hey guys. I know i have a upcoming fic soon but after this I have no idea what else to write so im just here to remind that you can help me request new ideas for any upcoming fix using the inbox feature here (aka my profile —> the small inbox that says ask away)
What I mainly write about are just either headcannons and/or one shots of your favorite drivers (F1 fics related) If you want me to do like fake social media type of stories, I can somewhat try? Just make sure the requests are sfw since I can’t (doesn’t like writing those in other words) write anything smut related😔😔
i seriously want to go back to writing as I finish off my first fic so I can start with future plans with other stories. Thank you so much and hopefully you can all support me with my upcoming works soon
When they got into the overblot and want yuu to join them but yuu hesitated to go with them because they are not themselves anymore?
(Yuu will be dating the overblot boys, separate, I have no fricking idea about malleus's overblot but some dreams and the card)
🌹Riddle Rosehearts🌹
The storm of red and black whirled around him, chains of magic tightening like a noose as his fury raged unchecked. His crimson eyes, usually so sharp with logic, burned with something far more dangerous—desperation.
"Yuu," his voice cracked like a whip, edged with an authority he didn't need to enforce. "You understand, don’t you? This is justice! This is what they deserve!"
His hand reached for you, gloved fingers trembling. It wasn’t a demand, but a plea.
You hesitated. This wasn’t Riddle—not the Riddle who shyly confessed to enjoying tea time with you, nor the one who secretly adored sweets and stifled laughter at your jokes. This was the product of years of suffocating rules and unrelenting pressure.
"I can't," you whispered, stepping back. His eyes widened, hurt flashing through the madness.
"Why?" His voice wavered. "Don’t you care for me? Don’t you see that I’m right?"
You shook your head. "Not like this, Riddle."
His breath hitched, and for a moment, something in his expression cracked—before the fury swallowed it whole.
🦁Leona Kingscholar🦁
Golden sands swirled in an unnatural storm, the earth trembling beneath the sheer force of his magic. Leona sat on his throne of ruin, the weight of resentment heavy on his shoulders. When his glowing, predatory gaze met yours, it was as if the world shrank into nothing.
"Tch. Thought you were smarter than the rest," he drawled, though there was something too raw beneath the apathy. "You're really gonna stand there and act like this ain’t exactly how it should be?"
Your heart clenched. This wasn't just his anger—it was his exhaustion, his years of being overlooked and discarded.
"You’re not you," you said, voice softer than you intended.
Leona’s ears flicked, his fangs flashing in frustration. "I’m more me than I’ve ever been." He stood, extending a clawed hand. "Come on, herbivore. Run with the real king for once."
You wanted to. But not like this.
You shook your head. His expression twisted into something unreadable, but he didn’t argue. He only watched as you stayed where you were, his shadows curling at his feet.
"Figures," he muttered.
🐙Azul Ashengrotto🐙
The ink-black tendrils of his magic pulsed like living things, writhing in the waterlogged air. Azul stood at the center of it all, his grotesque form both magnificent and terrifying.
"You trust me, don’t you, Yuu?" His voice was velvety, laced with the promise of power. "Come closer. Let me give you everything I once lacked. You won’t have to struggle ever again."
You swallowed hard. His words were tempting, just as all his deals were. But beneath the layers of his magic, you could see the insecurities bubbling beneath his fractured self.
"This isn’t you, Azul."
His grin faltered for half a second.
"But it is," he countered, a hint of something desperate in his voice. "This is what I was meant to be. No more weakness, no more failure!"
"Then why do you still sound so afraid?"
His tentacles flinched. For a moment, the ink thinned, revealing the boy who once hid his tears behind a golden contract. But then, the Overblot thickened, and he turned away, unable to face your refusal.
🐍Jamil Viper🐍
The room twisted under the weight of his power, the very air bending to his will. Jamil stood above it all, eyes alight with long-repressed fury. His laughter was bitter, but when he looked at you, there was something softer in the storm.
"You’re not like them," he murmured. "You see me, don’t you?"
Your heart ached.
"I do," you admitted. "But this isn’t you, Jamil. Not really."
His fingers twitched, and for a second, his control wavered.
"Then tell me," he pressed, stepping closer. "Who am I supposed to be? The obedient servant? The shadow? Or this?"
"You’re more than what they made you," you said gently.
His breath caught, the magic around him flickering uncertainly. Then, with a strained laugh, he turned his back to you.
"You should leave," he muttered. And though he didn’t stop you, you could hear the unspoken words in the silence.
He had wanted you to stay.
👑Vil Schoenheit👑
The air was suffocating, thick with violet smoke and the scent of poison. Vil stood in the center of it all, his beauty twisted into something dangerous. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"Do you think I’m ugly like this?" he asked, voice eerily calm.
