#Cyber Weekend

[izzi-illustrates]

All my sketchbooks are currently 10% off until end of day Monday! They're perfect for artists of all ability levels and make wonderful gifts 😊📚✨

Link in first reblog or at:

etsy.com/shop/DustedSunshine

[artbyjenisse]

Sale this weekend!!

[yogurtsnet]

mini charms 🍀💫

use code yogurtsholiday for 15% off!

yogurts.net

[pocketramblr]

Making It Up As We Go!!!

WIPS

The hopefully not-a-missile.

[lvyseonu]

‌‌‌‌‌　　　　♡̶　　﹒‌　　𖣯　　°　　🎟

‌‌‌‌‌　　　　♡̶　　﹒‌　　𖣯　　°　　💿

[carpeossa]

His name is Cyber Wolf and he’s here to wreak havoc upon your system.

[catalisst]

Finally ... the holiday was wonderful, and the guests were great ... but now ... now, it's just US - finally!

Weekends with you ❦

[astonmartinii]

work wife | isack hadjar social media au

pairing: isack hadjar x fem rb social media admin reader

is it the pressure of wanting to make an impression that makes him do all of those stupid tiktoks or is it the one holding the camera?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

isackhadjar

liked by yourusername, liamlawson30 and 109,392 others

isackhadjar: another weekend of kicking ass, lighting up tiktok and supplying the pastries

view all comments

user1: that’s MY tiktok star

user2: the kardashians are gonna have to sue for identity fraud real soon

user3: he’s got the ass to match as well

yourusername: real

isackhadjar: is this not workplace harassment

yourusername: please don’t sue me, i’m broke enough as it is

isackhadjar: lawyer up babe

yourusername: i thought i was allowed to comment on your peach as your work wife

isackhadjar: i’ll check with HR

yourusername: chat am i cooked?

user4: who is this girl

user5: bro she’s the RB social admin

user6: she calls his ass fat and forces him to do those tiktoks… we might have to send her to the electric chair

yourusername: FORCE?

isackhadjar: okay… only i can slander my work wife, those tiktoks are completely consensual

user7: oh i know those two are a nightmare to work with

user8: what’s worse: having to film those videos or having to third wheel

liamlawson30: if i speak i am in big trouble

yourusername: LIAM?

liamlawson30: turns out i am in trouble regardless

yourusername: anyway… thank you for the croissants… and the points i guess

isackhadjar: just making your live tweet job a little easier

yourusername: you’re just so generous

isackhadjar: for you? of course

user9: are we interrupting

yukitsunoda0511: just leave them be, they’ll be ignoring us anyway

yourusername

liked by liamlawson30, isackhadjar and 3,029 others

yourusername: a weekend posting f1 reels from the pool

view all comments

user12: wait who was going to tell me that admin was this cute

user13: yall are late i’ve been camped here for months

user14: are we flexing how long we’ve been stalking the admin of an f1 page?

user13: yes

isackhadjar: so it’s true… you really don’t care about me once you’ve left the paddock

yourusername: what? no!!!!!

isackhadjar: well are the postal services on strike? where was my invite?

yourusername: you’re mr money bags in this relationship, you could’ve flown yourself

yourusername: i’ve been saving for this trip for TIME

isackhadjar: i didn’t know that was an option…

olliebearman: omg just say you wanted her to invite you personally

isackhadjar: ??????? what are you doing here

olliebearman: this is a public comment section and you’re embarrassing yourself

yourusername: woah careful how you’re speaking on my work husband

olliebearman: how about you make him your real husband so he stops making it our problem

isackhadjar: i did not make it your problem

kimiantonelli: your diary did

isackhadjar: YOU READ MY DIARY

isackhadjar: i mean JOURNAL

yourusername: no bullying my man in my comment section

yourusername: make it in RB’s comment section please

isackhadjar: Y/N?

yourusername: i need the engagement to pay my salary !

isackhadjar: okay i guess…

user14: is this a bit or is he actually so down bad that he’ll let people cyber bully him?

user15: i mean look at the material… i’d be doing worse for a woman like that

user16: we need her in front of the camera more often

yourusername: aren’t you all smooth talkers…

isackhadjar: this post is now formally my suicide note

yourusername: stop being so dramatic, you know you’re my favourite

isackhadjar: of all time or just in the paddock

yourusername: okay babe let’s stop fishing now

liamlawson30

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 178,309 others

tagged: yourusername & isackhadjar

liamlawson30: formula one driver or professional third wheel - everyone’s favourite gameshow

view all comments

user17: who is providing more y/nisack propaganda: isack or liam

user18: isack is flexing it but liam is posting it at gunpoint

user19: who is holding the gun

user20: isack

isackhadjar: yes, it is that deep

isackhadjar: who said that?

gabrielbortoleto: my condolences liam

yourusername: excuse you?

isackhadjar: you can be mean to me but i draw the line at being mean to y/n

gabrielbortoleto: i’ll be mean to both of you because the five (5) minutes i spent around you two earlier was unbearable

yourusername: isack literally bought you a coffee?

gabrielbortoleto: first of all, it was the RB hospitality so he did not have to pay. second of all, i couldn’t stomach my coffee over all of the tension. seriously how do you people get anything done?

yourusername: are you doubting my professionalism?

yourusername: god forbid a girl jokes with her friends at work

isackhadjar: isack hadjar found dead at 20 in his paris apartment

user21: this is getting a wee bit sad

user22: i think girlypop is trying not to get a one way trip to the HR office

user23: for real… i’ve seen the tension through the screen

liamlawson30: she wants that cookie bad

yourusername: LIAM???

maxverstappen1: i found isack and y/n’s dynamic quite charming actually

liamlawson30: that’s just because y/n is an OG max stan so she doesn’t make you do any of the dumb challenges

yourusername: guilty

maxverstappen1: as she should be

isackhadjar: i thought you were an isack stan

yourusername: i am! but why would i miss out on seeing your face in front of my camera

isackhadjar: hehhehehehehehehehe

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 38,904 others

tagged: isackhadjar

yourusername: all the isack photos on admin’s phone that she can’t post on main

view all comments

user27: HOLY MOLY

user28: is this safe for work

user29: goodbye to the best RB admin in the world there’s no way you have a job after this post

user30: i will personally fight RB if they force her to leave

isackhadjar: well this is not what he discussed

yourusername: chat is it illegal to flex your handsome boyf

isackhadjar: i thought maybe our super romantic picture at the eiffel tower would be a cute inclusion

yourusername: sorry i got excited …

isackhadjar: i’d do the same but unfortunately that’s for my eyes only

yourusername: there’s more where they came from

isackhadjar: YIPEE!!

liamlawson30: how is this guy in a relationship?

isackhadjar: it’s called being a nice, handsome guy who WILL practice his lipsyncing in the mirror

yourusername: emphasis on handsome

yourusername: omg i can’t believe that’s my man

yourusername: hashtag winner

user31: what has happened to my beautiful sport

yourusername: awwwwww is someone mad i get to kiss the man and you don’t

user32: omg she’s on smoke

user33: HR be damned

yourusername: HR were the first people to know i fear

yourusername: i can’t believe i was ready to lose my dream job for a MAN

isackhadjar: am i not… worth it?

