suliigwp

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“we listen and we will judge”

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Carlos for L'Oreal | Lando for Ralph Lauren

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THE THRILL OF A TRIPLE LIFE!

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Some cute moments between you and your boyfriend: Spiderman!

WORD COUNT: 2K

WARNINGS: Light angst, mentions of blood/injury, mostly fluff :), Y/N usage

FEATURING: Spiderman!Oscar Piastri x Reader

NOTE: New layout maybe? How do we feel about the colors? idk… I love you Spiderman Oscar

RAIN POURED AGAINST YOUR WINDOW, the streets of Monaco twinkling from below your high-rise apartment. You huffed a sigh, cradling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands whilst you settled down into the sofa. Your favorite movie was on but you weren’t watching. Instead, your focus was pinned to the doorway. Oscar Piastri, your crime-fighting boyfriend, was roughly thirty minutes late now. As expected.

You were starting to worry. He sounded so serious this morning when he promised dinner at 7:00 PM sharp. It was late, sure, but he was taking his night watches into consideration. He couldn’t promise earlier—that was unrealistic. But it seemed he couldn’t promise this either.

You picked up your phone, ready to dial his number when suddenly you heard the sound of a window squeaking open. You flinched until you saw your boyfriend stumble in, clutching his stomach. He struggled to shut the window behind him, using only one hand. You perked up, setting your mug aside.

“You know there’s a front door, right?”

“That’s too suspicious,” He groaned. “Doors aren’t for Spiderman. Windows are.”

You could tell he was in pain, so you scurried off to the bathroom to locate the first aid kit. When you returned, you pointed to the couch with a stern expression. “Sit.” Oscar obeyed, yanking his mask off as he flopped down onto the couch, his body slumped against the cushions. His hair was slightly messy from the mask. “Move your hand, spidey.”

He shakily lifted his arm aside, revealing a shallow gash that cut through his suit. You sighed, dropping to your knees to carefully dab at the wound. It would heal just fine, but that didn’t mean you weren’t worried about him. He could tell, too. How could he not?

“You promised dinner at seven.” Maybe it was a bad time to bring it up while you were wiping his wound with saline solution.

“I know, I’m sorry, but there was a bus with broken breaks and—”

“And a collapsing building with a bunch of orphans who needed your help trapped inside, yeah?” You finished, and he let out a weak laugh.

“Not this time, no.” You both fell back into silence—uncomfortable silence. He watched you carefully, his eyebrows knitted together. You were clearly upset and he wanted to fix that, but he didn’t know how. “Y/N…” Oscar reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked up at him with expectation. “I’m sorry I keep disappointing you.”

You sighed, letting your head drop with your chin tucked in. After a moment, you started to help him shimmy out of the top of his suit, letting it sit at his waist. You began to wrap his wound in bandages. “You don’t disappoint me, Osc. You worry me.” He opened his mouth to apologize again, but you cut him off, “I just want you to stop scaring me so much. Every time you’re late I start to wonder if you’re gonna show up at all. I start to wonder if I’m gonna hear about your death in the news paper before I even get the chance to say goodbye-”

He grabbed your wrist, because while you were rambling, you had unintentionally wrapped him up too tight. You muttered a sheepish apology, unwinding the wrappings to redo your work. “I wish I could give you a normal life, Y/N.” He muttered as he finally let go of your wrist.

“I don’t want normal, Oscar. I want you. I just don’t want you to shut me out, okay? If you’re gonna be late, just call me and let me know. I can’t stand worrying over you nonstop.” You tore the bandage with your teeth and tucked it in securely. He helped you sit up on the couch next to him, and you brought his bruised knuckles to your lips to gently kiss them.

“I can’t promise you a lot…” He murmured, his eyes soft. “But I can promise you that.”

“Good…”

You leaned your face into his neck, and he held you close. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy your presence like this, free from his duties of being a hero for just a few more hours.

YOU FOUND THE FIRST STICKY NOTE IN THE MORNING. And by sticky note I don’t mean the yellow ones that had adhesive tops, but rather a note card webbed to a surface by your boyfriend. Oscar had stuck it to the toaster, almost as if he knew you were going to make yourself some toast that morning.

‘Are you a toaster? Because a bath with you would send me straight to heaven! - 🕷️’ You laughed at his stupid pick up line, finding the cute little spider drawing to be adorable as well.

The next one was after you finished enjoying your breakfast. You stepped into the bathroom to brush your teeth, finding another note stuck to the mirror. ‘You look beautiful today! Even with toothpaste on your shirt ;) - 🕷️’ After reading the note, you looked down… And then cursed under your breath. Indeed, you had dribbled some of the minty substance onto your top, leaving a white stain. Damn you, Oscar.

He knew you too well.

The last one was in the fridge, on top of the box of leftover pizza from a few nights ago. ‘Don’t even think about it…’ You grumbled, because he also webbed the box stuck, that little jerk.

You found yourself sitting on the fire escape, a small sketch pad in hand. You listened to the sound of vehicles whizzing by and the occasional car alarm going off. Every now and then you could see Oscar swing through the tall buildings, and you tried to push away the heavy feeling in your heart, because you missed him so bad.

“Delivery!” A voice called out from above you. Oscar dropped down right in front of you, hanging upside down by one of his webs. He was in his full Spiderman suit to conceal his identity, but you knew him well enough. You grinned when he held out a brown paper sack, the bottom slightly greasy. “One sandwich from your favorite restaurant.”

He lowered himself onto the platform, upright this time. You both sat on the edge, your feet dangling over the edge as you split the sandwich in half. Oscar raised his mask high enough to eat, but before that he dinked his half against yours, like a glass of fine wine.

“I didn’t know you swung across cities for sandwiches now.”

“Only for my favorite girl.” He scooted just a tad bit closer to you, your shoulders brushing. He smiled, his mouth the only visible feature. “Did you like my notes?”

“I thought they were a bit dorky.”

“But in a cute way, right?” He took a large bite of his sandwich, staring at you while he chewed.

Your gaze softened, your grin somewhat lovesick. “Yes. In a cute way. You’re my cute, super-powered, wall climbing dork.”

He seemed happy with that answer. After a moment, he swallowed, and added on, “You’re still not eating my pizza.”

“Dangit.”

BOYFRIEND BY MORNING, RACER BY AFTERNOON, SUPERHERO BY NIGHT. That’s essentially the life Oscar lived, and you were both fine with that. He dedicated all the free time he could to you, which maybe wasn’t a lot some days, but you were fine with it. You loved him and everything that he came with. The whole triple life thing was just part of the package. If you couldn’t handle him when he came home beat up, then you didn’t deserve him when he was the sweetest boyfriend alive.

However, it was a Sunday, which meant it was time to put the life-saving aside for long enough to win a damn race. It was always dangerous, but he had you constantly checking the news. If anything happened, you’d call a red flag and send your boyfriend out to save the day. He always made it back just in time to finish the race and sweep you off your feet again.

“Good luck out there, Osc.” You spoke as he kissed you on the lips, grinning in response. “Don’t be too dangerous. Monaco needs their hero, still.”

“Yeah, yeah. I promise.”

The race seemed to be going well, until you heard some murmurs from the engineers. You poked your head out of the garage, examining your surroundings. With your headset on, you could hear Oscar over the radio asking if everything was okay. His senses were definitely tingling.

You looked out to the stands, watching as a figure in a trench coat shoved through the crowds, making his way closer to the track. You rushed to Oscar’s engineer, begging for him to be called in and for a red flag, because there was clearly something suspicious going on.

