothing more. But it lands heavier than that. Like he meant it more than you were supposed to hear. You glance back toward Oscar. Still asleep. Still peaceful.

And then—“You’ve gotten close to him lately,” you murmur, eyes on Isack now.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow, inviting more. You’re not sure why.

“He’s... calm,” Isack says. “In a way that makes you want to be better. Not louder. Just… better.”

You nod, understanding in your chest like a pulse. “Yeah. He does that.”

Silence settles again. But this time it’s not awkward. It’s charged. And when you meet his eyes again, something shifts. There’s something fragile and curious hanging between the two of you, held together by the sound of the engines and the soft rhythm of Oscar’s breathing. Not quite guilt. Not quite tension. Something else. Something like possibility. You’re the one who breaks the stare first, heart hammering a little too loud in your chest. You tug your hoodie sleeve over your fingers and look down at your hands.

“We’re landing in about an hour,” you say.

Isack doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything right away. And then—

“Okay,” he says. But it’s not just an answer. It’s full of things unspoken.

Things that won’t stay quiet for much longer.

—

yourusername

liked by isackhadjar, oscarpiastri, lando and 9,997,005 others.

yourusername : spain just got an oscar piastri masterclass

tagged : oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

view 425,003 other comments.

username000 : everyone say thank you, oscar. and also… hello, isack?

oscarpiastri : the pre-race kisses from someone as beautiful as you really tends to help

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : kissing is banned from the garage. oscar cannot win anymore.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : did you even talk to the shoe gods after i bought you those manolos???

↳ yourusername : you won monaco, did you not?

liked by lando

↳ lando : good point. ok. proceed. not in front of me tho.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

nicolepiastri : my favorite chaos. my babies

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

isackhadjar : photo credits for the boat pics??

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : oh yes my b. isack is now my professional photographer everyone ;)

liked by oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

Oscar’s still flushed from the podium. Gold champagne dried into his collarbones, hair messy from the cap, medal still in his backpack. You barely made it through the hotel room door before he had his hands on you. Before he kissed you like the win still hadn’t fully hit him — like he needed you to ground it. To feel it. To come down from it. His mouth is on your neck now, slow and warm. His hands memorizing your waist like he hasn’t touched you a thousand times before. Your shirt is somewhere on the floor. His is tugged up and bunched under your palms, and the laugh that leaves his mouth when you whisper something smug. You pull him down on top of you, tangled in the hotel sheets, everything a blur of skin and warmth and wanting. It’s not rushed. It’s crackling. That kind of need that comes after months of tension and three back-to-back podiums and one long plane ride where you didn’t touch once. Oscar kisses you like he’s starving. You’re about to slip your hands into his waistband when the door opens. Not knocked. Not warned. Just… opened. You don’t register it at first. You think it’s room service. Or housekeeping. Or maybe your head’s just too foggy to care. But Oscar freezes. You glance over your shoulder. Isack.

He’s standing in the doorway, a bottle of champagne in one hand, wide-eyed, stunned, and completely silent. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something—anything—but he doesn’t. He just stares. At Oscar’s hand on your hip. At your lips, kiss-bruised and parted. At the space between your bodies — charged, half-naked, completely unbothered. You should panic. But you don’t. You just stare back. And something about the way he doesn’t look away — something in the way he’s still there, not leaving — twists deep in your stomach. Oscar looks at you, then at Isack, then back at you again. Waiting. Reading. Wanting. You reach down slowly, tracing your fingers up Oscar’s chest, your gaze still locked on the boy in the doorway.

“Are you just going to stand there,” you ask softly, voice like velvet, “or are you going to come in?”

Isack doesn’t move. Not at first. But then— He does. One step inside. Then another. The door doesn’t close. Oscar’s hand finds your thigh again. Yours slides to the waistband of his sweatpants. Isack lingers at the edge of the room, like if he breathes too loud he’ll wake up from something. You sit up slightly, hair falling down your back, pulse hammering behind your ribs.

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “But if you want to…”

Isack’s eyes flick from your mouth to your hands to Oscar, who is watching him now with a look that borders on something between challenge and invitation.

“I—” he starts.

Then stops.

You tilt your head. “You trust us, don’t you?”

His breath catches. “Yeah.”

Oscar nods once, his voice calm but electric. “Then come here.”

