Summary: Yn, Landos littel sister and a world famous singer, has been keeping a relationship from her brother and the world. When she releases her new song, her boyfriend gets a special shout out, which causes quiet the drama.
The paddock at the Austrian Grand Prix buzzed with a different kind of electricity that morning. Usually, the pre-race weekend vibe was a mix of caffeine, mild stress, and mechanics muttering under their breaths. But today something extra was floating in the air — something melodic, catchy, and stuck in everyone’s head.
Yn had arrived.
And Yn’s new single, “sports car,” had dropped at midnight.
The song had already hit number one in twenty countries. The music video had broken viewing records. The internet was on fire. The paddock was on fire. Half the drivers were humming it, and the other half were trying not to be caught humming it because they’d already been caught doing it twice.
And then there was the ending of the music video.
That one line.
“Special thanks to my boyfriend for the inspiration.”
Every fan lost their collective minds. Every journalist lost their minds. Every driver reacted like they’d just witnessed a plot twist in a soap opera.
And Lando?
Lando had basically short-circuited.
He’d been nagging her about it all morning, and so far, Yn had let every single question bounce off her like he was made of soft rubber and she was made of titanium.
Yn walked through the paddock with sunglasses on, oversized hoodie, hair slightly messy from rushing out of the hotel, iced coffee in hand. She tried to be low-key — but fans saw her instantly, waving signs, calling her name, singing parts of the song back at her.
Every second person yelled, “WHO’S YOUR BOYFRIEND, YN?!”
She simply smiled, waved, and blew kisses.
Next to her, Lando was already spiraling.
He hadn’t even had breakfast.
“Yn. Yn.” He nudged her elbow like an impatient toddler. “Seriously. We’re siblings, which means you should tell me things. Big things. Important things. Things like… a secret boyfriend? You wrote a whole song about him?”
“I did not write a whole song about him,” she said, sipping her coffee.
“You thanked him in the video!”
“I thanked him for the inspiration.”
“THAT IS EVEN WORSE!”
“It is not worse,” she said calmly. “It’s literally the same thing.”
Lando held his hands out dramatically. “How am I the ONLY one who doesn’t know who he is? Even Carlos won’t tell me!”
“That’s because Carlos has boundaries,” she said.
Carlos walked by at that exact moment, sunglasses on, peaceful as a monk.
“Boundaries are good,” he said in a zen tone as he passed.
“CARLOS, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY FRIEND!” Lando shouted after him.
Carlos didn’t even turn around. He only lifted a hand, waved in a mysterious goodbye, and disappeared into the Williams building.
Yn snorted, nearly choking on her coffee. “I love him so much.”
“YEAH, WELL, ME TOO, BUT HE’S A TRAITOR,” Lando whined.
They reached the media area, and Lando had to stop because a press officer was waving him over. He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at hers.
“This is NOT over.”
“It absolutely is,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses.
“It is DEFINITELY NOT.”
She walked away, basking in the fans chanting her song, letting Lando implode on his own.
He could nag all he wanted.
She wasn’t telling him a thing.
Because her boyfriend wasn’t just some guy.
He was Oscar.
Oscar, who was currently sitting in his own driver room with the door cracked open, listening to a mechanic play “sports car” on his phone, smiling like a fool.
Oscar, who had been dating Yn for three years.
Oscar, who had survived countless near-reveals, close calls, near-disasters.
Oscar, who had held her hand under tables at team dinners, kissed her behind motorhomes, whispered “I love you” in stairwells, and sneaked her into his hotel room after every race weekend.
Oscar, who loved her so much it scared him sometimes.
And Oscar, who definitely wasn’t supposed to be seen kissing her in broad daylight inside a driver room he assumed was his.
He didn’t know that part yet.
He was just excited she was here.
After her brief fan interactions and some chats with engineers she knew, Yn wandered around the paddock. She said hello to Max, who immediately blurted:
“Great song. Who’s the boyfriend?”
Yn answered by simply patting his arm.
Max frowned. “That means nothing.”
She patted his arm again.
“No, that still means nothing.”
“You’ll live,” she said sweetly, walking away.