They listened, because for some reason your instincts were always correct. You rushed Oscar into his drivers room where he slipped into his hero suit, and made a grand escape out the window. It didn’t take long for him to return, just as everyone cheered over Spiderman, once again, saving the day.

Thankfully you had Lando standing outside, stalling for more time while Oscar got back into his suit. You gave him one last kiss for good luck and he rushed off.

“You better win!” You called after him.

And he did.

The night was filled with orange confetti and champagne showers for the team with yet another 1-2. When he found you and pulled you into his arms, he was grinning. “Yet another win for Spiderman,” He whispered between the two of you. The cameras were pointed, but you had raised your palm to cover your mouths.

“I don’t get how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Stop mid race to kick ass, and then get back in the car like it’s nothing.”

“Just wanna make my girl proud.” You rolled your eyes as he sealed the deal with a dramatic kiss on the lips.

OSCAR WAS DEDICATED TO BEING YOUR BOYFRIEND TONIGHT. He was determined to make this a crime-free, Spiderman-free, date. He had his phone off to where only Lando, his partner in crime, could get through to him, so his attention was entirely on you.

It was a breakfast date too, which meant the rates of crime at that time were generally low. You guys both sat down at the quaint parlor, enjoying the ambience. Nobody recognized him, either. Life was great.

“Alright, place your bets. How many pancakes can you finish until you’re called out?” You asked as you speared a cut off piece of one of your own pancakes with a fork, scooping the syrupy bite into your mouth.

“Hey, what makes you think I’ll be called out at all?”

“Oscar, be serious. Our dates are cursed! You’re always called out.”

“I think I’ll make it to the bottom this time. I’ll bet you a whole stack of ‘em.” You held out your hand, happy to take up that bet.

And then immediately after his phone started buzzing.

“No way.” You giggled into your palm.

“No.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. If I ignore it, it’s not there.”

“Oscar.”

“Y/N…” He frowned, almost like a pout.

“Go. It’s alright, I promise.” He huffed, pushing his chair back and standing up.

“Are you sure?”

“The city needs you, dork. Hurry up!” He rushed off to the bathroom to change, giving you one last look over the shoulder before he disappeared.

You grabbed his plate. “Jokes on him. I’m eating his pancakes…” He did owe you a whole stack, after all.

You didn’t mind. Downside of dating Spiderman was only getting halfway through your dates, but he made up for it in other ways!

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Max at the GT3 test in Nürburgring | By Gruppe C Photography

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OBSESSED OBSESSED OBSESSED

CHAPTER SIX - SERIES INFO

WARNINGS: Implications of cheating, mean reader, Y/N usage

PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x Ballerina!Reader

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Lando lets the little moment between you and Oscar slip, and chaos ensues.

NOTES: I have a crush on Y/N. Going back to requests after this!

<<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >>>

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆ OSCAR PIASTRI

bhamroyalballet

liked by your.username and others

bhamroyalballet Our dancers have been working extra hard for our newest show, La Sylphide! Check our pinned post for tour details, and the link in our bio to buy tickets!

tagged your.username

—

username1 - So excited!

♥︎ by author

username2 - Everyone is looking so good! Especially Y/N

♥︎ by author

your.username - ❤️

♥︎ by author

your.username - 🙂❤️

♥︎ by author

bhamroyalballet - 👀 Are you flirting with us?❤️

> your.username - Heavens no, admin.

♥︎ by author

username3 - interesting…

username4 - Y/N’s so pretty!!

♥︎ by author

lilyzneimer - Such a beautiful show :)

♥︎ by author

your.username - ❤️

♥︎ by author

> username5 - They’re bonding

> username6 - Address the rumors.

> username7 - Leave Lily and Oscar alone!!

> username8 - Homewrecker

f1gossipofficial

6.3k likes

f1gossipofficial Anonymous source confirms that Oscar Piastri and Y/N L/N, a ballerina that’s recently featured on the McLaren youtube channel, shared an off screen kiss while practicing their dancing!

tagged oscarpiastri, your.username

—

username9 - I wouldn’t put it past her 🙄

username10 - This isn’t surprising. She’s so full of herself

username11 - Why does everyone blindly believe shit like this?

username12 - Right? Y/N would not touch that man with a 50 foot pole 😭

> username13 - She’s so funny I love her

username14 - I doubt this. She was literally insulting him the whole video 😭

username15 - Crazy work…

username16 - Ew

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆ OSCAR PIASTRI

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆ LILY ZNEIMER

OSCAR’S MESSAGES ☆ LANDO NORRIS

OSCAR’S MESSAGES ☆ LILY ZNEIMER

YOUR STORY ☆

STORY REPLIES

→ lilyzneimer - This made me laugh, I can’t lie 🥲

your.username - Don’t take offense miss Lily. You’re perfect for each other

♥︎ liked by lilyzneimer

→ oscarpiastri - 🙄

your.username - 🙄 yourself

→ lando - That’s not what I saw!

your.username - You see a lot, it seems.

→ username17 - Sure

→ username18 - Beautiful as ever

→ username19 - EVERYBODY HEAR ME OUT

→ username20 - BODY SO TEA, THE BRITISH ARE COMING!

♥︎ liked by your.username

username20 - Idk, they don’t seem that interested imo

username21 - I think they’d make cute friends nonetheless

username22 - Interesting indeed…

username23 - I’M SCARED, I LIKE LILY AND OSCAR…

your.username

liked by oscarpiastri and others

your.username And so the tour begins. I’ll see you all in Orlando, 5/3/25.

—

username24 - Orlando… Awfully close to Miami

bhamroyalballet - The Sylph is Sylph-ing ✨

♥︎ by author

username25 - WOOO Y/N TOUR Y/N TOUR

oscarpiastri - See you in America 🇺🇸💪

your.username - I’ll be seeing you nowhere.

> lilyzneimer - 😂

♥︎ by author

> username26 - What an icon…

♥︎ by author

lilyzneimer - Can’t wait for you to come back to the UK…

♥︎ by author

Taglist! Comment to be added

@wierdflowerpower @imagine-it-was-us @suliigwp @dozyisdead @apfelzeugs @stxrlvrzz @vhkdncu2ei8997 @gigigreens @oddends @kick127

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The polite clapping. The subtle eyeroll. The nose/mouth twitch. 10/10

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Accidentally posted an unfinished fic again Tumblr why do you hate me

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So fucking hot🙏

Brat Tax | Omega!Lando x Alpha!Reader

Summary — Lando has a terrible habit of hiding his pre-heats from his alpha. So when she comes home and finds him a mess, there’s only one thing to be done; tame him.

Warnings — 18+**. A/B/O dynamics. Pegging. Dirty talk. Begging. Explicit scenes. Pure filthy smut basically. Praise kink. Brat!Lando. Possessiveness. Implied fem!reader.

Notes — I will be writing more omega Lando after this… because why does the role suit him so well?

The flat is quiet when you step inside, all warm golden light and lingering scent—Lando. Faintly sweet, rich, unmistakably his. It coats your tongue and wraps itself around your heart.

He’s home.

You toe off your boots, shaking off the London drizzle, and sling your jacket onto the hook by the door. You’re tired. Your shoulders ache from travel. But there’s something else threading under your skin the moment you cross the threshold—instinct, coiled and pulsing low in your spine. Something’s off.

“Lando?” You call, casual, but there’s an edge to your voice you don’t bother hiding. “‘Mega?”

You don’t get a response.

Your brow furrows as you move through the flat. Everything’s in its place—tidy, still. But the air is heavy. Saturated. You can feel it clinging to your skin. He’s in pre-heat. Early. He’d messaged you two days ago saying he felt “weird,” but he’d just brushed it off like he always did.

