Summary: You are Max's favorite interviewer...so much that he will not stop flirting with you.
PT2: Pursuing the journalist
Three Races Earlier…
You stand off to the side of the paddock, fiddling with your Sky Sports F1 microphone. As the newest member of the broadcasting team, you typically handle the less significant interviews, while the veteran reporters get to speak with drivers like Max Verstappen. Today, you're set to interview one of the midfield teams.
The buzz in the paddock suddenly grows as Max comes out of the Red Bull garage after his stunning pole position. A crowd of reporters quickly surrounds him, microphones pushed forward, voices overlapping with "Max! Max, a moment, please!"
You watch from your quiet spot while he walks past them, his expression neutral and barely acknowledging them. This scene is familiar. Max is known for being choosy with the media and often speaks only to a select few senior reporters.
That’s why your heart skips a beat when his eyes suddenly turn to you. His face brightens with a smile, and before you realize it, he changes direction and walks confidently toward your corner.
"Sorry," he tells the stunned reporters behind him, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm giving my first interview to her."
You hear your producer’s voice in your earpiece: "Wait, what's happening?"
Max stops right in front of you, that familiar half-smile on his lips. "Hi," he says casually, as if he hasn’t just brushed off every major broadcaster in the paddock.
"I… um…" You struggle to collect your thoughts, acutely aware of the jealous stares from the other reporters. "Hi?"
He laughs softly at your surprise. "You're new, right? I've seen you around. You ask good questions – technical ones. Not just the usual PR stuff."
"I… yes, I started this weekend," you manage to reply, still in shock. "But shouldn't you be talking to—"
"I'm talking to exactly who I want to talk to," he cuts in, his Dutch accent somehow stronger when he speaks softly. "So, would you like to hear about that qualifying lap?"
𐙚
That first interview changed everything. Since then, Max has asked to give you his post-session interviews. Each one became more flirtatious than the last. This brings you to today.
The Red Bull garage looms ahead as you adjust your Sky Sports F1 microphone for the thousandth time. Post-qualifying interviews are routine by now, but nothing about interviewing Max Verstappen has ever felt normal. Especially not since he started doing whatever this is.
"Three minutes," your producer says through your earpiece. You try to focus on your questions, but all you can think of is last week's interview. Max had deliberately held your gaze so long that you forgot the second half of your question.
He emerges from the garage, race suit tied at his waist as usual. Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, wearing that annoying half-smile that makes you forget basic English.
"Max, congratulations on another pole position," you begin professionally.
"Thanks," he interrupts, eyes shining. "I was hoping it would be you interviewing me today."
You feel warmth creeping up your neck. Stay professional, you remind yourself. "That last lap was incredible. How did you find the grip through—"
"The grip was good," he says, leaning slightly closer than necessary. "But you seem a bit nervous today. Everything okay?"
Your producer chuckles in your ear. Traitor.
"I'm perfectly fine," you manage, though your voice comes out higher than you wanted. "About turn three—"
"You're cute when you're flustered," he says quietly, just low enough that the microphone won't catch it. The smirk on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.
You almost drop your notebook. "I'm trying to conduct an interview here," you whisper back, fighting a smile.
"And I'm trying to ask you out," he counters smoothly before raising his voice back to interview level. "But yes, turn three was tricky today. The crosswind made it challenging."
Your face feels like it's on fire. You're painfully aware of the camera rolling, capturing what must be the most unprofessional blush in F1 broadcasting history.
"Speaking of challenges," Max continues, clearly enjoying himself, "there's this great restaurant in Monaco that's almost impossible to get into. I have a reservation for two tomorrow night if you're interested in discussing race strategy, of course."
You hear your producer choking back laughter. "The interview, Max," you remind him, trying to sound stern despite your racing heart.
"Right, right. The interview." He grins. "But about dinner…"
"Maybe we should finish talking about your qualifying lap first?" You're fighting a losing battle against your smile now.
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, then winks. "But just so you know, I'm going to keep flirting with you until you say yes."
Your producer is practically cackling now. "Best. Interview. Ever," she whispers in your ear.
"The qualifying lap, Max," you insist, but you’re grinning too.
"The qualifying lap," he agrees, finally sitting up straight and attempting to look serious. "But I should warn you, I'm very persistent. Almost as persistent as I am on track."
You shake your head, trying to remember your questions through the butterfly storm in your stomach. One thing's for sure—this interview is definitely going viral on F1 Twitter.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll say yes to that dinner in Monaco.
𐙚
You barely remember how you finished that interview. Your mind is still spinning from Max's dinner invitation. But the real chaos is just starting.
Your notifications have not stopped buzzing since that interview aired. #MaxAndTheReporter is trending on Twitter, and F1 TikTok is having a field day with edited clips of every moment you and Max shared during the past three races.
"OMG THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER," says one viral tweet, featuring a slow-motion clip of Max's eyes softening when he sees you in the paddock.
"Remember when Max used to HATE interviews? Now he’s literally running to them. #MaxAndTheReporter." This tweet includes a side-by-side comparison of his usual stern media face and his smile when he approaches you.
Your producer sends you a link to a fan-made compilation video titled "Every time Max Verstappen has flirted with the Sky Sports reporter (so far)." It has already gathered 2 million views.
Not everyone is convinced. "She's just another reporter," one skeptic tweets. "Max is probably just being nice."
That theory gets blown away during the next race weekend. You're interviewing Carlos Sainz when Max casually walks by. He does such an obvious double-take that Carlos starts laughing mid-answer.
"I think someone wants to interrupt this interview," Carlos teases, watching Max hover nearby with barely hidden impatience.
"He can wait his turn," you respond professionally, though your cheeks warm when you hear Max chuckle behind you.
"Can I?" Max calls out. "Because I'm pretty sure my dinner reservation is in an hour, and someone still hasn't given me an answer."
Carlos raises his eyebrows and grins. "Ah, so the rumors are true?"
Your producer's voice crackles through your earpiece: "The social media is going absolutely crazy right now. This is better than Drive to Survive!"
Later that evening, a photo appears of you and Max at a hard-to-get-into restaurant in Monaco. He is looking at you instead of the camera, with that soft smile on his face that F1 Twitter has named the "reporter smile." Fan theories start to explode:
"HE REALLY TOOK HER TO DINNER, I'M SCREAMING."
"The way he only smiles like that for her.❤️"
"Remember when we thought Max would never date someone in the F1 media? This man really said 'Watch me."
Your phone buzzes with a text from Max: "Have you seen we’re trending again?"
You reply with an eye roll, trying to ignore the butterflies that haven't settled since that first interview.
"Good," he responds. "Maybe now everyone knows why I only want interviews with you."
Your producer sends you a message: "Just wait until they see tomorrow's pre-race interview. The internet might actually break."
You smile, thinking about how a simple paddock interview three races ago changed everything. From a reluctant interviewee to whatever this is becoming, Max Verstappen has definitely kept his promise about being persistent.
summer 2022: lando invites you on a trip to ibiza with his friends where sparks fly and drinks flow, and you find yourself finally crossing that barrier with him.
warnings: SMUT minors DNI, fingering, p in v, protected sex, idk what else | word count: 7.1k | notes: ive never written warnings before i hope thats ok…
For that week you spent in Monaco, you genuinely had the time of your life. Lando had given you a paddock pass for the race weekend, though you hid in hospitality and the garage to avoid being caught.
This wasn’t because Lando was embarrassed of you–you knew that for sure–but rather because sharing something personal with the rest of the world that’s still growing just feels wrong. It feels risky, and neither of you were willing to go down that path at all so this was how it was meant to be.
Lando came in P6 that weekend—a great result for him that you made sure to celebrate when you returned to his apartment with a few drinks, kisses and a takeaway order. You’d been doing that a lot since the first time. He’d place his hands on you whenever possible, whether you were doing work on his sofa or cuddled up watching a movie together—he’d always be touching you. You didn’t mind it though, actually you quite enjoyed it.
Nonetheless, as soon as you returned back to Geneva, you felt slightly empty. You checked your phone, messaging back Lando as he’d asked you to text him when you were home, and then you went straight to Maya’s dorm to update her.
The following weeks flew by, exams passing as quickly as they came and your final projects were completed. Finally, your second year of uni was over.
After telling Lando over the phone, his immediate response was: “what are you doing this summer?”
You told him you weren’t really sure since you were planning to play it by ear, probably visiting your parents back home and seeing what your brother had been up to, until he gave you a better option.
