F1_WEDNESDAY

I LOVE Wednesday, Formula one, one direction, Taylor Swift and Marvel (plus I watch football sometimes). Asks and messages are always open if you want to chat. Request someone from my list. I do short fics and insta au. Romantic reader. Fem!reader only. FORMULA ONE REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN!

[jojojoy1]

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[impishglee]

something i appreciate about this site is how often i see friends, mutuals and strangers salivating over the most Some Guy looking people i’ve ever seen. i think it’s actually good for your psyche to see people carnally desire people that you would not even think twice about. it’s good for the self esteem, a good reminder that for every random ass person on the world there is a subset of people that wants to do unspeakable things to them

[xoxolovlies]

clay, crowds, and a little trouble

Pairing: Oliver Bearman x Reader

(single part fic)

Summary: At the Monte Carlo Masters, your love for tennis, and one particular Italian player, collides with Ollie Bearman’s growing inability to ignore how much he likes you.

Word Count (roughly): 1,928

all photos from pinterest ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The first thing Ollie noticed wasn’t the tennis.

It wasn’t the sound of balls striking clay, or the polite applause echoing through the stands of Monte-Carlo Masters, or even the ridiculously nice weather that made the whole place feel unreal.

No, it was you. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

Because there you were, two rows down, sunglasses perched on your head, completely locked in on the match like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Like he didn’t exist.

Next to him, Gabriel Bortoleto followed his line of sight and snorted. “You’re staring again.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Gabriel cut in, grinning. “It’s actually embarrassing.”

Ollie rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “I’m just, observing.”

“Right,” Gabriel said dryly.

On Ollie’s other side, Kimi Antonelli leaned forward slightly, glancing between you and the court. “She hasn’t looked at you once, mate.”

That, that bothered him more than it should. Because normally, when Ollie Bearman showed up somewhere, people noticed. Not in an arrogant way, just, it happened.

But you? You were too busy watching Jannik Sinner like he personally hung the sun.

Ollie clicked his tongue softly. “Bit obsessed, isn’t she?”

Gabriel laughed. “You’re jealous of a tennis player.”

“I’m not jealous,” Ollie shot back. But his eyes flicked to you again, and yeah, maybe he was, just a little.

You knew he was there, of course you did. It was hard not to notice someone like Oliver Bearman, especially when he walked in with that easy confidence and his equally loud friends.

But you had priorities. And right now, those priorities involved Jannik serving at 4–3.

“Come on,” you whispered under your breath, leaning forward slightly.

The serve cracked across the court. Ace. You clapped, smiling to yourself. God, you loved tennis (a quote from myself at the 2026 ao). The rhythm, the tension, the way everything could flip in a second, it was addictive.

“Interesting choice.” You didn’t even need to turn your head. You already knew that voice.

You smiled faintly, eyes still on the court. “If you’re about to say something stupid, Ollie, I’d reconsider.”

He dropped into the seat beside you anyway. “Just saying,” he shrugged, “you flew all the way here to watch him?”

Now you turned, slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“I flew all the way here to watch tennis,” you corrected. “He just happens to be one of the best parts of it.”

Ollie huffed a quiet laugh. “That sounded rehearsed.”

“It’s called having taste.” Gabriel, somewhere behind you, let out a very audible “ooh.”

Ollie shot him a glare before looking back at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re distracting,” you shot back lightly, turning your attention back to the match, whilst slightly, and subtly leaning into his side.

He didn’t leave. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back, stretching his legs out slightly. “So what, you’re like, his number one fan or something?”

You shrugged. “Top five, at least.”

“Right,” Ollie muttered. “Good to know where I stand.” That made you smile, just a little.

By the time the match ended, the crowd buzzing with energy, you felt that familiar post-match high, like your veins were still humming with every rally.

You stood, stretching slightly, when Ollie spoke again. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

You glanced at him. “Because I enjoy things?”

“Because you enjoy him.”

You laughed softly. “Oh, you’re definitely jealous.”

“I am not jealous of Jannik Sinner,” he insisted.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Okay,” you said. “Then what are you?”

Ollie opened his mouth, closed it. Then,“Annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the court, “I’ve been sitting here this whole time and you’ve barely looked at me.”

You blinked, once, then twice. Then you smiled. Slow. Cheeky. “Oh,” you said softly. “Is that what this is about?”

Ollie immediately looked like he regretted saying anything. “Don’t make it weird,” he muttered.

“Too late,” you teased.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you said, stepping a little closer, “you keep following me around.”

“I’m not following you—”

“You sat next to me.”

“Because there were no other seats.”

You glanced at the half-empty row. “Sure.”

Gabriel laughed again behind you. Ollie turned, pointing at him. “You’re not helping.” “Not trying to,” Gabriel grinned.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into something soft and warm. You wandered through the grounds together, somehow. It just happened.

One minute you were leaving the court, the next Ollie was walking beside you, hands in his pockets, bumping your shoulder every now and then like it was accidental.