He hates the vulnerability of it. Hates being seen like that. But he’s yours. And you know the signs.

You find him curled up in your bed, wearing one of your old shirts and nothing else, the sleeves too long, swallowing his hands. His cheeks are flushed. Pupils wide and unfocused. His legs are tangled in the sheets like he couldn’t decide if he was hot or freezing.

He blinks at you slowly. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

You lean in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. Take in the full picture. The restless twitch in his fingers. The old bite marks on his inner thigh. The scent spiking higher now that you’re closer.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

He shrugs, and it’s a pathetic little movement. “Didn’t want to bug you. You were working.”

You cross the room in three strides.

“Lando.” Your voice is soft, but it cuts clean. “You never bug me. How many times have I told you that you come first?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, hand finding his jaw to tilt it up. He leans into your touch like it’s oxygen.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Just… felt stupid. Needy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re an omega in pre-heat, baby. Needy is pretty much what’s expected.”

That earns a tiny laugh, and you catch the flicker of relief in his eyes. He trusts you. You’ve earned that trust a hundred times over. And right now, you’ll earn it again.

You stroke a thumb across his cheek. “You want me to take care of you?”

His breath catches. “Yes.”

“Use your words, ‘mega baby.” You cooed.

He swallows hard. “Please, please. I need you.”

There it is.

And it lights a match behind your ribs.

—

You don’t move right away.

You let your fingers trace the hollow of his throat, feel his pulse hammering beneath fragile skin. He’s so warm already—fever-slick, breath hitching every time your touch drifts just a little too low. And yet he’s still trying to hold it together. That’s the part that gets you.

“Strip,” you say, voice low, even.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows what you’re doing. You see it in his eyes—calculation, hesitation, the ghost of a smirk.

“Make me,” he says.

You blink once.

Then smile slowly. “Oh, Lando.”

It’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. The kind that makes him squirm.

“You really want to do this tonight? When you’re already laid there for hours and soaked through my sheets like a fucking pillow princess?”

He pouts, cheeks going red. “It’s not that bad.”

You grab the hem of the oversized shirt—your shirt—and yank it up. The fabric peels off him, clinging to his skin. He gasps, sharp and breathless, and your gaze drops.

He’s a mess.

Inner thighs slick, cock flushed and untouched, hole already twitching from the scent of you this close. And still—still—he’s trying to act like he’s got even an ounce of leverage here.

You toss the shirt aside. “Get on your knees.”

He obeys. Eventually. Grumbling, but flushed and trembling all the same. He settles between your thighs as you sit back on the bed, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s daring you to make the next move.

“You like being a brat, huh?” You ask, reaching down to thread a hand in his curls. “Makes it better when I ruin you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he says—too fast, too hopeful.

You lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You really want to test me tonight, omega?”

He whimpers.

—

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. That’s the worst part, and he knows it. You just watch him—spread open on his knees, cock hard and untouched, the scent of slick thick and cloying in the air like it’s trying to pull you under.

And you’re so fucking patient with him.

That’s what undoes him, in the end.

Because he wants you rough. He wants to be taken, not coaxed. But you never give him what he wants until he earns it.

You let your hand trail along his jaw instead, thumb brushing his cheek. His lips part, instinctive, ready to suck, to serve, to please.

But you don’t let him.

“You think if you brat hard enough I’ll lose control?” You murmur, still smiling. “That I’ll fuck the attitude out of you?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Maybe.”

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his neck. You inhale, long and slow, soaking in the high of his heat scent—intoxicating and sweet and desperate.

“I think,” you whisper, “you want to be forced to give up control. You want to fight just enough to feel like you’re not soft for needing it.”

He shudders, full-body.

You let that sit for a beat. Two.

“Lie back.” You tell him.

He obeys faster this time.

You grab the lube from the drawer, strap already buckled on your hips, slow and deliberate. Lando watches with that hungry, already fucked-out look—lips bitten red, pupils blown wide.

“You’re gonna prep me?” He asks, voice small.

You cock your head. “You want that?”

A pause.

Then he nods.

But you don’t give it to him.

You crawl over him instead, pressing your chest to his and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. He gasps—arched, completely at your mercy now. Your other hand slides between his legs and barely ghosts over his slick hole.

He jerks beneath you, breath catching.

“God,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

You smile like a wolf. “That’s right. You beg, omega. You beg your alpha to open you up.”

And he does.

He breaks for you.

Just like he always does.

—

He’s panting by the time you get him on his back again, legs spread and trembling, arms limp against the mattress. His scent is everywhere now—thick and wet and drowning you in it. But you stay steady. Controlled. Calm.

Because you don’t spiral.

He does.

You slick your fingers without a word and reach for him. He tenses, but not from fear. From anticipation. He’s waiting for it, for the stretch, for the way you always make him feel like he’s coming apart and safe at the same time.

“Breathe,” you order, pressing in with your first finger. “Let me in.”

He gasps—sharp, desperate. His hips twitch, but he stays open. Stays good.

You add a second, scissoring slow, watching him unravel.

“God—fuck, alpha—” His voice breaks.

“Louder,” you growl. “I want the neighbors to know you’re mine.”

A sob. “Yours, I’m yours, I always—please—I need it.”

You kiss him hard, claiming and filthy, your strap nudging against the inside of his thigh.

He flinches. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Already have,” you murmur.

Then you line up—and thrust.

Not gentle. Not slow.

You bottom out in one smooth, practiced push, and he screams.

It rips out of him raw, guttural, like he’s never been filled like this before even though he has—by you, always you.

He thrashes under you, half-feral, slick soaking the sheets as you pull back and slam in again, setting a brutal pace. His cock bounces against his stomach, untouched, already leaking. You don’t need to stroke him. You don’t need to do anything but fuck him hard and deep. That’s what he likes. That what little omega bitches like him need:

His eyes roll back. His hands claw at the sheets.

“Fuck,” he cries out. “Alpha—please, please—”

“Shut up and take it,” you snarl, fisting your hand in his curls and yanking his head back. “You said you could handle it. Now you prove it.”

He whimpers. But he doesn’t beg you to stop.

No. He’d never do that.

He just begs you to give it to him harder.

So you do.

You fuck him into the mattress, brutal and relentless, until his thighs are shaking and he’s babbling nonsense—his pretty little brain turning to mush under the weight of the pleasure.

“You’re mine,” you pant, grinding deep. “No one else gets you like this. No one else could ever get you like this.”

He chokes on a sob. “Yours. Fuck. Yours.”

And then he’s coming untouched, big hands fisting the sheets, body locked tight as he sobs through it—wrecked, overstimulated, absolutely undone.

But you don’t stop.

Not yet.

Not until he’s seeing stars.

—

He’s trembling under you, boneless and slicked in sweat and your scent. The room smells like heat and sex, but under it—buried in the silence that follows his sobbed-out release—there’s something gentler. Something warm.

You stroke a hand through his curls, still tangled in your grip. “Breathe, baby.”

He nods, barely. Obeys.

You ease out slowly. His whole body flinches—too raw, too tender—and you shush him quietly, soothing with your hands and your mouth. Kisses pressed to his jaw, his temple, the tip of his nose. He shudders every time you move, but he doesn’t push you away.

He never does.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur as you unbuckle the strap and set it aside. “Took me so well. You’re perfect, baby. So perfect.”

Lando blinks up at you, eyes glassy and wet, but he’s still there. Grounded in your touch.