“I’m going to Ibiza with some friends. You should come, bring Maya.”
You didn’t even need to think about it. You agreed immediately because you missed him, and seeing him through your phone wasn’t enough. Fortunately, he felt exactly the same way.
So here you are, suitcase in hand with your carry-on on top and Maya beside you as you both leave the train station in Nice to find Lando waiting outside by his Urus just like last time. At the sight of you, he smiles and makes his way towards you.
“There she is,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around you firmly like he’s afraid you’ll disappear as you let out a soft chuckle against his neck. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too,” you return, kissing his shoulder before he tilts his head down at you. You look up at him, your eyes locking as both of you smile like lovestruck teenagers before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss, cupping his cheek when you deepen the kiss for a split second before pulling away–feeling the way his lips peck yours.
When you pull apart, you find Maya looking between you two in complete shock at what she just witnessed before she lets out a laugh.
“Hi, Lando. Good to see you,” she speaks first.
“Good to see you too, Maya,” Lando returns with his usual kind smile, holding his arms out for a polite hug they exchange briefly. “You two ready for Ibiza?”
“Hell yeah,” Maya replies for the both of you when Lando loads both of your suitcases into the boot of his Urus before you climb into the car. You’re in the passenger seat, of course, and Maya’s in the backseat looking at you like a proud mother. “You’ve come so far. I’m so happy that you’re letting this happen,” she says before Lando comes in, and her words sit with you for a while.
It’s not that you’ve never been wanted, but rather the fact that you self sabotage whenever things get too good. Nobody’s ever been able to withstand your avoidance, and it makes you wonder whether Lando will. You guess that the difference is that you’re technically doing long distance (of whatever this is) which is probably why you haven’t even thought about pushing him away, because you don’t see him enough to not miss him. Still, the thought lingers like a distant hum in the background.
He’s rambling on about something as usual whilst your responses are on autopilot, but he notices when he glances over at you to find you staring out of the window. He stops talking then, reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh before returning his gaze forward as soon as you look at him. The warmth of his palm spreads across your leg, a wave of electricity moving through you and making you feel like a live wire. Your breath gets stuck in your throat at his boldness, and the way he gently squeezes the flesh of your thigh makes your mouth run dry. It feels right, almost like he belongs there and he has every right.
You bite your inner cheeks, mulling it over for a moment before finally placing your hand over his and gently squeezing. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way the ends of his lips curve up into a soft smile. It makes your stomach warm.
“Alright, let’s go,” Lando announces when you arrive at the airport after he parks and switches the car off. You just about manage to lean over the console to kiss his cheek with a prideful smile before opening your door–just as he looks over at you with a warmth behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, though even whilst loading your things out of the boot whilst you and Maya are talking he glances over and gets involved in your conversation.
The three of you head inside then, dragging your luggage along with you as you head to the check-in desk before moving through the airport.
“We’ll need to meet my friends in the lounge,” Lando speaks when you’re finally through. He looks down at you. “They’re pretty chill but they also don’t shut up sometimes. If you wanna leave or something, just let me know, alright?”
Your heart swells at his words when you shake your head with a smile.
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t mind it,” you shrug and he lets out a soft chuckle before letting you and Maya enter the lounge first. He follows in behind, glancing up at where his friends are gathered on a sofa.
“Alright, lads?” Lando speaks first, his friends standing up to dap him up whilst they all greet each other. You and Maya hover to the side, hearing the way Maya lets out a slight chuckle before his friends turn to us.
“And which one of you is the infamous yn we’ve heard so much about?” The curlyheaded one asks, looking between you and Maya. When Lando hears, he slings an arm over the male’s shoulders and looks at you.
“That would be me,” you smile nervously before he nods with a smirk.
“Ah of course. Even prettier in real life,” he comments before Lando snaps his head towards him.
“Watch it, Max,” Lando says, a lilt in his tone that makes you feel funny. Max just laughs, shaking his head before holding a hand out in your direction.
“I’m Max. Nice to meet you,” he introduces himself, and you shake his hand with a nod.
“Same goes,” you return before he turns to Maya.
“Maya, nice to meet you,” your best friend smiles politely, shaking his hand.
“Max, nice to meet you too.”
“And this is Ed and Tom,” Lando speaks, gesturing to the two males as you shake hands with a smile, Maya doing the same. “Okay, great,” Lando claps his hands after you’ve all met each other, taking seats on the sofas to wait for your flight.
You spend a lot of the time talking with Max, Ed and Tom, merely getting to know them with Maya with a lot of laughing. They ask you both about uni, and what you do and whether you enjoy it or not, and you talk to them about their past racing careers and what they do currently. Of course, some of the things that Max says makes Lando snap his head to him and disagree, but it only made you all laugh in the end.
He’s sitting beside you with his arm around your shoulders when he tilts his head down to rest it against your hair, his cheek pressed up against it. You smile even though he can’t see you, his childish antics making you hold back a laugh. Nonetheless, you squeeze his hand on your hip in reassurance before going back to whatever Max was saying about their karting days.
—
“Sit next to him,” Maya urges when you board the private jet, her voice low in your ear as you walk behind Lando. Your head snaps around to look at her in distress before you feel a gentle tug on your hand in front of you. When you turn around, you find Lando gesturing for you to sit next to him on the pair of seats–giving you one of those cute looks.
You don’t verbally reply, you instead just let him put your bag up in the overhead storage before you take a seat beside him. Maya takes the single seat across the aisle beside you though, so in reality it’s not that big a deal.
The flight is spent playing a lot of Uno, laughing and taking pictures of each other like it was some sort of game. Lando cuddles into you the entire time, the scent of his cologne now completely embedded in your brain to the point where you can barely even register it anymore. He’s super touchy, you notice, but you don’t complain at all. You lean your head against his shoulder too, and you can feel his body relax at the movement–like he’s relieved to know that you’re comfortable with him too.
When you land, you all go through border control before getting into an Uber that takes you to the airbnb you’re staying at. It’s a beautiful villa with at least eight bedrooms, an infinity pool out in the front and flowering vines decorating the stone walls.
Maya nudges you as you walk side by side, her eyes twinkling with excitement. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Not just the holiday, but rather that you’re here with Lando Norris. An actual F1 driver that’s head over heels for you: a uni student and part-time ‘influencer’ that didn’t even deserve the name.
The boys had walked ahead into the house, exploring already whilst you and Maya trail behind somewhere. You both follow the sound of their voices upstairs after looking around downstairs, and when you climb up the stairs you find Lando walk out of a bedroom and look at you.
He smiles then as you walk up to him, his arm subconsciously wrapping around your waist as you slip past him to peek inside the room.
“You like this one?” He asks then, his voice soft in your ear as you step inside and he follows after you.
“I’m not fussed about it,” you shrug honestly, turning around to find his hands in his pockets as he looks at you. “What?” You almost laugh at the way his eyes remain locked on yours like he’s mulling something over–silently debating something in his mind before he clears his throat.
“Share a room with me.” He’s not asking, he’s stating. He wants you in this room with him, and you can’t help the smile that makes its way onto your lips–your stomach tightening with butterflies that make you feel weightless.
“Since you asked so nicely. I guess I could,” you joke, walking towards him as he lets out a breath of relief–his smile widening as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and his go around your waist. He hugs you tightly, burying his face into the crook of your neck and breathing softly that tickles your skin. You twist your head, kissing his cheek.
“We could go out on a date one of these days. I’ll take you to a nice restaurant before we party,” he offers, his voice slightly muffled as his lips move against your skin as you continue holding each other. You chuckle then, burying a hand in his curls and nodding your head.
“I would love that. I also can’t wait to party with you,” you reply. He stands upright then, resting his forehead against yours because you’re almost as tall as him, before you bring a hand up to cup his cheek.
“Okay, lovebirds. I’m gonna start grilling some shit before tonight. Want me to bring your luggage up?” Max’s voice disturbs your moment, Lando turning his head around to look at him in annoyance to find Maya appearing out of nowhere and shoving him away.
“Stop ruining their moment,” the blonde complains when Max puts his hands up in defence.
“Hey! I’m not ruining anything!” Max retorts before their voices fade out. You let out a laugh that makes Lando look back at you again, his eyes softening before he leans down to kiss you. It feels like the world stops then. He takes your breath away, his tongue exploring your mouth like he’s trying to permanently embed it into his mind as he possessively licks into your mouth. Your skin heats up, a soft whimper slipping past your lips that he swallows before pulling away for air.
