prompt: spooky
pairing: oscar/george/max/charles/carlos/lando
word count: ~1550
note: set after the day 15 fic, featuring literally every character i've written about this month. i think. i'm going out with a bang or not at all.
also thank you @georgiasbrainstuff for talking this over, your ideas are wonderful <33
“Lando, move over.”
“But it’s my turn with Carlos!” Lando whines, clinging to Carlos’s arm with both his own, bed empty around them both. Carlos blinks, eyes huge, and doesn’t say anything. Oscar’s nearly concerned, but he knows how it feels. Part of him misses it.
Anyway, he’s been watching. Lando hasn’t gone too far with Carlos, not yet.
George sighs. “You’ve drunk from him two days in a row, mate, give him a break. Anyway, Alex deserves a turn.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s older than you!”
George frowns heavily. “This is my coven,” he says pompously. “Just because Alex is older than me doesn’t mean he outranks me.”
“George,” Oscar interrupts, before Lando can say something to make George properly explode. He is looking a little red around the eyes. “Maybe you and Alex could see if Charles is free?”
“Charles is busy,” George snaps, and oh. Great. “Max is hogging him, yes, but he does have a claim he’s allowed to fulfill—unlike Lando.”
It’s Oscar’s turn to sigh. “I think we need more humans, mate,” he says, and finds himself pinned against a wall, George’s red, red, blue eyes burning into his own.
“And who turned the last human we acquired?” he demands. Oscar squirms, eyes darting to Lando without his permission. Fucking George and his vampire-coven-leader powers. “Who would do that, Oscar?”
The words are dragged from Oscar’s throat, heat coiling in his stomach. Fucking George and his vampire-coven-leader powers that are hot. “Me, I did.”
“And did you have my permission?”
Again, that pull. “No.” George grins, cruel, fangs flashing at Oscar’s throat. “George,” Oscar gasps out, feeling them drag, sharp, leaving a trail of open skin.
“Maybe I don’t need a new human, Oscar,” he purrs. “Maybe I should go back to my first human.”
Oscar tips his head back completely, letting George lick at the little blood his throat is giving out. “Need to fill me up first, I’m dry,” he says, as soon he can get his head to stop spinning.
George lets go suddenly, hands trailing down the sides of Oscar’s throat. “Hmm. Maybe Charles is free,” he says, licking his lips and taking a step back. His eyes stray to the bed. “Lando, off. I’m not having you drain Carlos.”
“But George,” Lando whines. George looks him over hard for a few seconds, and Lando shrinks a little but doesn’t concede, clinging tighter to Carlos.
“Oscar.” George snaps his fingers, not even looking at Oscar, and nods towards Lando.
Oscar doesn’t need to be told again, not like Max would, and he doesn’t joke about it like Alex does. He speeds straight over to Lando and tugs him away from Carlos and onto his back.
“Oscar,” Lando says, sounding put-out and maybe a little breathless, pupils blowing up huge when Oscar kneels on top of him. “Oscar, c’mon, you’re on my side.”
George clears his throat. “Oscar?”
“Yes, sire,” Oscar says, obedient, even though it’s the stupidest fucking title in the world. Sure, it’s traditional, it’s the literal technical term for what George is to Oscar, but it’s also George being a cunt.
Oscar rather likes it when George is a cunt.
“Maybe I should let you drink from Lando, since you like that so much,” George muses.
Lando freezes under Oscar, mouth open in shock, and Oscar can’t help but look at his neck, where the last marks of Oscar feeding from him have disappeared.
“No, maybe another time. Oscar, you are not to drink from Lando.” He strides over to the bed, taking his time, and picks Carlos up. “Lando, you’re done. Oscar, if you’re that desperate, you can fight Max for Charles. Carlos is mine now.”
Lando nods, somehow shocked into silence, and Oscar turns his head to grin at George. “What about Alex?”
He thinks that if George wasn’t so dry, he’d blush. “Alex is none of your business,” he snaps, sweeping out before Oscar can point out that he very much is.
“Would he actually let you drink me?” Lando breathes, still splayed out under Oscar. Oscar loves him like this, wide-eyed and a little scared, even though he’s older than Oscar as a human and even though Oscar also loves it when he gets bossy.
“Yeah, maybe.” Dry fire rushes through him at the thought. Suddenly it’s all he can think of. George said, George said he could—“Fuck, I need—”
“How long’s it been?” Lando asks idly, sitting up as Oscar stumbles off the bed and to the door.
“Since I turned you, I don’t know,” he says, nearly ready to pin Lando and drink from him right there, George or no George. “Days. Too long.”
“Starving, huh?”
Lando’s left behind, no response, when Oscar speeds off towards Charles’s room. He doesn’t bother to knock.
Charles’s blood is calling to him, exposed in the air where Max has probably been toying with him for hours. Oscar gets as close as the bed before Max rears up.
“The fuck are you doing here?” he demands, glaring up, lips and fangs stained red but eyes perfect crystal blue.
Greedy bastard, Oscar thinks, starving, and tries to dive into Charles. Max gets in between, hands rough and strong, whole body working against Oscar’s, and pins him right next to Charles.
Oscar’s weak like this, bloodless. Strong enough for Lando, far too weak to fight Max. He’s trapped.
There are worse places to be, Max’s thighs caging his ribs in, hands around Oscar’s throat and biceps bulging. Oscar could live here if he wasn’t so hungry.
“Max?” Charles slurs, and Max’s attention wavers.
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” he soothes, as if Charles is a pet rather than the only human Oscar’s known to survive more than three months in this place. Charles is terrifying.
“Max,” Oscar chokes out. “Let me go.”
“He’s mine,” Max snarls, eyes flashing. “You’re not supposed to feed anyway. Breaking the rules, Oscar?”
“George said I could.” Oscar squirms under Max, trying to fight one more time, and then he switches to begging. “Please, Max, I need it, I’m so hungry.”
Max laughs. “Yeah, you are. And George has Carlos, is that it? Didn’t want to share, even when you’ve been so good?”
“Max,” Oscar begs again, knowing Max likes it. “Please, just a taste.”
Max slams their lips together, hard enough that his fangs dig a hole in Oscar’s empty lips. Oscar tastes blood, Charles’s blood, and goes crazy.
There isn’t a drop left in Max’s mouth when Oscar lets go. Max looks dazed enough that Oscar can roll them over, newfound strength and the element of surprise enough to get Max on his back.
He laughs at Max’s surprise, pinning him down in exactly the right way to have Max limp and pliant. “That’s better,” he says, kissing Max again, quickly, before he pulls Charles closer.
He’s barely started in, lost in the way Charles tastes, the way he tangles his hands in Oscar’s hair and demands more, when Lando bursts in.
“Max, stop him,” Oscar orders, going straight back to his feed.
“Fuck no, you can do it yourself,” Max snaps, as if Oscar isn’t literally on top of him.
Oscar snaps an arm out to stop Lando from getting his teeth in. “Max,” he growls, fangs in Max’s face, a drop of Charles’s blood hitting Max’s lip.
“Fuck, okay, no need to shout,” Max says, grinning, twisting under Oscar to pull Lando onto the bed, far, far away from Charles. “What did Lando do, anyway?”
“George thinks I was hogging Carlos,” Lando says sulkily. “But I guess Oscar gets to have Charles all to himself, huh?”
“The fuck he does. Oscar knows Charles is mine, he’s just…borrowing him.”
Charles pinches Oscar, hard, and Oscar lets his head be yanked back. “Already?” he whines, disappointed, and Charles smiles sleepily up at him.
“Sorry, cheri, Max took a lot out of me. Later, yes?” He cranes his head up and Oscar kisses him happily, letting Charles lap at the traces of blood still inside his mouth. Charles is a freak, but he’s theirs, and also, as Oscar’s pointed out before, terrifying.