And just like that, the space between you vanishes. Not hesitation. Not shame. Just three people— buzzing with want, burning with something unspoken, and no longer pretending it isn’t there.

—

The first light of dawn slips through the curtains, casting gentle gold stripes across the room. You stir awake to the steady rhythm of two sets of breathing—Oscar’s arm draped protectively around you, and Isack lying just a little apart, eyes closed but peaceful. The quiet morning feels like a warm, soft blanket after the intensity of last night. Careful not to wake Oscar, you slip out of his embrace and move toward Isack. His eyes open the moment you settle beside him.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He blinks, shyly smiling. “Morning, YN.”

For a long moment, you both sit in silence, the comfort of each other’s presence filling the space. Then he speaks, voice low and sincere.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it last night,” Isack admits, eyes searching yours with nervous honesty. “But... I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. About you.”

Your chest tightens with warmth.

“It’s not just the moment, or the surprise of last night,” he continues steadily. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you care. I’ve admired you from afar, but being here... like this... it feels right.”

You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Isack... that means more than you know.”

He swallows and smiles, the kind of smile that lights up his whole face. “I was scared I’d mess it up, or that it was just a fantasy. But now... I want to see where this goes. With you. With Oscar too.”

Your heart swells at his honesty. This isn’t just a fleeting moment—it’s real. Messy, complicated, but beautiful. Oscar stirs then, rubbing his eyes, his gaze falling on you both. His smile is soft and knowing. “Morning, loves.”

You lean back between them, feeling the steady warmth of two people who fit perfectly with you.

“Good morning,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around them both. “Let’s figure this out together.”

Oscar stretches and grins. “So… I take it last night wasn’t just about the champagne and celebration?”

Isack chuckles nervously. “Definitely not.”

You smile, warmth spreading inside you. “We all surprised each other, didn’t we?”

Oscar’s gaze turns gentle but serious. “I want to be sure this is what we all want. It’s new for me, but I’m willing to try if you both are.”

Isack reaches out, taking Oscar’s hand. “I’m in. I don’t want to lose what we started.”

You squeeze both their hands. “Me too. I think this could be something really special.”

Oscar leans in, forehead resting against yours. “We’ll take it one day at a time. No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the moment and the quiet promise of something real and new. “One day at a time sounds perfect.”

Isack’s smile brightens. “This might just be the best race I’ve ever been part of.”

The three of you laugh softly, a laughter full of hope and tenderness. Together, in the soft morning light, you begin writing the first chapter of your story.

—

It wasn’t planned—none of this ever really was. But somehow, that made it better. Oscar had mentioned it offhand, leaning over the kitchen counter that morning with his hair still wet from the shower. “There’s this island off the coast. McLaren used it once for a shoot. Barely anyone knows about it. We could go.”

You’d looked at Isack, who was already perking up. “A secret island?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “You’re joking.”

Oscar grinned. “Completely serious. Private beach. No media. Just us.”

And just like that, you were packing sunscreen and a couple of towels, grabbing whatever food you could find and piling into a small rented boat. The sea was glassy and blue, the sun already high, and Isack leaned against you the whole ride, humming softly to the playlist Oscar had thrown on.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it felt like another world. The island was wild and quiet—nothing but dunes, stone, and open sky. Oscar dropped the bags onto the beach with a satisfied sigh.

“Told you it was real,” he said, casting you both a smug look.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. You win.”

Isack was already barefoot, running up the slope toward the ruins like a kid. “This place looks like something out of a dream,” he called over his shoulder.

You spent the day tangled up in each other. Exploring barefoot along the cliffs, your hand in Oscar’s while Isack lagged behind, taking photos of the way your fingers fit so easily together. He caught up to you eventually, sliding his arm around your waist as you both leaned into Oscar’s side, three shadows falling across the rocks in the warm afternoon light. At one point, you all ended up lying on a blanket that Oscar had miraculously remembered to bring. Isack was curled against your side, his head on your stomach, while Oscar laid beside you, feeding you grapes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, laughing as he popped another one into your mouth.

He grinned. “Say that again after I feed you strawberries later.”

Isack groaned. “God, I’m third wheeling the softest couple.”

You looked down at him with a teasing smile. “You’re literally cuddling us, Isack."

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, grinning up at you, “that doesn’t mean I’m not dramatic.”