His voice comes out wrecked. “I love you.”

Your chest tightens.

You brush a thumb beneath his eye. “I love you more.”

He laughs—weak, broken—but real.

You slip off the bed to grab a warm cloth and a fresh towel. He tries to protest when you start to clean him, but you shut it down with a look. “Let me take care of you.”

So he lets you

You wipe him down gently, careful with every inch of his skin. You settle a hoodie over his shoulders, pull the blankets around both of you, and press him to your chest like you’re trying to stitch him back together.

He tucks his head under your chin, body still buzzing with the aftershocks, but finally—finally—he exhales.

You feel it. The way his weight shifts into you like surrender.

“Next time,” he mumbles, half-asleep, “you better kiss me before you rail me like that.”

You smile, kissing the crown of his head. “If you don’t want to pay the brat tax, don’t act like one.”

He hums. “But I’m pretty.”

“You’re a little shit,” you mutter, holding him tighter. “But you’re mine.”

Always.

—

The sun is hot on the Imola tarmac, shimmering off the halo of his car. From the private hospitality suite above the paddock, you watch him slice through Sector 2 like he owns the track.

Which—technically—he almost does. At least on a good day.

Lando’s voice crackles through the team radio, loud enough to catch in the background of the Sky broadcast, sharp and unbothered.

“Tell Max I’m not moving. He can cry about it later.”

Your mouth twitches.

A few engineers in the room wince, but you just sip your iced coffee slowly, hiding your smirk behind the rim.

You recognize that tone. The arrogant edge in his voice. The cocky little bite. You’d know it anywhere.

It’s the same one he used last month, right before you folded him in half and made him forget how to speak.

And he’s using it again.

In public.

Bold.

You don’t even say anything. Just reach for your phone and text him one sentence.

That mouth is writing checks your ass is going to cash tonight.

There’s no reply, not immediately.

But after the break between Q3 and Q2, the message goes from delivered to read, and on his next run, his sector time drops by a tenth.

Focus sharpened. Legs probably a little shaky in the cockpit. You grin and set your phone down.

Oh yeah.

Your omega needs to be taught a lesson in manners.

And you can’t fucking wait to teach him.

[suliigwp]

How do y'all feel about Carlos x journalist enemies to lovers?

[suliigwp]

tease tease

Max and Maxine

[suliigwp]

I wanna write something for lando I'm obsessed with that man

[suliigwp]

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Fan! FemReader

SUMMARY 𝄡 It was a stupid idea⏤scribbling your number on a scrap of paper and giving it to Lando at the Monaco Grand Prix. It would never work. And even if you did manage to give it to him, it's not like he's going to use it, right?

TAGS 𝄡 SMAU. Fluff ( bordering on crack ).

NOTE 𝄡 The enthusiasm for this silly fanfic has been almost overwhelming. We also reached 400 followers, which is crazy. Thank you so much! Hope you'll like this second part <33

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ Previous Part ❦ Next Part!

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: Emma 🧌

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: +44 (020) 7XXX XXXX

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: Emma 🧌

WWW. INSTAGRAM! .COM / emmaprlx

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emmaprlx Girls’ night @ Gino yesterday! 🍝

1 hour ago

user1 29min and you didn’t think to invite me?? oh the betrayal, it stings…

emmaprlx 24min It was last minute tbh, an emergency to avoid mental breakdowns and burnouts user1 23min you got the dean’s email didn’t you? yourusername 23min YOU TOO??? @ user1 yourusername 22min damn we're so understaffed that's embarrassing

user2 13min The best kind of nights. Enjoy girlies!!! 👯‍♀️ ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 5min i know Gino LOVES to see us coming. we singlehandedly pay his bills ♥︎ liked by author

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YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: +44 (020) 7XXX XXXX

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YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: +44 (020) 7XXX XXXX

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: Emma 🧌

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: +44 (020) 7XXX XXXX

YOU HAVE SENT ONE NEW MESSAGE! to: Emma 🧌

[suliigwp]

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Fan! FemReader

SUMMARY 𝄡 It was a stupid idea⏤scribbling your number on a scrap of paper and giving it to Lando at the Monaco Grand Prix. It would never work. And even if you did manage to give it to him, it's not like he's going to use it, right?

TAGS 𝄡 SMAU. Fluff.

NOTE 𝄡 In honor of Lando winning the sprint, enjoy whatever this is! Thank you so much my dear @tsunodaradio for requesting this story ( alongside other amazing ideas I'll brainstorm later! ) <33 I don't even know where this is going, I'm operating on vibes alone. This is just a sort of intro⏤the other parts will have a lot more substance.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ Next Part! ❦

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Liked by emmaprlx and 63 others

yourusername I will never financially recover from this, but it is so worth it. Can you guess what I'm doing today??? ✴️🌈🧃🏎️

23 minutes ago

user1 5min hmmm let me guess... you're going to the monaco grand prix? ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 4min HOW DID YOU KNOW??? 😱

user1 3min idk, perhaps cause you've been reminding me everyday. between each class. for the past three months. ♥︎ liked by author

user2 14min ENJOY BUB 🫶🏼 you deserve it ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 11min I definitely will!!!!!

emmaprlx 20min pls don't get arrested for public indecency or something if you do see lando ♥︎ liked by author

emmaprlx 19min y/n. i see you liking my comment. and i've seen your most recent tweet. yourusername 19min 🙃 emmaprlx 19min I'M NOT BAILING YOU OUT OF JAIL OR SUBBING YOUR CLASSES.

[yourusername] user1 Replied to your story: CONGRATS OMG 😭😭

[yourusername] user2 Replied to your story: I'm going to hear about this for the rest of our lives uh???

[yourusername] emmaprlx Replied to your story: try to look more uncomfortable next time

[yourusername] emmaprlx Replied to your story: but i'm proud of you for controlling yourself he doesn't seem TOO traumatized

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YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE! from: Emma 🧌

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE! from: Unknown

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[suliigwp]

The dopamine hit I got when I woke up is crazy thanks guys

I DESPISE MY ROTTEN MIND AND -HOW MUCH IT WORSHIPS YOU

Oscar Piastri x Mean!Reader

SULI: Reader is the daughter of someone powerful in McLaren like a co-owner or sm idk go along with it please🫶 (ignore my obvious love for lando here) this is my first fic be nice ; I plan on part two ; I tried to speak around her name to not say y/n ; Olivia Rodrigo I bow down to you - stream 'Lacy'!

Warnings: reader is straight up a horrible person (kinda - this is my guilty pleasure), Toxic?, smoking, he just can't stay away, English is not my first language.

Lacy, oh Lacy, it's like you're out to get me.

Oscar Piastri was never one to particularly like audience. He didn't mind company, but preferred the comfortable whispers of silence of whom he learned calmness from. He tried to keep reminding himself that what people thought was not important, and what he did with his time was, but it was different this time.

Having just signed a contract with McLaren, he stood in a big room in his new dress-shirt, glass in hand, speaking to people involved with the team at a 'get-together' before the season started. Zak Brown and Lando Norris taking it upon themselves to introduce him to everyone. He had to make a good impression.

Eventually they introduced him to the small group of people owning the McLaren Formula 1 team and shaking their hands he cursed at himself silently for forgetting to wipe his hand on his pants, hoping his palm wasn't sweaty.

"I like how calm you are. Gives the sense of stability." Chuckled the man, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. "That's good. A driver making you feel steady straight on is exceptional."

"Thank you, Sir." He kept his answer short as he glanced down.