“Yeah,” he agrees when Charles lets him go, reaching out for the pile of sweets on the table next to them. “Chocolate or baklava?”
“Baklava,” Max says, perfectly in tune with Charles.
“Show-off,” Oscar mutters, unable to stop himself smiling, high on blood and surrounded by his coven. He just needs George and Carlos now. Maybe Alex, he’s not sure what Alex is. He should find out.
Charles’s mouth is sweet when Oscar kisses him next, somewhere in between getting pounced on by Lando and attacked by Max.
“You know, George,” Charles says, and the whole room stops to listen to him. He grins at the attention, propped up in a cloudful of pillows and being waited on hand and foot. “My brother Arthur has been asking about us. You’re looking for another human, no?”
“Well, someone turned my last human,” George starts, and Oscar sighs.
“You’ve already starved him for that,” Max grumbles. “What are you going to do, hold it against him for the rest of our lives?”
Oscar laughs. Lando laughs. Charles laughs. Max laughs. George, stubbornly, scowls.
oscar piastri x !webber driver reader x lily zneimer
being mark webber’s daughter meant you grew up with racing in your veins. the paddock was your second home, and oscar piastri—your dad’s protégé—was your closest companion. you grew up side by side, from karting tracks to f1 garages, sharing secrets and quiet crushes that never made it past lingering glances. and then came lily. high school was brighter with her in it—her sharp mind, her easy laugh. she slipped into your friendship like she’d always belonged. you and oscar both fell, secretly, quietly, never saying a word because none of you were willing to risk what you already had.
now, years later, the three of you are still here. oscar in papaya orange, you carving your own path on the grid, lily chasing her dream of becoming an engineer. when you ask her to join your team, she doesn’t hesitate. oscar pouts—just a little jealous—but he’s proud of both his girls. and somewhere between the races, the late nights in the garage, and the comfort of old friendships, you realize the truth: you’ve always been heading toward this. toward each other.
requested? yes!
original request here.
fc : random pinterest gals
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
yn_webber
liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, aussiegrit and 1,905,000 others.
yn_webber : pink helmet this week for miamiiiiiii<3 🌸💐🌺💘
tagged : lilyzneimer and oscarpiastri
—
view 127,000 other comments.
lilyzneimer : you ARE the prettiest. always will be 🌷🩷
liked by yn_webber
↳ yn_webber : i keep the note in my race suit :,) i will keep it forever
liked by lilyzneimer
↳ lilyzneimer : good because i meant it…and always will 💕
liked by yn_webber
oscarpiastri : is the meme really necessary?
liked by yn_webber
↳ oscarpiastri : and for the record i have not been lobotomized…although after this season, i may need to be.
liked by yn_webber
↳ yn_webber : yes, it is necessary. the theme of the post is pink and i have NO pictures of you in pink. or any color. other than black, blue and white.
liked by oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer
↳ yn_webber : and some fan tweeted me that meme and lily and i have been laughing about it ever since
liked by oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer
↳ oscarpiastri : i know. trust me, i know. i get sent pictures of my own face every single day from you two
liked by yn_webber and lilyzneimer
↳ lilyzneimer : you love it!!!!!
liked by yn_webber and oscarpiastri
↳ oscarpiastri : i really do
liked by yn_webber and lilyzneimer
↳ username00 : osc and his girls 😭 wish they’d just admit their feelings for each other already
aussiegrit : proud of you my girl! helmet looks mega
liked by yn_webber
↳ yn_webber : love youuuuu🤍💕
liked by aussiegrit
alex_albon : oscar meme might be my new lockscreen
liked by yn_webber
↳ oscarpiastri : blocking you.
liked by yn_webber and alex_albon
sebastianvettel : love the flowers 🌸 the helmet looks great, very you. race fast, i’ll be watching!
liked by yn_webber and aussiegrit
↳ yn_webber : thank you seb🥹💕 means so much to me! miss you
liked by sebastianvettel
(sebmark are husbands for me in every timeline idgaf)
username00 : every time yn posts a photo dump it raises my serotonin by 400%
alexandrasaintmleux : ohhhh the dressssss😭 i’m so in love with youuuuu
liked by yn_webber
↳ yn_webber : love you even more 🤍
nicolepiastri : always the proudest of you my girl 💕 can’t wait to see you!
liked by yn_webber
↳ oscarpiastri : what about your son???
liked by yn_webber and nicolepiastri
↳ nicolepiastri : oscar hush. this is not about you. i comment on your posts and never get a response 🤨
liked by yn_webber
maxverstappen1 : please don’t tell me you convinced them to make the car pink
liked by yn_webber
↳ yn_webber : oh i did. laurent said yes but i figured id be nice and not do that to you HOWEVER vcarb cars are pink as hell
liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and visacashapprb
↳ visacashapprb : thank you for the idea yn!!!!
liked by yn_webber
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
f1gossipgirls
575,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : the paddock’s favorite trio have arrived for the miami gp! yn webber stepped into the paddock in an all pink ensemble followed by her best friend, lily zneimer, who wore all blue in honor of redbull (yn’s team)! the two were seen mingling with a few wags in the paddock and then chatting with oscar piastri before free practice began. lily spent half the day in the redbull garage and half the day with mclaren. talk about wag duties x 2! (can they just all announce that they are dating please??!)
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
The Miami heat hits like a wall when you and Lily step out of the car, both of you laughing at a joke the driver made. You slip your sunglasses down over your nose, fixing the strap of your pink dress while Lily shields her eyes from the sun, her phone in one hand and an iced coffee in the other.
“You’d think after all these years of going to races, I’d be used to this,” she says, fanning herself dramatically.
“You’d think,” you tease, bumping her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it when you work here, Miss Future Engineer.”
Lily snorts. “Please. You’d die trying to make it through a single thermodynamics lecture.”
“Fair,” you admit with a grin.
The paddock is already buzzing—mechanics rolling tires, PR teams zipping past, fans shouting names from behind barriers. You and Lily move through the chaos like you’ve done it a hundred times before, all linked arms and soft smiles. The cameras catch you instantly, flashes bouncing off your pink helmet case and Lily’s sundress.
You pause for a few minutes near the hospitality area, where Alexandra, Rebecca, and Alicia are chatting in the shade.
“YN! You look beautiful! I've never seen you in pink!” Alexandra laughs, pulling you into a hug.
Rebecca grins. “And you brought Lily! I was just saying how nice it is to see actual couples in this paddock who don’t dress like they’re about to run a board meeting.”
Lily flushes. “Couples? Oh—no, we’re just—”
You laugh, sliding an arm around her anyway. “Besties with matching brain cells and outfits, don’t worry.”
They all laugh, and it’s light, easy. You stay for a few minutes—talking about outfits, the heat, Carlos’ odd pre race habits—before Lily tugs your hand. “You should go get changed,” she says softly.
Inside the Red Bull motorhome, it’s blissfully cool. The air smells faintly of rubber and engine oil, something that always makes your nerves settle. You push open the door to your driver’s room, already reaching to unzip your dress when Lily says she’ll be right back—something about answering a call and discussing numbers with your engineer.
When you finally look up, your mirror catches your reflection… and something else.
There’s a tiny pink sticky note pressed to the top corner of the glass. Glued to it are three little pressed flowers, delicate and slightly crooked. In Lily’s neat handwriting, it reads:
“You’re the prettiest.”
Your lips part in surprise, a laugh catching in your throat before it melts into something softer. You touch the edge of the note carefully, afraid to smudge the ink. It’s so her—quiet, thoughtful, gentle in the way she loves.
You’re still staring at it when a knock sounds on the door.