yourusername: oh 100% but my parents would’ve killed me and then you

isackhadjar: but you still had a job so they love me, right?

isackhadjar: THEY LOVE ME, RIGHT?

yourusername: of course!

isackhadjar: good because my parents love you more than they love me at this point

kimiantonelli: WHY DID YOU THINK WE NEEDED TO SEE THIS?

yourusername: so people know i have GAME

olliebearman: first we had to suffer through your weird phase and now this whoring

yourusername: hey! only i can call isack a whore 😞

isackhadjar: amongst other things

liamlawson30: LEAVE US OUT OF THIS SMUT

user34: no please keep going

yourusername: don’t think of my boyfriend like that

isackhadjar: don’t think of my girlfriend like that

isackhadjar

liked by liamlawson30, lewishamilton and 409,208 others

tagged: yourusername

isackhadjar: upgraded my work wife to girlfriend (wife coming soon)

view all comments

user35: warning: do not try this at home you will actually lose your job

user36: i hope they still make him do all the dumb tiktoks

liamlawson30: believe me, they will. it’s like some weird foreplay for them

yourusername: are you actually trying to get me fired?

liamlawson30: no but you two are little freaks

isackhadjar: that’s a compliment to me

lewishamilton: congratulations to the new couple in the paddock

isackhadjar: OH MY FUCKING GOD

yourusername: being shown up in my own relationship already, you hate to see it

lewishamilton: ???

isackhadjar: thank you lewis! you’ll have to come visit us in paris some time!

yourusername: will i be demoted to the couch that weekend?

isackhadjar: no?

lewishamilton: i don’t really know what’s going on here, just happy that you guys are happy

yourusername: thanks lewis!

yourusername: but a threesome is not completely out of the question right?

lewishamilton: i could be your father, both of you. no.

yourusername: worth a try

pepemarti: can’t believe you forgot about me

isackhadjar: just because i have a girlfriend doesn’t mean i can’t have my husband

yourusername: right.

isackhadjar: no I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

pepemarti: i see 😞

isackhadjar: what is going on

yourusername: nonsense in this comment section aside, i love you baby!!!

isackhadjar: i love you too cherie xx

yourusername: if you get points again this weekend you can choose what nonsense i make you do next

isackhadjar: wow what a prize

yourusername: well i can promise other things, but we really should keep it professional in public

kimiantonelli: you just proposed a threesome to lewis

yourusername: GET OUT OF OUR BUSINESS

isackhadjar: i’ll take the deal for both

yourusername: get to racing then pretty boy

fin.

note: i love me some isack hadjar and i can't believe this is the first time i've written for him !!!

[cryptotheism]

Sometimes I feel like the one transfem eunuch cyber mystic who doesn't really fit with the others because I'm trying to run the Youth educational outreach weekend program

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[motherlymagick]

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[bambisnc]

      MEETING GAMER BF IRL?! (GONE WRONG)   wherein % you realize your actions have consequences . .

            ST✮RRING───N.RK 🎮 826 && WR. kisses ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : hi ...... this is for instagram / blr user calabaeri cb to me pls ... �� briar baef's gamer bf hee made me think ab this heh >< along w/ ifeye's song irl !

                        𝖢𝘓𝗂𝖢𝖪     🖇. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝖭𝘈𝖵𝗂

calling nishimura riki your boyfriend would be an overstatement.

he was more “boy you met in a discord server one day and bonded with over similar music tastes and roblox horror games.” with whom you also occasionally flirted.

it was over a quick round of one such game that he’d proposed meeting each other face to face. because like, who even cares about cyber security, really.

not like he’d given you any reason not to trust him, after all. before you knew it—you’d met at a cafe. and very subsequently agreed to go over to his place. he’d gotten a new game over the weekend, ni-ki had told you over coffee, would you like to test it out with him? you had agreed. 

so why was it that what was only supposed to be a quick gaming session has long extended into you seated over his lap, with him kissing you like a man starved? 

it was safe to say that neither of you had really been paying attention to the game from the start. ni-ki was the one who’d brought it up first. 

“you keep looking at me like that,” eyes still trained on the controller as his fingers worked with it deftly, “and i might start thinking you want something from me.”

with great haste you had torn your own gaze off his figure, hoping to wave off the implication of his words with some kind of a joke. fine, sure, maybe you were a little distracted. 

“and what if do want something?” wait, fuck, you had not meant to say that.

ni-ki’s head lowered, and for a moment you cheered internally. you’d managed to make him flustered?! you could taste the satisfaction. this was like revenge for all the times he’d tried to pull one over on you—deep voice through your headset doing the absolute most to make you lose your cool and let your in-game character die in lieu.

“you okay there, baby?” you can swear that the nickname, born after one too many sleepless nights spent talking to the other on voice chat, was only meant to be slightly patronizing in the situation. 

a pause. you could practically hear your heartbeat and hoped against hope that he couldn’t. the barely there proximity between your figures was probably not helping either. you have half a mind to get up right there and hide away in his bathroom when you almost gasp at his thigh brushing against yours.

you remember flinching slightly when, upon looking at ni-ki again, you realized his focus was completely on you. “yeah. ” glancing up through his lashes, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “just wondering when you’ll tell me exactly what it is that you want.”

he set down his controller then, before lazily taking yours out of your hand as well. “and be quick about it—preferably before i start guessing.”

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t, would be more apt.

because ni-ki had leaned in just close enough for you to be able to see the reflection of the neon video game credits rolling out on the screen in front of you.

game over.

“hm? not gonna tell me?” 

and suddenly you find yourself regretting spending the entire day being a tease. the casual touches, the playful comments—you should’ve known better.

should’ve known that if you were going to start this game, it was only natural ni-ki would end up finishing it.

his hand brushing back a lock of hair behind your ear brings you crashing back to reality. back to the moment.

you swallow. “i thought you said you’d guess.”

that was all it had taken.

ni-ki’s lips crashed into yours before you could even process it. and god, the only half coherent thought still left in your brain was how you wanted more.

he kissed you like he had a point to prove. you could feel it in the way he smirked into the movement, like he’d known this would happen from the very beginning. 

you’re not sure if you were the one who moved first or if it was his hand that now rests deliciously heavy on your waist which had pulled you to sit perched over his lap. 

ni-ki doesn’t seem to care though. not with how he keeps diving back in with murmurs of jus’ one more. you have to push him away with a palm covering his lips, having been left in desperate need of air.

“you’re a menace.” you finally manage to complain. 

he agrees. well you assume he does from how he licks at your hand with that shit eating grin. “took you long enough to figure that out, baby.” 

and that’s the last of the talking that happens for a while as he pulls you impossibly closer, fingers once again angling your face to meet his own. 

you don’t really find it in you to complain about that, though.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[starmahgalaxies]

*drags out book titled An Aegoromantics Guide to Not Being Blind to Romance*

*sits down and dramatically opens a page*

This is for Aoisaki, the girls who made me go "They're gay af" with a massive dozen neon signs pointing to them.