Oscar knew the truth. If anyone in this room was exceptional, it was Lando Norris. The teammate he needed to keep up with, the one he wanted to outrun, he didn't want the second seat, he wanted the first one and Oscar knew that wasn't an easy point to get to.

"I think it's time to change our driver dad. Really, how many times do I have to be late?"

Said a woman's voice behind the man, Oscar watched as the grey-haired man's face twisted into a warmer smile as he turned around.

"Darling!"

Some feeling went down Oscars frame. Warmth? Or was it freezing cold? He couldn't tell. Only thing he knew was that it wasn't a good feeling. The girl now in front of him shined off a feeling that he could only call whimsical. Dark but comforting, heavy but so easy to breathe in. Like something was warning him, stay away.

She nodded to everyone when they greeted her, smiling an off smile, eyes glancing at everyone and then landing on him. His consciousness shook.

"Darling, Meet Oscar Piastri. Our new driver." Oscar gave a soft smile and a nod, offering his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you."

She took his hand and shook it slowly, looking him up and down, darkly painted lips twitching upwards. "I've heard a lot about you, Oscar."

Oscar blinked away, slowly taking his hand from hers, offering another soft smile, not knowing what else to say.

As the talk around them picked up again, he never lost that heavy feeling. The weight of her eyes pushing down on him as he continued trying to breathe.

...

"Breathe Man, you're doing fine." Landos voice comforted him as they got away from the scariest circle in the room.

Oscar took in a large breath as he put down his finished cup on one of the small tables around the room. Looking at his teammate as he laughed. "Shut up."

"Sorry, sorry, I would be this sweaty too if she looked at me like that."

"What?" He turned to the curly haired man.

"What? You're kidding right? You caught the eye of one of the most scary people here." The man chuckled, leaning on the table.

"Scary?"

Lando raised a brow at him. "Do you only know how to ask one word questions?" And shook his head teasingly when Oscar gave him a deadpan look. "Depending on who you ask, She's not a very pleasant person. That's how dumb people think, I think she's awesome." He smiled.

Oscars brows furrowed, that feeling came back. "Why would people think that?"

"Ah, long story... To say it short she was an intern at some event, she leaked a private recording of some executive making corrupt comments. She didn’t go to the press. She posted it herself with zero warning. It exposed real corruption—but it also broke dozens of NDAs, compromised trust with an entire network of professionals, sparked a scandal, you know? People got fired. Security got tighter. She didn't really care but... A lot of people lost their jobs so..." He trailed off.

"...oh" Oscar muttered, looking back at the glowing figure behind him, he couldn't really tell if that glow was white or as dark as a black hole.

"That's the main thing, she doesn't really like staying quiet about things, she's brave, I could never." Lando muttered the last part under his breath, bringing a drink to his lips.

Oscar watched her as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked at him, the dark pencil around her eyes pulling him in. She smiled and looked back at the men in front of her.

He felt dizzy.

...

"Too pretty to be caught up in all of this, don't you think?"

He jumped a bit when he heard her voice, whipping around to face her, and for a second, he's speechless.

"I'm just... trying to enjoy the night." He muttered, trying to gather himself.

"I'm sure you are... Don't worry about my father, he likes putting a lot of pressure on everyone but, he really likes you." She said, smiling as she looks over him again.

Oscar cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. She chuckled "See you around." She called out as she walked away.

...

2023 BAHRAIN QUALIFICATIONS

She was reviewing something on her tablet, tucked into a far corner of the garage where no one would bother her. The usual flurry of team personnel moved around like clockwork—headsets, data, tires, noise. She liked the noise. It drowned out everything else.

Oscar had spotted her, but only because she looked like a fixed point in a sea of chaos—calm and sharp. He froze 'she's here?' He almost starts shaking. He wasn't trying to bother her. Just grabbed a bottle of water and stood near her, needing a quiet corner himself.

She glanced at him smirking to herself and going back to her screen, thinking he didn't see her.

"Oscar!" Someone shouted out suddenly, carrying out the garage. Oscar, startled, whipped around—smacking his water bottle right into the edge of a tool cabinet.

The cap flew off. The water went all over his shirt.

Her mouth dropped open.

He looked down at himself. Wet shirt. Clinging fabric. Silence.

She raised an eyebrow.

"...well," he said, monotone. "This is deeply unfortunate."

That did it. She laughed. Not loud, but real—like something cracked in her, like she'd been holding it in for years. It startled her more than him. She even looked away like she hadn’t meant for it to slip out. Holding a hand over her mouth.

He grinned slowly. That heavy feeling when he looked at her was gone. That voice. Her laugh. God, was she casting a spell on him? He hoped she knows a million spells “Is that my reward for humiliating myself?”

She didn’t respond. But she didn’t go back to her tablet, either.

...

It was after qualifying. Chaos had simmered down in the garage. She hadn’t meant to linger—but she did. Arms crossed, sitting on a crate that clearly wasn’t meant for sitting. Watching.

Oscar was standing alone for a second. Helmet off, suit unzipped to the waist, undershirt damp with effort. He was flipping through something on a monitor, lips pressed, jaw tight.

She studied his side profile. Pretty. So pretty. She spoke before she could stop herself. “You looked pissed after Q2.”

He turned, brows lifted, clearly surprised she was talking to him. “Did I?”

She hummed. “You stomped past the cameras like they insulted your mum.”He laughed softly, quiet. Gosh, is he testing her?

“Guess I need to work on that poker face,” he said.

“No,” she replied coolly. “It was entertaining.”

He gave her a look, half amused, half curious. She's fun to be around. People don't know what they're talking about...right? “You always hang around garages just to roast drivers?”

“Just the ones with weak qualifying laps,” she said, then smirked.

He blinked, taken aback for half a second and then grinned. “Okay, now I know you’re flirting.” immediately regretting it, heat rising up his neck.

She raised a brow, surprised at his boldness “I don’t flirt.”

“That’s what all good flirts say.”

She rolled her eyes but chuckled. For a few moments, they just stood there in the humming silence of the paddock. Not much said. But she noticed how his fingers tapped against the table. How he kept glancing at her like he was trying to figure her out.

He's so soft, so quiet, beautiful... And oh, did she love breaking pretty things. They start talking regularly after that day.

...

Oscar hadn’t meant to find her.

He was just looking for some quiet during the chaos of a post-qualifying press circuit. The hotel was packed, the lobby was louder than the paddock. So he slipped through a door that led to a narrow balcony, needing a breath.

She was already there.

Leaning on the railing, cigarette in hand. The night was velvet dark and gold-lit, and the glow of the cherry cast her face in an almost cinematic silhouette. She didn’t look at him right away. Just exhaled slow, smoke dancing around her like flames. He froze for a second.

Everyone had whispered things about her. Harsh. Cold. Dangerous, even. But standing there, her shoulder blades rising and falling with each breath, she looked more like someone who’d built her armor carefully and wore it heavily.

She finally glanced over her shoulder. “Lost, golden boy?” He blinked, not sure whether to answer or leave.

“You can stay,” she added after a beat, tapping ash off the side with a flick that said she didn’t really care either way.

He leaned on the opposite end of the railing, giving her space. “Didn’t know you smoked.” He muttered awkwardly, tapping his finger on the glass.

“You didn’t know me,” she said. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact.

He looked at the skyline instead of her. “Guess I still don’t.”

She smirked, finally looking at him. “Smart boy.”

The silence hung, comfortable and strange. That feeling is back, he thinks, but it's different this time, it doesn't bother him, maybe he's gotten used to it. Then she offered the pack toward him without looking. Not really asking. Just holding it in his direction.