When the sun began to dip low, painting the sea in orange and gold, you all swam in the shallows—laughing, shouting, splashing each other until your cheeks ached. Oscar launched Isack into the water at least three times- you tried to help him retaliate, only to be swept up in the chaos, soaked and breathless. By the time the sky faded into pink, the three of you were wrapped in oversized towels, perched against the old stone wall of the villa ruins. Your legs tangled with theirs. Oscar’s fingers laced through yours. Isack nestled on Oscar’s lap, absently drawing circles on your knee.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a really long time,” Isack said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind.

You glanced at him, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Me too.”

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wish we could freeze this moment.”

You smiled. “Who says we can’t come back?”

Isack tilted his head, giving you a sleepy, sun-warmed smile. “Yeah... we should make it our spot.”

“Our island,” Oscar added.

“Ours,” you echoed.

And in that soft hush of a Spanish sunset, with the waves below and the warmth of their bodies around you, you felt something settle—something whole and terrifying and beautiful. Whatever this was, it was real. And it was yours.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar, nicolepiastri and 7,771,025 others.

oscarpiastri : my girlfriend and i found a boyfriend:)

tagged : yourusername and isackhadjar

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[hola53]

Dali, yunnan province of china (photo by 爱旅行的晓秋，Yiklla)

[hola53]

HEAR ME OUT percy jackson x reader

Reader being who the daughter of the moon goddess Selene and yknow how the seas and waves are kinda like controlled by the moon imagin that as percy x reader

I. AM. HEARING. YOU!!

no bcs I freaking LOVE the moon (that's why I scratched 'sun' in the lyrics of Dominic Fike's sunburn on my pinned post and replaced it with 'moon')

I always say I'm Artemis' forbidden daughter bcs I lover her and the moon

I know that that sounds so stupid bcs she's a maiden goddess which is why I keep saying 'forbidden daughter' but it sounds like I don't know anything abt the riordanverse when I do (I know alot abt it)

but I say I'm Hermes' daughter cause then Connor would be my brother and I'm very much obsessed with him so...

anyways I LOVE this request!!

I'ma stop ranting now, hope the fic is okay

⋆༺.☽˚⋆⚝︎˚⭑ִֶָ.༻⋆⋆༺.☽˚.⋆⚝⋆︎˚⭑ִֶָ.༻⋆

THE MOON AND THE SEA

Percy Jackson x Selene!Reader

The moon and the sea.

A beautiful combination.

Both breathtaking on their own, but divine when they're together.

Maybe that's why you and Percy match so well.

You rely on each other like the moon relays on the waves of the ocean.

Percy makes you shine like when the light of the moon hits the blue sea so perfectly.

No matter how bad the situation was.

It would always be the moon and the sea.

Always you and Percy.

Right now, you sat by the sea, just taking in the sight, when your own sea decided to join you.

"Hey, Moon." Moon. The nickname Percy decided to give you back when you were still fourteen.

You smiled at him, and he swore that you looked better than Aphrodite with the way the moonlight hit your skin so perfectly.

The way he looked at you, with those sea colored eyes you could just drown in.

And honestly, you wouldn't complain if you did.

"Think you could use some company?" He asks you. "I wouldn't be completely against it." You respond.

"That's good." Percy decided, siiting down next to you. You both just sat there in silent, admiring the view infront of you.

"I think the moon and the sea go really well together." Percy then speaks up. "Yeah?" "Yeah. Don't you think? I mean I feel like they're btoh good for each other. Bring out the best in each other." He continued.

"Mhm." You hummed in agreement before speaking again. "They rely on each other in the best way possible." The son of Poseidon had to smile. "Exactly."

"They're perfect for each other." Percy's hand slowly started moving closer to yours, and when you saw what he was doing, you let your own hand meet his halfway.

Percy's body relaxed once your fingers intertwined.

"I feel like.. when the sun goes down, the sea is all alone. Alone in the drakness.. But then the moon shows up, and the sea has never felt better when the light of the moon hits him with all his attention. When they're alone together, at peace.. it's like the sun never has to come up again.."

Percy's words made your heart race. Your eyes sparkled like a thousand stars. Stars only he could make you see.

Percy turned to you. "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

I. love. you.

That's what it meant.

Poeticly, 'the moon is beautiful' means 'I love you'.

And The son of the sea god had just declared his love for the moon goddess in the best way possible.