It wasn’t.

“You’re seriously going to another match?” he asked as you checked the schedule.

“Yes,” you said. “That’s kind of the point of being at a tournament.”

He groaned. “You’re obsessed.”

“You’re here on your break.” you pointed out. “What does that make you?”

“Supportive,” he said immediately.

You laughed. “Of who?”

He hesitated. “You,” he admitted.

That caught you off guard, just for a second.

You recovered quickly, though, smiling as you nudged him lightly. “Careful. You’re getting soft on me.”

“Don’t push it,” he shot back, but there was no bite to it.

Later, as the sun dipped lower, you found yourselves sitting courtside again, this time a little quieter, the crowd more relaxed.

You tucked your legs up slightly, glancing over at him. He was already looking at you.

“You’re not even watching,” you said.

“Neither are you,” he countered.

You paused, he wasn’t wrong, your attention had drifted. From the court, to him.

You huffed softly. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he smirked.

A comfortable silence settled between you. Then,“You’d look good here, you know,” you said casually.

He frowned. “On a tennis court?”

“As a HAB.”

He choked on his own breath. “As a *what*?”

You grinned. “You heard me.”

Ollie stared at you like he couldn’t decide if you were joking. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

He leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re blushing,” you pointed out.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

He groaned, covering his face briefly. “This is a nightmare.”

You laughed softly, nudging his arm. “Relax. I’d be a great WAG.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Ollie lowered his hands, looking at you properly now. And suddenly, the teasing edge was gone. “You wouldn’t be watching tennis like that if you were,” he said quietly.

Your smile softened. “Maybe I would,” you replied. “Maybe I’d just like having someone to watch it with.” Something shifted, subtle, but there.

Ollie exhaled slowly. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“Because I never know if you’re joking.”

You smiled. “Maybe I don’t either.”

The sky turned a deeper shade of blue as the evening settled in. Lights flickered on around the courts, the atmosphere turning softer, more intimate. You stood near the railing, watching the last few points of the match below.

Ollie stood beside you. Close. Not touching. But close enough that you were very aware of him.

“You’re going to come back tomorrow, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Obviously.”

He nodded. “Good.”

You glanced at him. “Why?”

He shrugged, but there was something in his expression, something almost shy. “Because,” he said, “I think I like watching you watch tennis.”

Your heart did a small, stupid flip. “That’s very specific.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

You smiled, softer now. “Maybe I’ll save you a seat,” you said.

He grinned. “I’d like that, even if you’re still obsessed with Jannik Sinner.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re catching up,” you added.

And just like that, the teasing was back. But this time, it felt different. Lighter. Warmer. Like something just beginning.

As you walked out of the grounds together, the night air cool against your skin, Ollie nudged your shoulder gently.

“You’re still insufferable, by the way.”

You grinned. “And you still followed me all day.”

He smiled, but he didn’t deny it. And somehow, that was enough.

⋆˚꩜｡

this was a request

motorsport tag-list: @cem3tarygat3s @rosesanddiaries

[h0e-zi3r]

i don’t trust ai because arthur weasley told me to never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain

[blondykebarbie-deactivated20260]

hii, from your 1k special, could I request

📽️, George Weasley (x female reader), and 41? maybe a happy ending though haha

tysmmmm!

It Was Never Me, Was It?

angst prompt #41

george weasley x fem!reader

wc: 2k

cw: hurt/comfort; references to sex; mentions of drinking; George feeling like the second choice

a/n: thank you for requesting! i totally get not being able to handle straight angst, so i'm happy to do a hurt/comfort fic for ya! they're my personal favorite, so what a joy to write!

*This blurb is a reiteration of Season 7 episode 16 of Friends, because I just watched it and it inspired me, where Chandler learns that when Monica went to his room in London the night they got together, she had originally been looking to hook up with Joey.*

--

It feels good, being surrounded by your friends on a chilly December night while throwing a housewarming party to celebrate you and your boyfriend's new, shared flat. To revel in such warmth in the security of the home you share with the love of your life is a feeling unlike anything else. You're so content that your body is a limp pile of bones tucked into George's side, lips heavy with a smile and eyes alight with merriment. The lighting in your living room is soft, favoring the fireplace and lamps to the overhead lights, and everyone's voices, even their laughter, is muted, as if afraid to disrupt the peace. Your boyfriend presses a tender kiss to your temple as he tugs you impossibly closer, the heat of his palm pressing kindly into your hip.

"You two are so cute it's disgusting sometimes," Angelina murmurs, eyes twinkling over her bottle of fire whiskey, "but I'm, unfortunately, really happy for you."

You laugh softly, "gee, thanks, Ang."

Fred smirks, nudging your feet, "I get what she means, though. Your pda is nausea-inducing, but then I see how happy you make each other that I can't even be mad about it. It's nice, I guess."

George smiles sweetly, nudging his nose against your cheek before giving it a big, wet kiss. You giggle, ignoring the exasperated looks your friends exchange.