Your heart clenched. "That’s not—"
"Then why won’t you come closer?"
You bit your lip.
"Because you’re not Vil right now," you whispered.
Something flickered in his gaze—something fragile. Then, his lips curled into a bitter smile.
"You always were honest," he murmured. "Even when it hurt."
For a fleeting moment, his hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for you. But he didn’t.
And you weren’t sure if it was mercy or fear that made him let you go.
🎮Idia Shroud🎮
Blue flames danced wildly, consuming everything in their path. Idia stood at the center, his form twisted into something monstrous—something unshackled. His usual nervousness was gone, replaced by an eerie, hollow confidence.
"Yuu," he called, voice distorted with power. "You’re always saying I should come out of my shell, right?"
His grin was sharp, unsettling.
"Well, here I am."
You swallowed. "This isn’t what I meant."
He tilted his head. "Isn’t it? I finally don’t have to be afraid. I finally have control."
You took a step forward, ignoring the heat licking at your skin. "Then why do you still look so lonely?"
The flames shuddered. His smile wavered.
"…You're really not gonna join my party, huh?"
You shook your head.
For a moment, the fire dimmed, as if his heart ached at your answer. But then he laughed, hollow and sharp, and let you walk away.
🐉Malleus Draconia🐉
The sky split open, lightning cracking in the distance as his power raged uncontrolled. Malleus stood above it all, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
"You always say I am lonely," he murmured. "That you are my friend."
Your breath hitched.
"I am."
"Then why do you hesitate?" His voice was soft, but the storm behind him roared. "You could stay. Be by my side. Forever."
Your heart ached at the longing in his voice.
"But it wouldn’t be you," you whispered.
His pupils narrowed into slits. "And if I don’t want to be the ‘me’ they caged?"
You reached out—gently, carefully. "Then I will remind you of who you are."
The storm faltered.
And in the silence, for just a moment, Malleus hesitated.
Um, I don’t think anyone needs this, but I decided to make TWST OC templates in between my chores so…I don’t even know why I made these lolol~
The so-called, “oc template market” is already so saturated, but I’m sure the fandom can handle one more—
I don’t have a sample right now, but the template is pretty straightforward. In the brackets, you input your oc’s name in katakana, and right below that, in English lettering. You can add your desired CV right above the line before the “age,best subject, etc.,” slightly lower than the English lettering of your oc’s name. (I hope that makes sense.)
Edit: (I’ve uploaded a sample of what that should look like, please see my reply in the notes if you’re interested.)
Edit 2: I have added an RSA intro card + NRC Staff cards :))) (they will be available perhaps in the replies as I’ve reached the maximum 10 images per post
Then, at the very bottom, beside the “Unique Magic,” input the name of your oc’s Unique Magic there, and a short description of what it does under the line. I do hope you guys enjoy using this template!
Please don’t remove my watermark when you do use it so that people may be able to find the rest of the templates!
Fee free to tag me when you do use them, I’d love to see the twst oc’s I haven’t come across yet! It’s always a pleasure to be able to see how creative the fandom can get when it comes to designing and curating stories for their ocs.
Okay so it’s 11pm where I am right now and I’ve just had this amazing idea
okay so it’s 2025 it’s her second year on the grid, and she’s has her period and that gives her the idea of making everyone try the period simulator (half the guys can’t get passed 6 or 7) 😝 and she just straight up bullies them except for Kimi and Ollie cause we love them
🩸 “IF I SUFFER, YOU ALL SUFFER”
Genre: Crack, humor, found family, mild bullying (deserved), period solidarity
Pairing: Platonic! 2025 F1 Grid x Driver!Reader
Warnings: Men humbled. Ego damage. Period cramps. Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman being God’s favorites.
A/N: Second year on the grid and Y/N chooses violence ❤️
No one ever suspects anything when it starts.
Not the engineers.
Not the drivers.
Not even your own race engineer, who thinks your unusually calm tone on the radio means you’re “locked in.”
In reality?
You’re on day one of your period, your lower back is on fire, your uterus has beef with you personally, and the only thing keeping you sane is the thought that you are not suffering alone today.
Because if you have to drive a 1,000-horsepower car at 300 km/h while bleeding?
So can they.
✦ THE IDEA (ORIGIN STORY)
It happens during media day.
You’re sitting in the drivers’ lounge, hoodie pulled tight, heat pack hidden like contraband, sipping tea like a Victorian child with consumption.
Lando is complaining about simulator fatigue.
“Man, my core is wrecked.”
You look up slowly.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“Oh yeah?”
George nods sympathetically.
“Those sims are brutal.”
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
And then you smile.
That’s when Alex mutters:
“Why do I feel like we should all start apologizing.”
✦ ENTER: THE PERIOD SIMULATOR
Somehow — and no one is entirely sure how — you convince the PR team this is “educational content.”