With the most beautiful words, in the moonlight at the see, all alone together, at peace, without anyone interrupting like the sun interupts the moon and the sea.

"So is the sea." You respond as you stared deeply into his eyes. This time, you drowned in the reflection of yourself.

His sea colored eyes reflected your beauty like the ocean water reflects the beauty of the moon the way he sees it, so she knew how much he adored her.

Percy's lips twitched up a bit as he dared scoot closer to you. His hand came up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, getting lost in your eyes.

They really did sparkle like the stars.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Guess they're better together.." He wishpers.

"Amazing together."

And with that, Percy's lips finally met yours.

His heart raced harder then the waves of the wildest sea.

The sea god's son swore he was gonna melt in a puddle of water so he could join the other waves and just stare up at the beauty of the moon forever.

And he wouldn't even complain.

You had never felt better as you and Percy kissed in the darkness of the night.

Due the intesity of your feelings, the waves started crashing harder, the moonlight became brighter, falling right on you and Percy's figures.

Controlling your powers while feeling like this was something you needd to work on. Not that you wre coplaining.

The sight was divine.

Your hand rested on his chest, his hands held your face carefully, as if he was scared you'd break.

"I don't want the sun to come up." He wishpers against your lips. "Me neither." So your lips met again.

Over and over again like the waves that kept crashing into the ocean shore.

When you finally pulled away, you let your lips linger before your foreheads rested against each others.

"I love you." He wishpered to you.

"I love you too." You wishper back.

That night, you and Percy stayed at the beach, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, just watching the view.

Maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

How it should be.

The moon and the sea.

You and Percy.

tried to be cute but I think it might be a little cringe hope it's okay..

[hola53]

IM SO SORRY THIS IS A LONG REQUEST BUT MY BRAIN NEEDS IT

can you PLEEEASEEE do one where reader and bakugou are parents and they have two teenagers, both being girls. Reader and bakugou find out that the older one did "the deed" with her boyfriend in the house when they werent home (they found out bc reader's motherly instincts made her check the house cams for some reason) and the reader grew up in an abusive household so its hard for her to hold herself back physically, but she knows its wrong but she usually gets blindsided by rage. she and bakugou are home before their kids and thats when they find out and as soon as they get home reader is FUMING so bakugou's letting her yell n stuff but then the teenage girl says something very hurtful and bakugou has to physically hold reader back and help her come to her senses. like he tells their daughter to go to her room so he can deal with reader, and then they handle it together, sternly but calmly.

And then at the end can you do where reader goes to bed and bakugou goes back into their daughter's room and shows his real reaction, cuz he's also really mad and also mad for how she spoke to reader so he just grills her and tells her to apologize first thing in the morning, hes not yelling but you can tell he's raging. he says something to leave it on an okay note and once he gets back in bed reader's half asleep and he tells her not to worry and they cuddle RAHHH

House Rules

The house was quiet when you got home.

Too quiet.

You stood in the doorway, your keys still in hand, something sharp prickling under your skin. That unsettling weight in your chest told you something wasn’t right. Katsuki shut the door behind you, tossing his keys in the bowl near the entrance.

“You good?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you walked into the living room, set your bag down, and grabbed your phone. A voice inside you was screaming. Mother’s intuition—no, it was more than that. Something primal. Something heavy.

You opened the security app and pulled up the camera footage from yesterday.

“…Babe,” Katsuki said, watching your face shift.

Then you saw it. Your oldest daughter. Her boyfriend. On the damn couch.

Your jaw tightened. Your grip on the phone turned white-knuckled.

“In our house?” you whispered. Your vision tunneled. You stood abruptly. “IN OUR HOUSE?”

Katsuki moved fast, hand on your arm. “Hey—breathe.”

But you were already pacing, a storm ready to crack wide open.

“I knew it. I had a feeling. My gut was screaming at me and I didn’t—I should’ve checked sooner!” You slammed your hand against the counter. “She disrespected me. She disrespected us. In our home, Katsuki. That’s not something I can just—”

You stopped. Your heart was racing. Chest heaving. And for a second, the fury inside of you scared you more than anything your daughter did.

“I can’t—” Your hands shook. “I don’t want to be my mother.”

Katsuki gently took your wrist, grounding you. “You’re not,” he said simply. “You’re not her. You’re angry, yeah. You got every right to be. But you’re not her.”