"You know, I never really did find out, how did the two of you end up together anyways?" Lee asks from his spot in front of the fire.

Your grin stretches wider in giddy excitement, "Oh, I love this question."

You catch you boyfriend's eyes, silently asking if he wants to tell the story, but he only squeezes your hip, encouraging you to go on.

"So, it was the night of Bill's wedding. While I was, of course, really happy for the couple, I was also feeling extra lonely that night because of all the love in the air. I was keeping to myself, trying to just enjoy my time, when one of Fleur's relatives came up to me and made me feel even worse. After she introduced herself, instead of asking how I was related to the happy couple, she jumped to the conclusion that I was the groom's aunt."

A couple of poorly-disguised chuckles escape Fred's mouth and you glare at him, kicking him lightly with your foot.

"Anyways, when I finally escaped that conversation, I was just hoping to drown in my sorrows, but then George came up to me at the bar and started being all sweet to me when I poured my heart out to him."

You press a quick kiss to his freckled arm, "Still, later, when everyone had settled down for the night, I was still feeling a bit sad, so I slipped out of Ginny's room to go down the hall to Fred and George's. I knocked, and there George was at the door, in the most adorable quidditch pajamas with snitches on them by the way, and he let me in. He told me that Fred wasn't there because he was off spending the night with one of the bridesmaids…”

"Yeah, I was," Fred murmurs cockily.

“And well...you know what comes next."

Lee whistles lowly, causing heat to erupt in your cheeks, "so you're telling me that the way to get into a girl's knickers is to be extra sweet to her? Good to know."

Your boyfriend picks up a pillow and chucks it at his friend's face while still keeping his arm around you, "I wasn't nice to her just so she'd sleep with me, you freak. This is why you're single."

"You being sweet was really sexy though," your murmur, tugging on George's shirt to pull him in for a slow kiss.

Fred groans loudly and makes vomit noises, "I take it back, I take it back!"

You settle back into your boyfriend's side, only a little bit embarrassed by your sudden behavior.

"Oh! Did you ever tell him who you were going to originally hook up with that night?" Angelina asks with a smirk.

Your eyes widen in panic as George stills beside you. His hand loosens around your waist, "what?"

"What?"

Angelina's brows pinch together apologetically, "what?"

"Who were you going to originally hook up with?" your boyfriend asks, pulling away to look at you.

You swallow thickly, eyes darting between the ginger and your best friend, "well, okay, when I originally showed up to your room that night I was planning to hook up with Fred."

"Yeah you were," Fred teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

George's face, however, drains of amusement, "what?"

"Baby, listen! That night, when I was feeling lonely and depressed, I just wanted a quick, meaningless hookup. That's why I was going to ask Fred. But then you were there, and you were so sweet, and you made me feel so much happier than a quick shag ever would've."

He shakes his head, pulling away entirely and standing up, "I can't believe this, though I shouldn't be surprised."

Your boyfriend's voice quakes with hurt, "It was never me, was it? I was never the first choice."

The room has gone dead silent, the air thick with tension.

You stand, reaching out to him, "George, please. That's not-"

"No, it's fine. I get it. I just...think I need to be alone."

He discards his empty fire whiskey bottle on the coffee table and disappears down the hallway into your room. You collapse back onto the couch and bury your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears stinging your eyes.

"God, I'm so sorry," Angelina murmurs, her hand finding your shoulder, "I didn't know-"

"I'll go talk to him."

You look up, "Fred, no. Don't. This is my-"

He gives you a look that shuts you up before coming over and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, "he's my twin brother, I know him. I just need to talk some sense into him. It's all going to be alright, okay?"

You nod helplessly and Angelina tugs you into a quick hug, "Lee and I are going to head out, give you some space, but you call if you need anything."

You nod again, returning her hug, before walking the two of them out, leaving Fred to try and salvage the damage you might've caused to your relationship with his brother.

--

When there's a knock at the bedroom door, George sighs, "baby, please go away. I just need a little space right now, okay?"

The door opens anyways, but it's not you who peaks your head through the door but Fred- “hey, babe.”

"I don't really want to see you either."

His twin raises his hand in surrender, “I just wanna talk.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I need space!”

“I hear you, but you at least need to hear me out first before you pout yourself into a funk over something stupid.”

George glares at Fred, “you of all people don’t get to call this stupid.”

His twin takes a seat next to him on the edge of the bed, still leaving plenty of space, “okay, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

George rubs his hand over his face, sighing loudly, “God, I feel like an idiot. Here I am, flaunting my new apartment with my girlfriend, feeling like the luckiest bastard alive, while she’s gone and settled for second best.”

Fred slaps George in the arm so hard he curses.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“You need to quit this pity party of calling yourself second best,” the former scolds, “it’s bullshit and I won’t have it.”

Goerge scoffs, “you heard her, she literally chose you first. She went to our room for you.”

“But that doesn’t matter, Georgie. At the end of the day, she chose you. You’re the guy she chose to date. You’re the guy she chose to love. You’re the guy she chose to move in with, not me.”