By Friday afternoon, there is:
A period pain simulator machine
A row of chairs
A sign written in Sharpie that says:
“WELCOME TO HELL. POPULATION: YOU.”
You stand there like a game show host.
“Gentlemen. Today, you will be experiencing what I am driving through.”
Kimi is already sitting down, sleeves rolled.
“I volunteer.”
You pat his shoulder.
“I knew you were raised right.”
Ollie gives a thumbs-up.
“Let’s get it over with.”
Kings. Both of them.
✦ ROUND ONE: THE FALL OF MAN
🟥 LANDO — OUT AT LEVEL 5
Confident. Smug. Smiling.
“I’ve got abs, I’ll be fine.”
You crank it up to level 4.
He flinches.
Level 5.
He yelps.
“WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE THAT?”
You sip your tea.
“Because God is a woman.”
Level 6.
He taps out.
“TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF—”
You clap.
“Congratulations! You lasted HALF of a warm-up lap.”
Oscar is crying laughing on the floor.
🟥 MAX — OUT AT LEVEL 6 (ANGRILY)
Max sits down like he’s about to fight the machine.
can you write a fluff fic about any formula 1 driver (recommending oscar piastri) about getting into a healthy and sweet relationship after the reader got out of a toxic one. (basically not knowing the way a healthy one should go)
(btw if you’re not comfortable you don’t have to do this! ps. when i say toxic i do NOT mean anything that has to do with abu$3 or anything like that)
i don't relate to breakup songs anymore 🏁 op81
summary: you had a track record, according to your friends. of dating men who didn't do enough, who set the bar in hell. you met oscar when you decided to give up dating and focus on yourself. he swooped in when you were least expecting it, and blew you away with all the ways he just kept being himself, which was better than everyone else you'd dated until now.
this one is more silly (heavily romcom coded) and inspired by me loving manchild but being in the healthiest relationship i've experienced. enjoy! also remember ppl who like men, keep your standards high, one day, someone will surpass them :)
a short and sweet (pun fully intended) one! might make this a full-fledged 20k fic, but here's some snapshots of osc and chaotic!reader
Sabrina Carpenter released a new song. You'd been stalking her Instagram for days, waiting for it to bless your ears. That woman knew how to milk a breakup. She got you, she got your chaos, the way men seemed to come in, fuck something up, and leave. How many nights had you spent listening to her songs, slightly tipsy, pretending that your misfortune in men could bring you a smidge of her wealth. If only you had her talent, or even a scrap of it.
In your small, too-cramped Monaco apartment, you let Manchild start playing. Your neighbours, an old man who knew to turn down his hearing aids on weekends, and a young partier who was never home, didn't care if you blasted music while you cleaned. They could recite your top five favourite albums of all time by heart.
By the chorus, you were singing and dancing. Your sweeping of the kitchen forgotten. You'd get to it later. Eventually. Probably.
The thing with poetry was that you loved it, you consumed it, became one with it. Sabrina was no different, not really. Horny Shakespeare and all. You'd identified with her messages, with her wishes. Wanting to find someone exciting, someone good, someone sexy (not a necessity, but a bonus, for sure). Those messages had lead you to Oscar, after all. In a roundabout way, that is.
You'd never meant to meet him. If you hadn't tripped in the street, spilling your matcha all over yourself, you'd never have crossed his path. Fate worked like that. You'd even worked it out, walking that same route without the spilled matcha. if you hadn't tripped, you'd have missed him by ten seconds. Him rounding the corner as you crossed the street.
The world would've kept turning, you'd be drinking on a Thursday because men couldn't bring themselves to have initiative, and you just had to cope somehow.
You'd been blasting Short And Sweet, powering you for a mental health walk, when you tripped over your own feet and nearly face planted into the sidewalk. Your drink that cost you far too much money, went everywhere. Including your clothes. Great. perfect. Exactly what you needed to happen today.
You'd stayed there, on the sidewalk, for way too long. Just wallowing. Frozen in hindsight. You knew you should've retied your shoelaces before leaving the cafe.
You knew you had to leave at some point. But, if you concentrated hard enough, maybe you could melt into the sidewalk. Vanish and slink away to a pocket of space where no one knew you. At least no one saw you. A rarity for Monaco, a city that never slept.
"Are you okay?" An accented voice called out. You tensed, slowly turning your head to a man in an offensive shade of orange and shorts that clashed, but still worked. "You've been lying there for a bit." Your eyes widened as you scrambled to your feet, warmth flooding your cheeks as a weak laugh escaped.
"I was debating if that was a good place to die or not," you joked. The man's eyes drifted to the growing matcha stain on your clothes and his face broke into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. They seemed to shine.
"What's the verdict?" He asked. Your mouth opened. Oh my God, he was yes and-ing you. That never happened. Not in your very spacey memory.