I don't have screencaps of the end mentioned above, but I do have a collection of others.

(click on for quality)

Case #1

This is a point in the game when illusions take form of the kid's partners to try to deceive them and make them despair. Aoi does the majority of the lifting when keeping Saki out of it.

Afterward:

They specifically call it out! And Takuma is a blind bi idiot who is worse than me in picking out romance!

Girl, you have fallen hard. I think this is beyond thinking of her as a friend at this point.

Case #2

(kept to the most relevant parts as tumblr image limit is bigger but not big enough for these girls' feelings)

Important to note in Case #1, a large part of trying to tear Saki down by the fake!Floramon was her dishonesty and "selfishness" on not spilling the beans about her illness. Aoi is right (of course she is the two have each other on lock) about Saki being straightforward. A big part of Saki's character is lack of tact and bluntness through most other avenues. Back to Case #2, Saki, the straightforward and blunt person she is, cannot figure out how to talk to Aoi. She is flustered and clueless on how to talk to her crush!

Saki wants Floramon to be a stand-in for Aoi so she can practice talking to her! That's the equivalent of practicing talking to her crush in the mirror and wants a friend to stand in to gather courage. That's romantic as fuck! It made me think of setting up the Alphys and Undyne date in Undertale. Saki isn't one caught up in social anxiety though; she's just super nervous because that's her crush!!

Did I mention that wanting to talk to Aoi is such a pivotal scene for Saki's character that it's when Floramon reaches Perfect?

Aoi is the person she brings up by name. Their character arcs are about growing their confidence together!

*slams book shut. smiles*

PROPAGANDA FOR AOISAKI: [spoilers for survive] They're so close that Saki's death is the impetus for Aoi to go completely off-the-rails insane and try to destroy the world. Saki sacrifices herself for Aoi, who tries to destroy the world with her girlfriend gone. Tell me that doesn't drive you literally insane

PROPAGANDA FOR YUUFEI: The first and second in command...in Hacker's Memory they have a conversation where they go "we're actually More than friends [wink wink nudge nudge]" and I think that's beautiful. We love canon WLW

[mrspiastri]

✩ please, stay 💬

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: angst, like a lot more than normal, cyber bullying, eventual fluff

wc: 8.6k words

an: clubbed 2 reqs together, thank u anons 😘😘 also this hasn’t been proofread sorry okay it’s 1:33 am

The Shanghai paddock buzzed with energy on Thursday, the air slightly heavy with the morning mist and the promise of a competitive weekend. Oscar, despite running on fumes and four hours of sleep, had his game face on as he stepped out of the McLaren hospitality alongside Lando and Y/N.

His grip on the McLaren media backpack bag was tight, jaw clenched as they approached the long line of journalists eagerly waiting behind the barrier ropes.

He hated media day. Especially after a bad weekend. But he knew the drill: keep it professional, answer the tough questions, and spin it positively. His thoughts were partly with Y/N, who was chatting with one of the engineers. She always grounded him, even in the chaos of a race weekend.

Her hand in his was the only part of the morning that felt even remotely tolerable. The cameras clicked around them, media whispering and murmuring as they passed. Y/N didn’t particularly dislike the attention, but she certainly didn’t enjoy being under the spotlight all the time.

She and Oscar had always kept their relationship mostly private. A few photos on social media here and there. A quick kiss after a good race. A hug when emotions were high. That was it.

She had insisted on coming to China with him. Not just because she missed him, but because she had seen the way he carried the weight of Melbourne.

Back home, after finishing ninth, Oscar had come back to the garage a shadow of himself. She remembered how he had sat on the edge of the couch, still in his racing suit, staring at nothing. She had knelt in front of him, placing her hands gently on his knees, and waited until his eyes finally met hers.

“I messed it up,” he had said in a voice so quiet it barely counted as speech.

“You didn’t,” she had replied softly. “You did everything you could. It was just one of those races.”

He had shaken his head, shoulders tight with frustration. “It was my home race. I wanted to do better. For the fans. For the team. For me.”

“For me too?” She asked with a small, teasing smile, hoping to soften him.

That finally cracked something in him. A tired, crooked smile appeared as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Especially for you.”

She had held him then, arms wrapped tight around his neck, and whispered over and over again that one race did not define him. That no matter what happened on the track, she was proud. Always proud.

It was that moment that convinced her. He wasn’t going to carry that weight to China alone. She booked the flights the same night, packed her bags, and told him she’d be by his side the entire weekend.

Now, in Shanghai, she kept to the background as he peeled away to join Lando for media day. She stayed behind in hospitality, chatting with a few friends on the team, hoping to keep things light. But as always, the world outside was not so kind.

🪻🪻🪻

The first few interviews were easy enough, with questions about Shanghai’s new surface, expectations for the weekend, and how the car would be during FP1 tomorrow. He was hitting autopilot responses now. But then came a smug, grinning reporter from a lesser-known tabloid outlet, known more for drama than actual journalism.

“Piastri,” the man said, microphone up. “Tough result in Melbourne. 9th place at home. That must’ve stung.”

Oscar nodded politely. “Yeah, not the result we were aiming for. We had the pace but just couldn’t get back after I went onto the grass. But that’s racing.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow and then added, “You think… maybe distractions had something to do with it?”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, your girlfriend flew in, right?” The man continued, voice oily with insinuation. “She’s been showing up more and more lately. Some fans are starting to think it’s not helping. Maybe taking your focus off the job.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The reporter chuckled. “I’m just saying, she’s a pretty thing to look at. Sure. But is she worth all the bad results?”

For a second, everything froze.

Oscar’s mouth tightened. His eyes darkened like storm clouds, and the calm, media-trained exterior shattered.

“Excuse me?” He snapped, stepping slightly forward.

The reporter held up his mic again, clearly fishing for a reaction. “I mean, pretty girls at the track are never great for drivers trying to keep their head in the game—”

“Say that again,” Oscar interrupted, voice low and sharp. Lando instinctively stepped to the side, sensing where this was going. A few other drivers nearby turned their heads.

“You’re implying that because my girlfriend came to support me at my home race, I underperformed?” Oscar’s tone was controlled, but there was fire under it now.

The reporter started to speak, but Oscar cut him off. “Let me tell you something—Y/N has been nothing but supportive since the day I met her. She knows this sport. She respects it. And she respects me. She’s not a distraction; she’s a damn anchor when I need one.

He was properly heated now, stepping forward again, voice raised enough that a couple of PR people from the team began edging closer, unsure if they needed to intervene.

“She came halfway across the world to be there for me, and you’ve got the audacity to sit there and suggest that her presence is a problem?” Oscar shook his head, scoffing bitterly. “Maybe if you spent more time reporting on racing and less time gossiping like a tabloid, you'd know what you're talking about.”