“Let’s go before they set something on fire,” Lando suggests then, and you nod before he pecks your lips.
When you return downstairs, you immediately make a beeline for where Maya’s standing in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water. She looks up, as if sensing your presence, before a knowing smirk makes its way onto her lips.
“He’s so forward, I love him,” Maya whispers to you when you stand beside her, the both of you looking out at where the sliding glass door is opened and the boys are on the other side. They’re all gathered around the barbecue, heating it up and chatting about something (you) that has them all tapping Lando’s back in pride.
“I know. God, I can’t believe him.”
“And we’re partying tonight, girl. He wants that cookie so damn bad,” Maya jokes then, passing you a glass of water as you shake your head and look straight at Lando.
“I’m obsessed with him. This is all I’ve wanted–someone to fucking yearn for me.”
“I know, and you deserve it more than anyone. All of those men that wasted your time when we were younger have nothing on him. He’s perfect for you. I can’t wait to see where this goes,” Maya gushes, looking at you with a warmth behind her eyes and that usual smile she wears whenever you’re with her. You’ve always been convinced the pair of you are platonic soulmates, and now to see her this happy for you about Lando only makes your heart tighten even more. You beam at her, leaning into her side as she hugs you.
“I love you.”
“I love you more,” she replies with a smile before she kisses your cheek. “But if he starts stealing you from me I’ll have to have a word.”
You both laugh then, just as Lando walks in from outside as if he knew you two were talking about him.
“Food’ll be ready soon. We’ll go out around ten-ish if you guys manage to get ready in that time,” he says, bringing himself to a stop at the counter in front of you too and leaning his hands against the marble and looking between you two. “What?”
“Nothing,” you both reply simultaneously, but he looks between you two like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Are we taking an uber there?”
“Yeah. Think we’re all drinking,” Lando nods.
“Okay,” you return, his eyes locked on yours as your lips curve up into a nervous smile. “What?”
“What?” He asks back when you both shake your heads.
“Food’s ready!” Ed calls from outside, stopping your conversation.
—
After eating, you and Maya spent about an hour getting ready. You’re wearing a denim mini skirt, paired with a black v-neck halter top and a pair of kitten heels–your hair falling down your shoulders in waves. Maya opted for a black dress and a pair of boots, and when you both finished getting ready you couldn’t help but look at each other and gush the other with compliments. You took a few pictures before a knock came at your door–or rather, a pounding.
“Hurry up or we’re leaving without you!” Max.
“We’re coming!” You yell back in annoyance, reapplying your lipliner before Maya passes you your bag. You shove your phone inside along with your lipliner before placing it on your shoulder and you both leave the room heading downstairs.
When you make it down, you notice them all sitting on the sofas and laughing about something like they always are but as soon as they hear you coming down, Lando turns to look at you.
His lips part at the sight of you, his gaze scaling up and down your figure before he stands up. A few words fall past his lips just as you feel Maya nudge you.
“Alright lads, let’s go!” Max exclaims, the others standing up as well as everyone moves past where you’re frozen in your spot and Lando’s walking towards you.
“You look beautiful. You are beautiful,” he corrects himself, slinging an arm around your waist as you let out a nervous chuckle. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek that makes your stomach explode with butterflies.
“Thank you,” you return, “you’re not too bad yourself.”
He laughs at that, the pair of you heading towards the door together where the others have already disappeared to. When you leave the villa you find them already waiting in the uber, a classy Mercedes van, and Lando steps aside to let you climb in first–holding his hand out for you to take. You thank him quietly, taking a seat beside Maya before he follows in suit and sits next to you–something telling you that the others made sure you’d be sitting next to each other.
The driver to the nightclub is full of chatter and laughter shared amongst all of you, and you’re grateful that Lando’s friends are really easy to get along with. They don’t make you feel like an outsider, but rather seem like they’re really trying to make sure you feel welcome. You feel comfortable.
When you reach the club, you all pile out and head straight to the entrance–jumping the queue because being with an F1 driver has many perks. The bouncer steps aside, letting you all in and Lando looks back at you, holding his hand out in your direction to take it. You slip yours into his, holding on tightly as the thumping bass only gets louder.
The strobe lights are coloured, painting the building with flashes whilst the music from the DJ booth reverberates off the walls and vibrates straight through you. The scent of mixed perfumes, sweat and alcohol clings to the air, and you find yourself clutching onto Lando’s bicep in order to not get lost in the swarm of bodies dancing.
Maya’s behind you, your other hand holding hers as you’re both led by the boys towards a more quiet booth in the corner, all of you slipping inside of it with a huff of relief.
“Drinks?” Lando yells over the music, glancing between all of you. You all nod, Max and Ed offering to join him as you and Maya remain seated and they all disappear once again.
“This is insane,” Maya exclaims in excitement from where she’s sitting beside you, and you nod with a laugh.
“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to get drunk!”
After a few minutes, the boys return with drinks in their hands including a few tequila shots for all of you. You start off with them, counting down before downing two each and moving on to whatever cocktails you’d been brought.
From where Lando’s sitting beside you, he leans down to lower his mouth to your ear before speaking.
“Let’s go dance,” he says, sitting up a little to look at you before you nod enthusiastically at his offer.
“Let’s go!” You return, waiting for him to slide through the booth before you follow after him.
“Have fun!” Maya calls back with a knowing smile before you turn back and blow her a kiss.
When you reach the dancefloor, Lando’s hands go straight to your hips as your arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close to you. You sway your hips to the beat, your faces close enough that your noses bump together and all you can do is laugh. His eyes remain locked on where your bodies are in contact, a low grunt slipping past his lips when you grind your front against his. You smirk then, spinning around as his hands tighten their grip on your hips.
He says your name lowly in your ear as a warning, already aware of what you’re about to do. You ignore him, grinding your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans as he slides a hand up the side of your body–leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He brings it over one of your arms until he reaches your hand in his hair, interlocking them together and bringing them to the front of your stomach. He keeps you pressed against him, the tip of his nose brushing against your pulse point as you feel his hard-on pressing against your ass.
Then, you pull away abruptly. Turning back around to face him with a knowing smirk as his face falls.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters in disbelief, and you can only laugh before leaning in to cup both of his cheeks and bring him down into a chaste kiss. You can feel him smile into it, trying to deepen the kiss but you pull away before he can–his lips following yours before he looks down at you.
“Can we drink more?” You ask innocently, looking up at his slightly frustrated expression before glancing down at where he readjusts himself in his jeans.
He nods in response, and you take his outstretched hand before following him to the bar–smiling to yourself at how you’d just pissed him off.
When you reach the bar, you both slide into two neighbouring stools before he orders ten shots of vodka.
“You’re crazy,” you tell him, looking at him in shock as he smirks at you.
“After the stunt you just pulled? Baby, I need a cold shower because of you,” he returns, and you can’t help but laugh despite the way him calling you ‘baby’ made you feel.
The bartender lines up ten shot glasses before filling them all with vodka. You both thank him before picking up one each, clinking them together and downing them. Your faces scrunch in disgust at the burning sensation down your throats, but you keep going.
The buzz hits you quickly, and you’re both just looking at each other like the world has stopped.
“I really like you,” you tell him, aware of what you’re saying but gone enough to not care about the consequences your words might bring. “Like, a lot. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, ever.”
Lando laughs, shuffling closer and reaching a hand out to rest on your hip.
“I feel the same way. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you,” he confesses with a lazy smile, and you laugh at the comedy of it all. You’re both not even fully drunk, saying your true feelings about the other as if it hadn’t been obvious these past few months.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you confess, just as Lando wraps a hand around the leg of your stool and drags you closer to him. He looks at you in surprise when he processes your words, his arm slung around your waist whilst his other twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers gently.
“What? How?”
You shrug, your eyes darting across his face as you take all of his features in: the slope of his nose, the light facial hair growing, and the deep combination of blue and green in his eyes that you genuinely cannot name even if you tried.
“Nobody’s been worth my time.”
He smiles at that, nodding in approval.
“You’re right. Nobody deserves you. Probably not even me, but I want you too bad to let you go,” he says, as soft as he can whilst making sure you can hear him over the music.
You blush at his words, but you can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol buzzing in your system that’s making you feel warm or him in general. Though, you’d assume it’s a combination of both because the way he’s looking at you right now is making you feel seen in ways you’ve never experienced before.