"Not comfortable enough," you replied. "I want to die surrounded by flowers, I think."
"Not a bad idea," he responded. "But, I think we're a bit too young to talk about dying." You shrugged.
"Considering you saw me face plant, I wouldn't rule it out." He chuckled and shrugged off the zip-up sweater he'd tied around his waist and held it out to you.
"I won't tell a soul," he promised. You stared at the sweater, brows furrowed, staring at it like it would run away. He nodded, encouraging you to take it. Slowly, you grabbed it. You threw it over your shoulders, draping it over the stain, concealing it.
"Thank you," your voice failed you as you looked down at the unfamiliar logo adorning the sleeves. Like the Nike logo but somehow ... worse?
"I figured I'd save you having to explain the stain," he reasoned. You offered a smile.
"You're too kind." He shook his head.
"Bare minimum, I'm afraid." You snorted. He tilted his head in confusion.
"Hardly," you shot back. "This is shooting for the sky."
"I'd love for you to tell me about why over a drink sometime?" Smooth. You gulped, letting out a nervous laugh as the man wrote down his number on the back of a receipt he pulled out of his pocket. You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish when he wrapped your fingers around it, gently pushing your hand to your chest.
Now, it's three months later. Close enough to be exclusive, but not enough to say you're truly dating. But, deep down, you both knew. Knew so deeply that it went unsaid, but you both knew that you were both dedicated. As dedicated as you both could be, considering he drove for F1 and you worked at a cafe, working yourself through classes to make something of yourself. It wasn't perfect, but what was? It was as close to perfect as you could both want, and you had to take it. Which you both did. You both clung to the way the world felt lighter when you called, regardless of when it was, to the way he made you laugh like no other, to the way he always dedicated a win to you, even if he was too scared to tell you.
Many things with Oscar were like that. You just knew.
Your phone vibrated as you slid across your floor, the chorus of Manchild ringing in your ears as the song repeated for the fourth time. A text, telling you he was 5 minutes away with a simple smiley face. You replied with a gif of an excited chihuahua, which he hearted. Five minutes to clean, to make things presentable.
Good thing your brain conditioned you to perform highly with a deadline rapidly approaching. Chaos fueled you.
You turned the song up and kept cleaning.
Oscar arrived four minutes and thirty seconds later. You leaned your broom against the wall as he knocked. You checked yourself in your entryway mirror. Goblin clothes, as was customary for days filled with cleaning and podcasts filled with judging random strangers on the internet. He expected it. He had to, right?
You pulled te door open. Oscar smiled as he wrapped his arms around you in a gentle hug. You giggled as he picked you up and waddled into your apartment, letting the door close.
"Hi," he whispered. You pressed little kisses to his cheek.
"Hi Osc," you replied.
"You cleaning?" He asked. You nodded. Oscar slid his shoes off, changing into the pair of slippers he left at your place two weeks before. Ones you avoided moving or interacting with. He'd left a piece of himself in your apartment, something sacred. "How can I help?" You shook your head.
"I did everything," you boasted, puffing out your chest. Oscar narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"So if I check your room, I won't find piles of laundry?" He asked. You froze, the guilt dripping into your face. He chuckled and turned to walk towards your room. You followed after him.
"Osc, don't worry about it! I'll do it later."
"If you wait much longer, your clothes will be wrinkled. You hate wrinkles."
"You just got home from a race yesterday!" You protested.
"I don't mind," he went into your room, bee-lining for the pile of clothes, still warm, lying on your bed. He went in with precision.
"Osc-"
"I seriously don't mind, honey."
"Your room's probably worse than mine," you crossed your arms as you spoke.
"But I can exist when it's messy, you can't. There's a difference." He had a point. "If you want to help, organize what I fold into piles the way you like." You nodded and migrated to the spot he'd left for you on your bed. He got to work, smiling as you skillfully arranged things the way you liked.
"You know, you're the first guy who didn't get grossed out doing laundry." Oscar's brows furrowed.
"What?"
"I mean, you don't mind doing my chores when I'm stressed. That's ... a first, I guess." Oscar blinked.
"Is this what your friends told me about? The manchild brigade?"
"They told you about that?" You groaned into your hands.
"Hey, don't worry, everyone's got interesting dating history. And, based on what I've heard, I'm already winning the best boyfriend title."
"Like it was hard?" He chuckled as he folded.
"I'm gonna make them all look foolish," he promised. You felt warmth again. Everywhere, this time.
"You already have."
In the other room, Manchild looped again. It took you a second to realize that, while the song was still some of her best work, you couldn't quite understand her this time around. Maybe a past you would, but staring at Oscar fold laundry in your bedroom, chatting about new music he'd started listening to because you recommended them, and debated posting you on his Instagram for the tenth time in a week, you relished in the thought that for once, your path had diverted from hers.
