every week, charles leclerc walks into the same little bookshop, asking for a new recommendation. the books are good, but the bookseller might just be his favourite story.
@ yourusername
♡ 8,742 🗨️ 214 ↺ 391 ➤ 618
yourusername: new books, fresh flowers & another week in my favourite place 💐📚
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user: this shop is literally my dream
user: adding this to my monaco list 🤍
user: those flowers are so pretty
user: i'd never leave
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 1.8M 🗨️ 6,847 ↺ 42.5k ➤ 81.9k
charles_leclerc: lately.
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: reading?
pierregasly: since when do you read? 😂
↳ charles_leclerc: since always mate
carlossainz55: strange
↳ charles_leclerc: WHAT??
user: where did he get that book??
↳ user: a book shop
@ teaandbooksmonaco
♡ 32.4k 🗨️ 1,376 ↺ 3,942 ➤ 5,482
teaandbooksmonaco: helping everyone find their nex read
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user: cutest shop ever
user: WAIT IS THAT CHARLES
user: we need more yn content
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 975k 🗨️ 11,754 ↺ 46.6k ➤ 68.2k
charles_leclerc: she was right about this one
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: "she" 👀
↳ charles_ leclerc: yes the lady at the bookstore.
lorenzotl: interesting...
user: who's she??
user: WHO IS SHE.
@ yourusername
♡ 28.9k 🗨️ 2,541 ↺ 6,081 ➤ 8,372
yourusername: rainy days always bring familiar faces ☔
view all comments
user: favourite weather honestly
user: familiar faces?? 👀
user: no wait a minute...
@ scuderiaferrari
♡ 3.4M 🗨️ 15.2k ↺ 398k ➤ 166k
scuderiaferrari: race weekend essentials 📚🏎️
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: not the books again 😭
lando: what a nerd.
user: BOOK BOYFRIEND
user: WE KNOW WHERE THOSE CAME FROM.
@ yourusername
♡ 20.5k 🗨️ 4,912 ↺ 10.1k ➤ 14.3k
yourusername: my top picks this week!
view all comments
user: running to buy these books
user: i always trust yn's recommedations
user: i bet charles will read one of these.
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 745k 🗨️ 3,084 ↺ 247k ➤ 359k
charles_leclerc: thanks for the recommendation 📖
view all comments
yourusername: hope you enjoy this one :)
↳ charles_leclerc: already halfway through
↳ arthur_leclerc: brother you're down BAD
oscarpiasri: subtle
user: YN AND CHARLES FOLLOW EACH OTHER NOW
user: IM SCREAMING
@ yourusername
♡ 34.6k 🗨️ 2,485 ↺ 20.1k ➤ 40.9k
yourusername: mornings like these>>
view all comments
user: wait who's across the table
user: I'M DOING FBI WORK
user: she cropped this
arthur_leclerc: nice shoulder
comment deleted by author
user: DID ANYONE SEE ARTHUR'S COMMENT???
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 1.1m 🗨️ 32.9K ↺ 234K ➤ 398k
charles_leclerc: best recommedations always come from the right people
view all comments
yourusername: 😊🤍
arthur_leclerc: JUST ASK HER OUT.
↳ user: ARTHUR 😭😭
lando: im tired of this. he talks about her so much.
↳ charles_leclerc: do not expose me.
↳ user: LMAO not lando outing him
@ yourusername
♡ 74.8k 🗨️ 5,985 ↺ 20.5k ➤ 42.5k
yourusername: every good story starts somewhere 🤍 @ charles_leclerc
i need some help! could you guys maybe send in some requests for the oscar piastri press pass series i have on going, these could be part of the series or even one time one shots etc!
for the first time, oscar and the newest journalist in the paddock have a conversation without a microphone between them.
part of the press pass series
the media centre was quieter than usual.
friday afternoons always seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm once the morning interviews had finished. the frantic rush of journalists running between media pens had faded, replaced by the steady tapping of keyboards and the occasional murmur from nearby tables.
yn had claimed a small table by the window, headphones resting around her neck as she replayed one of the interviews she'd filmed earlier that morning. her laptop screen was split between editing software and a half-finished article, while an almost empty iced coffee sat forgotten beside her notebook.
she sighed, rubbing her eyes. she'd been staring at the same sentence for nearly five minutes.
"mind if i sit here?"
she looked up. oscar stood beside the table, a takeaway coffee in one hand.
for a second, she simply blinked. there were dozens of empty seats scattered around the media centre yet somehow, he'd chosen hers.
“oh— yeah, of course.”
she quickly moved her notebook out of the way and he slid into the chair opposite her with a grateful smile.
“thanks.”
for a moment, neither of them spoke. he stirred his coffee and she pretended to read the paragraph she’d already rewritten three times.
it was oddly… awkward.
not uncomfortable, just different.
usually, there was a microphone between them, a camera, a pr manager counting down the seconds. now there was nothing.
oscar broke the silence first “long day?”
she laughed quietly “i think i’ve interviewed half the paddock.”