"No, thank you." He didn’t take one. But he didn’t leave either.

And she didn’t say a word about it. She just smoked her cigarette and let him share her quiet, the way someone might hand over a piece of themselves without even knowing they did.

She lit a second cigarette. Oscar watched her. “I don’t smoke often,” she said suddenly, voice quieter now. “Only when I feel like I’ll explode otherwise.”

He glanced at her, brows pulled slightly. “Bad day?”

She laughed, low and bitter. “Bad life, maybe.”

He didn’t smile at that, didn’t make it a joke. Just nodded like he understood. Like he wasn’t afraid of that edge she lived on. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t smoke, but… I’ve had days like that. Where it feels like if one more person asks how I’m feeling or tells me to smile for the camera, I’ll just—” He made a vague exploding gesture with his hands.

She looked at him. Really looked. “You don’t seem like the explode type.”

He shrugged. “I hide it better than you.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. Oscar lost his breath for the way the lights from the hotel hit her “So there’s a version of you that screams and throws things?”

“Maybe not throws. But I’ve thought about it,” he said, smiling now.

She grinned, soft but surprised. “Huh. Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought.”

He blinked, she's been thinking about him? He gave her a look. “You thought I was boring?”

“I thought you were safe,” she corrected, a little too honest. “And I hate safe.”

“Maybe you just don’t trust safe.”

That landed a little too hard. She went quiet, fingers tightening around her cigarette.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “That was... too much.”

But she didn’t get mad. She just looked out at the skyline again. “No. You’re not wrong.” putting the poison to her lips.

A long silence stretched between them, something warm and brittle. A truce.

Then she glanced sideways and muttered, “Still not taking a cigarette?”

He shook his head.

She exhaled smoke toward the stars. “Golden boy.” And she didn’t say it like an insult.

...

After that night on the balcony, the air between them shifts just a little. Next race week, she walks past him in the paddock. Doesn’t say anything at first, just shoots him a knowing look. He offers a tiny smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes unless he means it. This time, he means it.

As she's about to turn the corner, he calls after her quiet, but clear.

"Hey."

She stops. Looks over her shoulder.

He walks up, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. The golden baby hairs at the nape of his neck catching light. “I figured... if you ever need someone to talk to. Or not talk to. Just… stand around and keep quiet next to you.” A soft laugh. “I’m good at that.”

She eyes him, chin tilted, unreadable. Then, after a pause, pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to him without a word.

He takes it, surprised but not stupid enough to question it, and enters his number first name and a little racecar emoji. Hands it back.

“What should I save you as?” he asks.

She smirks, plucking the phone back. “Don't worry golden boy, you'll figure it out.”

That night, he gets a text.

New contact added...

...

The garage had quieted, the roar of engines long since faded, replaced by the low mechanical murmurs of winding-down systems and the occasional clang of tools being packed up. Overhead lights cast long shadows, soft and golden against the cool gray of concrete floors and carbon fiber. Most of the team had cleared out, only a few stragglers remained, their voices echoing faintly from the far end.

She sat on the edge of a workbench, one leg crossed over the other, ankle bouncing lazily. Her lips were parted slightly, gloss smudged from biting the inside of her cheek. She was dressed sharply as always, but the sharpness dulled in this quiet hour, jacket shrugged halfway off, strands of hair falling messily from where she’d tucked them behind her ears.

Oscar was leaning against the wall opposite her, helmet in hand, still suited up. His curls were messy with sweat and humidity, cheeks flushed faintly from the day’s heat. He looked tired but content, relaxed in a way she’d only seen when no one else was around. They’d been talking for a while, longer than either of them intended.

He'd made her laugh. Really laugh, something startled and unguarded, a sound that cracked out of her like lightning. It silenced them both for a moment. She blinked at him, stunned, as if she'd just let something important slip out.

"What?" he’d said, smiling crookedly.

"You made a joke," she replied, feigning horror. “I thought you were the serious one.”

“I have layers.”

“Like an onion.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

And she laughed again, quieter this time, but closer to him. The distance between them had been shrinking all evening, physically and otherwise. Every time she leaned in to say something, her perfume wrapped around him like a whisper. Every time she pushed his shoulder or smirked at him, he had to fight the instinct to reach back.

Now, the air between them hung heavy, still. She stared at him. He stared back.

Then she uncrossed her legs and hopped lightly down from the bench, stepping closer, too close. Her chest brushed his arm, her fingers lightly skimming the fabric of his sleeve, a touch so casual it felt intentional.

“You’re not as boring as you look,” she said, voice lowered just slightly, eyes darting to his mouth for the briefest second.

He huffed a laugh, lips curling up, but his heart was thudding in his chest. “You always flirt by insulting people?”

“Only with special ones."

The words landed between them like a strike. His gaze dropped to her lips. Hers flicked to his. He leaned forward a little. She tilted her head, fractional movements, both of them holding their breath. Her hand was still on his arm, nails lightly brushing the fabric.

It would take nothing, just one more inch, one more second, for them to close the distance.

And then—

“Oscar!”

They flinched apart like they'd been caught. He stepped back, blinking fast. Her hand dropped. The moment splintered like glass under pressure.

She tried to brush it off. “Guess they still need you,” she said, recovering faster than he did, but her voice was quieter now. Her walls didn’t go all the way back up, but the door was closing.

He nodded slowly, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Yeah… I guess they do.”

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

Until he turned away, slow and heavy-footed. And even as he walked toward the voices calling his name, his mind stayed behind, with getting the taste of her so close he could’ve sworn he still felt her breath against his cheek.

...

You poison every little thing that I do

“Watch out for her, mate. She’s not someone you want to get too close to.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a little surprised by the caution in Lances voice. “What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely curious. He’s seen the way her boldness and confidence have always left him on edge, but he’s never really thought of her as dangerous, at least not in any serious way.

“She’s... got a reputation,” the driver says, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “People say she’ll use anyone to get what she wants. Doesn’t care who she steps on. And the rumors she spreads? She’s good at making people believe them. She gets inside your head, makes you question everything.”

Oscar feels a knot tighten in his stomach. That feeling is back. The warning stirs something in him. He’s seen her as this intriguing force, someone who’s always had a way of challenging everyone, pulling him in. But this doesn’t sound like the woman he’s been getting to know.

“Who exactly is saying all this?” Oscar asks, trying to keep his tone light, but there’s an edge of doubt creeping in.

Lance looks away, his expression turning serious. “It’s not just one person. Ask around, Oscar. You’ll hear the stories. She’s not someone you want to be mixed up with.”

Later that night, unable to shake the warning, Oscar starts digging. He asks a few more people, cautiously at first, but it doesn’t take long before the whispers start pouring in. Everyone seems to have an opinion on her. some avoid her entirely, others just don’t trust her. But the more Oscar hears, the darker the picture gets.

Rumors swirl about her—how she manipulates situations, uses her beauty to get people to do what she wants, and how she’s torn apart friendships and relationships in the past. Stories about her spreading lies and causing chaos are repeated again and again. It’s clear now: She isn’t just a woman who plays by her own rules; she plays with people’s lives like they’re chess pieces.

Oscar’s heart sinks as the weight of the reality settles over him. He thought he saw something good in her, something worth fighting for. But now, it feels like he’s been blinded by his attraction to someone who’s far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

The realization hits him hard, and as he stands in the middle of the paddock, the buzz of the race weekend around him, he’s left with a choice: walk away from this whirlwind he’s been caught in... or keep going, despite knowing the truth.

...

He’s lying in bed. Lights off, the room silent except for the low hum of the hotel air conditioning. But Oscar can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s her face he sees.