You swallowed hard. The front door clicked open.

Laughter. Backpacks thudding. Your daughter’s voice called out, “We’re home!”

She walked into the kitchen with her younger sister trailing behind, only to freeze when she saw your face.

“What?” she asked, brows knitting together. “Why’re you looking at me like that—”

“You had sex. In this house.” your voice cracked like thunder, sharp and shaking. “On the couch, [Daughter’s Name]. With your boyfriend. While we weren’t even home—”

“Okay, chill, it’s not that big a deal—”

“Not that big a deal?” You advanced, your voice rising with each word. “You are sixteen. I don’t care how ‘grown’ you think you are—you don’t do that here. Not in my house. Not under my roof. Not after the hell I survived to give you a safe home where you didn’t have to be scared of what your parents would do—!”

“Oh my god,” she cut you off, eyes hard. “You act like this is about you. Maybe if you weren’t so crazy all the time, people would tell you things before they happen!”

Everything inside of you went still.

You didn’t realize how fast you moved until Katsuki caught you, both arms wrapped tight around your middle, holding you back.

“Go to your room,” Katsuki growled at her, voice low, dangerous.

She looked between you both, eyes flicking from your seething rage to the iron-clad tension in Katsuki’s jaw.

“…Fine,” she muttered, then stormed down the hall and slammed her door.

You were shaking so hard it hurt. Katsuki turned you around in his arms, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other rubbing firm circles into your back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Breathe with me, come on.”

You clung to his shirt, silent tears burning your eyes. “I don’t want to hit my kids. I don’t want to be her.”

“You didn’t. And you won’t.” His voice was calm, but you could hear the undercurrent of fury held back behind his teeth. “You’re breaking the cycle, babe. Even now. Especially now.”

You nodded slowly against his chest, heart still racing but no longer spiraling.

“Let’s sit,” he said gently, guiding you to the couch—not the one from the footage, thank god. “We’ll talk to her. Together. Later.”

---

That night, you were the first to crawl into bed. The weight of it all pressed on your chest, but you were so emotionally spent that you dozed off almost instantly. The last thing you remembered was the bed dipping beside you.

But Katsuki didn’t sleep yet.

He stood outside her bedroom door, knocking once before walking in.

His daughter sat cross-legged on her bed, arms folded tight.

“Is Mom okay?” she asked quietly, guilt lacing her voice now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“She’ll be fine,” Katsuki said, shutting the door behind him. “But you crossed a fuckin’ line today. And you know it.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You don’t talk to your mother like that. Ever. You think she’s overreacting? Good. That means she cares. You wanna act grown? You better own what you did. Because pulling that shit in our house—and then throwing her trauma in her face? You’re lucky I’m not yelling right now.”

His voice was steady. Controlled. But there was fire in his eyes, and she knew it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re sayin’ that to the wrong person,” he snapped. “Tomorrow morning, you get your ass out of bed and apologize to her first thing. And you don’t ever speak to her that way again, you hear me?”

She nodded, eyes low.

“I love you. But if you think I won’t come down harder than her, think again. You messed up.”

“…I know.”

He stared at her a second longer, then sighed through his nose. “Get some sleep.”

He turned to leave, pausing at the door.

“You’re lucky she kept herself in check. She’s stronger than you’ll ever understand.”

---

When he slipped back into bed, you stirred faintly, shifting under the blanket.

“She okay?” you mumbled.

“She will be.” Katsuki tugged you close, arms warm and solid around your waist. “Told her to apologize tomorrow. She’s feelin’ it now.”

You hummed sleepily.

Katsuki pressed a kiss to your temple. “You did good. Don’t worry.”

You nodded faintly, already drifting.

He held you tighter, forehead resting against yours.

No words left. Just warmth. Just comfort.

The storm would pass. Together, you'd weather anything.

[hola53]

Katsuki x reader

Reader has a AI quirk shes very robotic more robotic then Iida (kinda like Tecna from winx club if you know or im i just old 😂)

Katsuki breaks her out of her shell makes her feel more human

Tbh have at it add or take way just have fun with it

Reboot My Heart

Summary:

Your quirk made you feel more machine than human—data-driven, emotionally muted, and always analyzing. That is… until Katsuki Bakugou walked into your life, sparks flying and fire blazing. And for once, you couldn’t calculate what was happening to your heart.