“only half?”
“i’m saving the rest for tomorrow.”
he smiled into his coffee “fair enough.”
another small silence settled between them.
“so…” she said, closing her laptop “how’s your weekend been?”
“pretty good” he shrugged “busy.”
“i don’t think i’ve ever seen so many cameras in one place.”
“you get used to it.”
“i was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
he chuckled “you don’t?”
“not yet.”
she glanced around the room before lowering her voice dramatically “i still panic every time someone recognises me.”
“you’ve been recognised already?”
she nodded “a fan asked me where they could watch my interviews.”
oscar looked genuinely surprised “that’s… pretty cool.”
“it was terrifying.”
“i’d call that progress.”
she smiled “i suppose.”
the conversation drifted naturally after that. from travel, to jet lag, to airport food.
oscar admitted he’d become something of an expert at finding decent coffee in almost every country they raced in. she confessed she’d accidentally ordered squid for dinner the night before because she’d pointed at the wrong thing on the menu.
“i ate it anyway.”
“how was it?”
she pulled a face “i wouldn’t recommend it.”
“i’ll keep that in mind.”
minutes slipped by unnoticed.
neither of them reached for their phones. neither of them seemed particularly interested in ending the conversation. it was… easy. surprisingly easy.
“so” oscar said eventually “how are you finding formula one?”
she leaned back in her chair “i love it.”
his expression softened.
“i know it’s only been a few weeks, but…” she smiled to herself “it’s exactly how i imagined it.”
“the travelling?”
“the people.”
she glanced out of the window towards the paddock “i always thought formula one was just the drivers.” she paused “but everyone’s so… passionate. the mechanics, the engineers, the photographers, the journalists. it feels like one really weird travelling family.”
oscar nodded.
“that’s probably the best way i’ve ever heard someone describe it.”
she laughed “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“you should.”
before either of them realised it, nearly an hour had passed.
a mclaren pr representative walked into the media centre and spotted oscar immediately “there you are.”
oscar looked over “oh.”
“you’ve got another content shoot in five.”
he looked back at yn, almost disappointed “i should probably go.”
She smiled “probably.”
he stood, collecting his coffee then hesitated “i’ll see you tomorrow?”
she looked up “i’ll be in the media pen.”
“i know.”
there was something strangely reassuring about the certainty in his voice. he adjusted the strap of his backpack “i’ll save you a seat.”
before she could respond, he’d disappeared back into the paddock.
she sat there for another few seconds, staring at the doorway he’d just walked through.
“i’ll save you a seat.”
such a simple sentence.
one most people wouldn’t think twice about. yet somehow… it stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon.
summary: max's late-night sim racing sessions become a cosy tradition when you start joining him, blanket and cats included. After he teaches you to race, his favourite hobby becomes something you share together.
request: "How about a max fic where he keeps waking up at night to do sim racing or spend time on the simulator and reader keeps following him to that room in a cozy blanket burrito (you know the furry soft blankets?). (Maybe the cats wake up and follow her too. Yk like cats sometimes wake up and follow you to the bathroom?)
And one night she asks him if he's having fun playing games (in a good, happy way) so he teaches her sim racing.
And after a while they start doing sim racing (or streams) together. Either switching (like taking turns) or they get another setup and play at the same time"
the first time you woke up to an empty bed, panic settled in your chest before you were even fully awake. your hand reached across the mattress instinctively, finding nothing but cooling sheets were max should have been. for one brief moment your sleepy brain imagined every worst case scenario possible until you noticed the faint strip of light creeping underneath the bedroom door. you rubbed your eyes, pushing the duvet aside before slipping your feet onto the wooden floor. the house was silent except for the occasional click of buttons that you had quickly come to recognise. you didn't even need to look anymore. max was in the simulator room.
you shuffled through the hallway, barely awake, wrapping the impossibly soft fluffy blanket from the end of the bed around yourself until you resembled an oversized burrito. it trailed behind you as you walked and halfway down the hall you heard the familiar sound of tiny paws against the floorboards.
jimmy appeared first. he blinked sleepily before deciding wherever you were going must be important enough to investigate. sassy wasn't far behind, letting out an unimpressed little chirp as if to complain about being awake at such an ungodly hour. donatello took his time, stretching dramatically before reluctantly joining the tiny procession.
by the time you reached the simulator room, you had somehow collected an entire entourage.
max didn't hear you at first. his headphones rested around his neck rather than over his ears, the glow from the monitors reflecting across his face as he concentrated on the race unfolding in front of him. his hands moved effortlessly over the wheel, making tiny corrections that looked almost impossible to notice.
only when Jimmy brushed against the back of his chair did he glance over his shoulder.
a smile spread across his face immediately.