The way she looked at him on the balcony. The softness in her voice when she said his name. The smirk when she caught him staring too long. But now all he can hear is “You don’t want to get too close to her.”

He turns onto his side, frustrated. Grabs his phone off the nightstand. Just a peek. Just something to quiet the noise in his head.He types her name into the search bar.

Big mistake.

The results hit like a slap: headlines from glossy tabloids, anonymous gossip blogs, F1 forums with threads full of theories and rants. And then… videos. Short clips from events, shaky footage of her arguing with someone in a VIP lounge, walking out of a gala, stone-faced while a woman behind her is crying. Tweets calling her manipulative. Reddit threads filled with speculation and story after story from “insiders.”

“She said I was irrelevant to my face.”

“She told my friend she wasn’t pretty enough to date an F1 driver.”

“She leaked that PR scandal before the team could control it. I know it was her.”

He scrolls. He reads. He watches. Each new click feels worse than the last, but he can’t stop. He’s consumed.

And then he finds a post -long, detailed. An anonymous user claiming they knew her personally. It’s brutal. Cold. A timeline of friendships destroyed, opportunities taken by force, people she "exposed" for things no one was ever supposed to know. Some things might be exaggerated. But others… they line up.

He sits there in the dark, lit only by the glow of his screen, the sick feeling in his stomach growing stronger. He should block her. Forget her. Walk away. But he doesn't. He still wants to see that smirk again.

...

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t even officially friends at first. Just two people orbiting the same space, brushing past each other between interviews and paddock chaos, trading a look here, a quiet nod there. But something shifted slowly, then all at once.

It started with the laughing.

It wasn’t loud or wild. Just soft moments, shared glances, little jokes muttered under their breath when no one else could hear. Oscar had a way of drawing out a laugh she hadn’t used in years. Not the sharp, cynical kind she usually wielded like a weapon, but something warmer. Something reluctant. Genuine. She started looking for him, tracking the way his shoulders shook slightly when he tried not to smile too wide.

He made her feel… human again.

And somehow, despite her walls, despite the rumors and the carefully sculpted exterior she showed to everyone else, she started letting him see her. Really see her.

Late night texts turned into voice notes. Voice notes into video calls. She sent him songs without lyrics that said everything she didn’t know how to. He sent her blurry photos of the sky, his cat, his face half-hidden by the sun behind him, each one followed by a soft, “Thought you’d like this.”

In the paddock, he walked a little slower when she was around. She leaned closer when he talked. There were days when their shoulders brushed and neither of them moved away. Nights when they found each other on balconies, sharing secrets like confessions, smoke curling through the quiet between them.

He never pushed. Never asked for more than she was willing to give. And she hated how much she liked that.

There was a moment, a stupid, tiny moment, when she realized it had gone too far. He had made her laugh so hard during a rain delay that her eyeliner smudged, and she’d reached to gently wipe her eyes, when she looked up, he was already watching her with that look. The kind of look that says, I’d follow you anywhere even if I knew I’d get hurt. And I don't know why.

She had to walk away then. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But it did. Every little thing mattered now.

The way he waited for her after media duties without ever saying why. The quiet way he’d ask if she was sleeping okay when her her eyes looked darker than usual. The time he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and didn’t make a big deal of it when she didn’t give it back.

And she let him in. Slowly. Recklessly.

He saw her, and she let him.

So when things changed, when his texts became shorter, his eyes colder, his laughter quieter around her, she felt it like a knife to the chest. She knew something had happened. Someone had told him something.

But before the silence, there had been this... almost. Like they were standing on the edge of something real, something wild and sacred. Like they were about to step into something neither of them could undo.

And now? Now he was slipping away.

And the worst part? She was starting to realize she cared.

More than she should have. More than she wanted to.

...

Lacy, Oh Lacy, I just loathe you lately

2023 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX

He was pulling away. She could feel it.

Oscar didn’t say anything outright, he was too polite, too careful for that. But she had always been good at reading tension, and lately, he’d been a damn novel of it. Shorter glances. Polite nods. No more waiting for her after interviews. No more inside jokes muttered under his breath.

It infuriated her.

Not because she needed his attention, she didn’t need anything. But because she let herself want it. Want him. And now he was acting weird. Distant. Like someone had whispered something in his ear that made him look at her differently.

So what did she do? She burned.

She stalked through the paddock like a storm cloud in heels. People whispered again when she passed, just the way she liked it. She leaned too close to Lando during a pre-race briefing, laughed too loud at something Charles said just as Oscar walked by. And when she caught Oscar’s eye across the garage, she tilted her head and smirked, sweet, dangerous, knowing. As he looked at her like a kicked puppy.

“You’re being horrible again,” Lando muttered, watching her from the side.

She popped her gum and said, “Am I?”

He wouldn’t say what was wrong? Fine. She’d make it worse. She showed up in the garage when she didn’t need to be there, lounging on the pit. She didn’t even look his way, not until he had to pass her. And then? A slow, calculated look up and down. One brow raised. Her lips curled like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense.

It was driving him insane. She knew it.

Every time she got a little too close to someone else, every time she smiled at the wrong guy for a second too long, Oscar's jaw clenched tighter. She caught it all. He never confronted her, never said a word—but she knew he was watching.

Good. Let him. Let him stew in whatever guilt or judgment he was choking on. If he wanted distance, fine, she’d give him a show. But underneath it all—beneath the smirks and the chaos—she was fuming.

Because he was pulling away And it was starting to hurt.

...

Oh, how he hates her lately.

He hates the way she smirks at other drivers, all flirt and fire and nothing left for him anymore. Hates how she doesn’t look at him like she used to, not with curiosity or teasing challenge, but like he’s a pawn that disappointed her. Like he’s beneath her now. A momentary lapse in her otherwise flawless taste.

He hates that she’s everywhere.

He hates that she leans too close to Lando, that her laugh rings out sharp and loud like a damn warning bell. Hates the way she struts into the paddock like she owns it, sunglasses hiding the eyes that used to meet his in stolen glances. Hates that she gets under his skin without even trying, because she’s not trying anymore, not with him.

But worst of all, He still wants her. Maybe even more now. This boiling need to touch her. This angry, uncontrolled want.

Still finds himself glancing over his shoulder in case she’s there. Still hears her voice echo when he tries to focus. Still checks his phone at night, half hoping, half terrified she’ll text.

He told himself to back away, convinced himself he had to. After everything he heard, after everything people warned him about her... he believed them. Tried to listen.

But she didn’t make it easy. She never did.

She’s turned cruel again. She’s turning heads and twisting knives and pretending he never mattered. Oscar is unraveling.

Because he can’t stop wanting the girl who now acts like she never wanted him at all.

...

And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

She’s laughing again. Louder this time. Her hand grazes the arm of someone else - he can't remember who, he doesn't care, she's touching someone else. Just to tempt him, make him snap. And it works.

Oscar doesn’t even realize he’s walking toward her until she turns around, and raises a perfect brow at him. Her smile freezes.

God how she missed looking into those eyes. “Can I help you, golden boy?” she asks, sugary venom dripping from every syllable.

He grabs her arm and pulls her away, not harshly, but firm. Behind the garage. Out of sight. He's breathing heavily. Her heels clack on concrete until they’re alone.

Letting go of her hand, he turned to her, chest rising and falling “Are you done?” he asks, voice low, sharp.

She leans back on one hip, lips curling as she takes in the way he's shaking. “With what?”

“With whatever the hell this is,” he snaps. “You being a nightmare to everyone and making it my problem.”