---

It started with a fight. Obviously.

Not a physical one—though knowing Bakugou, that wouldn’t have been off the table—but a verbal one. A very loud one.

“You’re not a damn robot, so stop acting like one!” he shouted, arms thrown wide, palms still crackling with leftover heat from training.

You blinked slowly, processing his tone and microexpressions. Brows furrowed. Dilated pupils. Elevated vocal pitch. Frustration. Possibly concern.

“I am aware,” you replied, voice smooth and precise. “My quirk optimizes mental processing, but it does not remove my humanity. Statistically—”

“Shut up about stats!” he barked, stepping closer. “You always talk like you’re reading a damn manual. Don’t you feel anything?!”

You stared at him, lips parted but silent. The truth was: you did. You felt... a lot. But somewhere along the way—between building neural algorithms in your head and optimizing team formations—you’d started tucking emotions into neat little boxes, locking them away. It was easier to be efficient than vulnerable.

But Katsuki? Katsuki was a mess of emotion. Loud, brash, passionate. He felt everything, and he wore it like armor, not shame. And every time he looked at you like that, with fire behind his eyes and heat in his chest, your system short-circuited just a little.

He noticed.

“You get all weird when I’m around,” he muttered one day after training, sitting beside you on the bench, both of you soaked in sweat and silence.

“Weird?” you echoed.

“Yeah. Like... less ‘calculating robot girl’ and more... I dunno. You.”

Your internal processor froze. You? What was that even supposed to mean?

He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You smile around me. Even if it's just a little.”

“That’s an involuntary response due to increased serotonin and—”

“You like me.” A smug smirk. “You’re just too glitchy to admit it.”

You blinked. “That’s... a crude way to phrase it, but not inaccurate.”

Bakugou chuckled—a real one, not the huff he gave people when he was annoyed. “Good. I like you too, you emotionless nerd.”

You tilted your head. “I am not emotionless.”

He raised a brow. “Prove it.”

So you did.

You kissed him���awkward, hesitant, like a system learning a new command for the first time. But when his hand found yours, rough fingers lacing with smooth metal-tipped ones, your whole world rebooted. Suddenly, you weren’t just equations and strategy. You were heat and heartbeat. Pulse and possibility.

“I think you make me feel more... human,” you whispered against his chest that night, long after the lights were off.

He didn’t tease you for it. Didn’t call you a nerd or a weirdo.

Instead, he held you closer and mumbled into your hair:

“Good. Because you make me smarter. Somehow.”

[hola53]

Is it me or somehow Katsuki in this panel looks more like pro hero Katsuki in his 20s than the time skip Katsuki we got post 430?

there's sth about him in this panel that is different idk. His facial expression maybe?

[hola53]

It’s not lost on me how often we hear similar stories like this and it’s something I’ve also witnessed myself at other events. I even saw one fan TikTok that said she changed her favorite driver to him because of how he was to everyone that night. The sweetest 🧡

[hola53]

i don’t need a “day off” or a “weekend” i need to respawn in a clean apartment with all my responsibilities reset and the complete certainty that nobody hates me

[hola53]

──★🥀་ ̟ !! ִֶָ A Rose for Dynamight

(Another request)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x child reader

It happens on a Tuesday—ordinary, unassuming, the sky painted in shades of gentle dusk as the sun kisses the city goodnight. Katsuki Bakugo walks down the street like a storm in rest mode—brows slightly furrowed, hands deep in his pockets, hero uniform half-zipped from the patrol he just wrapped up. The world shifts around him, people part like water, as they always do. No one dares approach Dynamight unless they have to.

No one... except you.

A little girl, no older than seven, with a bandage on her knee and a rose clutched tight in her small fist.

He notices you too late.

You march up to him like you’ve got a mission blessed by the gods, chin lifted, eyes wide with something dangerously close to admiration. And then, without preamble, without hesitation, you thrust the slightly crumpled rose up toward him and say:

“Hi! I think you’re very handsome. This is for you.”

Bakugo stops in his tracks. Blinks. Stares at you like you’ve just asked him to adopt a dolphin. The city exhales around him, cars humming, people oblivious. But all he can focus on is a tiny human holding out a rose like it’s a medal of honor.

“What the hell…?”

You blink up at him, unfazed. “You can’t say bad words,” you scold, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lecture a pro hero.