“If somebody told me this would come from going to an F1 race, I would’ve laughed in their face at the absurdity of it all,” you tell him, and he laughs at that. A warm sound to your ears that makes you smile even harder (if that’s even possible).
“Well, I’m glad it happened,” Lando returns, his thumb drawing lazy, soothing circles against the bare skin of your hip whilst he keeps his eyes on you. “Very glad.”
He leans in after a moment, connecting your lips in a brief kiss before pulling away but still remaining close. Your breaths mingle together before he kisses the corner of your mouth, followed by the tip of your nose and then your cheeks.
“I wanna DJ. Care to join me?”
“You? DJ?” You ask in surprise before he smiles with a nod.
“Hell yeah. I’m good at it, I promise. Come,” he urges, standing up and looking completely fine for someone who’s just had at least seven shots of vodka. You, on the other hand, slip off your stool and feel the world start spinning almost immediately. Lando’s hands shoot out immediately, holding onto your hips to keep you upright before looking at you with a brief look of concern.
“You alright?” He asks you, his expression conforming into a small smile when you look up at him with almost sparkling eyes. You smooth your hands over his shirt, the planes of his chest and you can feel his quickening heartbeat beneath your palms.
“Very,” you nod with a grin, and he lets out a soft chuckle before wrapping a firm arm around your waist and leading you away from the bar.
“Alright Miss Lightweight. Should’ve warned me about that, don’t uni students party like, all of the time?” Lando enquires, looking down at you for a moment before returning his focus on escaping the dancefloor without you falling over.
“Mmmm, first year a lot more than second. The stress is a lot sometimes,” you tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” you nod, looking up at him for a moment to find him nodding–almost like he’s making note of what you’ve just said and stored it away for later.
When you reach the DJ booth, he walks over to the DJ and they have a conversation you can’t really make out. Up here, the music is much louder, and the vibrations are running through you like you’re in a go kart.
The DJ then takes his headphones off and passes them to Lando, stepping aside and letting him do whatever he wants. Lando thanks him, unwrapping his arm from your waist as he puts the headphones around his neck and starts messing with the decks whilst bopping his head along to the music. You watch closely, smiling at his excitement because whatever he seems to be doing, it’s working. The music shifts and surprisingly enough, it doesn’t sound terrible.
He then turns to you, that excited spark in his irises as he looks at you.
“You wanna have a go?” He asks, and you shake your head with a laugh.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
He nods with a smile, turning his attention back to the decks and continuing to mess around with it for a little longer before passing the headphones back to the DJ. They dap each other up, saying a few more words before he turns back to you and wraps an arm around your waist to lead you away.
“I need to see Maya,” you speak in his ear over the music, and he nods in understanding before taking you to the booth the others were at. They’re back there, all four of them laughing with many more empty cups in front of them–implying that they’d been to the bar a few more times than you and Lando have.
Maya exclaims your name in excitement when she notices you, holding her arms up at you before you haul her out of the booth.
“Can we dance?” She slurs, and you nod with a laugh.
“Let’s go!”
And so the two of you disappear into the crowd, Lando watching you both from where he’s sitting in the booth for a few moments before turning back to the boys.
“You like her sooooo much,” Max teases with a knowing smile, holding the rim of his cup to his lips.
“Hell yeah I do,” he returns before putting his head in his hands for a moment.
“Absolutely whipped. Ask her to be your girlfriend,” Tom pipes up, and then Lando looks up at him.
“I will. After we go on a few more dates. I don’t want to rush this.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go get more alcohol,” Max tells Ed, who nods like he’s on a mission before standing up and leaving the table
Lando looks back into the crowd of bodies dancing together, looking for someone in particular before his blood runs cold. He notices a man walking up to the two of you, trying to speak to you both but you just ignore him–clearly too in your own world to even notice him.
“Lando–” He hears Tom say before he’s already standing up and making his way towards you both.
“We already said we don’t want to dance,” Lando hears Maya’s firm voice when he reaches you, his hand finding the small of your back. You don’t even react, the familiarity of his warm hand is enough to let you know it’s him.
“Is there a problem?” Lando asks, looking at the male who finally takes Lando’s presence in.
He doesn’t say anything, just swallows hard before looking between both you and Maya and disappearing into the crowd somewhere.
“Thanks. We could’ve handled it,” you tell him, finally turning to look at him with a smile on your face.
“I know you could’ve, but you shouldn’t have to. He’s gross,” Lando says, shaking his head in disappointment before looking over at Maya who’s looking between both you and Lando with a smile on her face. “Anyway, more drinks for the table. You two coming?”
“Fuck yeah,” you say in excitement before taking Maya’s hand in yours and following Lando back to the booth. You all take your seats again, drinks and laughs being shared and all of your worries dissipating for at least one night. Everything feels perfect.
—
After saying your goodnights, everyone retreats back to their bedrooms in exhaustion. Lando’s still holding onto you, your hands pretty much glued together at this point, when you enter your shared room and almost trip over your own feet.
“Careful,” he warns, clearly the more sober one of the two of you as you let out a string of giggles. “Come here,” he says softly, crouching down to remove your heels off your feet before sliding his hands back up your legs with a reverence only he could have. When he stands upright again, he looks down at you with a look in his eye you’ve noticed he only holds when he’s near you. He leans down, kissing your lips softly as you melt into his embrace. “My pretty girl.”
You let out a weak chuckle, blushing at his words before almost hiding your face away from him. However, he brings a gentle hand up to your chin, tilting your head back up to meet his gaze and he smiles when he notices how red your cheeks are.
“Come on then, let’s go to bed,” he nods his head, gesturing to the bed before you let out a small sigh. “Where are your pajamas?”
“My suitcase,” you reply, looking over at where it sits wide open but when you make a move to head towards it he stops you.
“I’ll get it for you. You sit.”
You laugh at his words but drop onto the bed nonetheless, watching as he digs through your suitcase to pull out your matching set before he passes it over to you.
“Thanks,” you reply softly, taking it from his hand and brushing your fingers together at the exchange before you stand once again and head into the bathroom without saying anything. You change, brush your teeth and wash your face before you go back into the bedroom and he slips past you to do the same.
You climb into bed, burying yourself beneath the duvet with a sigh of relief and feeling the way your muscles relax. The world feels like it finally slows down, your brain catching up and a low pulsing already developing in your brain. Eventually, he steps out of the bathroom in just a pair of pajama bottoms completely topless–your mouth running dry at the sight. The smooth planes of his chest and the lines of his abs, his body a beautiful outcome of years of training and putting himself through situations that should be reserved for superhumans.
“You suck,” you complain when he gets into bed beside you, looking at you in slight confusion but letting out a breathless chuckle anyway.
“Do you want water?” He asks softly, turning his body to face you as he reaches his arms out for you beneath the duvet. You shake your head at his offer, and he knows he should probably make you drink some so you feel better but you look far too comfortable for him to disturb you.
You turn your body over, his arm still slung over your waist as he tugs you into his chest. Heat spreads across your body at the sensation of his soft breathing against the back of your neck, your bottom lip getting caught between your teeth.
“Goodnight,” you barely manage out, your proximity mixed with the hum of alcohol still in your veins enough to drive you crazy.
“Goodnight,” he whispers your name back, following it with a soft kiss against the skin at the nape of your neck. You smile even though he can’t see you, and you find yourself falling asleep incredibly quickly that night to the sound of his uneven breathing and his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.
—
The following morning feels incredibly slow. Lando wakes up first beside you, his arm a heavy weight around your waist whilst he watches your chest rise and fall with every soft breath. Your body’s curled into his, your head tucked into his front as he tilts his down to softly kiss your forehead.
You stir a little when he continues placing soft kisses on the crown of your head, a sigh slipping past your lips.
“What time is it?” You groan out, already feeling the way your brain feels like it’s pounding against your skull in an uncomfortable rhythm.
“Just past eight. You alright?” Lando asks you, his voice hoarse from sleep as you close your eyes again, willing the throbbing in your head to stop.
“No. My head is killing me.”
Lando laughs a little, but when you let out a groan he immediately stops.
“It’s okay, I brought paracetamol,” he says before twisting his body away from you, his warmth moving away from you. You almost whimper at the loss as you reach a hand out to wrap around his bicep and keep him with you. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
You nuzzle your face into his chest when he returns, holding out the box of paracetamol for you to take. Without speaking, you finally open your eyes properly before sitting up and opening the box to take out the packet. His arm remains wrapped around your waist as he watches you closely like you’re some sort of artifact in a museum he can’t stop looking at. When you take out two pills, he passes you his water bottle and you quietly thank him before swallowing down the medication.