Her eyes flash, face falling. “I’m not your problem anymore, remember?”

“You never were my problem. You were-” He chokes on the words, throws his hands up. “You were something else. And now I don’t know what you are.”

“Oh, poor Oscar,” she mocks, stepping closer. Her voice dropping to a whisper, darkly painted lips casting a spell, he feels. “You get scared off by some rumors and now you can’t handle the consequences?”

“I trusted you!” he breathes out frustrated “And then you flipped a switch and started acting like I’m nothing.”

“You made me nothing first,” she snaps, suddenly too close, fire in her eyes. “You believed them. All of them. You didn’t even ask me.”

His jaw tightens. “Because I thought if any of it was true, even a little... I had to get out before..."

“Well,” she says, lifting her chin. “Guess what?"

The silence between them crackles. Breathing heavy. Hearts pounding. His eyes breathe her in. His head is buzzing, the world is is too light, or maybe she was too dark. He can't breathe, only breathe her.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

Her face holding a hidden pain only he notices “Took you long enough.”

And then, like fire catching on gasoline, he kisses her. Pressing his lips to hers harshly, her lips were so soft he needed to press harder to feel her, or maybe that's what his mind was telling him to rationalize wanting to get closer. More. More. Like he’s furious. Like he’s starved. Like he hates himself for it. His big arms come around her, one gripping her side and she melts into him, she kisses him back, just as angrily. Teeth, hands, a silent war with no winners. Her hands sliding into his hair, those golden strands she couldn't think about, the strands that had seamed her heart together without him even noticing. She pulled on it, bringing him closer, drawing out a soft groan from him and he pressed her body closer. She caught his lips between her teeth and pulling away, catching their breaths.

She watches him as he kept his eyes shut, creases on his face making him look so desperate, little whispers between breaths escaping him-

"-hate me. Why do you hate me-"

She grabs his face with her palms, her dark eyes sliding along his face, painting this image onto her brain.

"If there's anything in the world I don't hate, it's you, Oscar."

He lets out a shaky breath at her words and dropped his head on her shoulder.

...

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

Before the champagne, before the podium, before the trophy touched his hands - Oscar was already gone.

The second he crossed the finish line, engine cooling, helmet still on, the world around him exploded in cheers. His team was rushing over the barrier, pulling him into hugs, clapping his back, yelling his name into the chaos of victory.

But he wasn’t really there.

Helmet off, breath uneven, hair a mess, he turned. Eyes scanning wildly, past the cameras, the pit crew, the flashes.

There. Just out the garage. Arms crossed, watching him, expression unreadable.

But he knew her. Knew the tension in her jaw. Knew that if he got close enough, he’d hear her heart hammering under her calm.

He can't wait. He pushed past the clamor, weaving through people shouting his name. Someone tried to stop him, probably PR, but he brushed it off like static. None of it mattered. Not when she was there.

When he reached her, he didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just pulled her into his arms like he was starved for her. She stiffened only for a moment before melting into him, fingers tangling in the back of his suit. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, body trembling, not from exhaustion, but relief.

“Podium.” she whispered.

He nodded into her neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

And in that quiet moment, hidden in plain sight, before the cameras turned their gaze, Oscar Piastri let himself fall. Not from the high of victory, but into her. He can't stay away. He can't.

[suliigwp]

So cute I melted

I love your work seriously and I have a request!

charles x little sister!reader like she's 15 or smt (maybe adopted idk)

just pure fluff

maybe she comes along to a race for the first time and meets all the drivers n stuff

Baby Leclerc (Oneshot)

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Reader

Summary — It’s baby Leclerc’s first time in the paddock since moving in with her big brother, and everyone wants to say hello.

Notes — I’m using these requests as little writing exercises between longer chapters of my wips and it’s so much fun. Hope you love it anon.

The paddock was much louder than she’d expected.

Louder, and bigger, and filled with so many unfamiliar faces that it made her stomach twist and her fingers twitch at the hem of her sleeve nervously.

But Charles had promised. “Stay with me, ma chérie. I won’t let you out of my sight.” And so far, he’d kept his word. His hand was still wrapped around hers, warm, steady, safe, as he guided her through the crowded areas.

“Okay, that’s the Ferrari garage just there,” he said, slowing to a stop in front of the bright red blur of it all. “Looks very cool, no?”

She nodded, wide-eyed. She was wearing one of her brother’s vintage Ferrari jackets. It hung off of her, but it was so cosy. “It’s huge.”

“You’re tiny, so everything feels huge.”

She elbowed him in the ribs—lightly, but enough to make him laugh.

Then a voice called out from behind them.

“No way. Is this the famous baby Leclerc?”

She turned just as a grinning man in a blinding McLaren kit jogged over.

Oh. Lando.

She knew him from the races, obviously. But also from the YouTube videos Charles let her watch—usually late at night with popcorn when they were supposed to be asleep.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

Lando crouched slightly to meet her height, even though he was only an inch or two taller than she was. “Hi! I thought Charles had made you up to win sympathy points.”

She blinked at him.

“I do not need sympathy points,” Charles deadpanned.

“You do when you qualify P19.”

“Lando.” He cursed.

She giggled.

And the nerves began to fade.

—

By the time Max had given her a familiar fist bump and George offered her a sip of his iced coffee (“you’re a child, you don’t need caffeine,” Charles had immediately protested), she was smiling for real.

She sat in the Ferrari hospitality with Carlos, who insisted she try every flavour of Italian cookie, and played Mario Kart with Mick on her switch that Charles had remembered to stuff into her backpack.

Every time Charles glanced her way, she was either laughing or quietly watching everything, soaking it all in with a curiosity that reminded him so painfully of when she first moved in with him—wide-eyed, unsure, but eager to belong.

“You okay?” He asked as they walked back to the motorhome after lunch.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed from the sun. Sunblock, he thought with a self-deprecating frown. That’s what he’d forgotten. “I really love it here.” She whispered.

He smiled so wide it hurt.

“Good,” he said, tugging her hood up over her head. Sun protection. “Because you’re stuck with me now. Forever. So you’ll probably spend more time at tracks like this than at school — but we won’t tell anyone that.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into his side anyway.

And when the race ended hours later—when she waited at the back of the garage, clutching a team radio and bouncing on her toes as he stepped out of the car, sweaty and grinning and exhausted—he didn’t hesitate.

Helmet off. Arms open.

She ran straight into them.

“P2,” he said breathlessly into her hair. “For you.”

She beamed up at him. “I want to see you win, though!”

Charles blinked. Laughed. Shook his head. “Ah. Okay. You are definitely my sister.”

[suliigwp]

have you seen that video of lando trying to put on a bracelet and the fan who gave it to him is helping him but his hand is so ... *deep breath* ... SO BIG that it took him a while to make it fit and he wouldn't stop blushing and smiling and being all shy and cute (???!!??????????!!!!) can we please talk about it because there's genuinely so much to unpack

@landooscurls and I already had a little meltdown about it yesterday, and I’ll tell you what I told her: that is I’LL MAKE IT FIT mentality if I’ve ever seen it. Struggling, blushing, smiling through it and all that giggling, mhm, that’s a man who doesn’t give up until he’s all the way in. *ahem* I mean until the bracelet fits. Totally unrelated to how he’d handle his size in tighter circumstances, of course...

Just saying, resilient man with big hands and a determination kink?? Spectacular. Give me 14 of them right now 💋💋

[suliigwp]

Yk what I don't need to cus I'm not funny at all

Why do people put humor in warnings? Do I need to be warning people if I be making jokes?