The reporter, clearly not expecting that level of pushback, looked momentarily stunned. Oscar gave him a last disgusted look before backing off.

“We’re done here,” he said curtly and handed the microphone back to the media coordinator. “Get someone with actual respect for the sport next time.”

As he stalked off toward the garage, Lando caught up beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, remind me never to insult Y/N.”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately, but his jaw was still tight.

“That guy was out of line,” Lando added more seriously. “Good on you for saying something.”

Oscar sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just tired of it. She doesn’t deserve that kind of crap. Not from fans, not from the media.”

Back in hospitality, word of the confrontation was already making the rounds. When Y/N heard about it from a comms intern, her stomach sank a little. But she wasn’t surprised. She knew Oscar; he didn’t explode often, but when he did, it was always for a reason.

🪻🪻🪻

Y/N could hear Oscar’s voice rising, defending her, angry now, but her mind had already spiralled. The rest of the world faded. The murmuring voices blurred. She couldn’t even process what Oscar was saying back. All she could think was, Oh my god… what if he’s right? What if I’m hurting his career just by being here?

By the time Oscar ended the interview, storming off in a fury, she had already turned around and started walking. Fast. Her vision blurred as she walked blindly past the garages, past staff and crew and mechanics, not even registering when someone from McLaren called her name. Her steps quickened, heart hammering in her ears.

She needed to get away. Now.

The hotel room was dim and quiet when she finally stumbled in. She barely managed to close the door behind her before her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking. Her thoughts came in waves, harsh and cruel and unforgiving.

What if they were right?

She had seen the tweets. Read the comments. “She’s just a distraction.” “Why does she need to travel with him all the time?” “He was better off before she started showing up every weekend.” She had brushed them off, of course. Told herself the internet didn’t matter.

But hearing it out loud, from an actual reporter, in front of other journalists, other drivers, it was different.

She curled in on herself, tugging her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her mind raced with memories of Melbourne, how she had been there in the paddock, how she had hugged him after the race, and how she’d posted a photo of them with a soft caption trying to cheer him up. Had that made it worse? Had she taken the spotlight off him, even for a second?

Her heart cracked.

You’re just a pretty thing to look at. But are you worth all the bad results?

The words echoed like poison in her skull.

Tears spilt down her cheeks before she could stop them. She sat there in silence, sobbing into her sleeves, her breaths turning uneven and shaky. Guilt and shame wrapped around her like a storm.

What if she really was a liability? What if her presence made the team doubt Oscar’s focus? What if sponsors noticed? What if it snowballed into something bigger?

She didn’t want to be the reason he struggled.

She had come to China to support him, not to become a talking point or to become blame.

Biting down on her trembling lip, she reached for her phone with unsteady fingers and unlocked it. The screen was full of unread notifications, mentions, news alerts, and a few messages from McLaren people probably wondering where she went. She ignored them all.

Her fingers hovered over Oscar’s name in her contacts. She wanted to call him. She wanted him to tell her the reporter was wrong, that none of this was her fault.

But some cruel voice inside her whispered, And what if he doesn’t? What if part of him thinks the same thing and just won’t say it?

She dropped the phone onto the bed and curled into herself again, face buried in the pillow now, muffling her cries.

She felt like she was drowning in doubt.

Was she really right for someone like Oscar?

Or was she just the pretty girl in the background, taking up space in a place she didn’t belong?

The tears didn’t stop for a long time.

🪻🪻🪻

Media day wrapped later than expected.

The sun had started to dip over the Shanghai skyline, casting long shadows across the paddock. Oscar’s jaw still ached from how tightly he had been clenching it. Every step away from that interview felt heavier than the last. He’d done his duties. Answered the rest of the questions. Forced a few half-hearted smiles. But all he could think about was Y/N.

She hadn’t been in the crowd when he walked off. Not in hospitality either. He scanned the usual corners she liked to hang around, by the coffee machine and near the engineers' table, curled up in a chair scrolling through strategy sheets for fun. But she was nowhere.

“Hey,” he asked one of the McLaren comms managers. “Have you seen Y/N?”

The woman blinked. “She was near the media pen for a while. But… I think she left.”

“Left?” His stomach twisted.

“Yeah. I think she went back to the hotel. She looked pretty upset.”

Oscar didn’t wait for anything else.

He was already moving, phone in his hand, unanswered texts lined up on the screen, the car waiting at the paddock exit. His chest was burning, not from exhaustion anymore, but from fear.

The hotel room door was unlocked. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Oscar stepped in quietly, scanning the space. The lights were dimmed, curtains pulled tight, the air still and heavy. His heart sank the moment he saw her by the closet.

Y/N stood barefoot in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair pulled back messily, suitcase open on the bed. Her hands moved quickly, folding clothes with frantic precision, like the act of packing fast enough might drown out everything else.

“Y/N?” he said softly.

She flinched like she hadn’t heard him come in. Then she straightened slowly, her back still turned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I’m going home,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s blood ran cold. “What? Why?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag. “Because I need to. This… us… It’s not working.”

Oscar's heart dropped into his stomach. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, louder this time. “Y/N, where the hell is this coming from? You’ve been fine all week—this morning, we were—don’t do this.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, eyes on her hands.

“No. No, you don’t get to just decide that. Not like this. Not without an explanation.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

And then, her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I cheated on you.”

Oscar’s body went still.

For a moment, there was no air in the room. No noise. Just the hum of electricity and the thunderous sound of his heart slamming into his ribs.

“What?” His voice came out like a rasp.

“I cheated,” she said again, more firmly this time. “A few weeks ago. When you were in the factory and I was—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “Don’t say it again.”

She dropped her gaze, lips pressed tightly together.

Oscar stepped back like he’d been shoved. His throat burnt. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly.

“You are,” he snapped. “You’re lying to my face. I know you. And I know that’s not true.”

Her eyes flickered, pain breaking through her careful mask for a second.

“You’re trying to push me away,” he said, voice rising. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll let you go without a fight.”

Her silence told him everything.

He exhaled sharply, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Jesus, Y/N. Why would you do that? Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s easier this way!” she yelled suddenly, her voice strained and desperate. “It’s easier if you hate me! If you think I’m the villain, maybe you won’t come after me. Maybe you’ll move on and forget I ever—”

“Ever what?” Oscar shot back, his voice cracking.

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

She turned around then, and the sight of her face knocked the wind out of him. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, cheeks splotchy. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after me,” she said quietly.

“Y/N—”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have come. I thought I was helping, but I’m not. And today proved that.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did!” she cried suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she’d bottled up. “I heard what that reporter said. I heard it all, Oscar. I was standing right there. And you—God, you shouldn’t have had to defend me like that. You shouldn’t have to fight people on my behalf when you have enough pressure on your shoulders.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But that’s the problem,” she whispered, turning away again. “You’re too good to me. Too loyal. And one day it’s going to cost you.”