You can feel the warmth of his palm as it slowly moves up and down the side of your body, almost like he’s trying to map your body out without having seen you bare.
You pass him his water bottle back, and he sits up to drink from it whilst he looks at you.
“You feeling better?” Lando asks sweetly when he puts his bottle aside but remains sitting up. His curls are in about seventeen different directions, and he looks tired. Soft around the edges in a way you’ve never seen online before.
This Lando, the one in your bed, is so incredibly different to the side of him that he shows the rest of the world. It warms your heart at the fact that he’s letting you in and letting you see his true self. The one that nobody else sees other than his closest people. The sassy Lando that only lets certain people into his life and trusts them with his life.
You smile, leaning in to connect your lips in a soft kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist immediately, laying down and bringing you along with him as you let out a soft giggle when you land on his chest. You don’t stop kissing though, even through your laughter.
Though at one point, something shifts. You both pull away for a moment, your eyes locked on each other for a few seconds. When you lean in for a kiss again, you feel the way his hands tighten their grip on your hips, your mouths clashing with hunger and desire. He licks into your mouth, claiming every corner like he’s trying to permanently embed it into his mind whilst he positions your legs on either side of him. You roll your hips against his front experimentally, a soft whine slipping past his lips and into your mouth. Any prior thought about your headache fades into the background like a dull hum.
“Tease,” he groans, his hands gripping tight enough on your hips that he’s probably left an imprint on them before you move your mouth down the column of his throat–kissing and sucking on his skin and leaving a few hickeys down to his collarbone. “Fuck.”
“Lando,” you breathe out, almost in pain as you find his mouth again.
“I know, I know. Are you sure?” He asks, slipping a hand up to your cheek to keep your face as close to his as possible, his lips moving against yours. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, the heat of his hands not making it any better as your mind continues to spin. His touch is otherworldly, and the way he’s looking at you is making you feel like you’re the only person on the planet.
You nod, too consumed by him to formulate a coherent thought but that’s not enough for him.
“Words, baby. I need words.”
“Yes, please. Lando I need you,” you barely manage out, and at that moment he lets his hands slide up to your pajama top. He pulls it off, throwing it somewhere before gripping your hips again and flipping you both over in a quick movement. His gaze on you feels weighted with words he’s not saying, his eyes moving over your chest as he takes you in.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, sounding pained as he brings his hands up to your breasts, sweeping his palms over the swell of your chest whilst letting his gaze linger. There’s a hungry spark in his eyes, just as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples with slight pressure that forces you to let out a breathy moan before he leans down and takes one into his mouth. Your head falls back and your back arches into him, his name falling past your lips as he swirls his tongue around the peak whilst his other hand kneads your other breast for a few moments before he lavishes it with the same attention. “God, you were hiding all this from me?” He asks in disbelief when he presses open-mouthed kisses in the valley between your breasts, his eyes locked on yours.
“Sorry,” you whimper out, your nerve endings feeling like they’ve all been set alight just from his touch and kisses alone.
Lando hums at that, bringing himself up again to find your mouth. Your hands span over his bare back, your manicured nails softly tracing over the indents of his muscles before you reach his waist, continuing downwards where you tug at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
“Greedy,” he laughs against your lips, but he lifts his hips nonetheless–helping you pull them off. His hands then smooth over your stomach, reaching your pajama bottoms that he swiftly pulls off and throws somewhere. He looks up at you once more, checking in. His fingers hover over your panties, and when you nod he pulls at the waistband before it smacks back down against your skin. You whimper at that, the sensation of his hands lingering near to where you need him most in combination with his mouth nipping, sucking and kissing the skin of your neck and chest overstimulating your mind. In one swift movement, he pulls your panties off, leaving them aside before he sits back on his heels, letting his eyes move over your bare body beneath him. His breath gets trapped in his throat as he takes you in, and you can’t help but feel the heat spreading across your skin. Your stomach is doing somersaults at the way he’s looking at you, your bottom lip getting trapped between your teeth when you trail your gaze down to the predominant bulge between his legs.
“You are absolutely perfect. I can’t…” Lando trails off, shaking his head as he runs his hands through his hair for a split second before reaching for his bag by the bed. He pulls out his wallet, taking out a foil packet before throwing his wallet somewhere and bringing the packet to his mouth–tearing it open with his teeth. You watch, the pulsing between your legs only worsening as you watch him pull his boxers off and reveal his hard cock. Your lips part at the sight, the tip flushed and angry, coated in a sheen of pre-cum as it stands to attention and when you glance up at his face the pit in your stomach only deepens. He looks fucking beautiful, his cheeks slightly red and his long eyelashes fluttering with every blink. When he rolls the condom on himself, he lowers his body back down to you, his mouth finding yours in a heated kiss. Your tongues dance together, biting your bottom lip to let himself in.
“Lando,” you breathe out suddenly, and he pulls away immediately–looking down at you with concern.
“Are you okay? Do you want to stop?” He asks without hesitation, his eyes glancing frantically across your features in a search for any discomfort.
“No, no, no,” you reassure him, your hands resting on his shoulders where you gently squeeze him and he lets out a sigh of relief. “I’ve just… I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s okay. We’ll go slow,” he nods, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb across your skin lovingly. “If you want to stop, tell me, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
You let out a silent breath, the ends of your lips curling up into a relieved smile when he brings himself back down to connect your lips together. Despite this being your first time, you don’t feel any pressure, you feel completely okay. All of these new sensations are making you feel on top of the world, and you have Lando to thank for that.
“I’ll need to prepare you first, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly, and you feel the way his hand grips onto your thigh to spread your legs apart and hook one of them over your waist before he slides his hand between your bodies. You nod breathlessly, just as his two fingers meet your clit. He draws circles around the bundle of nerves with such dexterity, you can’t help but moan at the precision. “So wet sweetheart, and all of this for me?”
You nod, unable to even form a thought as your nails dig into his back at the overwhelming sense of pleasure you’re already feeling, and he’s barely even started.
“Beautiful,” he breathes out, watching the way your face twists in pleasure when he slides a thick finger inside, feeling your spongy walls adjust to the new sensation. He thrusts a single finger in a couple times, his thumb still playing at your clit slowly before he introduces another finger–the stretch feeling incredible. You’re a babbling mess of moans by now, and he’s watching you closely–bringing his mouth down to swallow some of your noises. “You’re so warm. Sucking on my fingers, fuck.”
When he slides a third finger in, your brain short-circuits and you have to hold back a scream.
“Good girl, love. You’re taking me so well,” he compliments, his voice soft as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out of you whilst his thumb assaults your clit. It doesn’t take long when you feel that the tightening coil in your stomach threatens to snap, and Lando can sense it as well. “Come on my fingers, love. Do it, come on,” he urges, and with a whimper your whole body seizes and the coil breaks–your release coating your fingers as he whispers praises in your ear. “There she is.”
He smiles, biting the lobe of your ear whilst you come down from your high with deep breaths.
“I’ve never felt like that… ever,” you confess, and Lando lets out a chuckle at your words before pulling his fingers out–the loss making you whine–before bringing his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean in front of you. You bite your bottom lip at the erotic sight, feeling the way that same hand slides down to your leg and readjusts its position around his waist.
“You ready?” He asks softly, eyes glancing between yours. You don’t verbally reply, instead cup both of his cheeks and bring him down into a passionate kiss–tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him smile into the kiss before his tip teases at your entrance, coating himself in your slick before he slowly presses himself inside. You let out a sharp exhale, your grip on his shoulders tightening as he stops once his tip is buried inside of you. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe out as he looks down at where you two are conjoined. “Just… give me a second.”
“Take your time. No rush,” Lando reassures you softly whilst cupping your cheek again, brushing his thumb across your skin softly.
“Okay,” you breathe out, “keep going.”
He nods, looking back at your face again as he slowly continues sheathing himself inside you. Lando moves slowly, and you can feel your walls stretching to adapt to his size whilst he watches you closely in case you show any discomfort. Though you breathe deeply, your nails claw at his back to keep yourself from screaming and waking up the rest of the house until he’s fully seated inside of you–the stretch immaculate.