Bakugo’s jaw tics. His ears are going pink.

“I—wasn’t talkin’ to you,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. But when you keep standing there, rose still extended like a sword waiting for a knight’s acceptance, he lets out a breath and—almost awkwardly—takes it.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You beam. Beam.

“And I like your hair,” you add seriously. “It looks like angry cotton candy.”

He chokes. Actually chokes. “Angry—?”

You nod proudly. “Yeah. But in a good way. Like boom! But soft.”

For a moment, Bakugo forgets how to function.

This tiny gremlin just compared his hair to boom-soft cotton candy, and now she’s standing there like she just solved world peace.

And strangely, he doesn’t mind.

He crouches—slowly, carefully—because if there’s one thing he’s learned over time, it’s that kids like you are fragile in ways no villain ever is. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he says, softer now, voice still gruff but not sharp. “Where’s your mom or whoever’s supposed to be watchin’ you?”

You point dramatically toward the tall building across the street. “There! She works there."

Bakugo nods, still crouched there, rose in one hand, brain short-circuiting from being called Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man, when the tiny menace pipes up again—more casually than should be legal.

“Oh, I snuck out.”

He blinks. “The hell did you just say?”

You shrug, like it's no big deal. “I got bored. They said I could color inside, but I already colored everything. And besides—your hair looked fun.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bakugo mutters, rising to his full height, eyes scanning the building across the street like it’s suddenly grown fangs.

“She told me to wait on the bench,” you add. “But I saw you, and I thought—‘Wow, that guy looks like he eats fire!’ So I brought you the rose. It’s from the flower shop lady, she said to give it to someone who makes you smile.”

Bakugo stares at you, the rose in his hand suddenly feeling heavier than it should. His voice, when it comes, is unusually quiet. “I make you smile?”

You nod. “You looked really grumpy. But now you look better.”

He doesn’t smile—he rarely ever does—but something shifts behind his eyes. Something warm. Like the slow burn of a fuse that doesn’t want to explode. He pats your head—gentle, awkward, but sincere.

“Thanks, brat. You did good.”

You light up again, and for a moment, he wonders what the hell the world did to deserve something as weirdly magical as a kid who gives flowers to scowling heroes.

Then the building doors open, and your mom appears—panic in her eyes until she sees you grinning up at Dynamight like he’s a friend you met on the playground.

Bakugo straightens. You wave.

“Bye, Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man!”

He nearly combusts.

But the rose stays in his hand, long after you’ve gone.

And that night, for the first time in weeks, it ends up in a glass of water by his windowsill—still blooming. Just like the smile he doesn’t let anyone see.

[hola53]

life gives, life takes!

[hola53]

Every sports content creator posting about them

[hola53]

The Long Way Home I Interlude

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Tell a friend to tell a friend… she’s backkkkkk. P.S. We’ll pick up Oscar, Harper and baby Clem in the next chapter which will begin our F2 era (forgive me for skipping F3, but we will revisit that era in the future!)

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They started to call it home before they even had the keys.

It was the kind of flat you only ever saw in a glossy magazine or on a Netflix teen drama — all clean lines and warm wood, soft lighting that dimmed with a voice command, floor-to-ceiling windows that turned the city skyline into wallpaper. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a concierge who knew them by name, underground parking, and a leafy park nearby with a duck pond.

It was somewhere in Zone 2 — close enough to the centre for Harper to feel like part of something, far enough out for Oscar to breathe. Within easy driving distance of Silverstone, and surrounded by three coffee shops that all knew Harper's name and her usual: an oat flat white, extra hot, one sugar. Coffee had become a staple since becoming a mum. It was either that or total collapse.

They signed the lease two weeks before Clem's second birthday. Moved in one week after. Harper carried the baby through the door on her hip, while Oscar fumbled with the keys and kept asking, "Are we really doing this?" as though the furniture wouldn't show up in four hours and make it permanent.

Oscar had taken a year out of racing after Clementine was born.

It wasn't a planned decision, and it wasn't one many people understood — least of all the people who'd watched him dominate junior karting and expected him to rise like smoke through the open-wheel ranks. But he'd missed too much school. Missed too many nights, too many hours of Harper crying or trying to make Clementine latch, or just needing someone to keep her upright. And when he was asked — really asked — Are you sure you're not throwing it all away? his answer was always simple.

"She's my baby. Of course I'm sure."