“No,” he said, his voice sharper now, cracking at the edges. “No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to stand here and tell me that being with you is some kind of liability. I don’t care what people say.”

“You should!” she shouted, shoving clothes harder into her bag. “You should care! Because they’re right! You’ve worked your whole life for this career, and I am just— I am just some girl who showed up and started taking up space in your world.”

Oscar’s eyes flashed. “You are not just some girl, Y/N.”

She exhaled harshly, dragging her hands through her hair in frustration. “I am the thing people point to when things go wrong for no reason. I am the excuse they reach for when you don’t get the result you deserve. I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came here because I love you and I wanted to support you. But maybe that was a mistake.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Oscar’s voice was low, angry, barely under control. “You think this is about results? You think I’d trade you for a few extra points on a race weekend?”

“You should!” she snapped. “Because this is your dream, Oscar. This is what you��ve fought for your whole life. I will not be the reason you lose it.”

His voice broke as he stepped closer. “You’re not. Y/N, please. You’re not any of those things.”

She shook her head, blinking hard as her tears began to fall again. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. You’ve sacrificed so much. I can’t be the reason you lose any of it.”

Oscar stood in front of her now, chest rising and falling fast. His hands shook as he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You are the only person in my life worth fighting for,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “Do you understand that? You—you—are the reason I get through the shit days. The reason I don’t spiral. The reason I feel something when everything else gets too heavy. You ground me. You make me better. Not worse.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt.

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he whispered, tears now burning in his eyes too. “You’re not the thing pulling me down. You’re the only thing keeping me standing.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you fall apart,” she whispered.

“You never have been,” he said. “Not once.”

She was crying openly now, fists clenched around the handle of the suitcase, shoulders shaking. “I love you, Oscar. But I have to do this.”

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t. Please don’t.”

“It’s the truth.”

“God,” he muttered, tears forming fast now, stinging his eyes. “I would’ve done anything for you. I have done everything for you. And now you’re standing here, lying to my face just so you can walk away and feel better about it?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. But I can’t be the reason your career goes down. I can’t be the weight that drags you under.”

“You were never the weight,” he snapped, tears slipping free. “You were the only fucking thing keeping me afloat.”

She stood there, trembling, her face crumpling.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s why I have to go.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, breath catching in his chest. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave.”

“I have to,” she said, backing toward the door, eyes spilling over. “Goodbye, Oscar.”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, barely able to breathe now. “Don’t do this. Please.”

But she was already pulling the door open.

And as it shut behind her, Oscar stood there in the middle of the room, gasping for air, eyes burning, heart breaking, feeling like the one thing that made everything else worth it had just been ripped away and taken the light with her.

The click of the latch was the loudest sound Oscar had ever heard.

🪻🪻🪻

The room was silent, but Oscar's thoughts were anything but. He hadn’t moved since the door shut.

Y/N’s scent still lingered in the air. Her hair tie was still on the bed. The mug she drank tea from that morning was still sitting on the nightstand. And the echo of her words—“I cheated on you”—still rang in his head like a cruel joke.

Because she hadn’t.

He knew she hadn’t. He saw right through it, and still, she left anyway. She meant to leave. And what hurt most wasn’t that she’d lied to his face. It was that she’d been hurting and never said a word.

He dropped down heavily onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. He tried to retrace it. The last few weeks. The looks she gave him. The way she clutched his hand after Melbourne, like she didn’t want to let go. The way she smiled for the cameras but looked tired when they were alone.

Why hadn’t he seen it?

Why hadn’t he asked?

Guilt crawled up his spine, sharp and bitter.

He reached for his phone, absently opening Instagram. Her profile was still there, untouched. He tapped on her most recent photo—one of them together in the paddock a few weeks ago, laughing under the sun.

The comments were brutal.

“She’s so fake.”

“Oscar needs to focus on racing and not on his little girlfriend.”

“No wonder he’s underperforming.”

“She’s just using him for the clout & fame.”

“What an attention whore.”

He sat there, reading them all, his stomach twisting. He scrolled further, then switched apps. Searched for her name on Twitter.

And that’s when the true weight of it hit him.

Edits. Threads. Memes. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes tearing her apart for being “a distraction”. People joking that every time she was in the paddock, Oscar qualified worse. People dissecting her outfits and her facial expressions, accusing her of being cold, calculating, and selfish.

One tweet read, “Y/N is singlehandedly ruining his career and smiling through it. What a bitch.”

Oscar felt sick.

He checked TikTok. Searched her name again.

More videos. More hate. People filming her in the paddock, zooming in on her while overlaying sad or ominous music. One video had the caption: “Oscar’s downfall has a name, and it starts with Y.”

And she had never shown him any of it.

Not one word. Not one complaint.

She’d stood next to him, smiled beside him, held his hand and told him he’d be okay, and all the while, the internet was ripping her apart, and she kept her pain buried deep so he wouldn’t have to carry it.

His vision blurred with tears.

She hadn’t left him because she didn’t love him.
She’d left because she loved him too much.
Because she thought she was protecting him.

Oscar tossed the phone on the bed and ran a hand through his hair, his breath shallow and sharp.

God, he should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve noticed the way she flinched when cameras lingered too long. The way she shrank whenever a reporter turned to her. The way she smiled less and less as the weeks passed.

She had been drowning in hate, and instead of reaching for him, she dove under and let herself sink just so he wouldn’t have to tread water with her.

He rubbed at his face furiously.

He would’ve fought every single one of them. Every nameless troll. Every cruel headline. Every ignorant fan who dared call the person he loved a burden.

But she never let him.

She left instead.

Because in her mind, that was love. Sacrifice.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, fists clenched. His heart was screaming. He didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing. But he knew she was out there, alone, scared, and convinced she had to carry this pain by herself.

And he hated that. Hated that he’d let her walk out thinking she was a problem he had to escape instead of the person he wanted to build everything around.

He pulled out his phone again, opened his contacts, thumb hovering over her name.

His chest ached.

And then, he texted her:

"I saw everything. I'm so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone."

No response.

But he knew her. And he would wait.

Oscar sat in the corner of his hotel room, laptop open, his hands trembling over the keyboard.

He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t even tried. Not after seeing the mess online. Not after watching the love of his life walk away believing she was the villain in a story she didn’t even write.

So he typed.

Over and over again, deleting and rewriting a single statement that had started to form in his head the moment he saw the hate Y/N had been hiding from him:

“To the people who claim to support me and still think it’s okay to attack someone I love, know this: your words have consequences. I’ve seen the comments, the videos, and the baseless accusations. And I’ve seen the damage they’ve caused. Y/N has done nothing but love and support me, quietly, without asking for anything in return. If my performance is affected, it’s not because of her. It’s because I’m human, and watching someone you care about get torn apart by strangers is enough to break anyone. If you really support me, then respect the people I care about. If you can’t do that, then you’re not my fan. Full stop.”

He stared at the blinking cursor, breathing hard, teeth clenched. It still didn’t feel like enough. Nothing he wrote could undo the hurt, but silence was worse.