“Only because you weren’t there.”

Fred shakes his head and frowns, “you’re not giving your girlfriend enough credit if you really believe that.”

George doesn’t respond.

“Listen, mate, you have a beautiful girl who’s in love with you sitting out there, in your shared living room, crying her eyes out because she’s so scared of losing you. If you can’t see how crazy she is about you, then maybe you are a lost cause.”

Fred claps his hand on George’s shoulder and heads toward the door, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, when I hope you've come to your senses.”

--

After Fred leaves, your apartment is dead silent and you hate it. Whether it’s because friends are over, or you’re playing music, or you and George are just living loudly, it’s never ever this silent. You’re left to stew in your thoughts, and it just makes you feel worse.

In order to calm your nerves, you get up and begin anxious-cleaning: bottles go in recycling, leftover pizza is packaged and put in the fridge, counters are wiped down, pillows are fluffed, and dishes are washed by hand. It’s when you’re drying the final plate that your bedroom door cracks open and your head perks up. George emerges from your room eyes slightly red and hair tussled. You imagine you look the same.

You don’t say anything, instead giving him the space to speak first.

“Can we talk?”

You nod quickly and put the dish away before finding a seat next to him. Your body aches to scoot closer but you resist, instead opting to dig your nails into your palms.

"George I-"

"Wait," he interrupts, "can you just let me..."

You bite your lip sheepishly, "yes, yes. Sorry."

"Look, I just want to say that I'm sorry for how I acted. Stalking off and throwing a fit instead of having a conversation about it was immature and inappropriate. It's not an excuse, but I think that I've felt second to Fred most of my life, so when you said that you were looking for him that night- the night that means everything to me- I just kind of lost it."

George keeps his gaze trained on the floor shyly, hands twisting together anxiously as he talks. While you were already distraught, seeing your boyfriend so beat down is breaking your heart into a million pieces, especially when you know that you're partly the cause. You reach out tentatively and take one of his hands into yours, sighing in relief when he doesn't pull away. You press a lingering kiss to his knuckles before holding his hazel eyes with yours.

"Baby, you do not need to apologize, at all. I'm the one who needs to be sorry, and I am- very, very sorry. I can't even imagine what it felt like to hear me say that, and I wish I'd never even thought of Fred that night at all. But you have to know, George, you were never and have never been my second choice. I may have gone to your room that night looking for something casual with Fred, but I chose to stay with you. God, baby, the way that you make me feel, the way that you take care of me and love me...the way my heart explodes every time you walk in the room and the way I get the privilege to wake up next to you every morning, that's what I choose."

You take a deep shaky breath, "I may have walked into your room that night looking for something meaningless, but I left desperately wanting something meaningful with you."

Tears glisten on George's waterline and you pull him into an embrace. He wraps his arms around you tightly, burying his head into your neck and inhaling your scent.

"I love you, Georgie, so much. I need you to know that."

"I love you too," he murmurs against your skin, squeezing you tighter.

As you run your fingers through his hair, swaying the two of you back and forth, you add, "and I'll spend every day for the rest of our lives reminding you of that."

[vaporfunk-archive-blog]

no matter how many followers you have the same 10 people will reblog posts from you

[kosmogrl]

2025 went by in the blink of an eye but at the same time if you mention something that happened in january it feels like a lifetime ago

[44prop]

you guys don’t understand just how special yukierre are, the way pierre took rookie yuki under his wing even though yuki was determined to make him lose his mind by constantly asking him if they could sleep together in the middle of interviews, their dinner dates, pierre saying he needed to get yuki closer to milan when he left for alpine and then yuki moving into pierre’s neighbourhood the year after, the way they just clicked so effortlessly and yuki knew that he always had a friend on the grid in pierre. i am going to miss them so incredibly much

[spiderbeam]

someone said that between the 2019 rookies alex was the first to get a podium, george was the first one to get a win, and lando was the first to win a wdc

[dprvb]

hiii! could you make a part 2 of The Golden Retriever and the Rabid Cat? maybe about how the fans and the drivers react to their relationship and how ollie is just so unbothered by what they say because he’s so down bad for his girl, thxx!

WRITTEN + SMAU

forgot Ollie was spelled as Ollie not Olli, Idk how I forgot the spelling when I wrote that one pls ignore those, I'll fix it later😭😭

The Golden Retriver And The Rabid Cat

Haas Masterlist

Ollie Bearman x gf!reader

BONUS PART

__________________

Race day is the worst day to be online mostly because the internet won’t stop talking about you and Ollie. It starts the moment you step into the paddock. You’re walking ahead, annoyed at the sun, the crowds and the fact that someone just bumped your shoulder, while your boyfriend jogs to catch up with you like an eager puppy.

And immediately, of course, the fans go feral, they wouldn't miss something like this infront of them.

Phones up, flashes popping and definitely screaming.

“OLLIEEEE BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP!”