“Fuck you’re so tight–so warm,” Lando breathes out, his forehead dropping to yours as the tips of your noses brush together. “Can I move?”
“Just… a second,” you say almost incoherently, your eyes fluttering shut as you let your body adapt to his cock. He nods, kissing your lips with a fire-like intensity, sweeping his tongue against yours before he pulls away to kiss the corner of your mouth.
“Okay. You can move,” you speak, eyes locked on his as he keeps his hand against your cheek–his gaze softened despite the hunger brewing behind them. “Please.”
You don’t need to say anything more, he’s already dragging himself out completely and burying himself back inside of you with a languid snap of his hips. Lando lets out a strained moan, his arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up and change the angle as you feel his tip hit that spot on your cervix that has your vision blur.
“Lando–!” You moan out, tears pricking your eyes in pleasure as he continues his deep and hard rhythm.
“I know baby,” he breathes, the way his hand gently cups your cheek a stark contrast to the sensation of his cock fucking up into you. Still, it’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with anyone, and he’s making sure you can feel the way he cares for you.
The grip on your hip suddenly disappears and you can feel how his hand slides between your bodies and his fingers find your clit. The precision of his fingers is devastating, circles being drawn around the bundle of nerves that drives you just over the edge. Your walls tighten and relax around his cock sporadically, milking him as you feel yourself about to come.
“Lando–” You warn, but he already knows.
“Let go for me, love. Come on,” He urges, his voice sweet as he latches his mouth onto one of your nipples and swirls it with his tongue. That is your undoing, your fluids spilling out of you as you tug on the curls at the nape of his neck with a cry whilst rolling your hips against his. “Good girl,” he praises, kissing your jaw whilst he continues slamming himself into you.
Not long after, his tight grip on your waist returns as you feel the way his movements become more sporadic, more messy. His breath catches, a string of strained moans falling past his lips when you feel the warmth of his come fill the condom.
When he comes down from his high, he drops his forehead to your chest–the both of you panting heavily. He lets out a soft chuckle, your fingers burying themselves in his hair when he looks up at you.
“That was incredible,” Lando says softly, brushing your hair back and tucking it behind your ears–his heart warming when you smile lazily at him. “You’re incredible.”
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you confess in the same tone as you dart your eyes between his.
“What do you rate it out of ten? I need a review,” he jokes, pulling himself out whilst kissing your lips when you wince, before he discards the condom.
“Mmm, eight-point-five.”
Lando gasps in offence, walking back over to where you’ve hidden yourself beneath the covers and passing you one of his t-shirts. “Why?”
“More dirty talk next time. I want to hear you say how obsessed you are with me,” you reply playfully, pulling his shirt on as you sit up beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Noted,” he hums, and you laugh before he leans in to kiss your lips. “I am very obsessed with you, in case you didn’t already know. I thought you could tell.”
You connect your mouths again before replying. “I can. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” he nods, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip before cupping your cheek again and kissing you.
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
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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
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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
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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??!)
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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
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༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
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
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༺☆༻ ༺☆༻ ༺☆༻
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.
I was hoping you could do something where reader has tattoos that are related to mental health and the fans realize or the wags do a fan questions interview and she explains them or something like that
Hi my love 💕, I hope you’re doing well! You didn’t specify which driver, so I went with Oscar - I hope this is exactly how you imagined it, and that it makes you feel deeply loved 🫶. Here's to:
Stars around my Scars - OP81
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: When the WAGs learn the story behind your tattoos — or how Oscar drew stars around your scars to remind you to keep going.
Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm. Please read at your own discretion. If this is triggering for you, consider skipping. And if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to reach out — I’m here for you.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 1:21
Unlike most of the other WAGs in the paddock, your skin wasn’t free of ink or scars.
You weren’t completely covered, but a fair number of tattoos were scattered across your skin — enough that fans had started noticing them far more than you had expected.
You didn’t mind. The art on your body was meant to be seen. You had placed it there for a reason.
Some tattoos you had drawn yourself late at night, pen scraping against skin as you sketched ideas before bringing them to a tattoo artist. Others were designed by people who truly knew you, people who understood the stories you carried. Each one meant something.
You hadn’t counted on how observant WAGs could be, though.
You were sitting just outside the Williams motorhome, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses perched on your nose, laughter floating lightly between Lily Muni He, Isabella Bernadini, Hannah St. John, Alicia Torrini, and Flavy Barla. The Italian sun pressed warmly against your arms.
The conversation drifted easily — teasing complaints about travel schedules, the latest paddock gossip, and the idiotic things your boyfriends had done recently.
You mostly listened, laughing along. Not because you didn’t have stories — but because Oscar, compared to the others, simply wasn’t chaotic enough to supply them.
Where some drivers were loud, dramatic, impulsive, Oscar was… Oscar. Quiet. Dryly funny. Occasionally sarcastic in a way that caught people off guard. And endlessly kind.
Even so, you liked sitting here. The easy companionship, the warmth.
Then Lily’s gaze landed on your wrist.
Her eyes softened.
A small star was inked there, slightly uneven, lines not perfectly straight. It carried more meaning than any of your other tattoos.
“I’ve never noticed this one before,” she murmured, fingers lifting instinctively before hesitating mid-air, polite enough not to assume.
You followed her gaze. The memory it held rushed back like a tide.
“Oscar drew it,” you said softly, turning your wrist so she could see. You didn’t pull away when her fingertip traced the star.
Beneath the ink, the skin’s texture shifted — a scar.
The table fell silent. One by one, the girls’ eyes flicked between your wrist and your face.
“What does it mean?” Hannah asked gently.
Most of your tattoos hid scars beneath layers of ink. This one didn’t. The star didn’t conceal it. It framed it.
You hesitated. Vulnerability prickled in your chest, a feeling you hadn’t touched in years. You had healed, grown, built a life you were proud of — but some parts of the past would always linger.
“To keep going,” you said quietly.
The girls understood. Their expressions softened.
“I met Oscar when we were really young,” you added, a small snort following. “Not like we’re not still young.” The table laughed softly.
“But I met him when things weren’t… great. Hard days I could handle at first. Then darker times. And the only way I knew to quiet the noise in my head — even for a little while — was…” You swallowed. “…to cut.”
The words felt strange, heavy. Part of you hated that girl, but another part understood her — she was simply trying to survive.
“I got good at hiding it. Long sleeves. Bracelets. And when my wrists became too obvious, I moved to my thighs instead.”
The girls nodded. Listening. Respecting.
“Then one night he caught me,” you said softly, eyes distant. “It was fresh. I’d done it after a fight with my dad and a screaming match with my brother.”
The memory rose vividly.
Suddenly you weren’t in the paddock anymore.
You were standing in Oscar’s bedroom again, years younger, your wrist held carefully in his hands.
His fingers had been warm.
Gentle.
Tracing the skin like it was something fragile.
His eyes had been shining with unshed tears.
“Why?” he had asked quietly.
“These aren’t the only ones, right?” he asked softly. The kindness in his voice had hurt more than anger ever could.
You hadn’t been able to answer.
You had just shrugged, your throat tight, shame wrapping around it like a rope.
Your eyes had filled with tears.
“Yeah,” you had whispered.
“I thought you were getting better…”
Oscar had known about the scars long before that night. He had noticed them months earlier.
But every time he spotted a new one, he never said anything.
Instead he would just hold you tighter that day.
Kiss you a little longer.
Whisper more love into your hair.
Leave longer messages on your phone.
Anything to remind you that you mattered.
“I’m sorry,” you cried, because disappointing him had always been the last thing you wanted.
But Oscar had shaken his head immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he had said softly.
His thumb brushed gently over your wrist. “I’m supposed to look out for you. I’m supposed to make things better.”
You remembered staring at him then, completely stunned.
Because even back then — long before the trophies, the cameras, the endless travel — Oscar had always carried this quiet sense of responsibility for the people he loved.
It had never been loud.
Never dramatic.
But it was always there.
“You can’t fix me,” you had whispered hoarsely.
You hadn’t meant it cruelly. It was simply the truth you believed back then. The darkness inside your head had felt too big, too loud, too permanent for anyone to fix.
Oscar had been quiet for a moment.
Then he gently lifted your wrist, studying the wound with those impossibly thoughtful eyes of his.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Just thinking. Considering.
“Maybe not,” he finally said.
His voice was calm, steady in that way that always managed to ground you.
“But I can stay.”
Your breath had caught at that.