He was done staying silent.

Just as he was about to send the draft to his PR manager, there was a knock on the door.

It was Kate from McLaren PR, flanked by two members of the communications team, phones and folders in hand.

“Oscar”, Kate began, her tone cautious, “we got your email. About the statement.”

He stood up. “Yeah. And?”

She glanced at the others and took a breath. “We appreciate how you feel. But we think it’s best not to make it public right now. There’s a risk of blowing things up even more.”

Oscar blinked. “You think protecting her is going to blow things up?”

Kate raised her hands gently. “I’m not saying that. But the best course is usually to keep things private. Address it internally, quietly. Focus on your racing. Let the noise die down on its own.”

Oscar laughed, but there was no humour in it, just disbelief. “Right. So I let them keep ripping her apart until she disappears from their radar. Is that the plan?”

“We just don’t think you should feed the trolls—”

“No. No. You don’t get to tell me to stay quiet while the girl I love gets blamed for things she had nothing to do with,” Oscar snapped. “She’s not even here anymore. She left because of all of this.”

Kate tried to keep her voice level. “Oscar, we understand this is emotional for you—”

“I’m not doing interviews,” he interrupted. “Not a single media session. No press conferences, no post-qualifying chats, nothing. And if that gets me a grid penalty or a fine, so be it.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Kate’s brows shot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Oscar said, his voice tight with fury and heartbreak. “Until I see actual action taken against the online abuse she’s been getting, until I see the team speak up, or the FIA, or someone with power do something, I’m not giving them any more of me. They don’t get my words while she’s out there hurting alone.”

But Oscar didn’t care. He was done playing the quiet good guy if it meant watching the person he loved be torn apart just to keep the peace.

After they left, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves, Oscar slumped back into the chair and picked up his phone.

Still no response.

He tried texting again.

“Please, just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. I’ll explain everything. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Nothing.

He called.

It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

He didn’t even know if she was reading his messages anymore.

So he tried again.

“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you. And I will spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me. Just please know that I see it now. I see what you went through. I see you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Still nothing.

He set the phone down and let his head fall into his hands. Tears pooled in his eyes again. But this time, they didn’t fall. They just sat there, heavy and burning.

🪻🪻🪻

Friday passed in a blur.

Saturday felt like sleepwalking through a storm.

Oscar arrived at the paddock with his usual focus, but there was a visible shift in him in a way that unsettled everyone around him. He was dressed, prepared, and laser-focused during practice, but the moment the sessions ended, he walked straight past the line of waiting reporters, sunglasses shielding his red-rimmed eyes, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

“Post-practice interview?” his comms officer asked, gently tapping his arm.

“No.”

“Just a quick—”

“I said no.”

There was no room for discussion.

The PR team exchanged looks but said nothing. He hadn’t smiled once since Thursday. Hadn’t done any of the casual social media content. No behind-the-scenes videos, no paddock walk interviews, no pre-FP2 banter with Lando, nothing. The usual lightness was gone, and in its place was a man quietly raging.

The media noticed. And fast.

Tweets began popping up.

“Oscar Piastri walks past all media today. First driver to skip all PR appearances post-practice. Something’s definitely up.”

“McLaren’s PR team looks stressed. Oscar isn’t playing ball this weekend.”

“Confirmed: Oscar Piastri has refused all media obligations until online abuse is addressed.”

Clips surfaced of Oscar walking past reporters without a glance, ignoring shouts of his name, even brushing past a camera lens with a muttered, “Not until someone says something that matters.” The story caught fire.

And Y/N saw it all.

She hadn’t meant to. She’d deleted Twitter, muted her name on Instagram, and logged out of TikTok. But social media was a machine, and she was still part of the algorithm.

She opened YouTube to watch a movie and instead saw her name in the recommended videos.

“Oscar Piastri Breaks Silence—Defends Girlfriend Amid Hate.”

“Piastri REFUSES PR Until Y/N Is Protected.”

“McLaren’s Own Aussie Declines Interviews Till Girlfriend Receives Due Support.”

At first, her chest tightened. She thought he’d moved on. That maybe he was angry, resentful. That maybe he hated her.

But he wasn’t running away from her.

He was fighting for her.

Despite everything she had said, despite the hurt she had tried to cause, despite the lie she forced herself to tell just to get him to let her go, he wasn’t letting go.

Not even a little.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dim hotel room, the screen lighting up her face as she watched the clip again: Oscar pushing a reporter’s mic aside after FP2 with the words, “There are more important things than lap times right now.”

Y/N’s chest cracked open.

Tears welled up as she pulled her knees to her chest. She had tried so hard to protect him by leaving, but he was out there choosing her anyway, day after day, even when she wasn’t there to see it.

She couldn’t give up on him.
Not now. Not ever.

Even if the whole world was against her, even if every comment section roared with hate, even if the paddock stared at her like she didn’t belong, she would walk back in.

Because he was the love of her life.

And he was still standing in the fire for her.

She opened her phone. Hands trembling.

Pulled up his messages.

She had read every one.

“I saw everything. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone.”
“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you.”
“I’ll spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me.”

She inhaled shakily and booked her second ticket to Shanghai in a week.

🪻🪻🪻

Saturday afternoon in Shanghai was a blur of roaring engines and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

The paddock was alive with energy. Mechanics scrambled. Engineers barked numbers into radios. Fans screamed from the stands. Cameras panned from car to car, trying to capture the pulse of a qualifying session that felt like it carried more emotional weight than any race before.

And yet, for Y/N, none of that registered.

She was sprinting.

From the second the wheels of her flight hit the tarmac, she hadn’t stopped moving. The car that picked her up from the airport barely had time to stop before she jumped out in front of the Hilton. Her heart pounded as she took the elevator up to his floor, rehearsing her apology a hundred times.

But when she knocked, no one answered.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Her voice cracked when she asked the concierge if Oscar was still in the building. “No, ma’am,” the man replied. “He left for the circuit an hour ago. Qualifying’s today, right?”

Of course. She had lost track of the weekend entirely. Her hands shook as she thanked him, bolted back outside, and rushed into a car headed straight for the track.

Security tried to stop her at the paddock gate until one of the McLaren hospitality staff recognised her and waved her through. The look on their face said everything. Everyone had seen what was going on. Everyone had watched Oscar shut the world out since the moment she left.

Her chest squeezed.

She asked where he was, and someone told her qualifying had just started.

She wasn’t allowed in the garage. So she waited.

Hospitality was quiet. Muted voices in the corner. No one approached her. She sat at the edge of the room, fingers tangled in the sleeves of her jumper, eyes glued to the monitor showing live timing.

Q1.
Q2.
Q3.

And then— P1.
Oscar Piastri. Shanghai Grand Prix. On pole. His first pole.

The hospitality tent let out a quiet cheer. A few mechanics clapped in the distance. But Oscar wasn’t on camera celebrating. He didn’t even do the typical radio whoop. Just a quiet “Copy”. That was it.