Genre: fluff, wholesome, sibling love, celebration
Warnings: none, just feelings
WC: 952
Pairings: Platonic F1 grid x OlderNorris!Reader, Lando Norris x sibling!Reader
A/N: Dedicated to LANDO NORRIS BEING A WORLD CHAMPION— because we spent YEARS manifesting this and if McLaren doesn’t give us this storyline, I’ll pick up a steering wheel myself.
You’re not on the payroll, but everyone at McLaren swears they should start paying you in high-value snacks.
They’ve called you:
The human pit wall
Emotional support older sister
Garage Mom
Lucky charm
Snack hoarder Level 100
“Hey, can you hold this wrench and pretend it’s PR-approved?”
And you’re still just Lando Norris’ older sister, five years his senior, the girl who used to drive him to karting because Mom had meetings and Dad had calls and someone needed to be the responsible one.
You remember every cramped car ride.
Every frantic early morning.
Every time Lando said, breathless:
“One day I’ll be World Champion.”
Back then, you just ruffled his hair and told him to put his seatbelt on.
✦ TRACKSIDE TRADITION NO. 1: YOU ALWAYS SHOW UP
The paddock has gotten used to you.
Ferrari? They call you “McLaren princess” like it’s a medieval title.
Red Bull? Christian Horner once tried to recruit you because “the vibes seem stabilizing,” to which Zak Brown said, “OVER MY DEAD BODY.”
Mercedes? Lewis hugs you every race because you remind him of his older sister.
Oscar Piastri? Brother #2 (Australian edition).
Everyone knows:
Where there’s Lando, there’s you — leaning over the pit wall, sleeves rolled, chewing through nerves like they’re expensive gum you didn’t pay for.
But nobody, not even YOU, was prepared for Abu Dhabi 2025.
✦ PRE-RACE: PURE MCLEAN CHAOS
McLaren garage, 2 hours before lights out:
Someone has taped a picture of baby Lando to the pit wall monitors.
Zak Brown is pacing like his wife is in labor.
Mechanics are betting packets of Haribo on strategy outcomes.
You are hiding in the back eating gummy worms like a goblin in a snack cave.
Lando walks in with his headphones, sees you, and just drops onto the chair next to you.
“I might puke.”
You pat his knee like you’ve done since he was 11.
“Please don’t. That would smell so bad in the car.”
Oscar, emerging from behind a tire like a feral meerkat:
“Save it for post-race champagne puke.”
Everyone groans.
Someone throws a rag at him.
He ducks like it’s muscle memory.
✦ LIGHTS OUT & YOUR HEART GIVES OUT TOO
It’s 58 laps of:
Knees bouncing
Breath held
Telemetry graphs staring into your soul
Engineers making noises like “ohhh that’s spicy pace”
Lando keeps the lead.
The radio is laced with tension and caffeine.
Zak Brown is clutching a clipboard like it’s a holy artifact.
Oscar is whispering prayers in Australian (which sounds like normal English, but faster).
You’re standing the entire time — pressed against the barrier, eyes glued to screens, knuckles white.
Lap 51.
Someone says, “If we keep this pace we might—”
You slap their arm without looking away.
“DON’T JINX IT.”
Lap 57.
Silence so loud it hurts.
Lap 58.
Crofty is screaming commentary you can barely hear over the sound of your own pulse.
Chequered flag.
NORRIS. P1. CHAMPION OF THE WORLD.
And you swear the entire garage levitates.
✦ THE HUG SEEN AROUND THE WORLD
Lando jumps out of the car like someone shot him out of a cannon.
Helmet still on.
Suit still zipped.
No interviews, no handshakes, no “congrats champ!”
He just sprints — RUNS — for the garage.
Everyone parts like Moses and the Red Sea because they can see he’s not stopping.
He barrels into you, lifting you off your feet.
Your headphones nearly fly off.
Your hair is a mess.
You do NOT care.
He’s shaking.
You’re crying.
Someone (probably Oscar) is shouting:
“GROUP HUG! GROUP HUG RIGHT NOW!”
And suddenly you're in a pile of:
Mechanics
Zak
Oscar
Tyre blankets
Possibly five different elbows
The whole world hears Lando’s voice crack on the radio:
“We did it. Sis— we did it.”
AND THAT’S IT.
TEARS.
EVERYWHERE.
✦ PODIUM: CHAOS LEVEL 9000
Podium celebration highlights:
Oscar spraying champagne directly at you while screaming “GARAGE MUM SUPREMACY.”
A mechanic lifts Zak Brown onto his shoulders like a victorious war hero.
Verstappen actually smiles (rare footage).
Charles Leclerc walks over, hugs Lando, and whispers “finally.”