You don’t even look at him, hearing it from the crowd is enough. “It’s too early for this” you mutter.

Ollie beams at you like you just proposed. “Isn’t she perfect?” he tells a group of teenage fans who giggle uncontrollably.

You stop walking. “Stop flirting.”

“I’m not flirting” he protests, “I’m praising my amazing girlfriend.”

You blink at him. “Gross.”

The fans well.. as expected they ascend.

One girl shrieks “why is she so mean and he’s so happy about it?!”

And another. “he’s like a golden retriever who loves his emotionally unstable owner.”

And another. “free him..he’s too young to be in a toxic romance.”

You glare at them while Ollie waves proudly like they’re complimenting him.

“They get us” he says cheerfully.

“No” you deadpan. “They think I bully you.”

“You do.” You shove him lightly but he just laugh

You reached the garage and you regret to even sit down on the stool because there Lando arriving, stopping by at the Haas garage, sipping something from a tumblr, giving you both that judgmental face.

“You two need therapy” he says casually.

“You need a podium” you shoot back.

Lando nearly drop his drink “I'm leading on the championship battle, thank you very much”

“I'm rooting for Max” you shot back, Ollie is trying not to laugh, shoulders trembling.

“Baby” he murmurs, “be nice.”

“I am being nice. I didn’t mention Mclaren's ugly strategy last race.”

Lando storms off while Ollie kisses your forehead like you just rescued a kitten.

“Yes yes” he whispers. “You’re an angel.”

“My god” Piastri mutters as he passes “he really is blind.”

Then Charles Leclerc strolls by, hearing Oscar and nodding sympathetically.

“Love makes you stupid.” Charles says

You heard it because they made sure you heard it. You then pat Ollie on the shoulder. “Charles gets it.”

“No he doesn’t” Olli hisses. “He thinks I’m stupid, baby.”

“He’s not wrong” you say.

Olli pouts but kinda know it's true because every time you insult him, a flower blossoms in his soul.

user: y/n is so done with him😭😭

user: but they do match each other, they're actually a perfect fit, it's making me jealous😔

user: ikr cause wdym ollie is so down bad and y/n is that kind of girl who only shows her sweetness to her bf

user: me be like: 😭🙏😩👍👍👍

user: their chemistry is insane tbh

user: the only wag we see who doesn't care about public reputation

user: frrr she freaking glared at the fans, man😭

user: she doesn't care but she actually has a soft heart😩

user: I swear if they break up, I'll kms

user: they make the paddock fun fr fr

user: MIND YOU, SHE CALLS HIM STUPID AND HE BLUSHES FFS

user: I’ve never seen a man so down bad in my life💀

user: he worships the ground she stomps on🥀

user: Feral cat energy vs golden retriever behavior🤣

user: they’re the enemies to lovers proof but they stayed enemies😭

“How does this kid drive at 300 km/h but can’t tell when she’s insulting him?”

“He knows. He just likes it.” Haas mechanics whispers as they watch the two of you

Your face heats because you certainly heard them, Ollie on the ither hand smiles smugly.

“You hear them?” he asks. “They understand our dynamic.”

“No” you say, “they’re diagnosing you.”

“With what? love illness?”

You groan and one mechanic mutters under his breath “Someone put him back on the leash.”

In a press conference, you were brought up. The interviewe asks Ollie “How do you feel about some fans calling your girlfriend ‘the meanest WAG in F1?”

Ollie just smiles “Oh, she absolutely is.”

The room laughs while you look at him like you’re about to commit a crime from far away

He continues sweetly, “Meanest, scariest, most drop dead gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.”

You bury your face in your hands because reporters stare, drivers stare and obviously the fans on livestream collectively screams.

“And I love her. Even when she calls me dumb.”

A reporter snorts. “Does she call you dumb often?”

Ollie’s grin gets wider. “Every day.”

“And you don’t mind?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s cute.”

The entire room howls.

“Stop being annoying,” you mouthed because he's looking at you.

He mouthed back. “You like it.”

After the press conference, he went straight to you and you realized things.

People will talk, they will literally call you mean as they call Ollie whipped. That they'll call your relationship weird, chaotic, slightly concerning.

Drivers joke about it especially Lando, fans will make memes about it, teams will definitely gossip but none of it really matters.

Because every time someone makes fun of you two, Ollie just looks at you with that lovesick, puppy-eyed, sunshine grin, the one only you get, the one that certainly says “I don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re my girl.”

And truthfully…you don’t care either.

You squeeze his hand as you walk through the paddock together.

“People think I bully you” you say.

He laughs. “You do, baby”

“It's obvious you like it”

“Obviously” he responded. “I’m obsessed with you.”

“…loser.”

“Your loser” he corrects.

You roll your eyes... but your fingers lace with his anyway.

Who cares what anyone thinks? As long as you and Ollie knows you love each other, that's more than enough.

Fin.