“Come in!” you call, still smiling.
The door opens, and Oscar steps in, cap slightly askew, McLaren shirt crisp and untucked at the hem. His grin widens when he sees you. “There she is. Ready to put on a show?”
“Always,” you say, turning around. “Shouldn't you be getting ready?"
“Wanted to see you before quali,” he admits, shrugging lightly.
He glances around the room, then stops when he spots the sticky note on your mirror. His expression softens instantly. “Lily?”
You nod, smiling. “She snuck it in when I wasn’t looking.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, something almost wistful in it. “That’s very her.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, “it really is.”
There’s a beat of silence, warm and familiar. Then Lily returns, still holding her phone and grinning. “Sorry, had to answer a call. My professor won’t stop asking if I’m ‘networking at the racetrack.’”
“Tell him it’s field research,” Oscar jokes.
She laughs and moves closer, her shoulder brushing yours. “I’ll say I’m analyzing aerodynamic stress under extreme emotional pressure.”
Oscar snorts. “So, being friends with YN, basically.”
You swat his arm, laughing, and he grins like he used to when you were both kids—equal parts teasing and tender. For a moment, the three of you just exist there, in the quiet bubble of the driver’s room: you in your race suit, Lily radiant and thoughtful, Oscar easy and steady beside you.
“Good luck out there,” he says finally, voice a little softer now. “You’ve got this.”
You nod, your chest tightening with a feeling you don’t dare name. “Thanks, Oz. Good luck to you."
Lily smiles between you both. “You’re both going to be amazing.”
And as they leave—Oscar tossing you one last grin, Lily waving her coffee in encouragement—you glance back at the mirror and that little sticky note, the one that somehow makes your heart ache and flutter all at once.
You take a deep breath and smile to yourself. Maybe Miami’s heat isn’t the only thing making your heart race.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
Miami Qualifying had been chaos from the moment the session started. The air shimmered with heat, the smell of rubber and fuel clinging to everything. You were wired, focused, and completely in the zone — your pink floral helmet reflecting flashes of sunlight every time you passed the camera. The Red Bull felt alive underneath you. Responsive. Electric.
Lily’s voice crackled faintly over the team radio in Q3, and it made your heart skip a beat. She wasn’t technically on the team — not yet, anyway — but she’d been invited into the garage by your engineer to listen in, shadowing for a bit as part of her coursework. Still, hearing her voice come through the radio felt like a small miracle.
“Okay, YN,” she said, calm and steady, though you could hear the tiniest smile under the professionalism. “This is the lap. You’ve got clean air. You’re good to go.”
You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Copy that,” you said, trying not to grin.
The lap was pure adrenaline — the kind that sets your heart pounding and makes everything else fade away. Corner after corner, the car stuck exactly where you wanted it. The engine screamed. The crowd roared. And when you crossed the line, the pit wall erupted.
“P1, YN! That’s P1!” your engineer shouted.
But then Lily’s voice came through, softer, almost shy. “You’re P1, Webber. You did it.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, or the way you pressed your hand over your heart. “You’re going to make me cry, Zneimer,” you teased, but your voice cracked on the end.
When the session ended, you rolled back into the pit lane, engine cooling as the marshals waved you into parc fermé. The Miami crowd was deafening — sun-drenched, pink-filled chaos as you stepped out of the car. Cameras flashed, your pink boots scuffed against the tarmac, and before you could even take your helmet off, someone was there waiting for you. Oscar.
Clad in his McLaren suit, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat glistening on his temple. He’d finished P2, his best qualifying of the season, and yet the look on his face was nothing short of pride. He didn’t hesitate — just walked straight over and pulled you into a hug.
“P1,” he said against your shoulder, voice thick with laughter. “You’re unbelievable.”
You laughed into his chest, the noise half joy, half disbelief. “You were right behind me! Don’t act like P2’s anything less than insane!”
He pulled back, his smile so genuine it made your heart ache. “Yeah, but you got pole. You earned that.”
For a second, the cameras caught you both — the two of you standing there in the middle of the paddock, helmets in hand, heat shimmering around you. Your suits were different colors — papaya orange and navy blue — but something about the way you smiled at each other made it look like you were on the same team anyway. Then, before you could even respond, a familiar voice called out from the crowd of mechanics and press.
“Okay, okay — if you two are done being disgustingly adorable in front of the cameras…”
You turned just in time to see Lily weaving through the chaos, waving her team pass and laughing. She had her phone out, clearly recording, and her cheeks were flushed from the heat.
“Lils!” you called, opening your arms before she even reached you.
She grinned and stepped right into your hug, careful not to smudge your suit with her coffee cup. “You were unreal,” she said into your shoulder, her voice muffled. “That last sector was insane.”
“Must’ve been the motivational speech over the radio,” you teased.
She pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes sparkling. “Only for the prettiest girl,” she whispered, quiet enough that only you could hear.
And just like that, the noise of the paddock seemed to blur for a second. Oscar stood beside you, watching with that soft, fond expression he always got when you and Lily were in your own little world. But then Lily looked at him too, her smile just as warm.
“P2!” she said, turning toward him. “I saw your lap time — you nailed it!”
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Guess all those late nights in the sim paid off.”
“Guess so,” she said with a teasing grin.
And then you heard it — the low, familiar laugh of your dad.
You turned to see him walking over, sunglasses perched on his head, Red Bull lanyard swinging as he came closer. He looked every bit the proud dad, grinning ear to ear.
“There’s my girl,” he said, pulling you into a hug that nearly lifted you off your feet. “Pole position in Miami — you make it look easy.”
“It’s never easy,” you said against his shoulder, laughing. “But it helps having the best pit wall — and the best people — around.”
He pulled back, eyes softening. “You’ve got the Webber stubbornness. That’s what got you here.” Then, glancing toward Oscar, he added with a mock-serious tone, “And you — Piastri — don’t think I didn’t see that lap. That was proper stuff.”
Oscar grinned, shaking his head. “She still beat me, though.”
Mark chuckled. “She beats everyone. Get used to it.”
Max came over eventually, teasing you about “stealing his pole again,” but even he was smiling when he saw how happy you were.
As the press started calling you over for interviews, you caught one last glance at the trio behind you — Lily laughing at something Mark said, Oscar watching you with quiet pride. You took a deep breath, heart full, cheeks aching from smiling. There was something different about this weekend.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
Sunlight spills through the hotel’s wide glass windows, glinting off the ocean and scattering across the breakfast table like glitter. You’ve always loved race-day mornings — the strange calm before the chaos, the gentle buzz of adrenaline sitting just under your skin. But this one feels even better, because you’re not alone.
You’re already at the table when Oscar wanders in, hair still damp from the shower and wearing his McLaren polo, sleeves rolled up, looking sleepily perfect. He stops when he sees you sitting cross-legged at the small balcony table, spoon halfway to your mouth, sunglasses perched in your hair.
“Are you seriously eating pancakes before a race?” he says, mock-disbelieving as he walks over.
“They’re oat pancakes,” you counter, gesturing with your fork. “And I won qualifying yesterday. I think I’ve earned the right to eat like a normal human being.”
He laughs, dropping into the chair across from you. “Fair enough. Where’s Lily?”
“Late,” you reply, glancing toward the room door with a grin. “She said she was ‘finishing something important,’ which probably means overthinking or trying to fix her hair in ninety degree heat.”
“She’s consistent,” he murmurs fondly.
As if on cue, the door swings open and Lily steps in, hair up in a claw clip, sundress fluttering around her knees. She’s holding two to-go cups and a paper bag between her hands, smiling like she just saved the world.
“Before you say anything,” she says, placing the bag on the table, “yes, I’m late. But I brought coffee. And banana bread.”