Carlos calls you “la hermana campeona” and gives you a papaya-stained Ferrari cap “for luck.”
Some chaotic fan angles catch:
You getting hit in the face with champagne
Lando yelling “THIS IS FOR EVERY 2 A.M. KARTING PRACTICE”
Oscar trying to climb the podium railing like a raccoon on caffeine
✦ SOCIAL MEDIA GOES FERAL
Instagram Trending:
#WDCNorris
#SisterGoals
#McLarenFamilyThings
#WhoIsSheANDWHERECANIFindHer
Best comments:
“Find someone who runs to you like Lando runs to his sister.”
“I cried harder at this hug than I did at my own graduation.”
“The McLaren garage has no chill and I respect them.”
“Petition to make her part of strategy team because clearly her snacks are lucky.”
✦ LATE-NIGHT GARAGE QUIET
After podiums.
After media.
After the chaos settles to a quiet hum.
It’s just two siblings sitting on the floor of the darkened garage, backs against stacked tires, helmets off, hair a mess, champagne drying sticky on your clothes.
Lando breaks the silence first, soft:
“Remember when you timed my laps with a stopwatch from the school supply store?”
You smile.
“You beat the kid with the fancy kart that day.”
He nudges you.
“You told me I could do this.”
You shrug.
“You told me you would.”
He leans his head on your shoulder like when he was a kid.
“Thank you for never missing a race.”
You whisper:
“Thank you for proving nine-year-old you right.”
✦ POST-CREDITS SCENE (MCLAREN-STYLE)
Oscar barges in holding three Red Bulls and two random muffins:
“Who wants celebratory sketchy snacks? Also Zak might be stuck in a trophy cabinet, I’m not checking alone.”
You exhale a laugh.
Lando grins, eyes still red.
“Championship garage adventure? Like old times?”
You stand, crack your back, and gesture dramatically.
“Lead the way, World Champion.”
End.
🧡 A/N:
I MADE THIS BECAUSE LANDO NORRIS IS WORLD. CHAMPION. 2025. AND THE MCLAREN GARAGE IS 100% A MENACE TO SOCIETY AND I LOVE THEM. 🧡🔥
p.s to all the boys who said I should be supporting max
Genre: Humor, fluff, found family, chaos
Word Count: 1082
Summary: Y/N Hanyu, younger sister of figure skating legend Yuzuru Hanyu, is a prodigy in her own right — Olympic medalist, beloved figure skater, and now, the most unexpected rookie on the Formula 1 grid. At only nineteen, she’s got medals, talent, and speed. The only problem? She barely speaks English outside of car terms. Cue: chaos in the paddock.
The paddock was always loud. Engines firing, mechanics shouting, press running after drivers, fans screaming. But nothing — nothing — could compare to the noise level the first time Y/N Hanyu walked into Formula 1.
The world had known her for years, but in a very different context. The figure skating prodigy, the Olympic medalist, the girl who spun on ice like physics didn’t apply to her. And now she was in an FIA-approved race suit, helmet under one arm, walking beside her brother Yuzuru, who looked far too calm for someone escorting his nineteen-year-old sibling into possibly the most competitive motorsport in the world.
"本当にいいですか？"("Are you sure about this?”) Yuzuru asked her in Japanese, his tone carrying that quiet, endlessly patient Yuzuru energy that fans around the world knew.
Y/N only grinned, flashing him a peace sign.
“Car go fast. Me go fast.”
He sighed. Why did I even ask?
First Impressions: Disaster
The first official media day was, in a word, catastrophic.
Y/N sat at the long press conference table, bright rookie smile plastered on her face. Her team principal sat off to the side, probably already regretting his career choices. Next to her was Lando, on her other side George, and across from her Charles. All veterans at this point, all watching curiously.
The first question, asked in English, went to her.
“Y/N, welcome to Formula 1. How does it feel transitioning from figure skating to motorsport? Do you think your skills on the ice prepared you for racing?”
Y/N blinked. She’d caught maybe three words in that sentence. She recognized Formula 1. She recognized motorsport.
“...Car?” she tried carefully into the microphone.
The journalist frowned. “Uh. Yes. Car.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Car fast! Brake, tyre, engine… good!”
The room fell silent for two beats before bursting into laughter.
Lando physically slapped the table. George muttered, “This is going to be brilliant.” Charles leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“So… the car is fast?” he asked, exaggerating his English like he was talking to a toddler.
Y/N beamed at him. “Car vroom vroom! Like zoom zoom!”
The paddock, the journalists, the livestream viewers — everyone was gone. Memes were born instantly. The rookie who only spoke car.
Enter: Yuki Tsunoda
If there was one person who had expected this, it was Yuki.
He found her later in the paddock, sitting on a stack of tyres like they were a throne, chewing on a pocky stick while scrolling her phone.