“I can stay,” he repeated softly. “And I can make sure you’re not fighting it alone.”
You remembered the way the words had settled somewhere deep inside your chest, in a place you hadn’t realized had been aching quite that badly.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself to quiet the noise,” he continued carefully. “But if the noise gets loud again… you come to me instead.”
You had laughed weakly through your tears back then.
“That’s a lot of pressure for a teenage boy, Piastri.”
He had shrugged slightly.
“I race cars at 200 kilometers per hour,” he said dryly. “I think I can handle listening to you.”
Even now, years later, the memory still made your chest tighten.
Because that night had been the first time someone hadn’t treated you like you were fragile or broken — just someone worth staying for.
Your fingers absentmindedly traced the little star on your wrist as the memory faded.
“And the next day,” you continued quietly to the girls around the table, “he came back with a pen and drew around my scars.”
“The star?” Hannah asked.
You nodded. “Terrible drawing,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Uneven lines, wonky angles… looks like something a five-year-old might sketch.”
The girls laughed softly with you.
“But he drew it right on my skin. Told me that whenever the noise came back, I should look at it and remember I survived every bad day before that one.”
“He said stars only exist because they keep burning through the dark,” you added softly.
The table went quiet. Even the paddock seemed to fade.
Lily looked back down at your wrist again, eyes gentle. “That’s… actually really beautiful,” she murmured.
You smiled slightly.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “It is.”
Flavy tilted her head. “Did he come with you to get it tattooed?”
You let out a soft laugh.
“He insisted.”
The memory warmed you.
“He sat next to me the entire time, watching the artist like a hawk to make sure they didn’t ‘ruin his masterpiece.’”
That earned another round of laughter.
“And when it was done,” you continued, “he stared at it for like five full minutes.”
“What did he say?” Alicia asked.
You grinned softly. “He looked at me very seriously and said, ‘I think I might have a future in tattoo design.’”
Laughter floated around the table again.
“He still checks sometimes,” you admitted.
“Checks?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Whenever things get stressful, or if I’m having a rough week… he’ll take my wrist like this.”
You gently turned it over again. “And he’ll just look at it for a second.”
Your smile softened.
“Just to make sure I’m still here.”
For a moment, no one said anything.
Then Lily reached over and squeezed your hand gently.
“You know,” she said softly, “that might be one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.”
You laughed quietly.
“Don’t tell him that,” you warned.
“His ego is already big enough.”
And yet, as the girls started laughing again and the conversation slowly drifted back into lighter topics, your fingers still rested over the small star on your wrist.
summary: After Lando's many escapes his team finally decides to get him a new pr manager or how he calls it a 'babysitter'. A relationship that's meant to be strictly professional but after a night out things happen that aren't to professional anymore
warnings:
masterlist
"Lando, this can't be happening anymore", Zak groaned while the boy put his head on his hands, looking out of the meeting room at the bright blue sky.
A contrast to the cold atmosphere inside the walls of the McLaren motorhome.
His team boss sat on the other side of the small white table. He didn't even notice Zak had started talking again.
"I'm sure you'd just love to see the video once again", he said. Lando sensed the irony in his voice but he chose to ignore it.
Zak picked up the remote on the TV, pressing play.
The flickering lights in the background changed colour every second, in the center of the video was Lando. Drunk of his ass, dancing with some girl whose breasts were almost spilling out of her bra-like top, the skirt ending just under her butt.
That's right were his hands were placed. Rubbing them over the thin material. His head was buried in the blonde girls’ neck. Even on the video you could see him sucking her skin.
Lando moved his lips up to her mouth, all while grabbing her left leg and hooking it around his hip, grinding against the girl.
Zak paused the video.
"This is the 5th time this happened happened in the last 12 days. Your puplic image is in shreds. They are questioning your ability as a driver. They think you're not taking your job seriously", he explained.
"Since Charlotte left, this has been happening rather regularly, so we assumed that it would be best to get you a personal media manager", Zak explained, pointing to the door.
Lando couldn't help but roll his eyes and slump back in his seat. "You gotta be kidding me, I'm not a child", he murmured, crossing his arms. His eyes drifted back outside where the rush of the paddock Saturday took place.
You immediately spotted his child like pose when you entered the room, coming to stand next to his chair.
"This is Y/n Y/l/n. She's just finished University and will be your Social Media Manager. Y/n will accompany you on race weekends, in the paddock, during media hours. And you will check your social media activity with her. Everything you post will go through her first. Every time you go out, you will tell her and for the next two months she will join you", Zak explained causing Lando to scoff.
"So she'll be my babysitter", Lando spoke up, making you glance down at the boy in his blue hoodie.
"Sweetheart, the way you're acting right now indicates that you might actually need a babysitter", you fired back. The driver's head shot up, his eyes looking into yours.
"And it probably would be best for you not to go partying for a little while", you smiled a bittersweet fake smile, clapping his shoulder a few times.
"You can't tell me what to do", Lando protested, frowning at your words. "Oh yes she can", Zak spoke up, making Lando look at him. "You can't be serious, Zak! Come on!!", he called.
His boss simply shook his head and shut off the TV. Lando scoffed, jumping off his chair and storming out of the room.
"You sure you'll be able to handle him?", Zak asked, raising an eyebrow. You watched after the boy who made his way over to the Ferrari motorhome, probably to go and talk to Carlos.
"Oh, trust me. I will", you chuckled.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Norris!", you called, banging heavily on his drivers room door. "You should've been ready 10 minutes ago!!"
You heard the knob turn and a half naked Lando opened the door. His hair messy and a dark purple hickey on his neck. "Lando-honey come back", a high pitched voice giggled.
"You've got to be kidding me", you scoffed, pushing the door wide open to reveal a half naked blonde on Lando's bunk.
"I'm really sorry but you have to leave", you said, picking up the bright red bra and tight white top on the floor before holding it out for the girl to grab.
"And who are you?", she gave you a bitchy look. "You're worst nightmare if you don't get out of here in the next two minutes", you fake smiled, tossing the clothes in her lap.
"Y/n, you can't do this!!", Lando called, shutting the door and hurrying back to you. "Get dressed. Now", you sternly said, crossing your arms and leaning against the white table.
"What are you doing?", he asked, not moving. "Waiting for your guest to leave and for you to get dressed", you explained.
"Viola get dressed", Lando said emotionless, keeping his eyes on you the whole time while grabbing his McLaren hoodie.
"My name is Violetta", the girl bitched back, angrily grabbing her bra and tying it around her breast cage.
"Yeah whatever, just get dressed and get out of here", he annoyingly responded.
You rolled your eyes at his behavior. The girl wobbly stumbled out of Lando's driver room.
"Let's get to the press conference", you said, grabbing Lando's upper arm after he finished getting dressed and dragging him out of the hospitality.
"I can walk myself, you know that", the british driver protested, trying to pull his arm away from you but your grip only tightened. "I prefer you don't. I don't want to find you sucking some blondes' neck between garages", you chuckled humorless.
As you entered the room, you immediately felt multiple pairs of eyes on you. Maybe it was having to do with the fact that you had the McLaren driver tight in your grip. Literally.
You let go of his arm and pushed him towards the couch where Charles and Max were already sitting.
"Whoah, who's she?", Charles chuckled, nodding over to you. Lando rolled his eyes and slumped down between the two boys. "My new babysitter", he grumbled, crossing his arms and stretching his legs away from him.
"McLaren got you a babysitter?", Max laughed and slapped his friends shoulder. "Because of your escapades?", Charles added. Lando nodded.
"They want her to keep track of me everywhere I go. Paddock, Social Media even my fucking free time", Lando complained. "She will join me every time I go out for the next two months", he added with a fake sweet smile. "Oh and then she decided I'm not allowed to go out for a while."
Max and Charles couldn't help but laugh. "She's practically got you in the palm of her hand", Max said, finding the whole situation immensely funny.
Lando rammed his elbow in his friends' side.
"She's hot", Charles suddenly said. His eyes have been following you ever since you entered the room.
Lando turned his hand to his left. "Uh, no?", he replied, acting digusted at the fact his friend even suggested that.
"She really is", Max added, not helping Lando in the slightest. "Back off, you have girlfriends", Lando called, slapping both of their heads.
The boys simply laughed and settled back into the white couch.
Lando focused his eyes on you, scanning you from head to toe. You had long brunette hair that stopped just on your waist and piercing green eyes. You wore the typical orange McLaren shirt along with some gray dress pants.