𑁍F1 taglist𑁍 @beathreat @miley009 @luvnixxi @hazeljisulatte @winkev1 @96mcobo @rosiel-leclerc04 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @justaf1girl @raizelchrysanderoctavius @yellow14m ⋆｡˚𓍯

[wdclando]

so good

[norriszn]

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

seen on twt creds to milclaren

[lap90]

Hi could I get a Lando Norris request where they have a flirty banter but she is in a relationship with his team mate that is until Lando wins the championship and she runs over to him instead of Oscar.

Papaya Rules - LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: Oscar Piastri is the safe choice. He is calm, he is kind, and he is the perfect boyfriend. He is the silence in the chaos of Formula 1. Lando Norris is the noise. He is the teasing, the tension, and the terrifying thrill you can't seem to shake. As the season heats up and Lando chases his first WDC, the playful banter between you stops being funny and starts becoming dangerous. The stakes are getting higher, the touches are lingering longer, and the "what ifs" are becoming impossible to ignore. wc: 2.8k 💭 this one will stay as a standalone :)

note: I wanted to wait until after the last race to publish this fic, so here it is!!!

The espresso machine in the McLaren hospitality unit was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the person sliding into the counter space directly next to Y/N.

"You know," a familiar voice drawled, entirely too close to her ear. "Orange really isn't your color. But if you insist on wearing it, you could at least wear the right number."

Y/N didn’t flinch. She simply finished stirring the sugar into the oat milk latte she’d made for Oscar and turned to face Lando. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, a mischievous glint in his eyes that usually meant trouble.

She looked down at her hoodie—an oversized papaya pullover with a bold 81 emblazoned on the front.

"Good morning to you too, Lando," Y/N said, picking up the cup. "And for the record, eighty-one is a great number. It’s symmetrical. It’s mature."

Lando scoffed, reaching out to flick the drawstring of her hoodie. "It’s boring. Just like the coffee." He nodded at the cup in her hand. "Let me guess. Oat milk, one sugar, lukewarm temperature so he doesn't burn his tongue? Very... responsible."

"It's considerate," Y/N corrected, slapping his hand away lightly. "Something you might learn about one day if you stopped annoying people for sport."

"I don't annoy you," Lando countered smoothly, taking a step closer. The air between them suddenly felt charged, buzzing with that static electricity that always seemed to follow him around. "You love it. It’s the highlight of your weekend. Admit it, Y/N. You’re bored."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. That was the problem with Lando. He was impossible, but he was magnetic. "I am perfectly happy. Oscar is sweet, he’s focused, and he doesn't steal my phone chargers."

"Boring," Lando sang again, leaning in so his face was inches from hers. He lowered his voice, dropping the childish act for something sharper, darker. "You look good in his hoodie, I’ll give you that. But you know as well as I do that a 4 would fit you better."

Y/N’s breath hitched. She tightened her grip on the coffee cup. "Lando..."

"Just saying," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "Four is faster. Four is more fun. And Four..." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the fabric on her shoulder, lingering for a second too long. "...wouldn't send you to fetch his coffee."

"He didn't send me," Y/N argued, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "I offered."

"Sure you did, Princess." Lando pulled back just as the door to the driver's room opened.

Oscar stepped out, looking calm and collected, already fully zipped into his race suit. He smiled when he saw Y/N. "Is that for me? Thank you, love. You’re the best."

Oscar walked over, completely oblivious to the thick tension hanging in the air. He kissed Y/N gently on the cheek—sweet, chaste, safe—and took the cup.

"Morning, Lando," Oscar said politely.

Lando’s grin was back in full force, sharp and bright. "Morning, mate. Just telling Y/N here how much I admire her... loyalty. It’s rare these days."

Lando shot Y/N a wink over Oscar’s shoulder—a secret signal that made her stomach flip dangerously—before grabbing a water bottle and strutting out toward the garage.

Y/N watched him go, her heart hammering against her ribs a little harder than it should have.

The humidity of Singapore hung heavy in the air, even inside the air-conditioned motorhome. Outside, the team was celebrating. Champagne corks were popping, music was thumping, and the papaya crew was in full swing. Lando had won. It was a masterclass drive, one that officially put him in contention for the title.

Y/N had stepped away from the noise, claiming she needed a glass of water. In reality, she needed to catch her breath. Watching Lando drive those last ten laps had felt like holding her hand over a flame.

She was leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway leading to the driver rooms when the door at the end of the corridor slammed open.

Lando appeared. He was a mess in the best way possible—race suit tied around his waist, fireproof t-shirt clinging to his chest, hair wild and damp with sweat and champagne. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wide, wired with residual adrenaline.

He stopped dead when he saw her.

"Hiding?" Lando asked, his voice rough. He walked toward her, not with his usual bounce, but with a predatory slow stalk.

"Just getting water," Y/N lied, lifting her chin. "Congratulations, Lando. Incredible drive."

"That's it?" He stopped right in front of her, trapping her effectively between his body and the wall without actually touching her. He smelled like victory—acrid and sweet. "Just 'congratulations'? You were screaming louder than Zak on the pit wall. I saw you on the screens."