Oscar immediately reaches for one of the cups. “You’re forgiven.”
You grin. “Always are.”
It’s a familiar scene — the three of you sharing a small breakfast before a big day. It started years ago, back in Formula 3. One hotel room, one too-small table, and three over-caffeinated teenagers who thought pastries were a good luck charm. Somehow, it stuck. Even as your lives got busier, teams changed, and the world got bigger, this little tradition never disappeared.
You pass Lily a fork, and she sits beside you, bumping her knee against yours. “I still can’t believe you’re both starting on the front row,” she says softly, glancing between you and Oscar. “Little teenage me would’ve lost her mind.”
Oscar grins. “Little me still kind of is.”
For a while, it’s quiet — the kind of easy, comfortable silence that comes from years of friendship. Oscar scrolls through messages from the team while you and Lily share banana bread, your heads leaned together as she points something out on her phone. Every so often, she hums under her breath — a little nervous tic she’s had since she was sixteen — and Oscar smiles every time he hears it.
When breakfast is over, you all sit there a little longer, watching the waves crash far below the balcony. It’s peaceful. Too peaceful. You could almost forget what kind of day it is.
Eventually, Oscar stands, brushing crumbs off his pants. “We should go soon. Media’s going to start sniffing around if we’re late.”
You groan. “Don’t remind me.”
Lily gets up too, slipping her sunglasses on and grabbing her bag. “Alright, front row duo,” she says, mock-stern, “let’s go win some trophies.”
The drive to the circuit is quiet in that warm, pre-race way — the kind where you can feel the tension humming under the surface but nobody wants to break the calm just yet. You’re in the backseat with Lily, watching palm trees whip past the window while she scrolls through the race weather updates. Oscar’s in the front, talking softly to his engineer on the phone, but he keeps glancing back at you two in the rearview mirror. When you finally reach the paddock, the air feels heavier — the heat, the cameras, the noise. But it’s familiar. Home.
You’re halfway to the Red Bull motorhome when Lily calls after you, her voice soft but certain. “Wait!”
You and Oscar both turn around. She’s standing there, the morning light catching in her hair, her lanyard hanging loosely around her neck.
“I’m doing pep talks,” she says firmly, walking toward you.
You blink, smiling. “You’re what?”
“Pep talks,” she repeats, crossing her arms. “Tradition.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Since when?”
“Since right now,” she says, and you both burst out laughing.
She steps up to Oscar first, looking up at him with that quiet, grounding confidence she always has. “You’re too hard on yourself,” she tells him softly. “Just drive the way you did yesterday. Smooth, patient. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
He smiles, a little shy. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then she turns to you.
You expect a joke or a wink, but instead, she reaches up and straightens the collar of your race suit, fingers lingering for just a moment. “And you,” she says gently, “you’ve already won. You’re driving the way you’ve always dreamed of. So no overthinking, okay? Just… enjoy it.”
For a second, you don’t say anything — just look at her, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “You should really consider motivational speaking,” you whisper.
She laughs, bumping your shoulder. “Maybe after I graduate.”
Oscar’s still watching, that fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You give us one of those before other races too?”
“Only if you qualify next to her,” Lily shoots back.
“Challenge accepted.”
The three of you start walking again — toward your separate garages, your separate worlds. But before you split off, Lily reaches out, catching your hand for a brief squeeze. “Good luck, Webber,” she says, her voice soft.
You squeeze back. “Thanks Zneimer.”
Oscar glances between you both, his hand brushing against yours for a second — so quick, so subtle, you almost wonder if you imagined it. The roar of engines grows louder as you near the pit lane. Reporters shout your names. The sun glints off your helmet, pink and gold and impossibly bright. And as you glance back one last time, you see Lily standing just at the entrance of the paddock, watching both of you with that soft, proud smile that somehow makes your chest ache. The same smile that’s followed you both for years — through races, through heartbreak, through everything that mattered.
You look at Oscar. He looks at you. And even though you’re about to battle for a win, you both feel the same thing: No matter what happens out there, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
From the moment the lights go out, it’s pure focus. The heat is oppressive, the air heavy, and the sound of engines vibrates through your bones, but your world has narrowed down to the track — the corners, the tires, the rhythm. You hold your breath as the cars launch, heart hammering in your chest.
Oscar’s right beside you on the front row — your best friend, your first racing rival, your lifelong teammate even when he’s in papaya. For half a second, you glimpse the flash of orange in your peripheral vision before you both dive into Turn 1. Max is right behind, ready to pounce.
But today, everything just clicks. Every lap feels effortless, like dancing — the car balanced, the strategy perfect, every braking point right where it should be. The radio crackles with updates, but you barely hear them. Until the voice you do hear.
Lily’s.
“You’re doing amazing, YN,” she says softly over the radio during the cooldown lap. “That was… perfect. I’m so proud of you.”
You grin, your voice coming out a little breathless as you cross the line. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Laughter fills your earpiece. “Winner of the Miami Grand Prix — could get used to saying that.”
You pump a fist in the air as you cross the finish line, the checkered flag waving. Behind you, the papaya blur of Oscar’s McLaren streaks across the line. P2. And then Max in P3.
When you finally roll into parc fermé, you can’t even wait for the team to approach. You’re out of the car in seconds, helmet off, hair wild and eyes bright. Oscar’s climbing out of his own car just meters away, and you don’t even think — you just run.
He sees you and breaks into that full, dimpled smile that always reminds you of home. The two of you collide halfway across the paddock, helmets clattering to the ground as you wrap your arms around each other. You’re both laughing so hard you can barely breathe, half-shouting, half-crying.
“You did it!” he says against your shoulder.
“We did it,” you correct.
The moment feels endless — the heat, the crowd, the smell of fuel and champagne and Miami sun — but then there’s a blur of pink in your vision and you both turn. Lily’s running toward you.
She’s got her paddock pass bouncing against her chest, hair flying loose from its clip, and when she reaches you both, she doesn’t even hesitate. She throws her arms around you and Oscar, squeezing tight, breathless laughter bubbling out of her chest.
“You two are ridiculous,” she says, though her voice cracks just slightly. “I was shaking the whole race.”
Oscar laughs, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face. “You worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” she says, pulling back to look at you, cheeks flushed. “You were brilliant, both of you.”
You smile softly at her. “You’re part of this too, you know. The lucky charm.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a blush creeping up her neck that tells you she likes the sound of that.
The podium ceremony is electric. The crowd is wild, chanting, music thundering through the air. Max sprays you first with champagne, and you shriek, returning fire until he’s drenched and laughing. Oscar joins in, aiming directly for your face, and for a full thirty seconds it’s just the three of you — soaked, laughing, shining in the golden light.
You catch Lily watching from the side of the stage, her smile so full and soft it makes your heart twist. You point at her, mouthing, that’s our girl, and she hides her face in her hands, laughing.
Mark finds you all once you’ve climbed down. He’s waiting just past the Red Bull garage — sunglasses pushed up into his hair, smile stretching wide. The second he sees you, he opens his arms, and you fall into them without hesitation.
“P1,” he says quietly, his voice thick. “Just like your old man.”
You laugh against his shoulder. “Better than you ever were.”
He chuckles, squeezing you tighter. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
Oscar appears a few seconds later, grin bright. “Hey, save some of that praise for me.”
Mark pulls him into the hug without a word, wrapping one arm around each of you. “You two make me look like I actually knew what I was doing raising you.”
You all laugh, but there’s something heavier in it too — pride, love, history.
When you pull back, Lily’s there beside the three of you, shyly holding both of your podium caps she picked up. You take one and plop it on her head backward. “You earned it.”
Her smile could light up the whole paddock.
That night, the celebration dinner is small — just family and a few friends. You didn’t want the club scene, not tonight. You wanted something quiet.
The restaurant Mark picked overlooks the ocean, lights strung up along the terrace, the air warm with salt and music. You sit between Oscar and Lily, still buzzing from the day, still in disbelief.
Oscar’s halfway through telling a story about nearly spinning on lap thirty-five when Lily interrupts, giggling. “You were so dramatic on the radio. I thought you’d actually crashed.”
“I was fighting for my life!” he protests, waving his fork.
You lean into Lily with a smirk. “He just likes to make it sound more heroic than it was.”
“Exactly,” she says, smiling. “Man’s in his main character era.”
Oscar shakes his head, pretending to pout. “Unbelievable. I qualify P2, finish right behind you, and this is how I’m treated?”
You reach out and clink your glass against his. “It’s tough being second best, huh?”
He laughs, eyes soft. “Always was.”
Mark raises his own glass from across the table, his voice proud and light. “To both of you — for making today one of the best races I’ve ever seen. And to Lily — for surviving both of them.”
Everyone laughs and toasts, glasses clinking, the sound like music. After dinner, you step out to the terrace for some air. The sea breeze carries the sound of laughter from inside. Lily joins you after a moment, slipping her hand into yours without a word.
“Big day,” she says softly.
You nod. “The biggest.”
For a long moment, you both just stand there, hand in hand, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead.
When Oscar comes out to join you, he doesn’t say anything — just leans against the railing beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. It’s quiet, peaceful, perfect. The kind of night you’ll carry forever — warm air, full hearts, and the unshakable feeling that, somehow, everything is exactly where it should be.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
several months later...
yn_webber
liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 1,789,000 others.
yn_webber : them mid season vibes…plus our lily graduated!!!!! she’s officially an engineer 😌😭 love you pretty gal
tagged : oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer
—
user has limited comments on this post.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
Your calendar is chaos these days — every weekend a different city, every day a different circuit. But when Lily texted last month, “Graduation’s on the 10th. Don’t worry if you can’t make it,” you and Oscar exchanged one look across the motorhome, and it wasn’t even a question.
You were going.
She’d been balancing school, exams, and your hectic schedules for years — her textbooks always tucked into hotel drawers, her laptop open in paddocks, her papers written between flights. She’d never once asked either of you to show up. So of course you were going to.
The morning of graduation is bright and soft, a perfect London day. The air smells like rain that hasn’t quite fallen, and the streets hum with traffic and excitement.
You and Oscar stand outside the university hall, both in sunglasses and baseball caps — your attempt at being discreet, though it’s hard when you’re literally two of the most recognizable drivers on the grid.
Oscar’s holding a small bouquet of pink and white tulips, and you’re clutching a gift bag with a tiny Dior box inside — a necklace you picked out weeks ago.
“She’s going to cry,” Oscar says, squinting at the doors as students in black gowns pour out.
You smile, tugging down your cap. “That’s the point.”
“She’s going to make me cry.”
“That’s also the point.”
He groans softly but can’t hide his grin.
When you finally spot her in the crowd, she looks like something out of a dream — long graduation gown, hair tucked behind her ears, her smile lighting up her entire face as she laughs with her classmates. She’s got her diploma clutched in one hand, her cap slightly crooked.
You nudge Oscar. “There.”
He turns — and for a second, you swear he forgets to breathe.
“God,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “She did it.”
You both make your way through the crowd, weaving between proud parents and cameras. When she finally notices you, it takes her a moment — her brain clearly short-circuiting as she blinks at the sight of you and Oscar standing there like some kind of fever dream.
“Are you—” she starts, disbelief coloring her voice. “What— you’re supposed to be in—”
“Sim can wait,” you say, grinning. “This couldn’t.”
Oscar lifts the tulips, a little sheepishly. “Congratulations, genius.”
Lily’s eyes go wide, shimmering. “You— you came all this way?”
You nod. “Of course we did.”
And that’s all it takes. She drops her diploma into your free hand and launches herself straight into Oscar’s arms, laughing and crying all at once. He wraps her up easily, his face buried in her hair, murmuring, “We’re so proud of you,” over and over like a mantra.
You join in a moment later, wrapping your arms around both of them from behind, the three of you tangled together in a ridiculous, perfect hug in the middle of the university courtyard. Cameras flash, students stare, but none of you care.
“You two are unbelievable,” she mumbles into Oscar’s chest, wiping her eyes.
“You’re unbelievable,” you say softly, brushing her hair back. “You worked so hard for this, Lils. You deserve everything.”
She sniffles, laughing through it. “I hate you both so much.”
Oscar grins. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” she admits, looking between the two of you. “I really don’t.”
The rest of the afternoon feels like something out of a film. You take her to lunch at her favorite café near campus — the one she used to study at between classes — and she spends most of it shaking her head in disbelief every time she looks up and sees you and Oscar sitting there in the corner booth.
She insists on ordering dessert first. You and Oscar don’t even argue.
When the waiter brings out the cake with “Congrats, Lily!” written in pink frosting, she hides her face in her hands as you both start clapping like idiots.
“Stop it,” she says, voice muffled by her palms.
“Never,” Oscar says. “You only graduate once. Unless you decide to get, like, seven more degrees.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
After lunch, you walk through the park nearby — Oscar carrying her robe for her, you holding her cap, the three of you weaving between picnicking families and students taking photos.
At one point, you pause under a willow tree, watching her walk a few steps ahead, the breeze catching her hair. Oscar glances at you, and you both share that same quiet, proud smile.
“She’s going to change the world, isn’t she?” you say softly.
He nods. “She already is.”
That evening, you surprise her again — dinner reservations at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Thames. Mark joins you there, slipping into the booth beside you with that easy grin.
When he sees Lily, he stands immediately, pulling her into a hug. “Ah, Lily. The girl who is now an engineer and managed to keep my daughter and Oscar alive all these years,” he says warmly. “You deserve a medal.”
Lily laughs, cheeks pink. “I’ll settle for some good food.”
You spend the whole night laughing — Mark telling stories from his early F1 days, you teasing Oscar about his early karting crashes, Lily blushing every time someone compliments her. It’s light, familiar, home.
After dinner, the three of you walk along the river, the city glowing gold around you. Oscar walks a little ahead, hands in his pockets, while you and Lily trail behind.
She bumps your shoulder softly. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”
You glance at her, smiling. “Yeah, we did.”
She looks down, her voice quiet. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this proud of myself before.”
“You should,” you say. “You’ve built something incredible. And this is just the start.”
You stop walking, turning her gently toward you. The city hums around you — cars, laughter, river waves — but all you can hear is her soft breathing, her eyes reflecting the lights of the bridge.
Oscar turns back then, catching sight of you both. He smiles, slow and fond, before joining you, slipping his arm around both your shoulders.
“Alright, lovebirds,” he says lightly. “One more photo before we call it a night.”
Lily laughs, leaning into both of you. The photo he takes is blurry from the wind, but it’s perfect — all three of you smiling like there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
The paddock hums with the usual pre-weekend buzz: reporters, engineers, mechanics, fans pressed against the gates — but your mind is somewhere else entirely.
It’s been a week since Lily’s graduation, and you’ve been sitting on a secret ever since. You’d started planning it months ago, after seeing the way her eyes lit up whenever she talked about engineering — the way she understood a car’s rhythm almost the same way you felt it while driving. And now that she’s finished university? It was time.
Laurent had been on board almost immediately. Red Bull had a few internal shifts coming, and when you mentioned Lily’s name, he didn’t hesitate. “If she’s anything like you say she is,” he’d said with a smile, “then I’d be lucky to have her.”
So here you are, sitting in Laurent’s office, your heart pounding as you wait for her.