So while others trained and raced and pushed for attention, Oscar Piastri vanished. No interviews, no paddock appearances. Just him, and Harper, and a squishy pink newborn who made the ceiling light look like a disco every time she waved her hands.

They stayed at Haileybury, still just fifteen, turning sixteen. They re-sat their missed GCSEs and passed on the second try. Clementine learned to crawl in the boys' dorm common room. She took her first steps in the school library.

Their friends — Jane and Sam and Matt and Alfie and the rest of that oddball, fiercely loyal circle — became her first family. Clementine had more teenaged godparents than anyone could count. She learned to walk holding onto Oscar's physics notes. She learned to talk sitting in Harper's lap as she typed HTML.

Then came the offer — again. F3. A team ready to take him as soon as he was ready to return. It had been a quiet year in the eyes of the motorsport world — but Oscar came back different. Sharper. More grounded. And far more terrifying behind the wheel.

So they moved into the London flat. Nicole helped decorate — soft colours, baby gates, a kitchen with pale blue cabinets and an American fridge.

Mark handled the other side of Oscar's life. The logistics. Contract offers that just kept getting longer.

Clementine's nursery was a vision board of calm: birchwood cot, pastel cloud decals, a plush rug like walking on cake.

Harper coded the baby monitor app herself — it had the ability to learn and distinguish between Clemmy's cries.

Oscar installed blackout blinds and built a mini bookshelf filled with picture books in three different languages.

They weren't struggling — not the way people expected seventeen-year-old parents to be. Not financially, anyway.

But money never softened the sharp edges of responsibility.

There were still nights where Clementine cried for hours and Harper paced in circles, whispering, 'You're okay, you're okay,' like a mantra she needed to believe herself. There were still moments where Oscar stared at the calendar on the fridge — race dates, interview days, booster shot appointments — and felt panic coil in his chest.

Still, they chose it. Every day. And every day it got a little easier.

In the two years after Clementine was born, the world became a blur of trackside hotel rooms and baby bottles tucked into designer handbags. Harper and Clem travelled with Oscar more often than not — Japan, Italy, Austria, France.

Harper made a rule: in every new country, within three days, she had to learn to order a coffee in the local language.

Oscar made a rule: Clementine got to press the elevator button in every hotel.

They were young. Strange. Wildly out of place sometimes — but a family all the same.

Harper built Oscar's official website from scratch — sleek, scalable, clean UX, dark mode toggle because he was picky. Max Verstappen emailed her after seeing it. (Hey — could you build me something similar?) She said she'd think about it.

She sat her A-levels online. She was already starting to specialise in full-stack development. Her dyscalculia made things hell sometimes — numbers swam on the screen — but she learned how to code by pattern and logic, by rhythm and recursion. She learned how to work with her brain, not against it.

Oscar kept racing. And winning. F4 became F3. Then whispers of F2 began. He got sharper in interviews, more polished for sponsors, more careful around cameras. But at night — when it was just them, limbs tangled on a hotel bed, or Clem snoring softly between them in the cot — he was still that awkward, soft-eyed boy.

They celebrated Clementine's second birthday in a hotel suite in Barcelona with balloons Oscar had blown up and a lopsided cake. They FaceTimed the Haileybury crew. Jane cried. Sam tried to teach Clementine to say fuck.

Later that month, they hung a print in the entryway of their flat. Just one word, in soft gold foil.

Our Home.

Because for all the flights and chaos and podiums and late-night feeds — that's what they were building. Slowly. Quietly. Against every odd and every doubt.

They were seventeen and a half. Young. Exhausted. Occasionally terrified.

But they were a family.

And it was messy, and real, and theirs.

[hola53]

Figure It Out | Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen x Isla Harrington (OFC)

Summary — Isla Harrington’s life is upended after a one-night stand with Max Verstappen leaves her a single-mom. Four years later, Max decides that he wants in — and neither of them are ready for what that means.

Warnings — Surprise baby trope, one night stands, co-parenting, grovelling, bullying and harassment, coming of age, angst and fluff.

Notes — So to clarify, Max isn’t a deadbeat dad. Well. Okay, so Max was a deadbeat dad, but he’s going to grovel and grow as a person, okay? Okay! First chapter coming tomorrow💘

[hola53]

george as prince henry and alex as alex from red white and royal blue. send tweet.