You were talking to someone from Ferrari that Lando didn't recognize. The woman made you laugh and Lando noticed the dimples you got when you did.
Maybe Charles and Max were right, you were kinda hot- No! You weren't!
He shook his head as to shake off the disgusting thought that crossed his mind and focused on the first interviewer.
Twitter
mclarenlove: Who’s the girl who’s been accompanying Lando all weekend??
replies:
landoxmclaren: Idkkkk maybe someone new on the team??
norris4life: Apparently he’s his new pr manager…
mclarenlove: Mclaren got him a new pr manager bc of his questionable “activities” outside of racing?
omg, I recently came across your blog, and I love it! your posts are healing a part of society 🙂↕️ lol
I wanted to know if you could write something for driver!reader, where she's kind of a tomboy (she also has tattoos and piercing, etc.) and maybe she gets caught with her partner, and the press gives them sh!t because they are kind of everything the paddock isn't really used to 👀
I'm sorry if doesn't make sense, English is not my first language 🥲🙏 also feel free to ignore this request lol, it's silly
✒️INKED IN THE PADDOCK
Pairing: Platonic!F1 Grid × Driver!Tomboy!Reader; Reader × Gavin Casalegno (established, no romance)
Genre: chaos, fluff, light drama, media tension, protective grid, tomboy swagger, wholesome couple moments
Warnings: mentions of tattoos/piercings, paparazzi weirdness, media being annoying
A/N: you said tomboy? piercings? tattoos?? boyfriend that is VERY not F1-coded??? oh I DELIVERED. grab your popcorn. also did yk that he CAME to my swimming competition, but I didn't know him at the time smh. i had the chance to take a pic w him and i couldn't.
If you asked the average F1 fan what a typical modern driver looked like, they'd say something like:
Which is exactly why the world nearly combusted when you joined the grid.
You weren’t the “polished, cleanly packaged” kind of rookie.
You were the other kind:
Pierced lip.
Black nail polish.
Ear piercings stacked from lobe to cartilage.
Small tattoos trailing spine, fingers, ribs.
Tomboy baggy pants, tank tops, oversized hoodies.
A swagger that could end world hunger but wouldn’t because you’re busy driving.
The paddock had no idea what to do with you.
The grid loved you immediately.
The media did not.
THE PADDOCK'S FIRST IMPRESSION
Day 1 of your debut season.
You walked into the paddock with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, headphones on, a lip piercing glinting in the light, tattoos peeking from under your tank top, and a bored expression like you’d rather be anywhere else.
Carlos whispered to Charles,
“Who is that?”
Charles whispered back,
“Your worst nightmare if she drives like she walks.”
Yuki:
“She looks like she’d steal my lunch and my soul.”
Max:
“She looks like she knows how to do a kickflip.”
Lando:
“She looks like my type—”
Oscar:
“DON’T SAY THAT.”
You said nothing.
Just nodded at them like they were NPCs you were forced to interact with.
Instant approval from the grid.
Immediate side-eye from the paddock elders.
THE FANS NOTICE THE TATTOOS
The first photos hit Twitter:
➡️ Y/N with a small flame tattoo on her finger.
➡️ Y/N with a snake design inked delicately behind her ear.
➡️ Y/N with a constellation tattoo on her spine peeking through a racerback shirt.
➡️ Y/N carrying a helmet covered in abstract art SHE painted herself.
Fans:
“OMG SHE’S SO COOL.”
“THE PIERCINGS???”
“THE VIBE????”
“SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE SHOULD BE FRONTING A BAND, NOT DRIVING A CAR???”
Traditionalist motorsport journalists:
“F1 is losing its dignity.”
You, reading that:
laughs and goes back to adjusting your piercing in the mirror.
AND THEN… GAVIN CASALEGNO
The paddock tolerated your tattoos.
They tolerated your piercings.
They tolerated your tomboy swagger that made half the WAGs giggle and half the drivers panic.
But what they were NOT ready for—
—was you being spotted in Monaco with Gavin Casalegno.
Yes.
THAT Gavin Casalegno.
The heartthrob from The Summer I Turned Pretty.
All blue eyes, pretty smile, boyfriend jeans, Hollywood sunshine energy.
And you?
Dressed in ripped cargos, a black crop top, combat boots, and chain jewelry.
You two looked like the poster for an A24 coming-of-age film.
A paparazzi photo went viral:
Gavin holding your face gently while kissing your forehead.
Your black nails hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
His hoodie draped over your shoulders.
Twitter exploded.
TikTok screamed.
The press had a meltdown.
THE PRESS CANNOT HANDLE YOU TWO
Reporter #1:
“So Y/N, can you explain your relationship with Mr. Casalegno?”
You:
“He’s my boyfriend.”
Reporter #2:
“But he’s… an actor?”
You:
“Yeah. People date outside their industry sometimes. Shocking, I know.”
Reporter #3:
“But he’s… not… um… very motorsport-like.”
You shrugged.
“He’s nice. I like him.”
Reporters didn’t know how to respond to that.
They desperately wanted drama.
Wanted you to justify why your boyfriend wasn’t some Monaco billionaire or a CEO’s son.
They wanted you to say he didn’t “fit the paddock aesthetic.”
But you didn’t play that game.
And the grid LOVED IT.
THE GRID MEETS GAVIN
He first joined you in the paddock during a race weekend.
He was pretty and sweet and soft-spoken.
You showed up holding his hand.
The grid reacted like you brought a golden retriever into a room full of pitbulls:
Lando: “HOLY SH*T HE’S TALLER THAN ME.”
Oscar: “Of course he is. Everyone is.”
Yuki: “He looks like he moisturizes.”
Carlos: “He looks… pure?”
Charles: “He looks like he’s never said a bad word in his life.”
Lewis: “I want him on my podcast.”
Max, staring at him:
“Do you know how to change a tire?”
Gavin: “Um… no?”
Max: “Good. Stay innocent.”
Gavin was confused.
You were amused.
GAVIN BECOMES A FAN FAVORITE
Cameras caught him:
✔️ bringing you water during quali
✔️ rubbing circles on your back when you were stressed
✔️ wearing team merch with your number on it
✔️ accidentally blushing when Crofty asked about you
✔️ cheering like a child when you overtook someone
He was not the “paddock boyfriend” stereotype.
He was a golden retriever in jeans.
And he was OBSESSED with you.
THE PRESS TRIES TO ATTACK
After a race, a journalist asked:
“Y/N, do you think your tattoos and relationship with an actor are hurting your image as a serious driver?”
You blinked.
Just once.
Slow.
Then said, voice flat:
“No. But your question is.”
George choked on air.
Charles looked personally offended on your behalf.
Yuki started unwrapping his sleeves like he was about to fight.
Max said loudly,
“That’s a dumb question.”
Lewis nodded,
“Very dumb.”
Gavin stood behind you, gripping your shoulder protectively.
The internet LOVED you.
GAVIN DEFENDS YOU ON SOCIAL MEDIA
One nasty comment went viral:
“Why is she dating an actor? She looks so... masculine for him.”
Gavin replied:
“She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.
Tattoos, piercings, tomboy style and all.
That’s MY girlfriend.
Stay mad. 😊”
He ended it with a smiley face.
A SMILEY FACE.
The world combusted.
Fans:
“GAVIN DEFENDING Y/N WITH THAT BABY ANGEL ENERGY???”
“HE SAID STAY MAD 😭”
“I DIDN’T KNOW HE HAD THAT DOG IN HIM”
THE GRID PROTECTS THEIR TATTOOED LITTLE SISTER
Drivers AND WAGs became defensive of you.
Pierre:
“If anyone talks bad about Y/N again, I’m fighting."
Lando:
“She’s literally the coolest person here—yes, cooler than me.”
Oscar:
“If anyone mentions her piercings I will actually flip them.”
Carmen:
“You guys are just jealous she pulls off a lip piercing.”
And Gavin?
He had no problem sitting in the drivers’ lounge waiting for you, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, smiling when you arrived, and letting you plop into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
THE WORLD ADJUSTS
Eventually, the media gave up trying to reshape you into something you weren’t.
You were:
✔️ a damn good driver
✔️ unapologetically tomboy
✔️ tattooed
✔️ pierced
✔️ dating a literal Hollywood prince
✔️ loved by the grid
✔️ completely unbothered by noise
You dominated the track.
You kissed your boyfriend after every race.
You kept your boots, your piercings, your tattoos.