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. "I’m part of the team, Lando. We all want you to win."

"Do you?" Lando tilted his head, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "Because when I crossed that line, I wasn't thinking about the team. And I wasn't thinking about the points."

He placed a hand on the wall beside her head. The air between them was so thick it felt like it might ignite.

"I was thinking about how you’d look at me when I got out of the car," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I was right. You looked... terrified."

"I wasn't—"

"You were," Lando cut in, leaning closer. His breathing was heavy, matching hers. "You were terrified because you realized you were happier for me than you are for him when he wins. You’re scared because you’re realizing you bet on the wrong horse, Princess."

"Don't call me that," Y/N whispered, but she didn't push him away. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "Oscar is—"

"Oscar is safe," Lando spat the word out like a curse. "Oscar is perfect. He’s the good guy. I get it." He moved his hand from the wall to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers were trembling slightly. "But does he make you feel like this? Does he make you feel like you can't breathe?"

Y/N opened her mouth to defend her boyfriend, to say yes, he does, but the words died in her throat. Because Lando was right. Oscar was peace; Lando was a storm. And she had always loved the rain.

Lando searched her face, waiting for an answer. When she didn't pull away, his gaze darkened. He started to lean in, his face tilting, the distance between them shrinking to nothing—

"Y/N? You in here?"

Oscar's voice drifted from the main entrance, calm and level as always.

The spell shattered instantly. Y/N gasped and shoved Lando’s chest. Lando stumbled back a step, looking dazed, just as Oscar rounded the corner.

Oscar stopped, looking between the two of them. Lando looked guilty; Y/N looked flushed. But Oscar, sweet, trusting Oscar, just smiled tiredly.

"There you are," Oscar said, walking over to wrap an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into his side. He looked at his teammate. "Great drive today, mate. Seriously. You deserved it."

Lando stared at Oscar’s arm around her waist. His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a cold, hard mask.

"Thanks, mate," Lando said, his voice flat. He looked at Y/N one last time—a look of pure challenge—before turning away. "Enjoy the party. I’m going to shower."

He brushed past them, his shoulder checking Y/N’s slightly, leaving her standing in the safety of Oscar’s embrace, feeling like she had just stepped off a cliff.

It was 2:00 AM. The Las Vegas strip was still screaming with life outside the window, neon pink and blue light bleeding through the blinds, but inside Lando’s driver room, it was dead silent.

Y/N hesitated at the door. She shouldn't be here. Oscar was back at the hotel, already asleep, resting for the race tomorrow. He had kissed her goodnight, assumed she was going to her own room, and drifted off with that enviable, calm ability of his.

But Y/N couldn't sleep. Not after seeing Lando’s face in the media pen. He had qualified P6. Not good enough. Not if he wanted to keep the championship fight alive. He had looked devastated, and the mask of the "funny guy" had completely slipped.

She knocked softly.

"Go away, Jon," a voice muttered from inside.

"It's not Jon," Y/N whispered, pushing the door open.

Lando was sitting on the edge of the massage bed, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was still in his race suit, unzipped to his waist, sleeves tied around his hips. He looked small.

He looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles heavy beneath them. When he saw it was her, his expression didn't soften. It hardened.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" His voice was devoid of the usual teasing lilt. It was flat. Cold.

"I wanted to check on you," she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Qualifying was... tough. I know you're disappointed."

Lando let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Disappointed. Yeah. That’s the word." He stood up abruptly, pacing to the small window. "Go home, Y/N. Go back to your boyfriend. I don't need the sympathy vote."

"It's not sympathy," Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly. "I care about you, Lando. You're my friend."

Lando spun around so fast it made her jump.

"Friend?" he snapped. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

He crossed the room in two strides, invading her space, but this time it wasn't seductive. It was angry.

"Friends don't look at each other the way we do," Lando hissed, gesturing between them. "Friends don't almost kiss in Singapore. Friends don't spend every briefing staring at each other while my teammate—while your boyfriend—is talking."

"Lando, stop," Y/N pleaded, backing up until she hit the door. "I'm with Oscar. I can't—"

"You can't what? You can't admit it?" Lando slammed his hand against the doorframe, boxing her in. "I’m done, Y/N. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t play this game where you wear his colors and hold his hand, but look at me like I’m the only person in the room."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. He was shaking.

"I need to win this championship," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I need to focus. And I can’t do that while you’re standing in the garage, pretending you don’t want to be right here."

"Lando," Y/N breathed, tears prickling her eyes. She wanted to reach out, to touch his face, but she kept her hands clenched at her sides. "It’s not that simple."

"It is," he countered softly. He pulled back, looking at her with a devastating mixture of love and exhaustion. "It is simple. You just have to choose."

He stepped away from her, turning his back. The distance felt like a physical chasm opening up in the small room.

"Get out, Y/N," he said to the wall. "Unless you’re staying for the right reasons... get out. And don't come back until you figure out whose side you're really on."