She knocks softly before entering, a neat folder in her hands, still dressed in her smart blouse and heels. She looks nervous, glancing between you and Laurent. “Hi,” she says. “You said you wanted to see me?”
You smile, motioning her toward the chair. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s not serious. Well… okay, it’s kind of serious, but not in a bad way.”
Laurent chuckles, leaning forward on his desk. “YN’s been singing your praises for a while now.”
Lily blinks, looking from him to you. “She has?”
You grin. “Of course I have. You’re brilliant. And now that you’re officially done with school…”
Laurent slides a folder across the desk toward her. “We’d like to offer you a position with Red Bull Racing. As YN’s race engineer, starting next season — though you’d start training and shadowing during the summer rounds.”
The silence lasts exactly two seconds.
“You’re joking.”
You shake your head, smiling wider. “I’d never joke about this.”
Lily looks down at the folder as if she’s afraid it’ll disappear if she blinks. “You mean— I’d be— your—”
“My engineer,” you finish softly. “You and me.”
Her eyes fill with tears before she can stop them. “YN…”
You stand up, rounding the desk to pull her into a hug. “You deserve this, Lils. You’ve worked so hard. You’re ready for this.”
She squeezes you tightly, her voice shaky. “I— I can’t even— are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you whisper back. “You’re meant for this.”
Laurent smiles from behind his desk. “We’ll finalize everything in the next few days, but… welcome to the team, Lily.”
When you finally pull away, she’s still teary but glowing — that soft, radiant kind of joy that makes everyone around her feel it too.
“I have to tell Oscar,” she says suddenly, grabbing her phone.
You laugh. “I figured you’d say that.”
She finds him an hour later, just outside the McLaren garage. He’s in his papaya polo, hair slightly messy, scrolling through something on his phone when she appears.
“Oscar!”
He looks up immediately, smiling. “Hey! I was just about to—”
“Guess what!” she says breathlessly, practically bouncing on her feet. “YN and Laurent offered me a position. I’m going to be her race engineer next season!”
For a moment, his brain seems to short-circuit. He blinks once, twice — the words hitting him like a delayed wave.
“You— wait— you what?”
She nods, her smile so wide it hurts. “It’s official! Or… it will be soon. I start shadowing her after summer break.”
He laughs — a little too quickly — and stands, pulling her into a hug that’s equal parts shock and pride. “Lily, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”
She laughs into his shoulder. “You think?”
“I know,” he says, pulling back to look at her properly. “You’re going to be amazing. You and YN— that’s like a power duo waiting to happen.”
And it’s true. He means it. He really does. But something small and quiet twists in his chest anyway.
Because when he pictures the two of you — standing side by side in matching team colors, the inside jokes, the long hours, the quiet shared looks — he realizes just how much space you both take up in his heart.
He’s loved you for years — since karting, since childhood. That kind of love that grew with him, quietly and constantly. But Lily… she’s something else. She’s warmth and calm and kindness, the steady heartbeat behind it all.
And now the two of you — together every day, on the same team, sharing the same world he’s always shared with you.
He swallows hard, forcing the ache down and replacing it with a smile. “You’re really doing it,” he says softly. “You’re going to change everything.”
She looks at him with so much light in her eyes it almost makes it worse. “You’ll still see us all the time,” she says earnestly. “Paddock, races, flights— we’ll still do breakfast before the races, right?”
“Of course,” he says immediately, voice gentle. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
She beams, and it almost breaks him.
Later that evening, when he finally crosses paths with you in the paddock, you can tell something’s off — the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“She told you?” you ask softly, leaning against the Red Bull wall, your race suit tied around your waist.
He nods, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Big news.”
“She’s over the moon,” you say, unable to hide your grin. “You should’ve seen her face when Laurent told her.”
“I can imagine,” he says. Then, quieter: “You did a really good thing, YN.”
You tilt your head, searching his expression. “You okay?”
He hesitates — just for a heartbeat too long. “Yeah,” he says finally, forcing a small smile. “Of course I am.”
But when you step forward and touch his arm — gentle, grounding — he looks at you, and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time.
You smile softly, unaware of the storm in his chest. “You’re proud of her, huh?”
He nods. “Always.”
And of you too, he wants to say. Always, you too. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles, squeezes your hand, and says, “You two are going to make one hell of a team.”
You grin. “We already do.”
He laughs quietly, watching as you walk away — the sound of your boots fading into the hum of the paddock — and for a long moment, he just stands there, caught between the two people he loves most, realizing he doesn’t know how to let go of either of you.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
Several weeks had passed since Lily had officially joined Red Bull full time. She was everywhere in the garage now, headset perched perfectly on her head, a clipboard in hand, guiding you with the kind of calm precision that made every lap feel smoother. You couldn’t help but beam every time you caught her eyes on you — proud, focused, utterly brilliant.
And yet… something felt off.
Oscar had been… strange.
He still texted, still joked in your group chats, still sent heart emojis after your wins, but there was a subtle hesitation in every interaction. Hugs that used to linger now ended a second too soon. His gaze would flick away whenever he looked at you during the drivers parade. When Lily stopped by McLaren hospitality to say hi, he smiled, but it was a little too tight, a little too brief.
You noticed. Lily noticed. And the weight of it sat heavy in your chest.
By Saturday night, after the endless grind of practice sessions and sponsor duties, you found yourself on the hotel balcony, legs crossed, staring at the city lights below. The adrenaline of the day had faded, leaving only the hum of the nightlife beneath you and the quiet turmoil in your thoughts.
You didn’t know what to do. So, as you often did when you were tangled in complicated feelings, you reached for the one person who always seemed to have a way of untangling them — Sebastian.
The phone rang twice before his familiar, teasing voice answered.
“Ah, my favorite god daughter. Shouldn’t you be asleep before qualifying?”
You groaned, resting your forehead on your palm. “I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut up.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly. “That’s never good. Talk to me. Is this about the car or about someone?”
You hesitated, tracing the rim of your glass of water with your finger. “…Someone.”
He chuckled softly, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “I thought so. Is this someone perhaps wearing papaya orange and pretending everything is fine when it’s obviously not?”
You sighed, a small laugh escaping. “You know me too well, Uncle Seb.”
“I know the look,” he said, voice gentle. “I saw it on your father when he first fell in love, and I’ve seen it on you since you were fourteen and couldn’t decide if Oscar Piastri was your rival or your crush.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped through. “He’s both, always has been.”
“And now?”
You bite your lip, glancing out at the lights below. “Now it’s… complicated. He’s pulling away, and I don’t know why. Lily and I both feel it. It’s like he’s trying not to feel something… or like he’s scared of feeling it.”
There’s a pause on the line, the kind of silence that feels deliberate, weighty. Then Sebastian’s voice comes, calm and sure. “Sometimes, people distance themselves because they care too much. Not because they’ve stopped caring.”
You blink, letting his words sink in. “You think… that could be him?”
He chuckles softly. “Your father never shuts up about Oscar, and yes — that sounds very much like him. He’s stubborn, and he hates being vulnerable. He’s not hiding his feelings because they’re gone. He’s hiding them because he doesn’t know what to do with them.”
Your chest tightens, but it’s a mix of worry and relief. “So… what do I do?”
“Nothing rash,” he advises gently. “Just keep being yourself. Keep Lily close. Keep showing him that whatever he’s feeling, it’s safe. He’ll come around — he always does.”
You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Thanks, Uncle Seb.”
“You’re welcome, my dear. Now go get some sleep before you break any records tomorrow.”
You hang up and lean back against the balcony railing, the cool night air brushing your skin. You glance at the stars above, letting yourself breathe for the first time in hours. Oscar might be distant now, but Sebastian’s words echo softly in your mind: he’s not gone. He’s just… figuring it out.
And you? You’ll be right there, ready to meet him wherever he lands — alongside Lily, of course.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
The jet hums softly as it cuts through the pale-blue sky, the sun beginning its slow descent over Europe. You’re sitting by the window, knees pulled up, staring out at the clouds streaked pink by the setting sun. Lily is across the aisle from you, headphones in, doodling absentmindedly on the small notepad she always carries. Oscar is beside her, earbuds tucked in, staring down at his phone but not really seeing anything on the screen.
The three of you have flown together countless times — race weekends, press trips — but today the atmosphere feels different. Heavy. Unspoken.
You glance at Oscar, heart twisting slightly at the tension you feel radiating off him. His usual easy energy is gone. Instead, he looks… small. Vulnerable.
Finally, you can’t take it anymore.
“Oscar…” you say softly, leaning forward a little, keeping your voice quiet so only he can hear.
He looks up at you, eyes catching yours in the low light. “…Hm?”
You take a deep breath, trying to keep your own nerves from shaking your voice. “What’s wrong?”
He freezes for a second, jaw tightening. He swallows, fiddling with his earbuds. And then — like a dam breaking — he lets it spill.
“I… I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice low, almost strangled. “I— I care about both of you. I have for a long time. And I… I don’t know what to do with it. With us. I’ve always… I’ve always wanted to be with you, YN. And Lily… you too. And I can’t… I can’t figure out if I’m being selfish, or… or fair. Or if it’s even possible for all of us.”
The words hang in the air like delicate glass — fragile, shimmering, impossible to ignore.
You’re frozen for a heartbeat, just staring at him, your chest aching. Lily removes her headphones, eyes wide, and slowly reaches for your hand across the aisle, fingers brushing yours.
You glance down at her, the warmth of her touch grounding you, and suddenly everything in your chest feels right — even the fear.
“Oscar…” you whisper, voice soft but steady. “We… we’ve felt the same way for so long. I think… I’ve always wanted this. Us. But I didn’t know how to say it, or if you… you’d feel the same. And Lily—” You squeeze her hand, giving her a little nod.
Lily’s eyes glimmer, and she finally lets herself smile softly. “I feel it too,” she says quietly. “I’ve always felt it. I just… never wanted to make things complicated. But I can’t hide it anymore. I… care about you, Oscar. And I care about YN too. And… if we’re honest, I think you’ve both always been my safe place too.”
Your throat tightens, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I… care about you both. So much. More than I’ve ever said. And I’ve always wanted… all of this. Us.”
There’s a beat of silence as the three of you process each other, hearts hammering and breaths shallow. Then Oscar’s lips twitch into a small, uncertain smile. “So… this is real?”
“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling. “It’s real.”
Lily leans across the aisle now, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s real. And I’m ready, if you are. We both are.”
Oscar swallows hard, but this time the vulnerability is replaced with something braver, softer, warmer. He reaches first for your hand, then for Lily’s, linking all three of your fingers together.
“You… you both have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hold your hands like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “And… to be honest… I’ve been scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of messing everything up.”
You squeeze his hand, leaning slightly toward him. “You could never mess this up. Not when we feel the same way.”
Lily joins you, leaning in so that the three of you are shoulder to shoulder in the plush jet seats. Oscar buries his face briefly in your hair, then hers, inhaling the familiar scents of both of you — the warmth, the comfort, the years of shared memories.
For a while, no one says anything. Just the soft hum of the jet, the clouds rushing by outside, and the steady rhythm of hearts finally finding their place.
“I guess,” Oscar says quietly, lifting his head to look at both of you, “we’ll just have to figure this out… together.”
“Yes,” you whisper, smiling through tears. “Together.”
Lily nods, resting her head lightly against your shoulder. “We can. We’ll be careful. But… we’ll make it work. I want this. I want you both.”
The tension finally dissolves, replaced with warmth so full it feels like sunlight flooding through the cabin. You lean in, Oscar on one side, Lily on the other, and the three of you sit there, fingers intertwined, hearts synced, letting the quiet hum of the plane carry you toward home.
For the first time in years, everything feels exactly as it should.
And as the jet dips slightly, catching the last light of the sun, you can’t help but think: this is only the beginning.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
The Mediterranean sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving Monaco bathed in golden twilight. You flip the last switch in your kitchen, the soft hum of the oven filling the apartment, and take a moment to breathe. Tonight is quiet. No interviews, no cameras, no paddock chaos. Just the three of you.
Lily sits at the counter, legs curled up on her stool, watching you and Oscar move around the kitchen. She’s wearing one of your old oversized Red Bull hoodies, hair loosely pinned back, and the soft glow from the pendant lights makes her look like a painting you don’t want to stop looking at.
Oscar leans against the counter near you, arms crossed, a little smirk tugging at his lips. He’s wearing his hoodie too, slightly rumpled from the day, but there’s something about the way he’s relaxed tonight that makes your chest flutter.
“I can’t believe you actually got us all to stay in one place without a million interruptions,” he says, shaking his head, teasing but soft.
“You mean, I finally got us all in the same room without a camera between us?” you tease back, stirring the sauce on the stove.
Lily laughs quietly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s… nice. I mean, it’s really nice. Just… us.”
You glance at her and Oscar at the same time, heart swelling. Everything that had been unspoken, everything that had been hiding behind the roar of engines and the chaos of the paddock, now had a space to exist — warm, soft, and safe.
By the time the pasta is done and the salad is tossed, you’ve all settled into the cozy little living area. Plates in hand, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the low coffee table, you glance around at them. The candlelight flickers across their faces — Oscar’s cheekbones highlighted just enough to remind you why you’ve loved him for so long, Lily’s warm smile catching your eye, and the little way she keeps reaching for your hand under the table, squeezing it softly.
“You know,” Oscar says, voice low, “this is… perfect. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
Lily looks up at him, her eyes soft. “Me too.”
You smile, a little nervously, letting your fingers brush his. “I think we all did.”
Dinner is quiet at first, filled with soft conversation and laughter that rises naturally between bites. You notice the little things — the way Oscar leans just a little closer when he laughs at Lily’s joke, the way Lily keeps adjusting her sleeve so her hand can brush yours, the way you keep glancing at both of them and feeling your heart expand in a way you’ve never felt before.
Finally, as the plates are cleared and a soft playlist hums in the background, you find yourself leaning back against the couch, heart hammering just a little faster than usual. Oscar and Lily are sitting across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach flutter.
You take a deep breath. “I… I think I should say it. I’ve been holding it in for too long.”
Oscar looks at you, and there’s that familiar sharp intake of breath he always does when you start talking seriously. Lily’s eyes are wide but gentle, waiting for you to continue.
“I love you both,” you say softly, voice trembling just a little. “I’ve… I’ve always loved you both.”
There’s a beat of silence. Just the soft flicker of candlelight and the low hum of the music.
Then Oscar moves, carefully, slowly, reaching for your hand first. “YN…” he whispers, voice thick, “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. And… I’ve always felt like I couldn’t say it all, not fully, not without losing something… but I don’t want to hide it.”
Your chest tightens in the best way, and you squeeze his hand, then reach for Lily’s, drawing both of them toward you.
Lily swallows and her voice is soft but certain. “I… I love you too, YN. I love you, Oscar. And I don’t want to hide it either. I don’t want to choose between you two, because I don’t want to lose either of you.”
Your heart feels like it’s going to burst. You glance between them, eyes shining, and whisper, “We can just… be us. Together.”
Oscar lets out a small, shaky laugh, the kind that makes his dimples pop and melts your heart. He leans in, first pressing a soft kiss to your temple, then brushing his lips against Lily’s hair. Lily reaches for him, tilting her head into his touch.