Next she ran into Alex, who already had the music video pulled up on his phone.
“Hey Yn, quick thing,” he said, shoving the phone toward her. “Who is this ‘boyfriend’ in the emotional credits? Because honestly it sounded like a threat to us all.”
“It’s just an acknowledgment,” she said innocently.
“Of WHO?” Alex demanded.
She shrugged.
“Oh my god she’s good,” he muttered, watching her leave.
And then, from behind her, she heard a soft, familiar voice.
“Yn.”
Her entire chest softened.
She turned around.
Oscar stood there, leaning against the motorhome railing, hands tucked into the pockets of his team hoodie, hair slightly messy from his helmet earlier, soft brown eyes fixed entirely on her.
He didn’t smile wide. He never did in public when she was involved. It was always small, subtle, the type of smile only she would recognize.
The one that meant, I missed you.
She walked toward him casually, like she was simply making her way down the paddock.
And Oscar gently reached out as she passed, fingers hooking around hers for half a second — the tiniest touch, hidden from any camera angle.
But it was enough to make her whole heart stutter.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi,” he echoed, voice low.
“You liked the song?”
His eyes warmed. “I loved the song.”
“And the video?”
“I loved that too,” he said. “Especially the end.”
She smiled.
“Any chance,” he murmured, glancing sideways to check the hallway, “you have five minutes?”
“Only if you stop being suspicious,” she teased.
“I’m not suspicious,” he whispered.
“You are the definition of suspicious.”
He laughed under his breath — barely audible — then jerked his head toward the side hallway.
She followed him.
Behind her, she heard someone call, “Yn! Quick selfie?” but she waved apologetically and kept walking.
Oscar led her toward one of the team buildings. She didn’t even question which room he was pulling her into. They had done this dance dozens of times — Oscar always knew the quiet spots, the empty rooms, the safest places to hide.
His hand brushed hers again before he reached for the door.
He pulled her in gently.
And shut it.
The moment the door clicked, Oscar’s hands were on her waist, pulling her into him.
He kissed her like he’d been holding his breath all month.
“Congratulations,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her again, slower this time. “The song is amazing. You’re amazing.”
She melted, arms sliding around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck for a moment.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you too.” His voice vibrated softly against her ear. “I watched the video five times this morning.”
“Only five?”
“I had a meeting,” he laughed quietly.
He cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
“You’re incredible,” he said. “And I’m so proud of you.”
She tilted her head, brushing her nose against his. “You say that like you didn’t help make half of it happen.”
“I did nothing,” he said.
“You inspired the whole chorus.”
“I still did nothing except… accidentally exist.”
“That’s enough,” she murmured.
He kissed her again, deeper.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently, and he let out a faint breath into her mouth, pressing her back against the door.
“Someone’s in a mood,” she teased between kisses.
“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” he whispered.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” he said without shame. “You were on tour.”
She laughed softly, kissing him again.
He lifted her slightly, pulling her closer by the waist, kissing down her jaw. It wasn’t desperate — just affectionate, full of warmth and familiarity and three years of knowing every angle of each other’s hearts.
After a long moment, she rested her forehead against his.
“Lando asked me again this morning,” she whispered.
Oscar froze.
“About your boyfriend?” he asked quietly.
“About my boyfriend,” she confirmed, smiling softly.
Oscar groaned, burying his face in her shoulder dramatically. “He’s so close to figuring it out.”
“No,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “He’s so far away from figuring it out. He thinks it’s… I don’t know. Some actor. Or a songwriter. Or maybe Patrick from the gym.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Patrick from the gym is sixty.”
“I didn’t say his guesses were good.”
Oscar snorted.
“I don’t want to lie to him,” Yn admitted softly. “But I also don’t want him to freak out.”
“He’s going to freak out,” Oscar said immediately.
“I know.”
“He’s going to freak out for several days.”
“I know.”
“He might even faint.”
“I know.”
Oscar leaned back, cupping her face again. “But whenever you’re ready… we’ll tell him. Together.”
Her chest warmed.
“Seriously?” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be there. Even if he tries to tackle me.”
“He won’t tackle you.”
Oscar gave her a look. “He absolutely will.”
She laughed, kissing him again.
They kissed slowly, deeply, breaths warm, hands wandering but gentle. Her fingers traced the collar of his fireproof shirt; his palms warmed her hips. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of clothes and their quiet sighs.
He pulled away only to look at her again — the way he always did, like he needed a second to process that she was real.
“You’re glowing today,” he whispered.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“I’ve been flirting with you since we were teenagers,” he said.
“That’s true,” she giggled.
He kissed her again.
And again.
And again.
They were so lost in each other they didn’t hear footsteps. Didn’t hear voices in the hallway. Didn’t hear the door handle turn.
But they did hear the door swing open.
And they definitely saw the person standing in the door frame.
Lando.
Frozen.
Mouth open.
Eyes wide.
Face pale.
And holding a bag of snacks he clearly no longer remembered purchasing.
“Oh my god,” he whispered in a tiny, broken voice.
Yn gasped.
Oscar blinked.
Lando stared.
Oscar stared back.
Yn whispered, “Oh no…”
Lando whispered, “WHAT…”
Oscar whispered, “This… this isn’t my driver room, is it?”
Lando dropped the snacks.
The door was still wide open.
And nobody moved.
♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤
I absolutely love the concept of OP81 x norris!reader
You could say you miss all that we had, but I don't really care how bad it hurts
Synopsis: Jungwon is too oblivious to see that his female best friend wants him all to herself, leaving you to deal with the canceled dates and distance. Exhausted by his blind loyalty to her, you finally call it quits. Now that you've moved on, the truth has finally registered, and he’s at your doorstep on his knees, begging to be let back in.
Genre: angst, fluff, distant relationship, one shot
warnings: Jungwon's bsf is a pick me so be warned, break up, second chances, Jungwon is cold asf and dry, Jungwon is toxic and distant, Jungwon gets jealous that you hang out with Riki, brace yourselves..
pt 2 (ni-ki's version)
The silence in the apartment is deafening, save for the ticking of the clock passing 10:15 PM. The food you spent hours cooking has long gone cold, and the candles you lit with so much excitement have burned down to stubs, pooling wax onto the tablecloth.
You stare at your phone, a heavy, familiar sinking feeling settling into your stomach. Not again.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open his chat and type out a message.
You: Hey, it's past 10. Where are you? Dinner's completely cold.
It takes nearly ten minutes before a short, detached notification pops up on your screen.
Jungwon: Still at Hana's. She's having a hard night. Don't wait up, I'll probably just crash here.
No apology. No mention of the date he missed, or the effort you put in. Just a dry, matter-of-fact text that treats you like an afterthought while he plays savior to a girl who knows exactly what she's doing. He's so completely blind to her intentions that he doesn't even realize how much he's freezing you out.
You type out the words, your fingers trembling slightly over the screen.
You: today's our... date, I set the table and everything..
You stare at the draft. It feels like begging. It feels like pleading for a bare minimum he used to give you without a second thought. Looking from the text to the cold plates on the table, a wave of profound exhaustion washes over you. He doesn't see it. Or worse, he just doesn't care enough to see it.
Before you can lose your nerve, you hit backspace, watching the letters vanish one by one until the text box is completely empty.
You shut your phone off, the screen going completely black, reflecting your own tired face in the dark.
Standing up, you don't bother blowing out the dying candles. You just walk past the romantic setup you spent hours perfecting, leave the cold food on the table, and head straight to the bedroom.
You switch your phone back on, the harsh light stinging your eyes in the dark room. You don't want to text Jungwon. You don't want to hear another dry excuse. Instead, you find Ni-ki's name in your contacts. As one of Jungwon’s closest friends, Ni-ki has seen this whole trainwreck happening from the sidelines, often looking on with a frustration that mirrored your own.
You type out a quick message.
You: are you awake?
It’s late, but Ni-ki’s sleep schedule is notoriously nonexistent. Sure enough, the status changes to online almost instantly.
Ni-ki: yeah. what's up? aren't you supposed to be on a date night or something?
A bitter, breathless laugh escapes your lips, the sound echoing hollowly in the quiet bedroom. It’s funny in the cruelest way possible. Everyone else could see it. Even Ni-ki knew what today was.
You type out the reply, staring at the five words that felt like a final nail in the coffin.
You: hes with Hana
On the other side of the city, Ni-ki stares at his phone, his chest tightening. The sheer simplicity of your text speaks volumes. You aren't typing out paragraphs of angry rants, and you aren't spamming emojis. It’s just flat, exhausted, and defeated. He can practically feel the heartbreak through the screen.
He runs a hand through his hair, a wave of genuine anger toward Jungwon washing over him. How could he be this incredibly blind?
His fingers fly across the keyboard.
Ni-ki: shit really? Today's your anniversary
Ni-ki: Please tell me he didn't forget. Tell me he didn't blow you off for her tonight of all nights.
Your reply is bare, stripped of any energy to even use capital letters.
You: he didn't say anything about it
Ni-ki stares at the words, his blood running cold before turning into pure, hot anger. Jungwon didn't just lose track of time. He completely forgot. He let his oblivious, misplaced loyalty to Hana entirely erase the person who actually mattered.
Throwing his sheets aside, Ni-ki swings his legs out of bed. He doesn't even bother changing out of his sweatpants. He grabs his hoodie, shoves his wallet into his pocket, and snatches his car keys off the nightstand.
As he heads out the door, his phone buzzes in his hand with your response to his previous question.
Ni-ki: are you still at home?
You reacted with a 👍 emoji
That single, detached thumbs-up is louder than any breakdown. It tells him everything he needs to know: you're sitting alone in a dark apartment, surrounded by a date night meant for two, while Jungwon is across town playing protector to a girl who is secretly smiling at her own victory.
Ni-ki unlocks his car, the engine roaring to life in the quiet night. He pulls out of the driveway, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. Jungwon is his friend, but right now, Ni-ki can barely stand the thought of him.
He sends one last text before driving off.
Ni-ki: Don't clean up the table. Don't touch anything. I'm coming over.
You stare at the screen for a long second, his words sinking in, before finally locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed. You intentionally avoid clicking on Instagram. You already know what would be waiting there—a candid photo of them, a captioned "emergency," or a subtle, smug tag from Hana designed to mark her territory. You're done torturing yourself.
True to his word, exactly thirty minutes later, a soft but firm knock echoes through the quiet apartment.
When you pull the door open, Ni-ki is standing under the hallway light, looking slightly breathless. In one hand, he’s holding a fresh bouquet of flowers, and in the other, a bag with your favorite chocolates.
"You drove all the way here? That's an hour drive," you say, your voice cracking slightly from the shock—and the sudden, overwhelming warmth of someone actually showing up for you.
Ni-ki shrugs, a gentle but fierce look in his eyes. "Well, I got here in thirty, so I guess you can see where my priorities lie."
He steps inside, handing you the flowers and the bag before bending down to unlace his sneakers. The contrast hits you like a physical blow: Jungwon couldn't be bothered to cross town for your anniversary, but Ni-ki just flew down the highway in record time just to make sure you weren't alone.
He walks into the dining room, his eyes scanning the beautifully set, untouched table and the candles that had finally burned themselves out. Instead of pointing out the obvious sadness of the room, he takes a seat, grabbing the silverware Jungwon was supposed to be using.
"Now," he says, looking up at you with a soft smile, "we wouldn't want this to go to waste, hm?"
Without waiting, he takes a generous bite of the cold curry you had spent hours preparing.
"Mmm!" His eyes instantly light up, wide with genuine delight. "As always, chef Y/N making the best meals."
His dramatic enthusiasm breaks through the heavy silence of the apartment, forcing a real, breathless laugh from your chest. For the first time all night, the crushing weight in your chest lightens just a bit. Ni-ki really was the best friend you could have ever asked for. While one person was busy taking you for granted, another didn't hesitate to show you exactly what you were worth.
Ni-ki casually wipes his mouth with a napkin, sets his phone on the table, and slides it toward you with a sly smirk. On the screen is his Instagram story: a picture of the beautifully set table, the delicious curry, and a corner of your sleeve in the frame.
The caption reads: Perks of being the favorite. Best cook in the world.
"Let's see how long it takes for his one remaining brain cell to connect the dots," Ni-ki mutters, taking another bite.
It doesn't take long. Across town, sitting on the couch in Hana's living room while she complains about something he isn't even listening to anymore, Jungwon opens Instagram. When Ni-ki's story pops up, his chest instantly tightens with a sharp, ugly jolt of jealousy.
He recognizes that table. He recognizes that curry.
A hot wave of confusion and anger washes over him. What is Ni-ki doing at your apartment? Why are the two of you eating a romantic dinner together late at night?
Ignoring Hana completely, Jungwon switches over to your direct messages, his thumbs flying across the screen with an uncharacteristic sharpness.
Jungwon: why is ni-ki there?
You read the message, staring at the screen with a completely blank expression. The audacity of his jealousy after completely abandoning you doesn't even make you angry anymore—it just makes you cold.
Your fingers tap out a brief, detached response. You don't mention the anniversary. You don't tell him the food was meant for him, or how long you spent setting the table. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of knowing he hurt you, nor does he deserve the explanation.
You: he was helping me finish the food I made
You send it and immediately put the phone face down on the table, completely cutting off the conversation before he can even reply.
Across the table, Ni-ki watches you, noticing the sudden shift in your demeanor. He doesn't say anything, but he slides the plate of chocolates closer to you, offering a quiet, supportive nod.
Meanwhile, miles away, Jungwon stares at his screen. The utter lack of warmth in your text hits him like a physical blow. You didn't argue, you didn't ask when he was coming home, and you didn't even sound upset, you just sounded completely indifferent. And for the first time, a sickening knot of unease begins to form in his stomach.
Jungwon stared at your dry text, a toxic mix of jealousy and panic twisting in his gut. You didn’t ask him to come home. You didn’t care that he was at Hana’s. He abruptly stood up, ignoring Hana’s protests as she suddenly claimed her anxiety was returning. For the first time, he tuned her out, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out.
The drive to your apartment was a blur of speeding tickets and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. When he finally arrived, he didn't even knock, he used his spare key, throwing the door open.
The sight inside made his blood boil. Ni-ki was sitting on your couch, wearing one of his old hoodies, laughing at something on your phone. You looked relaxed, a look he hadn't seen on your face in months.
"What the hell is this?" Jungwon's voice boomed, his eyes darting between you and his best friend.
Ni-ki didn't even flinch. He stood up slowly, stepping in front of you. "It's called showing up. You should try it sometime."
"Get out of my girlfriend's apartment, Ni-ki," Jungwon snarled, stepping up until they were chest-to-chest.
"Your girlfriend?" Ni-ki let out a mocking, angry laugh. "You don't get to call her that. Not after tonight. Do you even know what today is, you idiot? It's your anniversary. She sat here for hours waiting for you while you played house with Hana."
Jungwon froze for a fraction of a second, the realization hitting him like a punch to the jaw. He had forgotten. But his pride and jealousy overrode the guilt. "That’s none of your business! Hana needed me—"
"Hana is playing you!" Ni-ki shouted, shoving Jungwon back. "Everyone sees it but you! She doesn't want you as a friend, Jungwon, she wants to ruin your relationship because she's in love with you. And you're too damn blind and oblivious to see how much you're taking Y/N for granted!"
Blinded by pure rage and the stinging truth, Jungwon pulled his fist back, throwing a punch that caught Ni-ki across the jaw.
Ni-ki stumbled back against the kitchen counter. Before Jungwon could lunge again, you threw yourself in front of Ni-ki, your hands firmly pressing against Jungwon’s chest, pushing him back with a strength born of pure exhaustion.
"Stop it! Touch him again and I’m calling the police!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls.
Jungwon panted, his eyes wide as he looked down at you. "Y/N... I'm sorry, I just... he was here, and I lost it—"
"He was here because you weren't," you said, your voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm, dead whisper. Tears finally spilled over your cheeks, but your gaze was ice. "I am so tired, Jungwon. I am tired of competing with a girl who manipulates you, and I am tired of a boyfriend who is too stupid to see it. We're done. Get out."
"Y/N, please, let's talk—"
"I said get out!"
Seeing the finality in your eyes, and looking at Ni-ki wiping a bead of blood from his lip, Jungwon realized he had lost completely. He stumbled backward out of the apartment, the door slamming shut in his face.
Two days later, Jungwon was a wreck. He was sitting at a café with Hana, trying to process the breakup, when he noticed her phone lying face-up on the table. A text preview popped up from one of her friends: 'Did it work? Did he finally leave Y/N for you?'
The world seemed to stop spinning. Jungwon snatched her phone, ignoring her gasps as he scrolled through her texts. There it was—months of calculated texts detailing how she purposely threw fake panic attacks, planned fake emergencies, and explicitly stated her goal to make you dump him so she could have him.
The veil of his obliviousness shattered in an instant. He looked at Hana, disgust twisting his features. "You ruined my life," he whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying rage. He stood up, knocking his chair over, and blocked her number right in front of her. "Never look at me, speak to me, or come near me again."
The rain was pouring heavily when a frantic, desperate knocking sounded at your door. You opened it, expecting Ni-ki or a delivery, but instead, you found Jungwon.
He was soaked to the bone, shivering, his hair plastered to his forehead. The moment the door opened, his knees buckled. He dropped straight to the floor, his hands gripping the hem of your sweatpants as sob after sob racked his body.
"Y/N... I’m so sorry, I’m so stupid," he choked out, his voice completely broken. He wouldn't even look you in the eye, too ashamed of what he’d done. "You were right. Everyone was right. She used me to tear us apart and I let her. I blocked her, I threw her out of my life, I swear she’s nothing to me."
He lifted his tear-streaked face, his hands trembling as he begged. "Please, Y/N. Just give me one more chance to fix this. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please don't leave me."
You look down at him, your expression entirely numb. Seeing Jungwon like this, soaked, sobbing, and completely broken at your feet, used to be something you thought would bring you closure. Instead, it just feels incredibly empty.
Slowly, you reach down and gently but firmly pull your sweatpants out of his trembling grip. You step back, forcing him to look up at you from the floor.
"Get up, Jungwon," you say, your voice flat and devoid of the warmth he used to rely on.
He pushes himself up onto his shins, looking at you with desperate, pleading eyes. "Y/N, please... I know I messed up, but now I see it. I see what she was doing. It’s over between me and her. It's just you. It's always been you."
"That's the problem," you reply, letting out a soft, bitter breath. "It wasn't always me. You only see the truth now because you read her texts. You didn't believe me when I told you. You didn't believe Ni-ki. You didn't care about my tears, or the dates you missed, or our anniversary. You only care now because your pride got hurt by her manipulation."
"No, that's not true!" he cries out, reaching for your hand, but you step further back into the apartment, out of his reach. "I love you. I was just stupid, I swear—"
"You were oblivious, Jungwon. But being oblivious doesn't excuse how badly you treated me," you say, your voice cracking slightly, though you refuse to let yourself cry in front of him again. "You left me alone on our anniversary to play savior to her. I spent months feeling second best, wondering what was wrong with me."
"Nothing is wrong with you! You're perfect, I'm the one who—"
"I know nothing is wrong with me," you interrupt firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "It took you leaving me alone in the dark to finally realize that. I don't hate you, Jungwon. But I'm not going to let you back into my life just because you finally woke up."
You take a step toward the door, holding it open as the cool, rainy air sweeps into the hallway.
"Go home, get dry, and figure your life out," you say quietly. "But do it without me. We're done."
Before he can utter another desperate plea, you gently close the door on him, turning the lock with a final, definitive click. You lean your back against the wood, closing your eyes, and take a deep, clear breath. For the first time in a very long time, you feel completely free.
The End
This was lowkey rushed so please ignore that, I got this idea from a TikTok I saw and I wanted to make a fic out of it!