Y/N stood there for a heartbeat, the silence deafening. Then, with a sob caught in her throat, she turned and fled the room, leaving him alone in the neon dark.

The final lap felt like it lasted a decade. But when Lando crossed the line, the world exploded.

"Lando Norris, you are the World Champion! The World Champion!"

The radio message from Jarv cracked through the garage speakers, barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the team screaming around Y/N. The mechanics were hugging, jumping, throwing water bottles. Zak Brown was high-fiving everyone in sight.

Y/N stood frozen in the center of the chaos. She wasn't cheering. She was sobbing. Her hands were pressed over her mouth, shaking violently. He had done it. Against the odds, against the pressure, against the demons he’d shown her in that dark room in Vegas... he had won.

"Come on!" a mechanic yelled, grabbing her arm. "To the podium!"

The team surged toward the parc fermé barriers. Y/N was swept along in the tide of papaya orange. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt physically, thudding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She reached the metal barricade and scrambled over it, her team pass swinging wildly around her neck.

The cars were pulling in. Oscar arrived first, having secured a solid P3. He parked, killed the engine, and climbed out calmly. He took off his helmet, shaking out his hair, looking content. He scanned the crowd of team members rushing toward them.

He saw Y/N.

Oscar’s face lit up. It was that safe, familiar smile. He took a step toward her, opening his arms, expecting the routine. Race over. Hug girlfriend. Celebrate team.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice happy, steady.

Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain gave the command. She was running.

She looked at Oscar. She saw the safety he offered. She saw the lack of arguments, the polite coffees, the stability.

Then, behind him, she saw car Number 4 pulling in.

Lando didn't park calmly. He skidded to a halt, smoke rising from the tires. He didn't climb out; he leaped. He stood on the nose of the car, arms thrown wide to the sky, screaming at the fireworks exploding above them. He looked like a god. He looked like a disaster. He looked like everything she had ever wanted.

He jumped down, stumbling slightly, and whipped off his helmet. His eyes were wild, searching the barrier frantically. He wasn't looking for Zak. He wasn't looking for his dad.

He was looking for her.

And in that split second, the ultimatum from Vegas echoed in her head: Don't come back until you figure out whose side you're really on.

Y/N didn't slow down as she reached Oscar.

Oscar’s smile faltered. His arms were open, ready to catch her.

But she swerved.

She ran right past him.

The air shifted as she passed Oscar—a cold draft of realization—but she couldn't stop. She sprinted the final ten meters across the tarmac, dodging a cameraman.

Lando saw her coming. His expression shattered from shock into something raw and blindingly hopeful. He dropped his helmet on the ground.

She collided with him at full speed.

"Lando!"

He caught her. He didn't just catch her; he absorbed the impact, his arms wrapping viselike around her waist, lifting her feet off the ground as he buried his face in her neck. He was soaking wet with sweat, shaking with adrenaline, and he was the only thing that felt real.

"You're here," he choked out, his voice wrecked. "You ran to me."

"I'm here," Y/N sobbed, clutching the back of his fireproof suit, her fingers digging into the fabric. "I'm on your side. I'm on your side, Lando."

He pulled back, just an inch, his hands coming up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed away the tears streaming down her cheeks. The cameras were flashing around them, a frenzy of lights, broadcasting this moment to millions of people.

"I won," he whispered, his eyes searching hers, manic and tender.

"You won," Y/N confirmed, breathless.

"No," Lando shook his head, a crooked, teary grin breaking across his face. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I mean... I won."

He kissed her.

It wasn't a sweet, polite podium kiss. It was desperate. It was messy. It was the culmination of months of stolen glances, arguments in catering, and suppressed jealousy. It tasted like salt and victory.

For a moment, the screaming crowd faded away.

When they finally broke apart for air, Lando didn't let go of her. He kept one arm swiftly around her waist, turning them toward the garage.

And there, standing ten feet away, was Oscar.

He was holding his helmet at his side. He wasn't angry. He just looked... resigned. Like he had known this was coming long before Y/N had. He offered a small, sad nod—a concession of defeat—before turning his back to walk toward the weigh bridge.

Lando felt Y/N tense. He squeezed her hip, pulling her attention back to him.

"Don't look back," Lando said, his voice low and fierce against her ear. "You made your choice, Princess. No take-backs."

Y/N looked up at him—the World Champion, the chaos, the love of her life. She smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Shut up and go get your trophy, Norris."

Lando threw his head back and laughed, pure and unburdened, before pulling her with him toward the podium.

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[saturnpxtter]

enjoying the crashouts and laughing at the haters is the way to go, LANDO NORRIS IS THE 2025 FORMULA 1 CHAMPION🧡

[i-like-sour-sweets]

F1: Etching a new name to our illustrious list of World Champions! 🤩 2025 goes to Lando Norris! ✍️

[landonorissian]

since the start...

[wdclando]

me going to bed knowing lando is wdc and all the stress and anxiety i’ve felt this year has been worth it