"もう混乱を引き起こしたんじゃないの？" (“You caused chaos already, didn’t you?”) he said in Japanese.
Y/N looked up innocently. “I say car go fast. They laugh. Why?”
Yuki groaned. “Because that’s all you said! You didn’t answer the question!”
“But car go fast,” she insisted.
“...Fair point.”
From then on, Yuki unofficially became her translator. He’d sit next to her in press conferences, whispering translations in Japanese, and she’d nod seriously before answering in the strangest mix of Japanese, broken English, and car terms.
The drivers thought it was hilarious. The journalists thought it was a nightmare.
Language Barrier Chaos
The real fun started when Yuki wasn’t around.
Take one Thursday media scrum in Monaco. Y/N was cornered by journalists, microphones shoved in her face.
“Y/N, how are you preparing for your first street circuit race?”
She tilted her head, understanding none of that except race. So she answered confidently:
“Race… vroom! Wall bad. Tire… good.”
The journalists stared.
Charles, walking by, nearly spat out his water. “Wall bad. Tire good,” he repeated, deadpan, like it was some sort of rookie wisdom. “Honestly, she’s not wrong.”
Or the time in Spain when George tried to help.
“Y/N,” he said slowly, “they are asking… strategy. Strategy?” He mimed a pit stop.
Her face lit up. “Box, box!”
The media tent collapsed into laughter while her engineer buried his face in his hands.
The Grid vs. The Language Barrier
The drivers, however, took it as a personal challenge.
Carlos decided to teach her “important English phrases.” Unfortunately, Carlos’s idea of important was… questionable.
“Repeat after me,” Carlos said seriously. “No more smooth operator.”
Y/N blinked. “...No more smooth opera…tor?”
Carlos clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed. “She’s perfect.”
Meanwhile, Lando attempted slang.
“Say… bruh.”
“Buru?”
“No, bruh.”
“Buru.”
“...Close enough.”
Max, surprisingly, was the most patient. He’d sit beside her and go through flashcards.
“This is… front wing.”
“Fron…to… wing?”
“Yes. Good.”
She tilted her head. “But… 前の羽根 (wings to front),” she corrected him in Japanese.
Max squinted. “...That sounds cooler.”
The Team Radio Disaster
Race day was its own special brand of chaos.
Her engineer: “Y/N, box box, box this lap.”
Y/N: “Hai! Boxu boxu!”
The world collectively melted from the cuteness. But sometimes, things got lost in translation.
Engineer: “Y/N, we need you to lift and coast.”
Y/N: “Lift? Coast? ...Push?? Push??”
The pit wall: “NO, NOT PUSH!”
Or her infamous first overtake.
Engineer: “Y/N, great move! How’s the car?”
Y/N: “Car… happy! I happy! Vroom vroom!!”
Half the grid was crying laughing in their cockpits listening to it later.
Yuzuru in the Paddock
If Y/N’s presence wasn’t already chaotic enough, her brother showed up in Suzuka.
The drivers, who had seen him on TV as the serene figure skating legend, were collectively starstruck. Fans screamed louder for him than half the grid.
Yuzuru bowed politely to everyone, then stood quietly behind his sister like an overprotective hawk.
“...That’s Yuzuru Hanyu,” George whispered.
“Yes,” Charles whispered back. “And he looks like he could kill me with a single glare.”
When a journalist asked Y/N a long, complicated question in English, Y/N turned helplessly to her brother. Without missing a beat, Yuzuru translated it perfectly into Japanese. She nodded and replied simply:
“Car good. Tyre… okay. Push.”
The paddock lost it.
Even Yuzuru cracked a smile.
Found Family
Over time, the grid adapted. They learned a little Japanese. She learned a little more English. They spoke a weird hybrid of both.
When Yuki was around, things ran smoothly. When he wasn’t, chaos reigned, but somehow, it always worked out.
And despite the language barrier, Y/N fit right in. She was the little sister of the paddock, the chaos magnet everyone adored.
Because even if she couldn’t always say it in English, she had a way of making everyone laugh, of bringing the grid together, of reminding them that at the end of the day —
tbh this can help me with a small segment for my fic (like dragging the drivers into ice skating and see who will fall first i feel like this might be quite funny if you don't mind...)
Helloooo!!! How are you? I hope you are doing good and raking care of yourself, so I wanted to do another ask, the couple if it could be Alex and Lily, so they are both Asian and sometimes they tend to eat spicy maybe like letting the baby try something spicy for the first time, like it could be a cute reaction or a little dramatic the kid maybe a toddler if it could be possible. Thank you if you take my request love you so much, it's always awesome see your works on my tumbler 💖
Spicy Food
Summary: Alex and Lily’s daughter tries spicy food for the first time ever.