You find yourself between them, your hand on his shoulder, the other brushing Lily’s cheek. The world feels impossibly soft — quiet except for the music, the faint city sounds outside, and the three of your hearts beating in sync.
“I never thought this would feel… this right,” Oscar murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.
“Me neither,” you whisper. “But it does. It feels like home.”
Lily smiles, pressing her hand to your chest, feeling the steady thrum of your heart. “Home,” she agrees softly.
And in that moment, with the candlelight flickering across all three of your faces, the world narrows down to just the three of you — safe, loved, and completely, beautifully entwined.
You laugh softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Oscar’s forehead. “I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you,” he says back, voice low and trembling.
“I love you,” Lily echoes, leaning into the curve of your shoulder.
Three hearts, three voices, three “I love you’s” spoken aloud for the first time, filling the apartment with warmth and light.
And in that quiet Monaco evening, nothing else exists except for the three of you, finally exactly where you belong.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
The final race of the season had arrived, and the tension was electric. The sky over the circuit was clear, sunlight bouncing off the track, fans cheering, cameras flashing. You and Oscar were locked in a fierce battle, engines roaring, every lap pushing the limits. Lily was in the garage, clipboard clutched tight, quietly cheering for both of you, her heart bursting with pride.
By the last lap, it was clear: Oscar crossed the finish line first, and you followed just behind him in second. The adrenaline still surged through your veins as you peeled off your helmet, sweaty but elated.
Lily ran toward you both the moment you were out of your cars, a huge smile lighting up her face. “You two… oh my god, I am so proud of you!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around you. Oscar, laughing and beaming, pulled you both into a tight embrace.
The press and cameras were all around, flashes going off, but none of that mattered. What mattered was you three, together, celebrating. In the whirlwind of excitement, your heart was pounding — and you realized how much you wanted to show the world what you all meant to each other.
Before anyone could react, you leaned into Oscar, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Lily laughed, and without hesitation, joined in, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek and then brushing a soft one across Oscar’s jaw.
The three of you laughed, a little breathless, leaning into each other, holding hands, spinning slightly as photographers tried to capture the moment. You weren’t just friends — you were a family, a trio, and you weren’t hiding it anymore.
Oscar grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I love you both,” he murmured, voice low but full of emotion.
“I love you,” you whispered back, squeezing both of their hands.
“I love you too,” Lily added, leaning into the embrace, resting her forehead against yours.
The cameras continued to flash, but it felt magical rather than intrusive. The crowd cheered, thinking it was part of the post-race excitement, but it was so much more — a genuine, unrestrained moment of love, joy, and connection.
As the three of you held each other, sharing quiet kisses and soft laughter, the world seemed to shrink around you. For the first time, you felt completely seen, completely safe, and completely at home.
Oscar lifted his arms slightly, drawing both of you closer. “We should probably, you know… celebrate officially,” he said with a cheeky grin.
You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think we already are.”
Lily nodded, her fingers intertwined with yours. “Yeah… we already are.”
And in that golden, sunlit moment on the podium, the three of you didn’t just celebrate a season of racing. You celebrated each other — your love, your connection, and the beautiful, perfect trio that you had become.
The flashes of the cameras captured it all, but nothing could compare to how it felt, wrapped up together, hearts racing, and finally able to show the world exactly what you all meant to each other.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
oscarpiastri
liked by yourusername, lilyzneimer, aussiegrit and 3,500,000 others.
oscarpiastri : celebrating the end of the season w both of my beautiful girls. been waiting my whole life for them💛
tagged : lilyzneimer and yourusername
—
user has limited comments on this post.
༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
bonus : piastri/webber family vacation!
The air smells of salt and sunscreen, mixed with laughter and the faint aroma of a barbecue someone’s started nearby.
You’re sitting cross legged on a large beach blanket, sunglasses perched on your nose, sand sticking faintly to your sun kissed legs. Lily is beside you, her hair still damp from an afternoon swim, brushing stray grains of sand off her arms. Oscar is a few feet away, wrestling with a frisbee with Edie and Mae, and the sound of his laughter carries across the beach.
Behind you, Nicole is unpacking another blanket and some snacks while chatting with Hattie, all of them radiant and relaxed. Mark sits a little apart, chair angled toward the trio, arms crossed with a quiet smile, sunglasses reflecting the sun — but you can tell he’s just watching everything, soaking it all in.
It’s warm. Perfect.
“Come on, love!” Lily calls, tugging lightly at your hand. “Oscar’s about to throw that frisbee straight into the water again!”
You laugh and rise, brushing sand off your shorts, as the three of you sprint toward the makeshift game area. Oscar looks up, eyes lighting on you immediately. “Finally joining the action?” he teases, tossing the frisbee gently toward you.
You catch it, laughing, and throw it back at him — perfectly this time. Lily cheers from beside you, clapping her hands.
Oscar’s sisters run up, squealing with laughter as Mae tries to grab the frisbee midair, tripping slightly into your legs. You steady her, and the four of you collapse into laughter, sand sticking to sunscreened skin.
From the sidelines, Nicole watches with a fond smile, her arms crossed lightly. She catches your eye and winks. “You two make this family complete,” she murmurs to herself, though loud enough for you to hear. You grin back, feeling that soft warmth only Nicole can give — she’s always had a soft spot for you and Lily, a motherly love that’s wrapped you up since you first joined the Piastri orbit.
After the frisbee game, Mark calls everyone over for a proper toast — a cooler of sparkling water and fresh juice in hand. He raises his glass with that quiet, steady calm that always makes people listen. “I just… I want to say how happy I am to see all of you here, all of my ‘children,’ so happy,” he begins, eyes flicking over you, Lily, and Oscar. “I’ve watched you all grow up, chase your dreams, and… it’s just incredible to see you all together. Truly happy. It’s all I could have wanted.”
Lily leans into your side, resting her head lightly on your shoulder. You squeeze her hand, sharing a quiet smile.
Oscar wraps an arm around both of you, resting his chin on your shoulder briefly. “Couldn’t agree more,” he murmurs, his voice soft but full of love.
Nicole steps closer, ruffling Oscar’s hair gently before looking at you and Lily. “You two are part of this family now, officially. And I couldn’t be happier. I’ve loved watching you grow close to Oscar… and to each other. You’ve made him so happy, and I think that’s all anyone could ask for.”
You blush faintly, glancing at Lily, whose cheeks are warm and bright from the sun and the attention. “Thank you,” you murmur softly, leaning into Nicole’s hug when she pulls you into a gentle embrace. Lily follows suit, and suddenly you’re all in a tangle of arms and laughter.
The evening drifts on like this — frisbee and volleyball games with Oscar’s sisters, long walks along the shore with bare feet in the sand, ice cream and cold drinks, and quiet moments where the three of you simply sit together, toes in the sand, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon.
At one point, Oscar pulls you both into a tight hug, forehead resting against yours. “I don’t ever want this to end,” he says, voice soft and serious.
“You don’t have to,” Lily whispers, her head resting lightly on your shoulder. “We’re together. That’s never going anywhere.”
You squeeze both of their hands, heart swelling. “Nope. Forever us.”
Mark and Nicole watch from nearby, their smiles full of love and pride. Mark’s quiet satisfaction is unmistakable — his “children” are all happy, in love, and finally exactly where they belong. Nicole’s laughter rings across the beach, full of warmth, as she teases Oscar.
The night ends with all of you sitting in a semi-circle, blankets wrapped around shoulders, sharing stories, laughter, and quiet words of affection. The night is soft and warm around you, and for the first time in forever, the three of you feel completely at home — with each other, with your chosen family, and with the love you finally let the world see.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint glow of city sparkles across the water, but you barely notice. You’re exactly where you belong.