Then came the announcement.

Oscar Piastri had refused to attend the post-qualifying press conference. Again.

Y/N stood up slowly, heart hammering. She asked where he’d gone.

Someone told her they’d seen him heading toward the driver’s rooms.

And she didn’t wait.

She walked through the narrow halls of the paddock, past the bustle and the noise, until she reached the McLaren motorhome and found the familiar door.

She hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed it open.

What she saw made her heart crack clean in two.

Oscar was sitting on the floor, still in his race suit, his back pressed to the wall and his knees drawn up. His helmet was lying nearby, forgotten. His phone was in his hand, screen dim, her contact still open. He looked so small, so tired, so heartbreakingly alone. His head was bowed low and his shoulders sagged, like he had been holding in a world of weight with no one to help carry it.

Y/N stepped inside without saying a word.

The moment he sensed someone there, Oscar lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Oscar dropped the phone like it burnt him, pushed up off the floor with shaking arms, and crossed the room in three long strides before pulling her into him like his life depended on it.

Y/N collided with his chest, her arms wrapping around him so tightly it hurt.

He buried his face in her shoulder, and the dam inside him finally broke. His body trembled with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. She felt his tears hot against her skin, his fingers digging into the back of her shirt like he was terrified she’d disappear again.

Her arms flew around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as her face pressed into his shoulder. He was shaking. She could feel it in his grip, in the way his breath hitched against her ear, and in the warmth of the tears that began to fall against her skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh my god, you’re really here.”

“I’m here,” she said back, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. I never should have left. I thought I was doing the right thing; I thought if I left, the noise would stop and you could focus. But all I did was hurt you.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, his hands cradling her cheeks with the softest touch, like he was scared she might vanish again if he let go.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what people say or what they think. I don’t care about pole or points or interviews. None of it means anything without you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she nodded, pressing her forehead against his. “I saw the way you were fighting for me. Even when I wasn’t there. You didn’t give up on me.”

“I never will,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re not a distraction. You’re my peace. You’re the reason I can even do this.”

“I love you,” she said, the words slipping out like a breath of truth she had been holding in for far too long.

His eyes shone. “I love you too. So much.”

And there, in the quiet of the driver’s room, with the rest of the world still reeling from the news of his pole position, Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips, flicked back to her eyes, and his breath hitched. A soft, broken sound escaped his throat, part relief, part desperation, and before she could say another word, he kissed her.

He surged forward, crashing his mouth onto hers with a force that startled them both. It wasn’t neat or perfect. It was messy and aching and full of pain and love and the unbearable weight of the days they had spent apart. His hands slid from her cheeks to the back of her neck, holding her like he didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, tears mixing with the intensity of it as she clutched him tighter. She felt his entire body pressing against hers, like he needed every part of him to touch every part of her just to believe this wasn’t another dream or memory.

Her back hit the wall behind her, and he didn’t let up. His mouth moved against hers with bruising desperation, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the chance to. His hands were in her hair now, tangled and shaking, his body practically folding over hers.

She kissed him back just as hard, just as desperately, her hands roaming from his chest to his shoulders to his face, not knowing where to hold him because she wanted to hold him everywhere at once. Her tears slipped down her cheeks and into their kiss, and she tasted his too.

He broke away only for a second, breathing heavily, their foreheads touching again.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I thought I’d never get to touch you like this again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping a tear from under his eye. “I was so scared… But I’m here now. I’m not leaving you again, Oscar. I promise.”

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense, his hands cradling her like she was fragile and precious and the most important thing in the world.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re everything. Don’t you ever, ever try to protect me by walking away again. I don’t need protection. I need you.”

She nodded through the tears, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it nearly hurt. “I love you”, she said between kisses, “so much.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing the words with every ounce of love he had left in him.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“I’m not going anywhere again,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said with a tiny smile. “Because I think I’ve cried enough for one lifetime.”

She laughed through her tears, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Same.”

🪻🪻🪻

The morning light poured into the room gently, golden and warm against the chilled air of the hotel suite. But inside the bed, tangled in a sea of white sheets and each other, the world felt like it had narrowed down to just the two of them.

Oscar lay on his back, eyes still heavy with sleep, his hair an adorable mess from the way Y/N had run her fingers through it all night. She was draped across him, head resting against his chest, her bare legs tangled with his under the covers. Her fingers were moving lazily across his skin, mapping out the contours of his face like she needed to memorise every inch all over again.

“Your nose is kind of weird,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over it.

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Wow. And here I was thinking this was a tender moment.”

She giggled, trailing her fingertip down to his lips, then his jaw, then his chin. “Tender and honest.”

“Alright, critic,” he mumbled sleepily, tugging her hand away and kissing her knuckles softly. “I’ll remember that next time you ask if your eyeliner's even.”

She laughed again and nestled into his chest, only to shiver slightly. “Ugh. Why is it so cold in here?”

Oscar’s lips curled into a lazy grin as he pulled her flush against him. “Maybe next time you’ll agree to sleep in something. You know, like actual clothes.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who looked at me like a deer in headlights when I wore a shirt.”

He chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Yeah, because you were wearing my shirt and nothing else and then climbed on top of me like you had a mission.”

“I did have a mission,” she said smugly, pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “And I succeeded.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face as she giggled against his neck. “You’re killing me.”

“And you’re very lucky I’m cold,” she whispered, wrapping herself tighter around him, “because otherwise I’d be all the way over there and not pressed up against your very warm, very touchable body.”

“Touchable, huh?” He murmured, sliding a hand down her back. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She smirked against his skin. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

“Guilty,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut again as she trailed a finger lazily down his chest.

Then, without warning, she reached up and gave his nipple a playful pinch.

Oscar yelped, his whole body jerking. “Oi! What the hell?!”

Y/N burst out laughing, completely unbothered as she tucked her face back into the crook of his neck. “Sorry, sorry! You were being too smug. I had to bring you back down.”

He rolled them over without warning, pinning her underneath him as she squealed, her laughter still echoing through the room. “You wanna play that game, huh?” he asked, smirking down at her. “Because I can be very annoying when provoked.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, grinning. “Because I call it foreplay.”

Oscar groaned, flopping on top of her dramatically as she shrieked, still giggling. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“But I’m your worst,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss him softly.

He melted into the kiss instantly, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other resting on her waist. When they pulled apart, he just looked at her, like he couldn’t believe she was real, that she had come back, and that she was still his.

“I could stay like this all day,” he said quietly.

“You would,” she teased. “But you’ve got a race to win, Mr Pole Sitter.”

He groaned, burying his face in her neck again. “Can’t I just skip it and warm the bed with you all morning?”

“As tempting as that sounds, the world needs to see that stupidly fast car of yours. And your stupidly good hair.”

Oscar lifted his head just enough to give her a crooked grin. “So you admit the hair’s good?”

“I admit nothing,” she said, smirking.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer as if needing to confirm all over again that she was really there.