“i was wondering how long it would take.”
you smiled sleepily “you left.”
“i couldnt sleep.”
“so you decided to drive pretend race cars instead?”
“it helps.”
you couldn’t even argue with that.
instead, you wandered over to the little sofa tucked into the corner of the room and curled yourself into it without another word. sassy immediately climbed into your lap, disappearing beneath your blanket while jimmy claimed the armrest beside your head. donatello settled directly behind max’s chair, somehow deciding that was the warmest spot in the room.
max shook his head with a quiet laugh.
“the whole gang’s here.”
that became your routine.
every few nights, usually around two or three in the morning, you’d wake to find max gone. sometimes you noticed immediately. other times you’d only realise because jimmy was no longer sleeping at the foot of the bed. somehow, the cats always seemed to know where he was before you did.
eventually, you stopped asking where he’d disappeared to.
instead, you’d simply wrap yourself in your ridiculously fluffy blanket and make your sleepy journey downstairs with three cats following faithfully behind.
max started leaving a pillow on the sofa for you.
then another blanket.
eventually he even bought a small basket for the cats because they refused to sleep anywhere else once they’d discovered the simulator room.
nne night, after watching him quietly for nearly half an hour, you found yourself smiling without really thinking about it.
he looked… happy.
focused, yes.
competitive, definitely.
but happy.
you waited until he finished the lap before speaking.
“are you having fun?”
he looked over, slightly confused by the question.
“yeah.”
“good.”
he frowned “what?”
“i just like seeing you smile.”
his expression softened instantly “you don’t think it’s weird?”
“what?”
“me doing this.”
you looked around the room before looking back at him “you mean the room you’ve spent years building because you genuinely enjoy it?”
he nodded.
“i think it’s adorable.”
he laughed quietly “i spend my free time driving fake race cars.”
“and?”
“and I’m twenty-eight.”
“so?” you shrugged beneath your blanket “everyone deserves a hobby that makes them happy.”
he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head.
“you always make things sound simple.”
“maybe because they are.”
the smile that followed stayed with him for the rest of the night.
—
a week later, you found yourself lingering beside him instead of settling straight onto the sofa. you watched the wheel move in his hands. the pedals, the endless buttons, the gears.
eventually, curiosity got the better of you “…can I try?”
max paused the simulator immediately, his eyebrows shot upwards “really?”
“yeah.”
“you’ve never wanted to before.”
“i know.”
“so what changed?”
you smiled sheepishly “i want to understand why you love it so much.”
that answer alone was enough to make him grin.
within minutes he’d climbed out of the seat and was adjusting everything.
the pedals came closer, the steering wheel lowered and the seat slid almost impossibly far forward.
“you are tiny.”
“i am not.”
“you absolutely are.”
“i refuse to listen to criticism from someone who’s obsessed with pretend racing.”
he laughed so hard he nearly forgot what he was adjusting.
once you finally settled into the seat, it felt surprisingly intimidating.
“so…”
“so…”
“what do I do?”
max rested a hand lightly on the back of your chair “first lesson” he pointed towards the pedals “that’s brake.”
“i know what a brake is.”
“i’m just checking.”
“the confidence you have in me is overwhelming.”
he smirked “the pedal on the right is throttle.”
“i know that one too.”
“good.”
“the round thing?”
“the steering wheel.”
“i was being sarcastic.”
“i know.”
he spent the next twenty minutes patiently explaining everything, never once making you feel silly for asking questions.
how to brake before corners, how gently to squeeze the throttle, why smooth steering mattered, what the racing line actually meant and then he finally loaded you into a practice session.
you didn’t even make it to the first corner, the car spun dramatically across the circuit before coming to a stop facing completely the wrong direction. silence filled the room, you looked at Max “…that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
he burst into laughter not mocking laughter. the kind that made his shoulders shake “i forgot to tell you not to floor it.”
“that feels like important information.”
“it probably was.”
by the end of the hour you’d successfully completed exactly four clean laps.
you’d also crashed into barriers, spun at least twelve times, accidentally driven into the pit wall, somehow received a speeding penalty and apologised to several ai drivers despite them not being real people.
max celebrated every tiny improvement as though you’d won an actual grand prix.
“you only went off track twice that lap!”
“progress!”
“you remembered to brake!”
“i did!”
“you finished a race!”
“i came last.”
“you finished.”
slowly, unbelievably, you improved. you started recognising circuits whenever they appeared on his screens. you learned what understeer and oversteer actually meant. you understood why he got frustrated after tiny mistakes that you’d never even noticed before.
soon enough, you were teasing him right back. he exceeded track limits, you gasped dramatically “oh dear.”
he sighed immediately “don’t.”
“bit greedy there.”
“i know.”
“you definitely had four wheels over the line.”
“i know.”
“i’m just saying-”
“i know.”
the roles had somehow reversed, months after you’d first asked to try the simulator, max wandered into the house carrying a tape measure.
you frowned “what are you doing?”
“nothing.”
“that answer worries me.”
“i’m measuring.”
“for what?”
“you’ll see.”
For the next few days he became strangely secretive, boxes started appearing in the garage, deliveries arrived while you were at work. whenever you asked questions, he’d simply smile and tell you to wait then one saturday morning he finally called you downstairs.
“close your eyes.”
“max…”
“trust me.”
you did.
he guided you gently into the simulator room “okay.” you opened your eyes and your jaw dropped. sitting directly beside his simulator was another complete racing setup. matching monitors, matching wheel, matching pedals. everything.
you turned towards him “…max.” he shrugged, almost shy “i got tired of taking turns.”
your eyes widened “you… bought another one?”
“so we can race together.”
you stared at him in disbelief before throwing your arms around his neck “you didn’t have to do this.”
“i wanted to.”
you hugged him tighter “this is ridiculous.”
“i know.”
“it’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
he smiled into your hair “i do have one rule.”
“no complaining when i beat you.”
you raised an eyebrow “bold assumption.”
“oh?”
“i’ve had a very good teacher.”
his grin grew immediately.
“guess we’ll find out.”
from then on, the simulator room became something entirely different, it wasn’t just Max’s hobby anymore. it was yours too.
some nights you’d race each other, other nights you’d work together in endurance events, laughing every time one of you made a mistake, sometimes one of you raced while the other simply sat nearby, wrapped in a blanket with three cats asleep across your lap.
every now and then, max would wake in the middle of the night like he always had. only now, instead of quietly sneaking out of bed, he’d gently nudge your shoulder.
“you coming?”
you’d groan dramatically, burying yourself deeper beneath the duvet.
“only if i get my fluffy blanket.”
“you always get your fluffy blanket.”
“and the cats.”
he chuckled softly “they’ll follow us anyway.”
sure enough, by the time you reached the simulator room, three familiar sets of paws padded along behind you.
jimmy took his usual place beside your chair, sassy immediately claimed half your blanket and donatello stretched out behind max’s pedals, completely unbothered by the sounds of engines roaring from the speakers.
the room filled with sleepy laughter, quiet conversation, soft purring and the occasional playful complaint whenever one of you accidentally spun into the gravel.
it had started with sleepless nights and a boyfriend who couldn’t resist “just one more race.”
somewhere along the way, without either of you really noticing, those midnight moments had become your favourite part of every week.
hey! your blog has been popping up on my dash all the time lately, so i thought i’d finally say hi 🥹would you wanna be moots? (my writing blog is @verstarris) 🪽
oh my gosh yes! i’d love to be moots, you’re blog is so beautiful! 💚
content ,, boyfriend headcanons, different hugging styles, physical affection, comfort, fluff, protective instincts, soft moments, touch as a love language, domestic vibes, lower case writing ♡
MAX VERSTAPPEN
𑣲 the grounding hug
max hugs like he’s grounding himself.
his arms wrap around you tightly, firm and secure, like he’s making sure you’re really there. he’s not overly clingy in public, but when it’s just the two of you, he pulls you in close and keeps you there longer than you expect.
his hugs are warm, heavy, protective.
one hand usually settles on the back of your neck or the small of your back, and he’ll press his face into your hair for a second like he’s taking a breath.
he doesn’t always say much, but his hugs feel like:
you’re home now.
GEORGE RUSSELL
𑣲 the safe haven hug
george gives full-body hugs.
the kind where he opens his arms and you basically melt into him.
he’s tall, so he naturally folds around you, chin resting on your head, hands rubbing your back softly.
his hugs are comforting—gentle but intentional.
he’s the type to hold you after a long day without saying anything, just swaying slightly until you relax.
and he kisses your forehead every single time.
his hugs feel like reassurance.
KIMI ANTONELLI
𑣲 the cling to you hug
kimi’s hugs start shy but become clingy.
at first it’s hesitant—arms around your waist, almost like he’s checking if it’s okay.
but once he’s comfortable? he doesn’t want to let go.
he buries his face in your shoulder, holding onto you like you’re his safe place.
if he’s tired or overwhelmed, he’ll hug you from behind and just stay there.
quiet. soft. needy in the sweetest way.
his hugs feel like vulnerability.
LANDO NORRIS
𑣲 the can’t get enough hug
lando hugs like he’s been deprived of affection for years.
fast, sudden, dramatic.
he’ll throw himself at you, lift you up, spin you around, squeeze way too tight just to hear you laugh.
he’s always touching you anyway, but hugs are his favourite.
he’s the type to flop on top of you on the couch, burying himself into your neck and refusing to move.
playful, affectionate, clingy.
his hugs feel like chaos and comfort all at once.
OSCAR PIASTRI
𑣲 the quiet comfort hug
oscar’s hugs are quiet but intimate.
he doesn’t initiate them all the time, but when he does, they mean something.
one arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, hand resting there like second nature.
he hugs you like he’s memorising you.
there’s always a small squeeze before he lets go.
and if he really missed you? both arms, face tucked into your neck, holding on for longer than usual.
at the chinese grand prix, one thoughtful interview begins to blur the line between professional and personal as oscar finds himself looking forward to one more question.
content ,, jet lag, coffee, thoughtful questions, unexpectedly long interviews, media room editing sessions, tiny moments that mean everything, oscar smiling more than usual, paddock life, fluff, slow burn, lower case writing ♡
part of the press pass series.
shanghai greeted her with grey skies and the unmistakable buzz of a formula one race weekend.
despite the long flight and the lingering jet lag that had her body convinced it was still the middle of the night, she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face as the circuit came into view through the taxi window.
one race weekend down. twenty-three to go.
the thought was both exciting and completely terrifying.
she paid the driver, slinging her bag over one shoulder before stepping out into the cool morning air. the familiar weight of her media accreditation rested against her chest, bouncing gently with each step as she made her way towards the paddock entrance.
just a week ago, she'd stood in melbourne staring at the exact same pass, convinced someone was going to stop her and tell her there had been a mistake. that she didn't belong.
now, although the nerves were still there, they were quieter. she knew where the media centre was, she knew which entrance journalists used and she even knew that the coffee stand opened before almost everything else— which she'd quickly discovered was the most important piece of information in the paddock.
a laugh escaped her as she joined the small queue, ordering her usual iced latte despite the chilly weather.
"you'll freeze one day drinking those."
she turned to find one of the photographers she'd met in australia standing beside her with a warm coffee in hand.
"i'll take my chances."
he shook his head with a grin.
"second weekend and you're already making questionable decisions."
"i have to stay consistent somehow."
They chatted for another minute before heading their separate ways, and as she continued towards the media centre, she realised something. People were saying hello. A mechanic she'd interviewed briefly in Melbourne nodded as he walked past. One of the camera operators smiled and held the door open for her. even another journalist she'd shared a table with last weekend offered a cheerful wave before disappearing into the briefing room.
it wasn't much, but it made the enormous paddock feel just a little smaller.
she found herself her usual seat in the media centre and carefully unpacked everything she'd need for the day. notebook, voice recorder, spare batteries, phone charger, pens— always more than necessary.
she opened her notebook to a fresh page, writing chinese grand prix neatly across the top before flipping through previous pages.
australia.
every interview she'd conducted was scribbled across the paper in rushed handwriting, little reminders written in the margins whenever she'd thought of something afterwards.
she paused on one page.
oscar piastri.
underneath his name were just a few words she'd written after the interview.
thoughtful answers. easier to talk to than expected.
it made her smile. not because there had been anything particularly memorable about the interview itself. it only lasted a few minutes, but it had reminded her that drivers weren't just soundbites or headlines. sometimes all it took was a slightly different question.
her phone buzzed against the desk.
a message from her editor.
she laughed quietly, locking her phone and slipping it back into her blazer pocket.
the media schedule for the morning flashed onto one of the televisions mounted around the room.
mclaren.
mercedes.
williams.
ferrari.
she quickly skimmed over the times, circling a few names in her notebook before standing up.
as she stepped back out into the paddock, the atmosphere had changed. the quiet calm early morning had disappeared. gold buggies zipped between motorhomes, photographers hurried after drivers arriving for media duties, and television crews already broadcasting live from various corners of the paddock.
she took a deep breath. this was becoming normal or atleast, as normal as formula one could ever be.
adjusting the strap of her bag, she headed towards the media pen, already running through the questions she'd spent the flight to china rewriting. no clichés. no recycled headlines. just one good conversation.
if she could walk away with that by the end of the day, she'd consider the weekend a success.
the media pen was already crowded by the time she arrived.
journalists stood shoulder to shoulder behind the barrier, microphones and cameras at the ready as PR representatives organised the round of interviews. it was organised chaos—the kind she'd quickly learnt was normal race weekend.
she found a gap near the front, checking the schedule clipped to her notebook. mclaren were due any minute,
around her, conversations blended together.
"...tyre degradation looked better—"
"...expecting rain tomorrow—"
"...heard ferrari have brought upgrades—"
she tuned them out.
instead, she read over the questions she'd written that morning. she'd stopped trying to come up with something groundbreaking. instead, she'd started asking herself one question before every interview.
would i actually enjoy answering this?
if the answer was no, she crossed it out. she was halfway through reading her notes when movement caught her eye.
oscar stepped into the media pen, his mclaren jacket zipped halfway up against the chilly shanghai morning. a coffee rested in one hand while his phone stayed tucked into the other, his attention briefly dropping to the screen before he looked up.
for a second, their eyes met. then he smiled. not a big smile. just enough to soften his usually unreadable expression.
"morning."
she smiled back almost instinctively "morning."
he glanced at the notebook tucked under her arm "found your way around this weekend?"
she laughed "barely."
"i haven't seen you looking at google maps."
"i've upgraded."
"oh?"
"i've started following photographers."
a quiet laugh escaped him "probably smarter."
before she could reply, one of mclaren's pr representatives gently tapped Oscar on the shoulder "ready?" he nodded "yep."
the interviews began. one after another, questions about tyre wear, the sprint format, expectations, championship standings.
oscar answered every one politely, offering the same calm professionalism he always did.
then the pr representative pointed towards her.
"last one."
she stepped forward.
oscar looked at her "so..." he folded his arms lightly "what have you got today?"
she raised an eyebrow.
"so you remember i ask different questions?"
"i remember they make me think."
she couldn't help smiling.
"i'll take that as a compliment."
"you should."
the cameraman counted them in.
three.
two.
one.
the red recording light flickered on.
she lifted the microphone.
"i've heard a lot of people ask what your expectations are this weekend."
oscar nodded.
"so i'm not going to ask that."
"i had a feeling."
"if someone had never watched formula one before and this was their very first race weekend..." she paused. "...what's one thing you'd hope they noticed?"
for the first time that morning, oscar didn't answer immediately.
instead, he looked past the cameras for a second, genuinely considering it.
"the people."
she tilted her head slightly "the people?"
"yeah" he nodded.
"i think everyone watches the cars—and obviously they should—but there's so much more happening."
he gestured vaguely towards the garages behind them.
"there are hundreds of people working before the drivers even get in the car. mechanics, engineers, strategists... everyone has a job to do."
she listened carefully, resisting the urge to interrupt.
"i don't think people realise how many small details go into one race weekend."
"i think that's probably my favourite answer I've had all weekend."
oscar looked back at her "it was a good question."
she laughed softly "i was hoping it wasn't too weird."
"No" he shook his head "it was different."
she asked another follow-up, then another.
the conversation drifted naturally, less like an interview more like two people talking.
by the time she glanced at the timer on her camera, nearly four minutes had passed.
a gentle cough came from beside them. both of them looked around, mclaren's pr manager stood with an amused smile.
"sorry, oscar..." she pointed towards the waiting journalists. "we should probably keep moving."
oscar looked behind him, as though he'd forgotten there were another dozen microphones waiting "oh" he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly "sorry."
the surrounding journalists chuckled quietly. she lowered her microphone with a grin.
"i think we've been told off."
"i think we have."
he took a step backwards before pausing.
"...good luck this weekend."
"you too."
"and..."
he hesitated just long enough for her to wonder if he was about to say something else.
"...keep asking questions like that."
before she had the chance to reply, he was already being ushered towards the next interview.
she stood there for a moment, staring after him. her cameraman lowered the camera and looked at her.
"you know..."
she looked over.
"I've filmed oscar interviews for nearly two years" he smiled "i don't think i've ever seen him forget there was a queue behind him."
she blinked "...really?"
he nodded "must've been a good conversation."
she looked down at her notebook, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
maybe it had been and maybe, without either of them realising it, it wouldn't be the last.
by the time the paddock had started to empty, the media centre was noticeably quieter.
the frantic rush that had filled the room all afternoon had settled into the soft tapping of keyboards and the occasional ringtone echoing from someone's forgotten phone.
she sat cross-legged in her chair, headphones resting over her ears as she worked through the day's footage.
interview after interview, trimming awkward pauses, adjusting the audio, writing captions, most of it was second nature now.
well... as second nature as it could be after only two race weekends.
she clicked on the final clip of the day.
oscar piastri.
the familiar opening frame appeared on her screen.
"what have you got today?"
she smiled before she could stop herself, watching it back, she noticed things she hadn't in the moment.
the way he'd relaxed almost immediately, the fact he'd laughed. wwice. the way neither of them seemed in a hurry to end the conversation.
she replayed one particular moment.
"it was a good question."
it was such a simple comment, one that probably hadn't meant anything to him but to someone still trying to find her place in a paddock full of experienced journalists...
it meant everything.
her inbox pinged.
an email from her editor.
subject: shanghai interviews
great work today.
the oscar interview is our strongest piece from media day. it feels more like a conversation than a standard press interview, and that's exactly what sets your work apart.
if the opportunity comes up again this season, keep interviewing him.
she read the email twice, then a third time.
a small smile spread across her face. maybe... just maybe... she was doing something right.
she closed her laptop, stretching her arms above her head before packing everything neatly back into her bag.
outside, dusk had settled over the circuit.
most of the paddock lights had switched on, casting a warm glow across the otherwise quiet walkways. she pulled her blazer a little tighter around herself as she headed towards the exit.
the cool evening air was a welcome change after spending hours inside.
ahead of her, a familiar flash of papaya orange caught her eye.
oscar.
he was walking back towards the mclaren hospitality with a bottle of water in one hand, talking quietly with one of the engineers.
as if sensing someone looking his way, he glanced up, their eyes met across the paddock.
For a second, neither of them said anything, then he lifted a hand in a small wave, she smiled and waved back. it was nothing more than a passing greeting. the sort of interaction nobody else would think twice about.
yet somehow... it felt strangely familiar. oscar continued walking before slowing slightly.
"you heading off?" one of the engineers asked.
"yeah."
he looked back over his shoulder for the briefest moment.
"the new journalist's got some good questions."
the engineer chuckled "that's rare praise coming from you."
oscar shrugged, unscrewing the cap from his water bottle "they're interesting" he didn't say anything else. he didn't need to.
because for the first time in a long time, media day hadn't felt like a list of obligations to get through. he'd actually enjoyed one of the interviews.
neither of them realised it yet but from that weekend onwards, whenever oscar walked into the media pen, his eyes would instinctively search for one person before anyone else.
content ,, reader overthinks absolutely everything, oscar being quietly sweet, paddock fluff, journalism, slow burn, lots of awkward eye contact, lower case writing ♡
the formula 1 paddock was louder than she expected.
not just the cars.
everyone always talked about the noise of the engines — the roar that could be felt through your chest as the cars flew past the grandstands — but nobody really about the noise before that.
the constant movement.
the hurried footsteps against the concrete.
the sound of team radios crackling from garages.
the conversations happening around her in different languages as people rushed from one place to another, all moving with a confidence that made her feel like she was the only person who didn't know exactly where they were going.
she tightened her grip around the strap of her bag. her media pass hanging around her neck feeling heavier than it probably should have.
formula 1 journalist.
she had looked at those words printed on the pass about a hundred times already.
it still didn't feel real.
for years, she had watched races from home. she had studied interviews, listened to team radio clips, read every article she could find and imagined what it would feel like to be on the other side of the screen.
but standing in the middle of the paddock at the first race of the season?
that was different.
this wasn't a dream anymore.
this was her job.
and that was terrifying.
the team garages lined up in front of her. the familiar colours she had only ever seen on television screen were suddenly right in front of her. mechanics moved around with purpose, engineers discussed data, and somewhere nearby a camera crew was preparing for an interview.
everyone looked like they belonged.
everyone except her.
"okay" she whispered quietly to herself.
a terrible attempt at calming herself down.
"don't embarrass yourself."
she immediately frowned.
that was not exactly the most inspiring motivational speech.
she pulled out her notebook instead, flicking through the pages she had filled over the past few weeks.
driver names.
interview ideas.
potential questions.
notes about teams.
everything she had researched to make sure she was prepared.
she knew she was new. she knew there were journalists who had been doing this for years, people who knew every corner of every circuit and had built relationships with drivers long before she had even thought about working in formula 1.
but she also knew why she was here.
she didn't want to just ask the same questions everyone else asked.
she didn't want rehearsed answers or headlines.
she wanted the little moments.
the honest answers.
the stories behind the helmets.
that was the reason she had fallen in love with journalism in the first place.
a notification buzzed on her phone, pulling her out of her thoughts.
a message from her editor.
editior: first day nerves are normal. you've earned your place there. just remember to breathe.
she smiled slightly.
maybe she needed that reminder.
taking one final look around, she adjusted her blazer and started walking towards the media centre.
no more standing around.
no more wondering if she belonged.
she was here.
the first race weekend of the season was officially beginning.
and so was biggest opportunity of her life.
—
—
the first thing she learnt about the paddock was that there was never really a quiet moment.
even when the cars weren't on track, something was always happening.
there were cameras being moved, interviews were being prepared, engineers rushing between meetings and journalists gathering around the media pen waiting for drivers to arrive.
she stood near the edge of the crowd, notebook in hand, watching as drivers slowly made their way through.
she had done this part a hundred times in her head.
walk up.
introduce herself.
ask the question.
listen carefully.
don't panic.
simple.
except it was much harder when the person walking towards you was someone you'd spent years watching race.
she glanced down at her notes again.
oscar piastri.
first interview of the weekend.
she had watched enough of his interviews to know he wasn't someone who gave long, dramatic answers. he was calm, straightforward, and usually kept things short.
which meant she needed to ask something worth answering.
not something he'd already heard five times that day.
she crossed out another question.
too generic.
another one.
too focused on results.
she paused, tapping her pen against the page.
then she wrote one final question.
"what part of this season are you most excited for that people might not notice?"
it wasn't about expectations.
it wasn't about pressure.
it wasn't about comparing him to anyone else.
it was just about him.
hopefully, that was enough.
"You're up."
she looked up quickly, realising one of the media assistants was speaking to her.
her stomach dropped.
right.
no backing out now.
she stepped forward as oscar approached, microphone in hand.
"hi, Oscar" she said, offering a small smile. "I'm yn, i'm new around here. this is my first race weekend."
his eyes flickered briefly to her media pass before looking back at her.
"first one?" he asked.
she nodded.
"yeah. trying not to look too lost."
a small smile appeared on his face.
not a huge one.
not the kind that made headlines.
but enough.
i think everyone looks lost on their first day" he replied.
she laughed quietly, relaxing slightly.
"that's reassuring."
the camera light turned on.
professional mode.
she took a breath.
"obviously, there's been a lot of talk going into this season about expectations and improvements, but outside of results, what's something you're personally looking forward to this year?"
for a second, she wondered if she had caught him off guard.
not in a bad way.
just because it wasn't the question he had probably been expecting.
oscar glanced away for a moment, thinking.
and she noticed that.
most drivers had answers ready before the question had even finished.
but he actually thought about his.
"i think just continuing to build" he said. "last year was about learning a lot of things, and this year it's about using that experience. there's always something to improve."
she nodded, listening rather than rushing to the next question.
"and do you think that's something people outside the team notice? the smaller improvements?"
he looked back at her.
"probably not always" he admitted. "a lot of things happen behind the scenes."
there it was.
the answer she wanted.
the person behind the driver.
"that's probably the most interesting part though" she said. "the things people don't see."
something about that made him pause.
then he nodded.
"yeah. definitely."
the rest of the interview went by quickly.
too quickly, honestly.
before she knew it, she was thanking him and stepping back to let the next journalist through.
"good luck with the first weekend" oscar said before leaving.
she blinked.
it wasn't a big thing.
it was a simple comment.
but it was nice.
"thank you. you too."
she watched him walk away before looking down at her notebook.
at the top of the page, underneath his name, she wrote:
first interview — actually went better than expected.
then, after a second of hesitation, she added:
seems nicer than people say.
later that afternoon, while sorting through clips from the day, she noticed something.
the interview wasn't the most viewed.
it wasn't the one that got the biggest reaction.
but it was the one where oscar looked the most comfortable.
and she had a feeling that was something she wanted to keep doing.
not just asking questions.
actually having conversations.
—
—
she stared at the reply for longer than she would ever admit.
oscar piastri.
the oscar piastri.
she had interviewed him for less than five minutes earlier that afternoon.
it had been quick. professional.
but unlike some of the other interviews she’d watched online, he hadn’t seemed bored or like he was counting down the seconds until it ended.
he’d actually answered.
really answered.
when she asked about adapting to the new season, he didn’t give the usual media-trained response. he talked about the pressure, expectations, and wanting to keep improving.
it was exactly the kind of answer she wanted.
the kind that reminded her why she loved journalism.
—
—
she didn't know it yet.
but that would become the interview oscar looked back on.
not because it was groundbreaking.
not because it went viral.
but because it was the first time in a long time someone had spoken to him like a person instead of just a driver.
and maybe that was why, when he walked into the media pen after the next session, he found himself looking around for one familiar face.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . graduated from university just a few months before landing her dream job covering formula 1.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . is the youngest journalist regularly working in the paddock, which definitely comes with her feeling like a bit of an imposter.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . always carries a not book despite everything being recorded— she likes to write things down.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . spends hours researching every driver before a race weekend so she never asks repetitive questions.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . wants every driver to feel comfortable rather than chasing clickbait headlines.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . arrives ridiculously early to every media session because she's terrified of being late.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . quickly becomes well-likes by photographers, PR staff and other journalists because she's always polite and remembers peoples names.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . is terrible at hiding her excitement whenever she's travelling to a new circuit.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . absolutely refuses to ask questions she knows drivers have already answered ten times that day.
JOURNALIST!READER who . . . despite being one of the quieter journalists, she somehow manages to get some of the most memorable interviews.
as the newest journalist in the formula 1 paddock, yn is determined to make a name for herself. when her genuine interviews begin to bring out a side of oscar piastri no one else sees, she quickly becomes his favourite person to talk to after every race. what starts as professional interviews soon turns into an undeniable connection, leaving the entire paddock wondering when they'll finally admit there's something more between them.
CONTENTS ⦂ smau + written. journalist!reader x oscar piastri. slow burn. yn and oscar are both oblivious to their feelings for each other. friends to lovers. mutual pining. media room interviews. social media flirting. awkward flirting. oscar being whipped. teasing from the rest of the grid. lando being their biggest shipper. media speculation. hidden feelings. race weekends. fluff. comfort. happy ending. set in 2025.
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