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The kitchen smelled amazing. A mix of chili, garlic, and something roasted filled the air, and soft music played from the speaker on the counter. Alex hummed quietly as he stirred the wok, flipping the spicy noodles with practiced ease. Lily stood beside him, slicing cucumbers with quick, precise motions.
At the table sat their daughter, Yn — three years old, tiny legs swinging back and forth, clutching her plush elephant in one hand and her sippy cup in the other.
“Daddy,” Yn said in her small, singsong voice, “is it ready yet?”
“Almost, baby,” Alex replied, tossing the noodles one last time before turning off the stove. “You’re gonna love this one. It’s spicy though — maybe too spicy for little dragons like you.”
“I am a big dragon,” Yn declared, puffing her cheeks proudly.
Lily laughed softly, wiping her hands on a towel. “A big dragon who still needs help reaching the sink?”
Yn frowned dramatically. “I can reach it if I jump!”
Alex chuckled, serving two bowls for himself and Lily, then a smaller one for Yn. “Alright, baby dragon. We’ll see. But only a tiny bit, okay? Spicy food is serious business.”
He scooped up a few noodles onto her small plate — just enough to cover the spoon. The bright red chili oil glistened, and Lily raised a brow.
“Alex, that’s still pretty spicy,” she said. “She’s never had anything this hot before.”
He grinned, sitting down. “Hey, she’s half Thai, half Chinese. It’s in her DNA. She’ll be fine.”
Lily sighed, amused. “That’s not how science works, but okay.”
Yn was watching her parents’ banter with wide eyes, spoon in hand. “Can I eat now?”
“Wait, let it cool down a bit,” Alex warned. “It’s hot.”
Yn blew on her spoon with exaggerated care, making little whoosh whoosh sounds, before taking a bite. Her parents watched like two scientists observing an experiment.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked once, twice — and her eyes widened.
Lily leaned forward. “Yn? You okay?”
Yn’s face scrunched up, but not in pain. She looked interested. Then, suddenly, she let out a little happy gasp. “It’s spicy!” she said gleefully, bouncing a little in her seat. “I like it!”
Alex and Lily exchanged a stunned look.
“You… like it?” Alex asked.
Yn nodded eagerly, grabbing another spoonful. “It’s tasty! My tongue goes bzzzz!”
Lily laughed so hard she had to put her hand over her mouth. “Her tongue goes bzzzz?”
Alex was still half-concerned, half-proud. “I thought she’d cry. She’s tougher than me!”
Yn kept eating, little noises of joy between bites. “Spicy! Spicy! More!”
Lily reached out, gently pushing the plate away. “Slow down, little dragon. You’ll get a tummy ache if you eat too fast.”
“But I want more!”
“Finish your rice first,” Lily said in her calm mom-voice.
Alex grinned, scooping a little plain rice into her bowl. “Here. Try mixing it, baby. That’ll help.”
Yn nodded seriously, stirring her food with all the focus in the world. Her tiny hands struggled with the spoon, but she was determined. Alex watched her, smiling softly.
“She’s just like you when she eats,” he said. “Focused. Competitive.”
Lily smirked. “You mean she’s like you. I’ve seen you cry over chili oil and still go back for more.”
“Hey, that’s called commitment,” he said, feigning offense. “True love.”
“True pain,” Lily replied, chuckling.
Yn looked up mid-bite, cheeks full. “Mommy, Daddy, no fighting.”
They both burst out laughing.
“We’re not fighting, baby,” Lily said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “We’re teasing.”
“Teasing,” Yn repeated carefully, before going back to her food.
After a few minutes, she finished her little plate and held it up triumphantly. “All gone!”
Alex clapped softly. “Good job! Did you like your first spicy food?”
Yn nodded vigorously. “More please!”
Lily leaned over and whispered, “She’s going to grow up stronger than both of us.”
Alex laughed quietly. “Or with an iron stomach.”
He added a tiny bit more to her bowl — still cautious — while Lily refilled her water cup. Yn ate with pure delight, swaying slightly in her chair as she hummed.
Then, halfway through, she stopped suddenly.
Her little face froze.
Alex noticed immediately. “Uh oh. You okay, baby?”
Yn’s lips parted. Her tongue peeked out. Then—
“Hot! Hot!” she squeaked.
Lily jumped up instantly. “Water, water—!”
Yn grabbed her cup, drinking with dramatic gulps. After a few seconds, she sighed loudly and slumped back in her chair. “Better.”
Alex rubbed her back gently. “See? That’s why Daddy said slow down.”
Yn looked at him, serious and adorable. “Daddy, spicy is tricky.”
Lily bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Spicy is tricky, huh?”
Yn nodded gravely. “First it’s yummy, then it’s hot, then it’s yummy again.”
Alex looked at Lily. “She already understands life.”
Lily laughed. “Profound wisdom from a three-year-old.”