“I thought I dreamed you came back,” he mumbled against her hair. “I kept waking up last night just to make sure you were still here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Oscar let out a quiet, relieved chuckle, nuzzling into her palm before reluctantly rolling onto his back. He stretched one arm out and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lit up.

There were dozens of notifications.

But one in particular made him freeze.

He blinked, then sat up straighter. “Y/N”, he said, nudging her slightly and turning the screen to her. “Look.”

It was a post from McLaren’s official account, timestamped just thirty minutes ago. The bolded headline read: Statement Regarding Online Abuse Directed Toward Oscar Piastri and Y/N.

He opened it, and they both read in silence.

McLaren Racing stands firmly against any form of online harassment or abuse directed at our drivers, their families, and their partners. Y/N has always been a respected and loved member of our extended team, both professionally and personally. We condemn the recent wave of harmful messages and baseless accusations circulating online. The wellbeing of our people is our top priority. We appreciate the support of fans who continue to champion respect, empathy, and kindness in motorsport and beyond. Let’s remember: behind every helmet, and behind every headline, there are human beings. Let’s treat them that way.

— McLaren Racing

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read it again, her fingers tightening around Oscar’s.

“They… they didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Oscar looked at her, his voice tender but firm. “Yes, they did. And they should’ve sooner.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There were thousands of replies, and for once, most of them were kind. Fans thanking the team. Others apologising for turning a blind eye. Even some of the more critical accounts had gone quiet.

“Finally”, Oscar said, locking his phone. “Finally someone said it.”

He turned to her again, cradling her jaw with one hand. “I fought because I had to. Because you didn’t deserve any of what they said. And I’ll keep fighting, okay? But now, I think we can breathe a little.”

Y/N nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be beside you. Through all of it.”

Oscar smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Then you’d better get dressed. Because I think I owe the media a few words.”

She pulled back in surprise. “You’re actually going to talk to them?”

He smirked, flopping dramatically back onto the pillows. “Yeah. I figured pole position deserves a few minutes of glory, right?”

She laughed, tackling him gently and peppering his face with kisses. “That, and maybe you just want to show them that I’m still here.”

He grinned, once again flipping her onto the mattress and hovering over her. “Damn right.”

Y/N walked beside him, the pair of them a striking duo as they made their way through the paddock. Heads turned, some in admiration, some in curiosity, but neither of them paid any attention. They didn’t need to. For once, it was easy to tune everything else out.

Oscar glanced sideways, eyes flicking to her face like he couldn’t help it. “Are you sure you’re ready for the chaos again?”

She smiled, fingers tightening around his. “I can take the heat. Especially if I’m standing next to you.”

He grinned that soft, boyish smile she loved so much. “You’re the best.”

“I’m aware,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

They reached the McLaren garage, and the pre-race buzz was well underway. Mechanics in orange overalls darted around, tyres were being rolled out, and engineers fine-tuned last-minute settings. But in the middle of all the madness, Oscar turned to her, now in his race suit, helmet under his arm.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging her gently into him. “For good luck.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then tapped a kiss on the side of his helmet as he slid it on. “You’ve got this, Piastri. Show them what you’re made of.”

He was smiling under the visor now, even as his engineer motioned for him to head to the car. “Catch you on the other side, pretty girl.”

She laughed. “Only if you win.”

Oscar slid into the car with a renewed sense of focus, but it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was her. She was back. She believed in him. And that meant everything.

The race was chaos for everyone behind Oscar. Somehow everything that went down managed to embolden him in an unexplainable way, holding onto P1 like his life depended on it. And when he crossed the finish line, taking the win in Shanghai, his radio exploded with cheers.

“OSCAR PIASTRI. YOU ARE A THREE-TIME RACE WINNER!”

He didn’t even respond to the engineers shouting in his ear. He was already unstrapping the belts, already climbing out of the car in Parc Fermé. The second his feet hit the ground, he tore off the helmet and balaclava, his eyes scanning past the cameras and team crew.

And there she was.

Y/N stood just behind the barrier, wide-eyed, the hugest smile on her face, barely believing it. He didn’t hesitate. Sprinting like nothing else mattered, he reached the barrier, his arms already outstretched.

The marshal barely got a word in before he leaned over, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly over the metal railing. She gasped, clinging to him as he spun her around in pure joy, the orange of his race suit standing out like fire in the crowd.

“You did it!” She squealed, breathless with laughter and tears.

“No, we did,” Oscar said into her hair, burying his face in her shoulder. “You came back. And everything finally fell into place.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, full of every ounce of adrenaline, relief, and love that had built up for weeks. The paddock erupted. The cameras went wild. But Oscar didn’t care. He kissed her like the world was watching, and he wanted them to.

“You’re not going anywhere again,” he said against her lips, voice still shaky from emotion. “I mean it. You’re mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her fingers curling into the back of his suit. “I’m yours.”

Soon after, they had to separate so he could get weighed before the podium sitters' interview. But he made sure to sign his bottle of champagne before that with his autograph. And right above that; scrawled in big, bold, golden letters: To my pretty girl.

my girl y/n can’t catch a break, hope ya’ll liked this!

[bigmsaxon]

I cannot think of a specific drawing I suggest for drawgust but I have a concept: cyborg girl and alligator

Day 17, cyber gator girl. Started this during the week but liked the sketch so much I pushed it to the weekend.

[twistedpink]

Flirty! Reader x Azul, please??

Flirty!Reader is Azul’s worst enemy. No matter how many potions he takes or how well he blends in on land he’ll always bleed blue, and it takes him all the way back to his time as that little octobabe :( You telling him how pretty he looks embarrassed doesn’t make it any better! He’s a distinguished businessman, not some easy mark to get “picked up”

hngggggggh the tweels having a field day sicking you on the boss. You’re trying to be all smooth for your lucky guy, (he totally buys it) but his eels know the truth! All of you humans are feral, and they’re really into it. Thanks for spicing up the workplace :p (every hr meeting is about you)

Azul Ashengrotto vs Flirty!Reader Tickets on the weekend sale starting now!! It’s a massive struggle to drag Azul around to couple spots, especially if you’re the type to take pictures. He never thinks they’re good enough to post, but he won’t make you delete them either (the Polaroid wall goes harddddd),, He does need a personal social media paper trail to appear approachable though, so he hopes you don’t mind all the cameos you’ll have- he has fits of being very conscious of cyber security though, so the most you’ll be featured as is a tasteful hand pic (soft launch final boss)

ughhhhhhhhh making Azul trip up on a sales pitch because you’re just so good at what you do <33 leaning into him when he’s not expecting it and whispering something stupid in his ear to feel him deflate lol “the complaint box is full, my love” SHUT UP AND KISSEM’. He can’t take it anymore :(.

God he loves you- and he wouldn’t ever consider sharing you,, But there’s something about that glint in your eye when you lure in some poor soul. He wonders if you looked at him the same way in the beginning, but it’s no worry now that you’re in his back pocket >:) (fibber)! Never leave him pleaseeeeeeeee think of the promos <33: