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paucubarsisimp · 19 days ago

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surprise gone wrong

pairings: lando norris x reader

summary: in which you try surprising lando...

warnings: angst, cheating

melbourne, australia – sunday night

you hadn’t been this excited in weeks.

the plane landed thirty minutes early, but it still felt like it took forever to reach the city. every step off the plane, through customs, into the cab—it all buzzed with a kind of electricity that made your fingers twitch. you were barely keeping it together.

you were going to surprise him. your boyfriend. your person.

lando.

you hadn’t seen him in three weeks. the season had barely started, but it already felt like the world was swallowing him whole. interviews, practice, media, debriefs. your conversations had gone from long, late-night calls to quick voice notes and blurry facetimes while he was on the move.

but today was different.

he won. first place. finally.

you watched it on the tiny tv at home, hands over your mouth, heart pounding with his. and when he crossed the finish line, when the team screamed over the radio, when his voice cracked through the headset—you felt it all. pride. joy. love.

you booked the flight that same hour.

you didn’t tell him. didn’t want to. it was supposed to be a surprise. you wanted to show up, wrap your arms around him, and whisper, “you did it. i’m here.”

the rooftop bar was chaos.

you barely made it through security, but someone from mclaren must’ve recognized you and let you up. the elevator was packed with strangers—some people dressed like they lived here, others clearly part of the racing circus. cameras were already out. music thumped through the walls.

when the doors opened, the night hit you full force.

neon lights. booming bass. drinks spilling over glasses. laughter, loud and echoing. flashes from phones and disco balls and champagne bottles. the kind of party that blurred together like a fever dream.

but your eyes were searching for one thing. just one.

him.

and then you saw him.

lando.

halfway across the rooftop, surrounded by a crowd of familiar faces—some engineers, a few of the pr team, people you’d met once or twice. his curls were a mess, shirt slightly untucked, a drink in one hand, and that signature post-win smile stretched wide across his face.

your breath caught in your throat.

god, you’d missed him.

you stepped forward, your fingers gripping your purse a little tighter, heart ready to burst.

and then everything stopped.

because she was there.

a girl. standing too close. laughing at something he said, one hand on his chest.

and before you could even blink, he leaned in. and kissed her.

slow. familiar. like it wasn’t the first time.

you froze.

it was like your body short-circuited. like someone hit pause on the world, but forgot to tell your heart to stop breaking.

his hand was on her waist. hers tangled in his curls—the curls you used to touch when he couldn’t sleep, when he was anxious, when he needed grounding.

and he was smiling into it. drunk. relaxed. like there was nothing wrong.

like you weren’t even real.

you didn’t know how long you stood there.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t blink. couldn’t even breathe properly.

the music was too loud. the lights too bright. the room spinning too fast.

lando norris—your lando—was kissing someone else.

and you were just… standing there.

uninvited. unseen. the girl who showed up late to her own story.

your heels clicked too loudly as you turned around. pushed through the crowd. passed people who didn’t know you, didn’t care. the elevator took forever. someone asked if you were okay. you nodded without hearing them.

once outside, the air hit you like a wave.

melbourne at night was still buzzing. people celebrating. cars honking. the city alive.

but your world had gone completely, painfully still.

you walked. didn’t know where. didn’t care.

you just needed to get away from that rooftop. away from the music. the cameras. the kiss.

you had come here to surprise him. to celebrate with him.

but he had already moved on.

sunday night – 1:42 a.m.

you didn’t remember getting to the hotel.

your phone said it was fifteen minutes away, but your mind had gone quiet somewhere between leaving the club and stepping into the empty, too-clean lobby. everything felt hazy. like you were watching yourself from the outside, like you were just playing a part in a story that was never really yours.

the keycard slid into the door with a beep. you stepped inside the room. lights off. no sounds. just the low hum of the air conditioning and the dull ache behind your eyes.

you dropped your purse on the chair. kicked off your heels. the dress, once so carefully picked for him, slid to the floor with a whisper.

you stood there in silence. bare. weightless. like if you closed your eyes, you could just disappear.

but you didn’t.

you walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and finally—finally—let it out.

not the sobbing kind of cry. not the messy, movie-scene breakdown.

this one was quieter. smaller.

it started in your chest. then your throat. then your eyes, slow and warm and unrelenting.

you buried your face in your hands. curled in on yourself.

this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

you’d imagined it so many times.

lando opening his hotel door and seeing you there. his eyes going wide, grin stretching across his face as he pulled you in, lifted you off your feet like he always used to. his voice thick with disbelief, “you’re actually here?” followed by kisses, laughter, maybe even tears.

you would’ve run your hands through his curls, whispered, “you did it, baby,” and he would’ve held you like the world had stopped.

that was the version you flew across the world for.

but instead, he kissed someone else.

and smiled while doing it.

your phone lit up on the nightstand.

1:51 a.m. text from: oscar

hey, lando’s pretty out of it. you coming by? he’s been looking around like he forgot something. maybe you?

you stared at it.

what were you supposed to say to that?

you started typing.

i saw him.

paused.

deleted it.

typed again.

i’m here.

no. not right.

you sat there, thumbs hovering over the screen, heart pounding in your ears.

finally, you sent:

tell him congrats.

short. distant. detached.

you turned the phone face down after that.

you laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over your chest like you were trying to hold yourself together. the sheets smelled like hotel bleach and artificial lavender. the kind of clean that made everything feel more sterile. more empty.

you used to feel so close to him, even when he was halfway across the world.

but now?

you’d never felt farther away.

you thought about calling someone. your sister. your best friend. anyone who could make this moment less sharp. less lonely.

but how do you explain flying across the world to surprise someone, only to find out they stopped waiting for you?

how do you explain watching the person you love put their hands on someone else like it meant nothing?

you didn’t want to talk.

you just wanted to forget.

your eyes fluttered shut. and for a second, the image played again behind your eyelids.

lando, laughing. her fingers in his hair. his mouth pressed to hers.

your stomach turned.

you rolled over, facing the wall, trying to breathe past the ache.

you came all this way. you were the surprise.

but he didn’t even notice you were gone.

flashback – eight months ago, london

the rain had come out of nowhere.

you were both soaked—shoes squishing, clothes clinging to skin, hair plastered to your faces as you ran down the narrow london street, laughing like idiots.

lando had forgotten an umbrella. of course.

“i told you to check the weather,” you teased, huddled under a shop overhang, trying to catch your breath.

“you did. i just didn’t listen.”

he was grinning. water dripping from his lashes, curls a mess. he looked ridiculous. beautiful.

you stared at him, heart full, cheeks aching from smiling.

“we’re actually drenched.”

“romantic, though.” he leaned in, bumping your forehead with his. “like a movie scene.”

“a very soggy movie scene.”

he laughed. and then he kissed you. right there, in the middle of the street, while strangers rushed past and the sky kept pouring.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t perfect. but it was real.

that was the thing with lando—he made even the messiest moments feel soft. warm. like something you wanted to wrap yourself in.

later, back at his place, you sat on the kitchen counter in his hoodie while he made tea. music playing low, windows fogged up from the cold. the quiet kind of night that felt like home.

he walked over, pressed a mug into your hands, then stood between your legs, hands resting on your thighs.

“i hate how much i love you,” he said softly, eyes on yours.

you raised an eyebrow. “that a bad thing?”

he shook his head. “no. just scary. i’ve never had this before.”

you swallowed.

you’d never had it either.

“what’s ‘this’?”

“you.” he smiled, just a little. “you feel like the only thing that makes sense when everything else is insane.”

you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“then hold onto me, yeah?”

“always.”

and you believed him.

present – melbourne, 3:13 a.m.

you were still awake.

still staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

the hotel room was quiet except for the occasional car down on the street below. you hadn’t moved much. your body felt heavy. not tired, just… hollow.

you kept replaying that night. london. the rain. his hands. his words.

he said he’d hold onto you.

but somewhere between then and now, his grip slipped.

or maybe yours did.

maybe the distance got too loud. maybe the silence in between texts got too long. maybe love needs more than belief to survive.

you reached for your phone again.

no new messages.

not from him.

not from anyone.

you considered texting him. asking why. asking if he meant to do it. if he even knew you were there. if she was just some mistake or someone he’d already planned on seeing long before tonight.

but deep down, you knew the answer.

lando never did things by accident. not like that.

you turned your phone over again. shoved it under the pillow.

whatever you had—whatever you were—maybe it wasn’t enough anymore.

pt.2 alt ending

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

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pankowcrumbs · 5 days ago

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The Other Side of Us X Oscar Piastri (Requested)

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

Requested: Oscar Piastri x Reader Best friends to lovers. He finally has the courage to tell her his feelings.

If you asked anyone in the paddock who Oscar Piastri’s best friend was, they’d point to me without hesitation.

It had always been us. Since karting days, when I’d been the awkward kid tagging along with my brother, and Oscar had been the quiet, polite boy who always saved me a seat under the tent. Over the years, we’d grown up side by side him behind the wheel, me in the garage with a stopwatch and too many snacks.

We were inseparable. But never more.

At least… that’s what I told myself.

Lately, though, it had felt different. Subtle shifts. The way his eyes lingered when I laughed too hard. How his hand brushed mine but didn’t move away. The text messages at 2 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep. The way he said my name like it held weight.

Still, I never dared to ask. Because if I was wrong, I didn’t want to lose him.

Today was a rare day off, and we were back in Melbourne. I was sat on the bonnet of his car, sipping a takeaway iced coffee while Oscar fidgeted with his keys.

"Why do you always tap them like that?” I asked, watching his fingers rhythmically tap against the steering wheel.

He glanced up. “Nervous habit, I think.”

“What’ve you got to be nervous about? You drive 300km an hour for fun.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

We were parked along the coast, waves crashing in the distance, the sky smeared in soft pinks and oranges. It was the kind of evening that begged for honesty. I wrapped my arms around my knees, my hoodie far too big because it was his, and I’d nicked it ages ago.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said gently.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

I turned to face him fully, my heart thudding. “Okay. You’re not quitting racing to become a surfer, are you?”

He laughed nervously. “No, although the thought’s crossed my mind after that last race.”

I smiled, but it faded as his expression turned serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said, voice low. “About us.”

My breath caught.

“Oscar”

“Let me finish?” he interrupted gently, shifting to stand in front of me. His eyes locked on mine, uncertain but determined. “I’ve liked you for a while now. Actually, that’s not fair. I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even realised. I’ve just been too scared to ruin what we have.”

The world tilted slightly. I stared at him, blinking as if that might slow everything down.

“You... love me?” I echoed.

He laughed again, nervous and soft. “Yeah. I do. You’ve been my best mate since forever, and I didn’t want to mess that up. But pretending I didn’t feel it was starting to hurt more than the idea of telling you.”

I was speechless. And that never happened.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, stepping back slightly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

I slid off the bonnet and closed the space between us. He looked at me, open and vulnerable, and I saw every version of us flash before my eyes karting days, silly bets over milkshakes, race weekends, hotel room movies, bad jokes over comms.

And all I could think was: how had I not said it first?

“I was scared too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for months. Maybe longer. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

His eyes widened, and then his whole face lit up, like someone had flicked a switch.

“You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Completely.”

The relief that washed over him made me laugh. Then his hands found my waist, gentle and unsure, as if asking for permission.

I leaned in first.

It wasn’t a grand kiss. No fireworks or swelling music. Just the soft press of two best friends realising they didn’t have to pretend anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close, forehead resting against his.

“So… what now?” I asked.

“We keep doing everything we already do,” he said with a small grin. “Except now I get to hold your hand.”

“And kiss me.”

He smirked. “And kiss you.”

We stood there as the sky deepened into twilight, the waves below crashing with the same rhythm as my heart. For the first time, it felt like everything had shifted into place.

Oscar reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

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camille-aurelie-deveraux · 2 months ago

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Hey! Could I please request reader comforting Oscar after he spins out of the race. She is being a good girlfriend, and Oscar really needs it right now.

Thank you!

Comfort in your arms

The energy in Melbourne was electric. The first race of the 2025 Formula 1 season was always going to be exciting, but for Oscar, it was even more special. It was his home race—the one where he had grown up dreaming of one day competing in front of his family, friends, and thousands of Aussie fans. But more than anything, he was happy because Yn was here with him.

They had been together for years now, their relationship built on mutual support, understanding, and an unwavering love for one another. No matter what happened on track, Yn was always there for him, just like he was for her.

Now, as he sat in his race suit, exhausted and frustrated after a chaotic Australian Grand Prix, all he wanted was to see her.

Oscar had started the race strong, maintaining his position in the top three for most of it. The car felt good, and for a while, it seemed like a solid points finish was guaranteed. But then, disaster struck.

Lap 42. He had been pushing hard, trying to close the gap to the car in front when the rear of his car suddenly stepped out mid-corner.

“Ah, no—no, no, no!” he shouted into the radio as he spun off the track, grass spraying in all directions.

For a moment, his heart sank, thinking it was all over. But with quick reactions, he managed to get the car pointed in the right direction and rejoin the race. It wasn’t over, but he had lost precious positions.

By the time the checkered flag fell, he had salvaged a P9 finish. Points, but not the result he had been hoping for at home.

Now, walking back to his driver's room, he could feel the frustration settling deep in his chest.

Then he saw her.

Yn was already waiting for him inside, her arms crossed as she leaned against the small couch, watching him with concern. The moment Oscar stepped through the door, she moved toward him.

"Hey," she said softly. "Rough one?"

Oscar let out a breath and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Yeah. I really messed that up."

"You didn't mess up," she corrected, stepping closer. "You finished in the points after a spin. That’s still a solid drive."

He shook his head. "Not good enough. Not at my home race."

Yn sighed, reaching out to cup his face gently. "Stop that," she murmured, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "You drove an incredible race. One mistake doesn’t change that. You kept fighting, and that’s what matters."

Oscar leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment. "I just—" He exhaled, shaking his head again. "I really wanted a good result today. For everyone here. For you."

She frowned at that. "You don’t owe me anything, Oscar. I’m proud of you no matter what."

His chest tightened at her words. She always knew exactly what to say.

Yn reached up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, slow and reassuring. Oscar immediately melted into it, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

She kissed him again, lingering, making sure he knew how much she meant every word she said. When she pulled back slightly, their faces remained close, breath mingling.

"You did amazing," she whispered.

Oscar swallowed hard, his hands tightening on her hips. "I needed that," he admitted, his voice raw.

"Good," she said with a small smile. "Because I plan to keep doing it until you believe me."

A small chuckle escaped him, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully disappear. He leaned forward again, pressing his forehead against hers.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured.

Yn’s hands slid up to the back of his neck, playing with the damp curls there. "You make it easy."

Oscar sighed and pulled her even closer, pressing slow, lingering kisses along her jaw before trailing down to her neck. He sucked gently at the sensitive skin, his lips warm and soft against her.

Yn let out a soft hum of approval, her fingers tightening in his hair.

"I really needed this," he admitted between kisses.

"I know," she whispered.

He kissed her again, firmer this time, pouring every ounce of emotion into it. She responded immediately, her hands gripping his race suit. He didn’t want to let go—didn’t want to think about the race, the spin, or the points lost. Right now, all that mattered was her.

Yn pulled back slightly, tilting his chin up so he met her gaze. "You are incredible, Oscar. One spin doesn’t change that. And no matter what happens on track, I’ll always be here for you."

His heart clenched at her words.

"I love you," he said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could even think about them.

Yn smiled, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. "I love you too," she whispered.

And just like that, everything felt a little bit lighter.

🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎 🏎

Hi readers! Please enjoy this little piece. I would be very happy if you would send me some requests. See ya till next time!

-Cami 🏎

#f1 x reader #Cami 🏎#formula 1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x female oc #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x female reader

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nottivagos · 2 months ago

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an: hihi everyone!! sorry this isn't smut for tonight, i was just feeling the isack hadjar blues and decided to write some fluff for him <3 that being said, you can now request isack hadjar fics if you'd like!!

“isack hadjar is out of the australian grand prix!”

those words loomed over the racing bulls paddock as your wide, shocked eyes fixated on the screen in front of you, broadcasting isack’s crash as a replay. the vision of the vcarb hitting the wall after spinning due to the wet conditions on track haunting you as a pit formed in your stomach, tight knots of uncertainty of his safety following.

your heart shattered. isack’s mechanics groaned out of sympathy, heads in their hands at the horror that your boyfriend had suffered on his debut in formula one's formation lap. he'd been so strong all weekend, really proving himself and pushing himself to his limits to qualify just out of the points zone, keeping himself optimistic and level headed all weekend.

as you watched him jump out of the wreck, hand covering his eyes when he lifted his visor, you felt powerless. how you yearned to hold him in his arms, ever so tightly, just to try and console him after his terrible blunder. you knew how much today meant to isack, the golden chance he had to make a mark in the chaotic world of formula one, maybe even shine above the other 5 debuting rookies on this rainy sunday in melbourne, just to have it taken away by something out of his control.

the aftermath of the crash hung heavy over the paddock, some of the mechanics muttering about how isack’s crash must've “really took a knock out of his confidence” as you watched isack embrace anthony hamilton on his way to the media den. you couldn't help but smile at the sight, not only did he get the selfie he'd always dreamed of getting with the sir lewis hamilton, but now he was being consoled by the man's father.

his head hung low, probably out of embarrassment and upset as his sombre interview became background noise as you placed your headset back on its stand, making your way over to his driver room for after his interviews. you inhaled a shaky breath, clutching your bag slightly tighter on your shoulder as your eyes slightly welled up with tears.

a lump of sadness formed in your throat, the sight of your disheartened boyfriend burnt into your mind as the moment haunted your every step. what if the accident was worse? what if he'd gotten injured before he was even able to prove himself in the car? what if his career had ended in those moments before he'd even fully begun? the ‘what ifs’ plagued your mind, as you carried on down the path.

the muffled voices of isack and his engineer could be heard as you finally made it to his driver's room. gulping back your growing sorrows, a slightly shaky fist came to knock onto the door, with an abrupt silence following.

“who's there?” his engineer called out from the closed door.

you quickly introduced yourself, hoping that you'd be able to see your partner, hoping to hold him in your arms and shower him in much needed kisses. to your relief, a mumbled “let her in,” came from isack, and the door opened.

your eyes lit up as his engineer let you have this moment with him, closing the door on both of you.

“hey honey,” your voice was soft, as gentle as it could be as you took a seat next to him on the edge of the bed. his head hung low, eyes not bothering to look at you as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, your thumb brushing soothingly against his white fireproofs.

“i thought this was my moment, ma beauté,” a strangled sob escaped isack’s lips, his hand coming to cover his eyes as if he tried to hide his overwhelming sadness and humiliation away from you. “i've let everyone down," he continued as you sighed, sliding off of the bed, removing your arm from his shoulder to stand in front of him.

“oh, mon cher,” you whispered, hand coming to cup his stinging cheek, “look at me. please.”

isack’s head turned upwards, meeting your soft eyes with his own sorrowful expression. “it's okay,” you spoke with a loving smile, “just let me kiss you,” you hummed, lips moving to pepper his face in light kisses.

isack smiled slightly, cheeks turning slightly pink at the unexpected affection from you. his hands found your hips, grabbing them gently as you continued to kiss him all over, giggling sweetly as you felt his heart flutter and his mood change slightly.

“what's this for, hm?” he asked, moving his face away slightly, tilting his head upwards to meet your eyes. “i didn't think you would've wanted to kiss a failure.”

“isack.” your voice became sterner for a second, “you're not a failure at all. this is merely just a little slip up. there's plenty more chances to show everyone just how amazing you are,” you mumbled, arms wrapping around him in a warm, loving embrace.

he chuckled slightly, arms wrapping around you as your bodies fitted beautifully perfectly together. he then sighed, “but what if i don't get any more chances? what if i’m more unlucky. what then?”

“isack, amour, you're overthinking,” you mumbled into his ear with a saddened sigh, pressing a soft kiss on his temple in response.

“i suppose i might be,” he responded, letting you nuzzle into his neck for a moment before you let go from his embrace.

“i almost forgot,” you chuckled, rummaging into your bag before pulling out a tupperware box full of your signature freshly baked croissants. “i wanted to share these with you after the race,” you continued, presenting the box of his favourite baked goods in front of him, “but maybe you'd appreciate them now? it might turn that frown upside down.”

you chuckled softly as isack quickly took the tupperware from you eagerly. “these,” he spoke, eyes glimmering with happiness as he set them down on the bed to his side before standing up, “have just made my whole weekend.”

he added, hands coming to cup your cheeks ever so tenderly, love shining in his eyes as he flashed his signature cheesy smiles. “thank you. for everything, ma chérie,” isack mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“you're welcome, isack,” you giggled lovingly, nose grazing his own, “anything for you.” <3

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roc-haze · 13 days ago

Note

Mate!! I’ve just realised you’re an Aussie??!!!! Please throw the Australians a bone and do some sort of WillNE x Aussie reader moment 🙏🏼🙏🏼

I’m afraid I may turn this into a series… it is largely based in Perth/Melbs/Tas since these are the areas I know well. My apologies for the rest of Aus erasure xx

I Was Neon | WillNE

Y/N wasn’t sure how she had ended up here. The Sidemen had finally organised a trip to Australia, reaching out to a few different content creators for some help in creating the ultimate down under experience. To make up for JJ’s absence and complete the crew, they’d invited along Freezy, Lux and Will.

She had received a message from Lachlan, a friend of the Sidemen and a Red Bull athlete. Y/N had been working in the sport space for a while, eventually settling working in the Australian Football League. She and Lachlan had met a few years back, when she had helped him grab tickets to an AFL game at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Y/N had since moved across the country, finding a home in Perth.

The text came in late.

Lachlan: SOS. Sidemen are coming to Australia. I’m bringing them to Perth.

Y/N: And you’re telling me, why?

Lachlan: I need some help entertaining them

Lachlan: …maybe even some free tickets. I saw that the Eagles are playing Collingwood 😮‍💨

Y/N: Alright. Call me tomorrow and we’ll figure something out 😴

Not even four weeks later, Y/N found herself somehow swinging some annual leave and promising to work remotely. Lachie had organised the trip to start in her home state of Western Australia, before trekking across the country to Melbourne, Sydney and Tasmania. Overall, they were squeezing a plethora of activities into just two weeks of travel and Y/N could only be present for about 9 days of the 15 days of travel.

Now here she was. Standing in the arrivals gate of Perth Airport at 11pm on a Wednesday, decked out in an oversized hoodie, leggings and birks. Pimple cream and glasses included. She’d sent a very threatening “don’t you dare film me” text to Lachlan and hoped for the best.

She was standing by baggage claim when a voice boomed, “there’s our girl!”. Lachie came running up to her, wrapping her up in a hug. The group looked exhausted, which mirrored her own face. One by one, the boys all embraced her and introduced themselves. They had strategically chosen a hotel across the road from her apartment, making it easy for them all to meet up. Only problem - the hotel was booked out, meaning two of the boys had to bunk at Y/N’s. The obvious first choice being Lachie.

Upon deciding who would be driving the rental cars, Lachie and Y/N stood around speaking quietly. “I think we should take either Will or Lux with us. They’re both super chill, you’d feel safe with them in your apartment and they’re both gonna be doing work in their downtime like you.”

Y/N quirked her eyebrow. “Which one do you think is the biggest coffee drinker?”.

Lachie laughed. “Will. Guess he’s coming home with us.”

30 minutes later, they were all situated in their respective hotel rooms and spare rooms.

Y/N had given Will a tour of the apartment, showing him his living quarters for the next three nights and most importantly, where to find the coffee machine. The three of them had settled on the couch, cup of tea in hand, debriefing about their day.

“I really appreciate you adopting me for the weekend, Y/N. Gets me away from their antics anyway.” Will laughed softly.

She smiled. “You don’t get FOMO?”.

“Not on a trip like this. 15 days is a long time. I think the place that actually feels homey is a better shout.” She noticed the way his lip upturned as he spoke.

The room fell into a comfortable silence. “Alright my friends, I think I’ll be heading to bed. Some of us have to work tomorrow.” Y/N got up to turn the majority of the lights off, leaving just the ambience lights on. “Goodnight.”

—

For Y/N, Thursday was controlled chaos. Game day.

The morning was a little more peaceful than it usually was. Lachie had a sinking feeling the day was going to be feral, and managed to beat her to the coffee machine. She’d left the apartment with a keep cup full of coffee, a stale protein bar the boys had found buried in the pantry and a newfound sense of “thank fuck I’m on annual leave tomorrow”.

She was working the footy game scheduled later that night, and with a packed schedule, she had organised for the boys to do a tour of Optus Stadium. Not having the time or energy to plan their entire Western Australia leg, she just let them run loose around her work. Her calendar affectionately titled “Bring The Sidemen To Work Day”. I’ll stop in and say hello on my lunch break. Check in on the kids.

It was about 1pm when she found them all sitting in the grandstands. With a meal prep container in hand and ID badge pinned to her trousers, she made her way over to sit with them. The guide, Angus, immediately took the piss out of her.

“You here for an audit?” He teased.

“If I was, you’d be out of a job.” She winked, taking a seat next to Freezy on the end of the row. Will sat on his other side, meeting her eyes. “Hey roomie.” She grinned.

“Hey Y/N. Brilliant coffee this morning. Kinda like I’ve ingested rocket fuel though.” He smiled.

“I told you Australian roasters are incredible. You won’t be able to go back now.” Her face lit up.

Freezy looked between the two of them. “I think I’m gonna need to move in with you. All I got this morning was the leftover filter that Ethan didn’t want.”

As if sensing Cal was talking shit, Ethan lifted his head up. “Shut up, you prat.”

The three of them stifled a laugh.

Although Y/N was joking around with them all and appeared to be rather casual, the boys couldn’t help but sense that she commanded the room. She walked with purpose, Gus treated her as though he admired her. She appeared to be trustworthy, well respected and invested in her colleagues - but didn’t seem to let others invest in her.

As Gus took them through the tour, he would stop and ask for Y/N’s input. “Would you be a West Coast supporter if you didn’t work for them?”.

She would flush red. “I think I may have ended up a Collingwood girl. My family are all North Melbourne supporters but I can’t stomach the heartache.”

After a brief discussion about team rivalry, Y/N shifted in her seat, checking the time.

Will reached behind Freezy’s back, squeezing her shoulder. “Time to head back?“.

“Yeah. The team’s getting ready to debrief before the game later.” She rose from her seat.

“See you later, roomie.” He winked as she made her way out of the row.

Gus smirked. “Back to slacking off?”.

“About to go finalise your termination.” She stuck her tongue out at him, making her way down the stairs and disappearing into the offices below.

“At least give me a payout!” Gus yelled out.

“Keep dreaming!” The stairwell echoed behind her.

Cal didn’t miss the way Will’s eyes lingered.

Josh turned to Gus. “Can you please tell us what she does for a living? Lachie won’t tell us.”

Lachie laughed. “It’s not that I won’t tell you… she just wears a lot of hats.”

“Look, I’d probably just say she works in media. She’s super important to the club.” Gus said offhandedly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, laughing. “Important enough to get you fired?”.

It was about 11pm when she finally let loose.

West Coast had won the game, Lachie had convinced her she desperately needed a McFlurry and she’d finally let her hair out of the bun she’d haphazardly scrunched together during a precarious third quarter.

The Sidemen had succumbed to their jet lag, taking the train back home. The other two had gotten word of a sneaky trip to Maccas and stayed back to help clean up the stadium.

Lachie was in the front seat, Y/N at the wheel with Will, Freezy and Lux occupying the backseat. The speakers loudly played “You Get What You Give”, with all of the car windows wound right down. Lachie and Lux held their hands out the window, running their fingers through the breeze.

“You’ve got the music in you.. don’t let go” the group sang in unison.

Lachie looked to Y/N, a glint in his eye. “You’re much happier now.”

She didn’t say anything, but her subtle nod said it all.

10 minutes later, they found themselves in the entryway of her apartment complex.

“Are you guys okay to get home?” Y/N looked to both Cals.

Lux nodded softly. “Of course.” He hesitated. “Hey, thanks. I think we all had a lot of fun today. It was really cool of you to organise it for us.”

A grin tugged at her lip. “Anytime. I’m just glad we won. It doesn’t happen often.” She was met with a resounding laugh from Lachie.

Hugs are exchanged before the two boys make their way across the road to their apartment. As Y/N and her two newfound roommates made their way into her apartment and locked the door, she bid her farewells. “Some of us had to be up early and at work today, so I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Sleep well.” Lachie reached out and pulled her into a hug, placing a kiss on her temple.

“Night Will.” She squeezed his shoulder as she walked past.

“Goodnight roomie.”

Her bedroom door closed shut.

As though it were his own home, Will moved to the tea cupboard she’d shown him the previous night. Lachie opened a drawer and found her secret biscuit stash, leading the two of them out to balcony with steaming cups of tea in hand.

Looking out over the city landscape, Will hesitated to speak.

Lachie sensed it. “Spit it out.”

“I don’t want to overstep, but what did you mean in the car? When you said she’s happier now?”. Will tried to appear casual, pushing the sleeves of his jumper back.

“She’s had a shit time of it the last few months. Shitty boyfriend doing shit things. She still protects him, I think.” Lachie didn’t try to hide the displeasure etching across his features.

“To herself or everybody else?” Will asked timidly.

“I think both. She says it kinda feels like they’re in a weird gray zone - like neither person is right or wrong, but if you ask me - he’s a wanker.” Lachlan frustratedly brought his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it.

Will let out a breath. “I don’t know much, but I think you’d have to be a wanker to let her go.”

“Seems like she’s made an impression.”

“A good one.”

An hour later, when Will finally said goodnight, he couldn’t help but linger in the doorway.

There she was, in the rattiest old shirt and knocked about by uneven sleep, trying not to nod off as she refilled her water bottle.

Making his way to the kitchen, he gently rest one hand on her back to softly grab her attention before taking the bottle out of her hands. Their hands lightly brushed as he took the ice out of the freezer.

She stood puzzled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “How… how do you know I put ice in that thing?”.

He chuckled. “I saw you doing the same thing this morning.”

Will had gotten the impression he saw only what she wanted him to see. Y/N would crack jokes and laugh at his own, she was ever the gracious host, but she wasn’t letting her guard down anytime soon. Granted, she had been booked and busy in their brief 24 hour friendship. Acquaintance-ship if that were ever a thing.

She paused. “Sweet of you to notice.”

“Go back to bed, sleeping beauty. Want me to tuck you back in and give you a big kiss goodnight?” He teased.

Laughing softly, she jabbed him in the arm. “Geez, take a girl to dinner first.” Smirk on her face, she gestured to her cheek. “Lay one on me.”

Will leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Looks like you’re still a frog.”

She pushed him teasingly. “Guess I better call Lux and tell him my spare room is back up for sale.”

They both laughed to themselves as they shut their respective bedroom doors.

��

Will woke to the sound of Y/N rushing around the kitchen.

Cracking the door open, he stuck his head out.

She spotted him. “Good morning, princess.”

He groaned. “This is what I get for calling you a frog. Where are you off to in a hurry?”.

“Coffee. Would you like anything?”. She stood in front of him, keys and phone in hand.

“Yeah. Can I come with?” He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie.

She smiled. “Of course. Can you be super quick getting ready though? We’ve gotta get prime real estate on the water.”

Within 5 minutes, Will had changed, thrown a hat on, sunscreened it up and brushed his teeth. Now here he was, walking along the water at 7:30AM with a pretty girl.

After collecting their respective beverages at the coffee kiosk, Y/N led Will to a park bench.

For the next hour, they couldn’t stop yapping.

I’m not an avocado fan.

Do you think the Royal Family were responsible for Diana’s death?

What was YouTube like before AdSense?

I don’t understand how the AFL works. Do you do football fantasy?

The McLaren looks fucking competitive this year.

I like a chilled red wine but nothing warm. Gross.

There was a lull in the conversation. A comfortable silence.

Will looked to her. “You know… Lachlan warned us about you.”

She smirked. “Yeah? What did he say?”.

“He’s under the impression that at least one of the boys will end up falling in love with you.” He laughed.

“I think you might be at an unfair advantage there.” She took a sip of her drink.

“How so?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Because I’m staying with you?”.

“Exactly.”

“Does that not make it harder? I caught you absolutely shoveling overnight oats before you went to work yesterday.” Genuinely curious, he turned to face her.

She was quick to speak. “No. I think it’s intimate in a way. You’re seeing the unfiltered version of me.”

He nodded. “I get the feeling you’re a little guarded.”

“Oh, for sure. Especially with all of you guys around Lachlan. I feel kinda protective over him at the moment.” She turned to face him too.

“Why do you feel protective over him?” Will questioned.

“The tricky part about living in Australia is that you’re removed from the rest of the world. I think he feels like he’s left out when he’s home. Like there’s almost no solidarity.” She spoke clearly.

“It’s not the same but I know the feeling. Sometimes it feels like everyone gets swept up in their own excitement and you get left behind easily.” He spoke quietly, Y/N murmuring in response. “What would you have me do?”.

She hesitated. “I think you guys need to lean on each other a little more. Like it is so important that you have a support system outside of your YouTube friends. But the reality is, there are so few people in the world who can relate to the pressure that you’re under.”

“I know.” He mumbled. “I know that feeling all too well.”

“I just worry that Lachlan’s not got anyone in his corner. Perks of being internationally challenged.” She stared at the morning sky ahead.

He nodded.

He understood.

—

A/N: Here we go! This seems to have the potential for a few more parts, but it might be a bit niche for those from other parts of the world. Would you still be interested in reading more? Feel free to share your thoughts!

As I mentioned, I’ve been off for a little while but I am back baby! Let me know what you’d like to read.

Lots o love,

Roc xx ✨

Also ngl this is heavily inspired by my friend @octaneink who mentioned the idea of the Sidemen coming to Aus in passing. Have turned it into a whole fic oops.

#willne #willne x reader #ask roc #roc haze #will lenney #uk youtuber

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f1boistrash · 11 months ago

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nowhere else i'd rather be | l.s

a/n: here is more of logan x verstappen!reader. i've also got another part in the works which i'm excited to start

summary: you comfort logan after the news broke that he wouldn't be racing in the australian grand prix

<- previous part

You were in the Red Bull garage when the news was announced. You had heard the rumors after Alex's crash in free practice one but you didn't think they would actually do it or at least you hoped they wouldn't. Williams had given Alex Logan's car for the rest of the weekend and you were angry.

You quietly left before anyone noticed, making your way to Logan's room for the weekend. No one batted an eye, too focused on getting the car ready for free practice two so you were able to sneak in. You found his room easily, the layout similar to Red Bulls garage, and knocked on the door. You heard some movement inside but no one came to open the door.

"Logan? It's me, Y/N." You tried again. You didn't want to just barge in but you also wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay. Well as okay as anyone can be in this situation.

"The doors open." You heard him mumble and you quickly slipped inside.

The sight before you broke your heart. Logan was sat on his couch, his head in his hands. He looked defeated. You sat down next to him, immediately wrapping your arms around him. It was like a dam broke inside as tears started falling. You held him tightly, your way of letting him know you weren't going anywhere. It took everything for you to not go in James' office and give him a piece of your mind for treating Logan like this.

It was a few minutes before Logan sat up, moving out of your arms. He brushed his hand over his face as if he was trying to hide the fact he was crying. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, too embarrassed to look at you.

"You don't need to apologize, Logan. What they did was shit. You have every right to be upset." You told him, placing your hand over his. "I don't ever wanna hear you apologize for your feelings, okay?"

"Thanks, Y/N." Logan thanked you, sending you what was probably the first genuine smile of the day. "You being here means a lot."

"There's no where else I'd rather be." You admitted, heat rising to your cheeks at your admission. Before you could hide, afraid you made the situation weird, Logan cupped your cheek and leaned forward. Neither of you had a chance to make a move before your phone went off, interrupting the moment. You cursed silently at your brother for choosing now to text you. "I should probably get going or Max will send out a search party."

"Yeah, I should probably show my face in the garage." Logan groaned. He didn't want to but knew he had to keep up appearances for the team.

"I'll text you later." You promised him as he walked you to the door. You hugged Logan goodbye and left but not before you bumped into Alex. "Hey Alex."

"Hey Y/N." He called after you. Alex then turned to Logan giving him a knowing smirk.

"We're just friends." Logan said, trying to convince himself more than anything because there was no way he could have a crush on a fellow drivers sister. Alex grinned at his teammate, not believing him one bit.

-x-

Logan was nervous. More nervous than he was before he got into his car on race days. He had no reason to though because you were just friends. That's what he kept telling himself, afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you. You had texted earlier that you were coming over to his hotel room, bringing food with you, and since then Logan was on edge. It felt like a date but you hadn't said anything to suggest it was.

A knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts. He opened the door and there you were, takeout bags in each hand and a grin on your face. It was enough for the nervousness Logan had to melt away. "I heard about this place from Oscar and he reckons its the best food in Melbourne. So if its bad we can just blame him." You said as you walked into his room. "And I know it may be breaking our diet but we can just do an extra lap of the track tomorrow." You rambled on, taking the boxes out of the bag. When Logan didn't say anything you looked up, seeing him softly smiling at you making you self conscious. "I'm overstepping, aren't I? I am so sorry. You probably want to be by yourself now after today. I'll leave you alone now."

"Please don't." Logan pleaded, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. He gently grabbed your hand to stop you from leaving his room. "I enjoy your company. In fact you're making this whole weekend bearable." Logan pulled you close, his nose brushing yours. "So please don't leave." He mumbled against your lips before kissing you. You melted into his kiss, forgetting any worries you had.

#logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #f1 imagine #f1

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overtake · 2 months ago

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Max and Daniel’s morning, pre Melbourne padel (~ 930 words) (also a factual and true account of events)

Max traces his hand along the delicate outline of Daniel’s collarbone. Beneath it, Daniel’s chest rises and falls in a steady, even rhythm, disrupted only by the occasional snore. There’s a thick layer of dark hair covering the place where his heart beats. It’s been ages since he stopped waxing, but Max never tires of the opportunity to see him as he was meant to be.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, in the end. The sun has long risen through the cracks in the curtains, highlighting the bump of Daniel’s nose, the few flecks of grey beginning around his temple, the little bare spot on his beard that Daniel had accidentally shaved when he meant to trim. Max’s fingers are still lightly following the shape of Daniel’s tattoos, halfway through the word ‘love’, when his eyelashes finally flutter.

Normally, Daniel is far more regulated about his sleep schedule than Max is and has usually lived half a day before Max wakes up. It’s the only advantage of Max’s jet lag; when they’re anywhere but home, Max gets to luxuriate in the experience of watching Daniel’s joy-lined face remember there’s a day ahead, before his eyes land on Max and shape back into the sleepy half-smile that’s for no one but them and hotel mornings. Max has watched him wake up a thousand times in a thousand places in a thousand ways, but ever finding it banal would be akin to growing bored with watching the sun rise.

“Good morning,” Daniels says, the greeting low and half lost while his throat remembers how to sound out words. He reaches out a relaxed arm, untwisting it from the cocoon of sheets to grab at Max’s hip. The black rose and tan fingers contrast against the white-pink skin that dimples under his touch, grabbing just enough that Max knows what Daniel is asking for.

He moves out of his cross-legged position to kneel over Daniel’s torso, each leg tight along the sides of his body. Daniel rests his hands on the top of Max’s thighs, moving his fingers tantalizingly slow. They brush the fine hair askew, dip under the tight black confines of his boxer briefs, circle around to the insides of his thighs and just barely graze the slow-growing bulge, before moving almost down to Max’s knees. Max shudders, goosebumps appearing with the lingering remnants of Daniel’s soft touches, before he finally seats himself on Daniel’s stomach and straddles him properly.

Daniel’s not as small as he once was, no longer forced to stay lean and lithe to force himself into a race car. He’s finally able to build muscle in the way he’s always wanted. Max likes him all ways, but he likes it the most when Daniel likes himself. He’s quiet about it, but Max can see it in the way Daniel lingers in the mirror a little longer, appreciating that his workout tops are slightly tighter around the bands of muscle and broader chest.

“Do you still have to be at the shop this morning?” Max asks when Daniel fully wraps his arms around Max’s lower back and lifts himself into a seated position with an exaggerated groan, burying his face into the junction of Max’s neck and shoulder. He nips at it playfully, then nods big enough that Max can feel the answer against his skin.

“Soon?” Max checks. They have padel plans this afternoon before Daniel has to leave the city, make his quiet exit back to his friends and family and farm and nothing that reminds him of the car that was meant to be his. When the clock strikes midnight into Thursday, they both want him away from the noise of this weekend.

“Soon,” Daniel confirms, adjusting Max slightly on his lap and pulling him impossibly closer. Max will make the brief stop to Perth after this, to feel the last rays of Australian summer as it morphs into autumn, in a place where neither of them have to remember racing and can leave behind the resentment of what could have been.

Daniel’s beard is slightly scratchy against Max’s neck, no doubt turning the sensitive skin pinker than the sun soon will. He smells of coconut shampoo and the slightly chemical hotel sheets.

They should take hurried advantage of these spare moments. Max of a few years ago can’t even fathom having an ounce of time with Daniel where someone’s not frantically getting off. He’s enjoying it, though. He could have intense sex with Daniel nonstop and never get bored of the intimacy, the luxury of knowing Daniel’s touch, but he doesn’t feel sick with the need anymore. Daniel is going nowhere. Daniel has run so many times, away from so much and toward the promise of all that has failed him, but he’s always come back to Max. They have forever to know the sounds of each other’s moans, the changing of their bodies and the years, the pride in knowing exactly what pushes the other over the edge. Even on a day where Daniel is leaving, there’s no urgency.

It starts slow and ends slow, Max rutting his hand against the grip of Daniel’s hand, Daniel rocking his hips under Max. Their release is quiet, a shuddered gasp of relief and peppered kisses. There’s no rush to the shower, either. Max has nowhere to be this morning, and Daniel’s commitments rank second on a day like this. Max rests his forehead against a soft head of curls, strokes the velvet soft skin of his back, and soaks peacefully in the rays of Daniel’s love.

#i have so many real fic ideas and yet im writing random things like this instead #also have sooo much work to do and wrote fic on a work computer instead lmfao #maxiel #fics

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taliaarchive · 11 days ago

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Greed on the Grid

☆ pairing. Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

☆ word count. 7.4k

☆ dedication. This is for the girls who still believe in soulmates- especially the kind found in the blur of a race car, beneath a helmet, or behind a quiet smile in the paddock. Maybe he’s wrapped in adrenaline and fireproof fabric. Maybe he’s Australian. Maybe his name is Oscar Piastri. This one’s for you. May you never stop believing that love- real, fierce, forever love- can find you exactly where you are.

☆ talia notes. Also, yes- look, I may have done extensive research on the bougiest, most luxurious, most outrageously expensive outfits for this story. But honestly, can you blame me? God forbid a girl likes fashion. If you want to see the whole wardrobe, it's all down below. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this story. x

☆ synopsis. "He didn’t see her- but I did. Walked in wearing a dress like forgiveness and eyes like war… and I knew I’d never look away again."

You. Beautiful. Loyal. Unshakeable. To the world, you were just the girl next door- Lando’s oldest friend, the one who stood quietly in the shadows of his spotlight. But behind every podium, every photo, every win... was you. The one who held him together. The one who loved him first. No one knows how hard it was to let him chase his dreams while you buried yours. But you never complained. Never let it show. Not even now, after eight years together, when something feels... off. You crossed oceans for him- crossed the line between friendship and forever. Only to find him kissing someone else beneath the same lights he once said were yours. And in that moment, something inside you shattered- and something stronger woke up. He was supposed to be the finish line. But maybe the race is only just beginning.

Oscar. Silent. Calculated. Watching. He saw you before anyone else ever truly did. Before the lights. Before the chaos. Before the heartbreak. You were never his to lose- but he’s been losing you slowly, secretly, painfully from the moment he realised what you meant to him. Oscar never meant to want what wasn’t his. But every time Lando looked away, he couldn’t stop looking. And when he saw you break that night, walking away without a word, wrapped in the silk and ruin of your love- he knew. He would fight for you. Even if it meant standing on the grid, ready to burn the world down for one more chance.

Chapter 1: Before the Storm

Song: "greedy" – Tate McRae

"Tonight, he would know you had crossed oceans for him- that when the world roared his name, you were still the girl whispering it first."

2:58 p.m. - London

Your hands trembled as they clutched the navy McLaren hoodie tighter around your body, fingers twisting the fabric in a desperate, unconscious knot against your chest. It wasn’t fear- not really. It was something far worse, far heavier. It was hope. Pure, electric, unbearable hope, fizzing and snapping beneath your skin until it felt like you might tear apart.

The television cast a flickering glow over the living room, painting the space in murky greys and papaya orange. Outside, true London rain tapped restlessly against the windowpanes, a ghostly echo of the scene unfolding thousands of miles away. The broadcast buzzed in front of you, Melbourne’s storm-drenched Albert Park shimmering under the harsh gleam of stadium floodlights. Rain clung to the track like a living thing- a silver sheen glossing every corner, turning braking zones into cruel, unpredictable battlegrounds.

You sat curled on the couch, barefoot, half-wrapped in the sleeves of his hoodie, heart hammering so violently it made your vision blur. The screen flashed- Lap 56/57. One lap left.

One lap standing between Lando and everything he had ever worked for.

He was leading. Still leading.

Somehow- against Max Verstappen’s newer tires, against Red Bull’s relentless machine, against everything stacked against him- he was still in front. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt like your ribs might crack under the pressure of it.

Your Lando.

Not the public figure beamed across television sets. Not the polished interviews or the sponsorship obligations. No- this was the boy from next door. The boy who used to race you with Hot Wheels across the garden hedges until your knees were stained green and your hair tangled from laughing too hard. The boy who had asked you to be his girlfriend at eighteen, stumbling over the words under the fairy lights he had strung up himself in his backyard, hands clammy with nerves even after a full rookie season in Formula 1. The boy you had loved- fiercely, tenderly, without condition- through every brutal crash, every broken front wing, every podium missed by a fraction of a second.

You knew Albert Park like the back of your hand- not from commentary or track maps, but from living it alongside him. You knew the way Turn 3 tempted desperate divebombs. You knew Turn 6 slicked with rainwater, how cruelly it spat cars out if they clipped the curb wrong. You knew Turn 11 was everything- the crux of the lap- because if you didn’t carry enough speed there, you were dead meat down the back straight.

And he was threading it.

Threading it through the chaos with a precision that made your breath catch.

The race had been carnage. Isack Hadjar’s crash on the formation lap, Jack Doohan’s wreckage only minutes later, Carlos Sainz spinning under the safety car in a moment so surreal you had gasped aloud. The air itself felt heavy, weighted down by the rain and the stakes. And still, there he was. Still leading.

Verstappen’s DRS light blinked furiously behind him- a siren in the mist, a shark circling its prey.

You leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the couch so hard your knuckles turned white. "Defend inside into Turn 3," you whispered, voice shaking, almost praying. "Protect it. Don’t open the door."

You could barely hear the commentary buzzing in your ears anymore, barely notice the excited crescendo of Croft and Brundle. Your world had narrowed to one trembling, electric line- Lando’s papaya McLaren cutting through the mist, defying every odd, every whisper of doubt.

The final sector.

You rose to your feet without realizing it, toes sinking into the thick carpet, the hoodie sliding down one bare shoulder. The blood rushed in your ears, drowning out everything but the rhythmic slam of your own heart against your ribs.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

The camera switched to his on-board feed- the visor cam- and for a second you were right there with him. You could see the tiny corrections in his gloved hands as he feathered the throttle, the calculated lift into Turn 13, the delicate kiss of the apex at Turn 14. You could practically feel the car squirming beneath him, every twitch a symphony of trust between man and machine.

And then- The line.

The flash of the checkered flag slicing through the Melbourne rain.

The screen erupted with color, noise, chaos, but your body stayed frozen- paralysed for one long, suspended second- until the reality crashed over you in a tidal wave:

"Lando Norris wins the 2025 Australian Grand Prix!"

The breath ripped out of your chest. The cushion you had been hugging slipped from your arms and hit the floor with a soft, forgotten thud. You choked on a sob that had been buried so deep inside you, you hadn’t even realized it was there.

On the screen, you watched him cross the finish line, his McLaren slicing through the storm as if he had carved open the sky itself. His helmet glittered under the stadium lights as he punched both fists into the air so hard it looked like he could tear a hole straight into the stars. The McLaren pit wall exploded in orange and blue- engineers screaming, mechanics vaulting over barriers, Zak Brown practically crying into his radio.

You pressed a hand to your chest. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel the raw, blinding joy tearing through you.

And then, through the crackling radio feed, came the sound that shattered you completely: Lando’s voice- rough, broken, triumphant- filling the living room like a lifeline.

"We fucking did it, boys. Thank you. Thank you!"

Tears blurred your vision until the living room dissolved into a smear of grey and orange and white. You sank to your knees on the carpet, pressing your forehead into the sleeves of his hoodie, clutching at the only thing you could still hold onto.

You had never loved anyone this much. Not even close.

Every second of doubt, every moment you had spent praying he would get his shot- it all exploded inside you in a messy, beautiful flood. You needed to be there. Not tomorrow. Not next week.

Now.

You surged to your feet, still dizzy with the magnitude of it all. Your suitcase lay open by the door, half-packed, waiting, just in case. You moved on instinct, hands trembling, heart pounding, throwing essentials into the RIMOWA Classic Cabin, mind already racing ahead.

You had to go. You had to be there. Because when he looked for someone in the crowd tonight- someone who had believed in him when no one else did- it had to be you.

It had only ever been you.

── .✦

4:05 p.m. - Packing for Melbourne

You chose your clothes with meticulous care- every piece intentional, every detail a whisper of who you were, and who you hoped to be when you saw him again.

For the airport, you wanted something practical but striking, luxury stitched into every seam without appearing forced. You pulled on your Balmain Logo-Detailing Flared Washed Jeans, their fitted waist and dramatic flare sculpting your figure like you had stepped off a runway. The subtle Balmain embroidery at the hip, visible just beneath your top, gave away your secret to those with the eyes to notice. You paired it with an Alaïa Cotton jersey Crop Top in smooth black, sleek and sculpted, with a square neckline and snug fit that hugged your frame like a second skin. Its minimalist cut contrasted effortlessly with the relaxed flare of your jeans, refined yet effortlessly cool.

Over it, you layered something infinitely more personal- his McLaren F1 Team Hoodie from the 2024 season. The grey cotton was worn and softened by time; the papaya orange logo stitched proudly across the chest. It still carried the faded scents of sunscreen, pit lanes, and bittersweet adrenaline, clinging to it like a memory you hadn’t realized you missed until now.

For shoes, you wore the rare and coveted Dior x Air Jordan 1 Retro High OG Sneakers, crafted in soft Dior grey and white calfskin leather, with the iconic swoosh detailed in the Dior Oblique pattern. They weren’t just sneakers; they were a statement, one that grounded your look in effortless cool.

You slipped on Celine Triomphe Oval Sunglasses in sleek black acetate, hiding the glint of nerves behind your lenses, and carried the structured Saint Laurent Manhattan Bag in black box leather, its understated gold hardware gleaming subtly under the terminal lights.

Inside the Saint Laurent bag, you packed the essentials no woman travels without. Nestled inside was a Dior Addict Lip Glow Balm, a Dior Lip Maximizer Plumping Gloss, and a Chanel Rouge Coco Flash Lipstick- the full arsenal for your signature lip combination. A Chanel La Crème Main Hand Cream rested beside a travel-sized Diptyque Eau Rose Eau de Toilette, tucked neatly against a Gucci Beauty Miniature Brush and Mirror Set. You carried a slim Aesop Resurrection Rinse-Free Hand Sanitiser, the earthy scent a comfort mid-flight, and a pack of Tatcha Aburatorigami Japanese Blotting Papers to keep your skin fresh. A mini bottle of Moroccanoil Treatment Light and a Slip Silk Skinny Scrunchie Set in neutral shades completed the carefully curated collection- everything you might need, right at your fingertips.

Trailing behind you, your suitcase rolled smoothly across the polished airport floors- a RIMOWA Classic Cabin Carry-On in gleaming silver aluminium, its surface scuffed in a way that spoke of places travelled and memories collected, but still gleaming like new under the lights.

Inside your suitcase, packed with precision, was the centrepiece of it all: the dress. The Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown was a vision of ethereal beauty- strapless, with a soft sweetheart neckline, melting from luminous ivory at the bodice into a deep, romantic plum at the hem. The fitted bodice sculpted your waist gently, before dissolving into endless floating layers of silk chiffon that caught the light with every movement. It was a dress meant for once-in-a-lifetime moments. If everything went to plan, you would wear it tonight- when you surprised him at the rooftop celebration.

For the gown, you packed the perfect companions. You had chosen Jimmy Choo Minny Metallic Leather Sandals in silver, their barely-there straps shimmering like a second skin. Harry Winston Winston Cluster Diamond Earrings (in a small size) would catch the rooftop lights like stars caught in your hair. Around your wrist, you would clasp your Cartier Love Bracelet in polished white gold, a whisper of timeless elegance. Resting just above your heart, the Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace in white gold would gleam, subtle and personal.

For the final touch, you packed two evening clutches: The Judith Leiber Couture Slim Slide Mother-of-Pearl Clutch, delicate and shimmering with every movement, and the Jimmy Choo Cloud Crystal-Embellished Metallic Clutch, a dazzling constellation of tiny, hand-placed crystals.

Your wardrobe beyond the gown had been chosen with the same careful thought.

For lazy, sunlit mornings and relaxed brunches, you packed the Zimmermann Illuminate Midi Dress- an ivory, tropical-inspired linen piece that drapes effortlessly around the body, capturing the softness of a summer breeze. To complete the look, you considered two elegant shoe options. The CHANEL Calfskin Pearls Sling-back Sandals in Cream, with their delicate pearl accents and vintage-inspired design, offered a graceful, feminine touch that blended seamlessly with the dress’s romantic silhouette. Alternatively, the Manolo Blahnik Shbealo 70MM Buckle-Detailed Leather Sandals, crafted in smooth ivory leather with a signature buckle detail, brought a refined modernity to the ensemble, perfect for elevating a casual morning into something quietly luxurious.

You paired the look with the Loewe Small Basket Bag, woven from straw and finished with tan calfskin leather straps- an artisanal piece that echoed the natural, effortless charm of the outfit. For a slightly more structured alternative, the Celine Ava Bag in natural textile and tan leather offered a softly sculpted silhouette with timeless appeal. Your accessories remained intentionally delicate: the Van Cleef & Arpels Sweet Alhambra Bracelet in mother-of-pearl added a subtle shimmer with each movement, while Missoma Mini Hoop Earrings in gold provided a gentle glint near your cheeks.

To protect your face from the sun while maintaining polished elegance, you opted for the Eugenia Kim Mirabel Wide-Brim Straw Hat in natural and ivory- its oversized silhouette and silk ribbon band creating a dreamy, garden-party finish. For sunglasses, you chose the Celine Triomphe Oval Sunglasses in Nude Acetate, their soft frame blending seamlessly with the palette of creams, ivories, and warm neutrals, offering just the right touch of understated luxury.

As a backup for spontaneous city strolls, you folded the Zimmermann Halliday Scalloped Floral Linen Midi Dress into your suitcase. With its delicate embroidery and scalloped edges, this dress evokes a romantic, countryside charm. To match its softness, you selected the Manebi Yucatan Raffia Platform Sandals- light, comfortable, and just elevated enough for a gentle lift. For a more playful alternative, the Aquazzura Aloha Flat Sandals in soft blush leather with subtle floral embellishments perfectly echo the dress’s mood. For accessories, you opted for the Chanel Deauville Small Canvas Tote in light pink- a feminine carryall that balances practicality and beauty.

Alternatively, the Valentino Garavani Rockstud Straw Shoulder Bag adds a touch of edginess to the otherwise sweet ensemble. Delicate jewelry was essential. You wore the Tiffany & Co. T Wire Bracelet in rose gold for a clean, refined wrist accent, and adorned your ears with Sophie Bille Brahe Petite Perle Splash Earrings, their soft pearls curving elegantly along the lobe. Finishing the look, you packed your Linda Farrow square-frame sunglasses, lending a subtle vintage appeal. A Zimmermann Straw Sun Hat with a floral silk scarf tied around the crown completed the outfit, perfect for meandering through city streets or browsing weekend markets.

For evenings under starlight, you packed the Zimmermann Tama Lace-Up Corset Top paired with the Tama Wrap Midi Skirt- a flirtatious yet refined ensemble that flowed with romantic ease. You completed the look with the Gianvito Rossi Flavia mirrored leather sandals, their delicate gold straps winding elegantly up your ankles like liquid light, perfect for a slow evening stroll or an intimate rooftop moment. Around your neck, you wore the Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace in yellow gold, its single diamond catching the light like a secret, while your ears sparkled with Van Cleef & Arpels Sweet Alhambra Earrings in mother-of-pearl. On your wrist, a single Cartier Juste un Clou Bracelet in yellow gold added a sleek, quietly rebellious edge. You carried the Bottega Veneta Mini Jodie in ivory Intrecciato leather, its sculptural shape and soft tone bringing the entire look together with a whisper of understated luxury.

Inside your Louis Vuitton Nice BB Vanity Case, you had packed your entire beauty routine: Armani Luminous Silk Foundation, NARS Radiant Creamy Concealer, Charlotte Tilbury Airbrush Flawless Finish Powder, Dior Rosy Glow Blush, Rare Beauty Soft Pinch Liquid Blush, a Tom Ford Eye Color Quad in Honeymoon, Lancôme Monsieur Big Mascara, and your faithful Anastasia Beverly Hills Brow Wiz. Your favourite Pat McGrath Labs Lip Balm, an extra YSL Rouge Volupté Shine Lipstick, and an Hourglass Veil Setting Spray completed the essentials.

Your haircare wasn’t forgotten either. You tucked in a Mason Pearson Pocket Bristle Brush, a Tangle Teezer Compact Styler, mini bottles of Oribe Gold Lust Dry Shampoo, and Gisou Honey Infused Hair Oil. Your Dyson Supersonic Travel Dryer, with its compact diffuser, lay carefully cushioned inside a protective case. For tech, you packed your Apple AirPods Max in silver, your iPhone charger, your MacBook, the charger for your MacBook, and a slim Mophie PowerStation for emergencies.

Tucked within a special pouch was your perfume collection: Your signature Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540 Eau de Parfum, and a travel-sized vial of Byredo Gypsy Water, in case you needed something lighter to suit the mood.

At the very heart of your suitcase, nestled between folds of soft silk, lay the most precious item of all. You reached for it with careful fingers, cradling it in your palm like it might dissolve if you held it too tightly- a custom Cartier bracelet, designed especially for you by Lando for your twenty-first birthday.

It was a reimagining of the classic Cartier Love Bracelet- slimmed down, sleeker, forged in brushed 18k white gold, with a single, hidden pavé diamond set discreetly along the inner band. Inside, pressed against the metal so intimately that only you could ever see it, was the engraving in his unmistakable handwriting:

Always, L.

He had chosen white gold intentionally, once smiling across a candlelit dinner and murmuring in a voice low and certain, "You’re more moonlight than sunshine."

You turned the bracelet over in your hands, thumb brushing over the groove of the engraving, feeling the small ridge where his words had been etched into permanence. You had meant to pack it. You had meant to tuck it away, safe and hidden, waiting for the right moment to wear it.

But now, standing there with the city still sleeping outside the window and your heart racing faster than you could breathe, the thought of locking it away felt unbearable. Wrong.

You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist instead, the clasp clicking shut with a soft, certain sound that echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room. It wasn’t just jewellery. It was a tether. A memory. A piece of his soul wrapped around your wrist- a silent vow you carried with you across oceans, across time, across every impossible mile you had crossed just to find your way back to him.

You pressed your fingers lightly over the cool metal, whispering a promise that only the dark could hear.

Soon.

And with that, you zipped the suitcase closed, your pulse steadying just a little beneath the weight of him, of it, of everything still waiting ahead.

── .✦

8:38 p.m. - Heathrow Airport

The terminal glowed under the soft burnish of late afternoon light, each golden ray filtering through the enormous glass walls like the last breath of a dying day. Heathrow’s First-Class check-in wing gleamed beneath it- polished marble floors that mirrored the haze of travellers drifting by the low murmur of hushed voices blending with the occasional crisp rustle of designer coats and the smooth glide of luxury luggage wheels across the floor.

Everything around you felt suspended, weightless- a muted world cocooned by sterile luxury and quiet urgency. You barely heard any of it. Your breath came shallowly, caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, as you stepped up to the counter. The staff worked quickly, practiced smiles and efficiency wrapping around you like an invisible force field. You didn’t even remember offering your passport; it was muscle memory at this point.

A few taps, a few clicks- and then it was there. British Airways Flight 009 to Melbourne. Seat 2A. First Class.

The boarding pass was warm against your palms, almost fragile, as if it could vanish if you blinked too hard. You stared down at the print, tracing the letters with your fingertips, grounding yourself in the reality of it. You were going. You were really doing this.

The walk to the lounge felt dreamlike- a slow drift through glass tunnels and soft-lit hallways, past walls of curated perfumes and champagne bottles, past sharply dressed executives tapping rapidly at their phones. You didn’t belong to their world right now. You weren’t thinking about meetings or miles or private lounges. You were thinking about him.

In the First-Class lounge, you found an armchair tucked against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a quiet corner where you could disappear. You sank into the deep leather, the rich scent of polished hide and fresh coffee wrapping around you. The McLaren hoodie you wore- his hoodie- felt like armour, soft and worn, familiar against the antiseptic coldness of the airport.

A staff member offered you a glass of champagne; you took it automatically, the stem thin and cool against your fingers. You sipped once. Mechanically. Barely tasting the expensive bubbles. Your foot bounced restlessly against the floor, tapping out the frantic rhythm of your heart.

You pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up your face in the gathering dusk.

No text from Lando.

You let out a slow, shaking breath. Strange. But it was fine. You wanted the surprise to be clean- raw- the moment unspoiled by warnings or hints.

Opening Instagram felt dangerous, but you couldn’t help yourself. You found his tag page immediately- it was flooded. Blurred, shaky photos from the grandstands, official team shots of McLaren’s pit wall exploding in a riot of color and cheers, close-ups of Lando soaked in podium champagne, laughing, overwhelmed, alive. You zoomed in on one. His helmet was off, hair damp and curling slightly, eyes alight in a way you hadn’t seen in so long- pure, unfiltered joy.

A tremble passed through you.

Tonight, he would see you. Tonight, he would know you had crossed oceans for him- that when the world roared his name, you were still the girl whispering it first.

You tucked your phone away carefully, cradling it in your hands like it was something precious. Outside the windows, planes taxied in slow, lumbering lines across the runways, bathed in the orange aftermath of sunset. You pressed your forehead lightly against the glass, watching one jet’s engines kick up spirals of mist, the sheer force of it rumbling through the ground into your bones.

It felt like your whole life had been distilled into this single, breathless wait.

── .✦

9:10 p.m. - Boarding the Flight

The boarding call was a low murmur over the speakers, almost lost beneath the steady hum of travellers and the clink of glassware. You rose without thinking, moving on autopilot, guided by something older and deeper than logic.

The private jet bridge unfurled in front of you- carpeted, silent, intimate- a hallway of muted golds and off-whites, far from the chaos of the main gates. Your sneakers, worn and beloved, barely whispered against the floors as you walked.

The first-class cabin of the 777 wrapped around you like a cocoon. It smelled faintly of fresh linen, wood polish, and something sharper underneath- jet fuel, ambition, the pulse of far-off places. The soft lighting above cast everything in a warm, golden glow, blurring the harsh edges of reality.

You found your seat- 2A- and slid into it slowly, as if afraid you might somehow wake from all of this if you moved too fast. The seat- wide enough to swallow you whole- was lined with pale cashmere blankets and an oversized pillow embroidered with the airline’s crest. You tucked yourself into the corner, knees folding up against your chest, cocooned in Lando’s hoodie and the thick blanket, seeking comfort in the small pocket of space you had carved for yourself.

A flight attendant approached, offering another glass of champagne or a pressed juice, her smile serene. You shook your head politely, barely managing to find your voice.

You didn’t want anything. You didn’t need anything.

You pulled the hood up over your hair, shutting out the world, curling deeper into the seat until the low thrum of the engines became the only sound you could focus on.

As the plane taxied slowly down the runway, your fingers found the edge of your boarding pass, still tucked into the pocket of your hoodie. You rubbed the corner absently, grounding yourself.

You closed your eyes.

You pictured him.

You imagined the exact moment he would see you- imagined the disbelief flashing across his face, the way his mouth would part slightly, eyes wide with shock before breaking into that smile that still, after all these years, undid you completely.

You pictured the way his arms would wrap around you- tight, desperate, like he couldn’t believe you were real- the way he would press his forehead to yours, maybe even laugh out loud, breathless with it.

You clung to that image like a lifeline, holding it fiercely against your heart as the plane’s engines roared into life, the force of take-off pushing you back into your seat.

Outside the window, London disappeared into a dark, starless sky.

You didn’t look back.

You were going forward. Toward him. Toward home.

I’m coming, Lando. I’m coming home.

── .✦

3:10 a.m. - Melbourne Airport

The landing gear struck the wet tarmac with a muted thud, jolting you awake in your seat. For a moment you weren’t sure where you were- the cabin lights had dimmed into a soft, dusky blue, casting long shadows over the first-class cabin, and for a few precious seconds, you floated somewhere between dream and reality.

Then you remembered: Melbourne. You had crossed the world for him.

The plane taxied slowly, its tires sending up thin sprays of mist from the slick runway. Outside the small oval window, the city slumbered under a heavy black sky, scattered with the distant flicker of runway lights and the faint neon buzz of terminals still alive at this impossible hour. There were no crowds waiting at the gates. No frantic rush of travellers. Just the slow, lonely shuffle of the few who had dared to fly this far, this late.

You sat back, clutching the edge of Lando’s McLaren hoodie closer around your body, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the scent of worn cotton and faint detergent wrapping around you like armour. The world outside was dark and wet and unfamiliar, but inside the cocoon of his hoodie, he still felt close- as if you could reach back across oceans and find him again.

── .✦

3:42 a.m. - Immigration and Baggage Claim

The terminal was near-empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above your head as you moved through the deserted corridors. The echo of your sneakers tapping against the polished floors was the only real sound, aside from the distant whir of baggage carousels starting up.

At immigration, there was no line. No waiting. The officer barely glanced at you before stamping your passport, his expression blank, almost mechanical in his exhaustion.

You clutched your passport and boarding pass tightly in your hand as you made your way to baggage claim. The RIMOWA carousel had already started its slow, rhythmic churn, the few suitcases tumbling onto the belt under the harsh white lights. You spotted yours almost instantly- the familiar silver glint catching your eye like a beacon. You hauled it down with trembling fingers, the adrenaline of the landing still fizzing in your veins.

The air inside the terminal smelled of rain and concrete and something faintly metallic- like all the stories of arrivals and departures lingering in the walls, long after the people had gone.

You adjusted your grip on the handle, your movements automatic but shaky. The hotel was waiting. And somewhere beyond the shrouded skyline, so was he.

── .✦

4:05 a.m. - Arrivals Hall

The automatic doors sighed open, spilling you into the cold, wet embrace of the Melbourne morning.

Rain misted down steadily from the black sky, catching the halo of the terminal’s floodlights and turning the air silver. The parking bays stretched out in orderly rows, mostly empty at this hour except for a handful of waiting chauffeurs and blinking cab lights.

A black Mercedes-Maybach idled at the curb- understated but unmistakably luxurious, its sleek chassis beaded with rainwater, its tinted windows glowing faintly from the interior lights. The driver stepped forward, wordless, taking your suitcase with practiced efficiency. You murmured a soft thank you, your voice hoarse from hours of disuse, and slid into the backseat.

The leather was cool and soft against your palms. The door closed with a whisper, sealing you into silence.

── .✦

4:09 a.m. - Driving into Melbourne

The car glided away from the curb, tires slicing through thin puddles on the asphalt. Outside, the world blurred- wet roads reflecting the broken lines of streetlights, vacant sidewalks glistening under the rain.

The city was sleeping. Shadows loomed large against the abandoned shopfronts and shuttered cafés. Stoplights blinked lazily through the mist, throwing splashes of red and green across the empty intersections. It was a different Melbourne than the one most people knew- stripped of its bustle, its noise- left raw and soft and waiting.

Inside the car, you sat folded into yourself, forehead pressed lightly to the window. The cold seeped into your skin, but you barely felt it.

Your fingers found the bracelet on your wrist without thinking- the slim, custom Cartier band Lando had given you, the hidden engraving pressed close to your pulse. Always, L.

You turned it slowly against your skin, grounding yourself. You weren’t dreaming. You were here. You were closer than you had been in what felt like forever.

The rain picked up, drumming a soft, steady rhythm against the roof of the car.

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing it all in. The clean, rain-drenched scent of the city. The ache of exhaustion curling in your bones. The way your heart leapt higher with every passing street, every flicker of neon dragging you closer to him.

4:28 a.m. - Hotel Arrival

The Maybach pulled up to the hotel’s private entrance- a hidden driveway lit by discreet wall sconces, the pavement slick and shining in the rain. The building towered above you- sleek glass and stone wrapped in soft golden lights- a quiet fortress against the sleeping city.

The concierge opened the door before you even reached it, ushering you inside with a soft nod, respectful of the late hour. The lobby was dim, lit only by pools of warm light spilling from under marble pillars. Fresh-cut orchids perfumed the air- crisp, sweet, and a little dizzying after the cold outside.

You barely heard the check-in process. You simply nodded, signed where they pointed, accepted the card key with numb fingers.

Room 1703.

Your suitcase bumped softly behind you as you crossed the marble floor toward the elevators.

The silence inside the elevator was absolute- a velvet hush broken only by the soft mechanical hum of the ascent. You watched your reflection in the polished steel walls- wide eyes, tangled hair, the hoodie drowning your frame, making you look smaller, younger, infinitely more breakable.

You tightened your grip on the suitcase handle until your knuckles whitened.

You could do this. You had come all this way. You could wait just a little longer.

── .✦

4:41 a.m. - Inside the Hotel Room

The suite exhaled around you when you stepped inside, its air thick with stillness and something unspoken- something trembling just beneath the quiet. You let the door click shut behind you, setting the RIMOWA suitcase down by the wall with a dull thud that seemed too loud in the sleeping city.

For a moment, you simply stood there, the weight of the day- the weight of all the days that had led you here- pressing down until your shoulders sagged under it. The air smelled faintly of rain and new carpet and a hint of something floral- orchids maybe, tucked into some hidden corner you couldn't see.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Melbourne stretched endlessly, blurred and silvered by mist and the steady pulse of city lights. It didn’t feel like a city at all; it felt like a dream suspended just beyond the glass, waiting.

You crossed the room slowly, your body heavy with the ache of travel, the emotional whiplash of hope and fear and longing. The McLaren hoodie slid from your shoulders almost reverently, as if it, too, understood that its job was done- at least for now. You draped it over the velvet armchair carefully, smoothing out the sleeves. A promise laid down like a marker in the night.

Peeling off your sneakers and socks felt like shedding the final layers of the journey you had fought through to get here. You padded barefoot across the thick carpet, the fibres soft and springy under your toes, the kind of luxury you had once imagined sharing with him during late-night hotel stays after long races. The memories twisted sharp and sweet in your chest.

At the window, you pressed your forehead to the cool glass, your breath misting it into a ghostly circle.

The city below looked endless. And somewhere in that sea of light and darkness, he was laughing, living, shining in the way you always knew he could.

You closed your eyes and whispered it- a prayer, a vow, a simple, sacred truth: "I'm here, Lando."

You turned away, the cold of the window still biting your skin, and crawled onto the bed without even peeling back the covers. The weight of the hotel duvet swallowed you whole, cocooning you, making you feel both protected and heartbreakingly small.

Sleep pulled at you hard, but excitement fought it- a tremulous, burning thing that kept your hands clenched in the fabric of the blanket, your heart hammering in your chest.

Somewhere in the folds of consciousness, you remembered the alarm you had set- the one you had double-checked three times before collapsing into bed. The thought comforted you in a strange way, like he had somehow helped guide you here across all the miles.

You pressed your face deeper into the pillow.

In a few short hours, you would stand before him again. And for the first time in too long, you would be exactly where you belonged.

Home.

── .✦

4:45 p.m. - Waking Up

The alarm cut through the silence with a sharp, vibrating buzz, dragging you up from the bottom of sleep. You surfaced slowly, your body stiff and sluggish, but your mind was already leaping ahead- the tidal wave of nerves and hope crashing back into you all at once.

You sat up groggily, rubbing your hands over your face, the bracelet cool and solid against your wrist- the same way it had been when you first fastened it on back in London.

The room was bathed in golden dusk now, the city outside beginning to pulse alive as lights flickered on in office buildings and cars began to thread through the wet streets below.

You rose from the bed carefully, every movement deliberate, almost ceremonial. Today mattered. Every second of it.

You moved toward the bathroom, feeling the thick carpet drag against your toes, grounding you in the here and now.

── .✦

5:01 p.m. - The Shower

The bathroom lights buzzed faintly as you flicked them on. The marble gleamed under the soft lighting, pristine, untouched, like a sanctuary you were about to step into.

You turned the shower on full blast, waiting until the bathroom filled with steam, clouding the mirror, blurring the edges of reality into something softer, something kinder.

The water was almost scalding when you stepped beneath it- just the way you liked it- the heat burning the remnants of exhaustion from your skin.

You stood there for a moment, letting it pound against your back, against your face, against the trembling place where hope lived just under your ribcage.

You reached for your Oribe Gold Lust Repair & Restore Shampoo, the scent of bergamot and jasmine immediately filling the air, reminding you faintly of the nights you used to steal his shirts just to smell him longer. You lathered it into your scalp, massaging in slow, thorough circles, feeling the weight of the journey wash away with every pass of your fingers.

You rinsed and followed with Oribe Gold Lust Conditioner, combing it gently through the ends, smoothing the frayed pieces of yourself back into something whole.

Next, you reached for Nécessaire The Body Wash in Sandalwood, pouring it into your hands and working it into a thick lather across your skin. The scent- rich, woodsy, grounding- wrapped around you, pulling you into your body, reminding you that you were real, that tonight was real.

When it came time to shave, you slowed down even further- spreading the Flamingo Foaming Shave Gel in soft, luxurious layers across your legs, your arms, every inch of you that the silk gown would touch. The razor slid smoothly, leaving your skin pristine, impossibly soft.

You even shaved your underarms, the backs of your knees, your toes- every tiny detail- the way you always did when it mattered most. You remembered racing mornings, getting ready to watch him, shaving carefully so you could wear shorts, feeling that same wild, giddy hope fluttering under your skin.

You rinsed off one final time, letting the water run down your body like a blessing.

When you finally stepped out onto the marble floor, the air outside the shower was freezing against your overheated skin, goosebumps blooming instantly. You wrapped yourself in a thick towel, hugging it around your chest, standing in the lingering steam.

── .✦

5:33 p.m. - Haircare

You towel-dried your hair gently, careful not to rough it up, before smoothing a few pumps of Gisou Honey Infused Hair Oil through the strands- the sweet, summery scent curling around your wrists.

You misted Oribe Royal Blowout Spray next, lifting sections of hair and smoothing it through. You wanted your hair soft, luminous, undone but perfect- like the kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard.

You blow-dried it slowly, using your Dyson Supersonic with the smoothing nozzle, letting the strands fall into place like silk ribbons across your shoulders.

When you were finished, you ran your fingers through the waves- soft, loose, romantic- letting it tumble naturally around your collarbones, the way it used to when he first started staring at you a little too long when you laughed.

── .✦

6:03 p.m. - Skincare Ritual

You padded barefoot back to the vanity, towel wrapped loosely around you, your reflection fogged slightly in the mirror from the lingering heat.

You picked up the small jar of La Mer The Cleansing Gel, smoothing it over your skin in delicate circles, washing away the last remnants of flight fatigue and city grime. The familiar scent- soft, clean, oceanic- wrapped around you, and for a moment, it felt like London again. The nights you'd spend meticulously preparing for his races, lining up tiny bottles on a hotel vanity just like this one, stealing moments to yourself before the world demanded everything from you both.

You patted your skin dry with a plush towel and reached next for the Augustinus Bader the Essence, pressing it into your cheeks, your forehead, your chin- feeling your skin drink it in like parched earth finding rain.

Then came La Mer the Concentrate, warmed between your fingers, smoothed along the lines of your face. It left your skin plump, luminous, alive- as if lighting it from within.

Finally, you sealed everything in with a thick layer of La Mer Crème de la Mer, pressing it into your skin slowly, methodically, the way someone might smooth the petals of a precious flower.

You took your time. You let the ritual soothe the tremble in your hands. You let it remind you that you were real- that tonight was real.

── .✦

6:32 p.m. - Choosing the Lingerie

You crossed to your suitcase and unzipped the second compartment carefully- the one you had packed with trembling hands back in London.

Your fingers brushed over delicate fabric- the La Perla white lace set you had chosen specifically for tonight.

You lifted it from the folds of tissue paper like it might disintegrate if you weren’t gentle- soft white lace, nearly translucent, stitched into the lightest whisper of a bra and a matching set of barely-there panties.

You held it against your skin for a moment, feeling the lace catch lightly on your fingertips.

Wearing white tonight- not black, not red- had been a choice. A statement. A promise. You weren't here to seduce him.

You were here to come home to him.

You slipped into the lingerie slowly, savouring the feeling of the delicate fabric against your freshly shaven skin, the cool lace moulding to your body like a second, secret layer of confidence.

You caught your reflection briefly in the mirror and smiled- soft, shy, a little sad. He had once called you his angel in a hotel room just like this one- half-laughing, half-awed, his hands clumsy with wonder. You wondered if he would think of that time tonight, maybe even say those same words to you again.

You hoped he would.

── .✦

6:50 p.m. - Dressing

You turned to the bed where the dress waited, draped carefully across the covers like something sacred.

The Oscar de la Renta Ombré Silk Chiffon Gown looked even more ethereal in the dying light- the gradient from ivory to plum so soft it seemed painted by hand, the silk rippling as if breathing on its own.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted it.

You stepped into the gown slowly, pulling it up over your hips, letting the bodice Mold to your curves with the ease of something inevitable.

The silk slid over your skin like a sigh, the fitted sweetheart neckline framing your collarbones, the delicate cinch of the waist pulling you into shape without suffocating.

The skirt floated around your ankles, weightless, moving with every shift of your body like mist.

You stood still for a moment, just feeling it- the weight, the movement, the dream of it- and for a split second, you felt like you were suspended between two worlds: the girl who had left London with nothing but hope, and the woman who was about to change everything.

You slipped into the Jimmy Choo Minny Metallic Leather Sandals, the silver straps gleaming subtly against your ankles.

Then the accessories- The Harry Winston Cluster Diamond Earrings, each stone catching the light and throwing it back in tiny, perfect flares. The Boucheron Serpent Bohème Pendant Necklace, the diamond resting lightly against the soft hollow of your throat.

The Cartier Love Bracelet still circled your wrist- silent, steady, his promise hidden against your pulse.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and froze.

You looked... unearthly.

Soft and strong at once. Romantic and real. The kind of beauty that didn't shout, but simply stood there, unshakable, undeniable.

You swallowed hard against the sudden lump rising in your throat.

Tonight, he would see you.

And he would remember exactly what it meant to have ever let you go.

── .✦

7:15 p.m. - Makeup

You sat at the vanity again, the mirror catching the fading light as you began your makeup with careful, reverent hands.

You buffed Armani Luminous Silk Foundation in sheer layers, letting the natural glow of your skin shine through. You dotted NARS Radiant Creamy Concealer only where you needed it- under your eyes, around your nose- blending it until it disappeared completely.

You swept a soft veil of Charlotte Tilbury Airbrush Flawless Finish Powder over your T-zone, leaving the rest of your skin dewy and luminous.

For blush, you chose Dior Rosy Glow, brushing it high across your cheekbones- a soft bloom of color, as if you had just come in from laughing too hard in the cold.

Your eyes stayed understated- a gentle wash of champagne shimmer from your Tom Ford Eye Quad, deepened with the faintest trace of warm brown in the crease, just enough to make your eyes look larger, more awake.

You curled your lashes and coated them with a single, defining sweep of Lancôme Monsieur Big Mascara- letting your lashes fan out like wings.

Your brows were brushed up softly with Anastasia Beverly Hills Brow Gel, left natural and untouched, because you wanted every part of you to feel real.

And your lips- You layered Dior Addict Lip Glow, then a kiss of Dior Lip Maximizer Gloss. Your mouth looked soft, flushed, kissable- like a secret waiting to be told.

── .✦

7:55 p.m. - Perfume

You uncapped the slim travel bottle of Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540, holding it between your fingers like a final piece of armour.

You misted it behind your knees, at your wrists, at the base of your throat, at the small of your back. Not too much- just enough that when he pulled you into his arms, he'd breathe it in and know, instantly, that it was you.

You closed your eyes and let the scent settle into your skin, the silk of your gown, the hollow of your collarbones.

You were ready.

No- You were more than ready.

You were inevitable.

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no-144444 · 2 months ago

Text

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

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“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him.

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.”

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot.

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner.

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.”

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up.

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it.

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.”

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject.

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.”

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm.

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.”

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful.

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth.

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.”

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?”

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?”

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.”

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book.

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair.

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book.

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.”

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled.

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.”

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled.

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.”

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained.

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?”

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged.

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them.

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued.

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.”

They were both quiet.

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.”

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar.

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.”

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!”

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed.

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.”

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected.

“Cool,” he smiled.

“Cool,” you mirrored.

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

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pierregazly · 1 year ago

Text

a hug from you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x afab!reader

warnings: reader dealing with period pain, long-distance relationship, mostly fluff [1022 words]

request: heyyy could you do "you look like you could use a hug" + "it will be better in the morning" from the 💗 list? with oscar piastri please!

The heating pad was pressed against your abdomen, the warmth radiating through your body as you clutched it closer to you. The cramps were heinous, they always were the first two days of your cycle. The headaches and back pain that had started to accompany the cramps just an extra frustration.

The pain had started earlier in the day, after an already-nightmare start to the morning. From the coffee that had slipped off the counter early in the morning, mug shattering across the floor, to the package of paper that had flown off your desk later in the afternoon - it felt like everything was slowly getting worse and piling up as the day progressed.

This agonizing pain radiating from your uterus was simply the icing on the cake. Tears had already been irrationally shed, junk food consumed. All you wanted to do now was curl up on the couch with the heating pad and a blanket, maybe a few snacks, and the television on to whatever sad show you could find.

Physical comfort from your favourite person, would also be a plus. The only thing you actually wanted, too.

Unfortunately, Oscar was still on a plane. He was coming home from London for winter break, the Formula 1 season having finally come to an end.

It was the only thing you were looking forward to now. Even if the pain radiating from your uterus had you clutching the heating pad closer to your abdomen every few moments, a grimace so evident on your features - all you could think about was the fact Oscar would be walking through the apartment door in a few short hours.

Oscar had texted you from his layover in Singapore hours ago, advising he was about to get on the plane and would message you when the plane touched down in Melbourne. Having taken the same flight more times than you can even count, you knew it wouldn’t be much longer til he was back home in his home country.

The ding from your phone minutes later being exactly what you thought, Oscar had landed and was just grabbing his luggage. He’d likely be home in the next hour.

Knowing how late it was, Oscar wasn’t expecting a response from you when he messaged you to let you know he was on his way home. The surprise of receiving a response almost immediately prompted a small smile to curl up on his lips.

He hadn’t seen you in almost a month in a half, both schedules being too hectic to make time for him to fly home, or for you to fly out to a race. He had been dying to see you from the moment he stepped on the plane in London, excited to get the chance to curl up around you and simply sleep after such a long flight. He would be the first one to admit how much he detested sleeping alone.

You were thinking the same thing, except all you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms, his warm body helping to alleviate the never-ending cramping that felt like it was overtaking your body.

It didn’t take him long to get to your shared apartment once he finally hit the road, the late hour making it a smooth drive; no other cars on the road to impede his heavy foot that was currently pressing down on the gas pedal.

The click of the lock had your head whipping towards the door from your spot on the couch, your face lighting up as the door swung open. Oscar had bags hanging off all his limbs, a backpack on his back, two suitcases beside his legs, a duffle swung up on his arms. But you could still see the smile on his face once your eyes connected with his.

It took him a moment to register you in the dark of the apartment, the only light being from the hallway and the television. He instantly clocked the heating pad pressed to your abdomen overtop of the blanket, the packages of snacks laid out on the coffee table in front of you, and the show you only ever watched during this time of the month replaying on the television - his own grimace overtook his features once he wrapped his head around everything.

Dragging all his belongings into the room, he made his way over to you. Internally groaning as you sat up, Oscar was quick to place a soft peck to your lips, your cheeks, and then your forehead.

“Hi, baby,” he said, a soft smile etched on his cheeks.

“Hi, Osc. Missed you,” you murmured.

“Missed you more. You look like you could use a hug,” the words left his lips, his eyes following your movements as you shrugged, a small nod following.

He knew you like the back of his hand, knew that all you wanted was affection and cuddles from him when your body was hurting like this. Which, after almost an entire day of flying, he was more than happy to grab your hand and drag you towards the bedroom, his bags a problem for another day as he flopped down on the bed, his jacket, shirt, and pants having already found their way to the floor.

Eagerly dragging you into bed with him, he was quick to wrap his arms around you, tugging your body into his as he nestled his face into your neck. The exhale that fell from your lips was one of content. Happy to finally be wrapped in Oscar’s arms again, the warmth radiating from his body soothing the ache in yours.

“Missed you so much, Osc. Hate being away you for so long. Hate being alone when my body is trying to kill me.”

You felt him press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“Well, I’m home now. Everything will be better in the morning, my love.”

You hoped he was right. Really, you knew he was right. Your cramps wouldn’t be as bad, everything that had happened today would be yesterday’s problem. You got to wake up next to Oscar, had the opportunity to finally spend another day with him.

It was all you could ask for, really.

i don't love this, but i rewrote it so many times i needed to get it out??? all i want is oscar to comfort me when i'm dealing with this tho sooo

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x you #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 blurb #blurb #writing #my writing

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nicolesainz · 2 months ago

Text

Mr. Possessive! (LN4)

Lando Norris x f!reader

warnings: none but intensive angst

summary: Oscar has been flirting with y/n the entire race weekend of the British Grand Prix, although little does he know that Lando doesn't play nice when it comes to her, both on and off track.

"It's a shame you couldn't come to Melbourne. The view of the podium is great." Oscar nudged y/n playfully.

"P2 surely has a good view, but nothing like P1." Lando mumbled loudly enough for her and Oscar to hear.

Both were getting ready for the race in a couple of hours. Lando had been nervous since Monday, wanting to perform in front of his home crowd and prove he is a worthy winner this season.

On the other side, Oscar just wanted to be a party pooper and steal a win from his teammate, to add to his tally. Or a small payback for Melbourne and winning in front of all the Australians.

"You should come along in the parade cars. If you promise to be a good girl, maybe you can even drive it." Y/n's eyes widened at Oscar's statement and Lando was one breath away from grabbing her by the arm and kissing her in front of his teammates eyes so he could finally shut up.

"Uh, maybe another time, although thank you for the proportion, Osc."

Osc? Since when does y/n calls Oscar, Osc? When did they come so close to use nicknames, thought Lando nervously.

Oscar left when Zak called him from the pitwall and Y/n was left alone with Lando. Instantly, her muscles relaxed and her eyes quickly calmed.

"How are you feeling for today?" she asked lando whilst her fingers were tracing the outlines of his crash helmet.

Oh how badly Lando wished she would trace his facial features to calm him down before the race. She was the only one who could with simply a sweet word and a soft touch to relax him when he needed it the most.

"Confident in the car and myself. Hopefully god's plans have me winning this race." he smiled cheekily and played nervously with the curls that were falling on his forehead.

"I have put a little good luck charm inside the pocket of your suit. I have no doubts that Silverstone will bow to another masterclass of yours." she gently rubbed his arm and squeezed it lightly, before being almost violently wrapped in Lando's embrace.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he admitted sweetly. Lando and y/n had known each other since childhood. Going to the same kindergarten and attending all of Lando's karting races, even if they were outside of the UK.

"You are my favourite Lan. Don't ever forget that." she landed a kiss on his cheek, making them instantly blush. He was fighting the urge to tell her that he didn't just love her as a best friend, but also as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Y/n left the garage after a text from Alex and thank god for that because it was a breath of fresh air and relief. Oscar is a very sweet guy but he was starting to suffocate her, even if she didn't want to point it out.

"Oscar is literally following your every move. Either he is really into you or he simply wants to piss off Lando before the race." Alex pointed out with a worrying look on her face.

"He is cute, but slightly freaking me out. I have been in the garage around Lando and him countless times and ever since Suzuka, he had been running after me."

"Maybe you could use that to your advantage and show Lando that if he doesn't make a move soon, someone else will cherish you."

"You know I could never do that to Lando. I don't have the guts to, plus I will mess horribly and make him even more mad."

"Even if you're no fun, I get where you're coming from. And I love how kindhearted you are, because every other girl would've immediately agreed."

Y/n and Alex had grew closer over the course of time. They always poke fun and tease each other. Besides Lando, she is her closest friend.

As they were making their way close to the barriers, y/n felt a soft brush against her arm so not to startle her and it was Carlos.

"I hope to god you are not in love with Oscar or, no?" he was in a rush but this felt urgent.

"Uhm, no? Where did you get that from?"

"Good, because Lando is one breath away from smashing Oscar's crash helmet on the car."

Alex widened her eyes and smirked at Y/n with how easily Lando had been irritated by Oscar's flirting. Even if Y/n didn't agree with Alex's idea, Lando had done the job himself.

"Go and talk to him after the race, okay?" It was the last thing Carlos shouted before running towards the other drivers for the national anthem.

Five red lights turned off and the race was underway. Lewis was in first place and unfortunately a false start caused Lando second place to Oscar who stole the position on the first corner.

"Bollocks" uttered Lando, with Y/n having tuned in his radio communication with Will.

"Head down, it's lap 1. You got this." Will responded to Lando's immediate disappointment.

Luckily for Lando, he was pulling away from the rest of the field, but Oscar was starting to widen the gap between the two McLarens.

"Gap to Oscar?" Lando asked, sensing how pissed off he was.

"2.5, come on, eat it up Lan."

"Are we okay to race?"

"No instructions"

This was enough for Lando to push like crazy and ruin his tires as much as possible to close the gap Oscar had created between them. Lando was near 1.5 seconds, when Will came back on the radio saying,

"Lando, Oscar started losing his front right. Push a bit furthermore."

"Yep." nothing else coming from Lando and it was the final nail in the coffin for Oscar to start losing control of the car and Lando scissoring the gap.

Lando was now 0.5 behind Oscar, fiercely coming into attacking mode, as Oscar was trying to balance the car, but clearly failing. Lando pushed one last time and by luck avoided collision with Oscar when he overtook his teammate.

Lando's garage applauded loudly, with me along and Lando came back on the radio saying,

"Stay humble, huh?"

Which I immediately understood this wasn't solely for him stealing his place on track.

The gods were working in Lando's favour as Ferrari decided to pit Lewis close to the end to help him get the fastest lap, but didn't have the tyres ready, which unfortunately cost the world champion 3 places. He barely managed to finish into the top 3.

"Lando leads a McLaren 1-2 in his home race and making a clear statement to the whole crowd." Every single person in the grandstand was cheering powerfully.

Lando will be lucky to avoid a penalty if the FIA don't get ahold of his team radio messages and how much he was swearing. Will even joked about it during the final few laps of the race.

As both him and Oscar made the way into the first two places of the pitlane, the whole McLaren crew made their way over to congratulate both of them for the brilliant result. Lando's dad, Adam grabbed y/n by the hand to go and wait for Lando amongst his engineers and Zak.

"Ay, you made it." Lando squeaked with happiness as he saw her and his father waiting to get a piece of a hug from the worthy winner. Lando gracefully embraced both, but afterwards both his arms hugged Y/n, whilst giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"You were wonderful today Lan!" her eyes were sparkling, wishing both of them had the guts to utter way more emotionally heavy words to each other.

"And you have to know that I-uh Congratulations Oscar, great race!" she couldn't finish her sentence and put on a crooked smile to not make Oscar feel bad for not clinching the win today.

"Ey mate, hell of race for you." He patted Lando in the back and went straight to the FIA weighting procedure.

Lando knew Oscar was being sarcastic, but at that time, all he cared about was to get his home win and see a big smile on Y/n's face.

"Get ready for a sticky situation!" He playfully winked as Y/n's cheeks turned to a deep red shade. She knew what Lando was talking about was champagne under the podium during the celebrations, but what is Lando without an innuendo?

She was literally drenched in champagne, given Lando pointed towards the crowd first, as Lewis and Oscar were pouring theirs on him. Lando saluted with the bottle and the trophy towards her and earned a louder cheer.

She went to find Lando to congratulate him in his drivers room, where it was more private and without any press surrounding them. Y/n knocked softly, only to be met with a very cuddly version of an all hoodie-up Lando and perky curls.

"I am so proud of you. You drove like a lion." Lando's smile kept growing as she was praising today's performance.

"Sorry for swearing too much. Wasn't as cool headed as other races."

"With all the pressure you're under I was shocked how you didn't say more."

"I wasn't swearing about the stress of the race."

"Oh-, then?"

"Let's say that if my teammate lies eyes on you one more time, I will bleach them." Lando pushed one of Y/n's curls behind her ear and traced softly her cheekbone.

"And if he decides to flirt one more time, I will kiss you in front of his dumb face."

"Would you mind showing me what kind of kiss that would be?"

"Thought you'd never ask" and his lips gently landed on hers, sucking all the air from her lungs, but exhaling tons of love for her. Being jealous isn't how he wants to be portrayed, so better seal the deal than act like what they have for each other is casual flirt. It's something much more.

"Finally, I was going to die not having kissed you."

"No chance for that darling."

#lando norris fic #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris one shot #lando x reader #lando x you

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inchidentally · 8 months ago

Note

hiii inch!

as the resident landoscar scholar/essayist in the community, i'm curious about your take on their debriefs! ps. i love them both equally so i'm not trying to favor one over the other, just genuinely curious about your thoughts on it :)

it definitely could just be them having different styles of communicating and/or explaining things but i've noticed that whenever lando wins, he always shares his gratitude/appreciation for the team and oscar (even when oscar didn't directly 'help' him) and oscar will give lando credit for winning but then just talk about how bad he did in the race

yet whenever oscar wins, not only does lando hype him up, but he doesn't talk about himself in the debrief & oscar (at least not to my knowledge) has yet to thank/acknowledge lando for contributing to his win (& strangely enough has always thanked sponsors instead??)

so yeah, i hope this isn't too ramble-y & i hope you have a great day! <33

your timing is insane anon bc while scholar and essayist are wayyyy too nice ways to describe me being overly consumed w a hyperfixation, I was actually noticing things similar to your ask in comments sections and had written something that I wasn't sure about posting ! but I think it's worth it simply bc there is such a huge misfire with interpreting Oscar going on - totally not saying you are, anon and you were very clear in what you've said and I rly appreciate you wanting to know my take <3

- first thing to dispel is “Lando thanked Oscar for his first win/for helping make his first win happen” - he didn't! he thanked him for showing what the car was capable of with overtakes. I know I know! reality isn’t as bromancey but the sweetness of it was Lando giving Oscar’s drive a little shout out, but it was not him thanking Oscar for helping with his win. that's why they all chuckled when he stated the reason. and the sweetness remains <3<3 gotta clear that up bc there is no lingering double standard going on there. it’s the same as Oscar praising Lando’s drives. (also, apropos of this ask and ppl seeing Oscar as deficient - contrast that with how Oscar did very deliberately thank Lando for welcoming him to the team!)

- the other thing to dispel is the recency bias of thinking Lando praises and mentions Oscar this much on a regular basis/Oscar doesn’t mention Lando at all (anon, I know you’re not saying that btw). now! reality is that Lando's POV =/= his stans' POV. so from his perspective, as of recently he feels a need to assert himself to the media as a team player and to acknowledge Oscar more and make it known that he acknowledges Oscar helping him in similar ways. I’m not even going to dip a little toe into the reasons why, all that matters is that this is what Lando sees as something he needs to do and say right now especially. plenty of team orders instances and races have gone by where Lando doesn’t mention or acknowledge Oscar or Oscar’s help and plenty of times where Oscar has been the one to bring up and praise Lando where Lando hasn’t etc etc.

to the point where !! last season we had people concerned that Oscar was so Lando-centric and mentioned him so much and was such a great team player with team orders and being happy and supportive for Lando’s successes even when his own race was misery or the result was gutting or he just lost out on a podium - but that Lando wasn’t bringing Oscar up at all or acknowledging Oscar’s races. the turntables etc! literally had the flip situation! (even extending to this season in Melbourne where Lando got so wrapped up in his Quadrant filming and podium he kind of forgot it was Oscar’s literal hometown race salfsafjlah in the post race press conf a journalist brought it up and he was like ‘oh’ - like, Oscar was not upset about that he just wanted a podium!)

and guess what - in both cases it was never a problem for either Lando or Oscar!

seriously, I cannot emphasize enough how much what teammates like Lando and Oscar say to the media and fans is for the media and fans and NOT how they actually communicate to each other as people. Charles and Carlos openly admit they’ll bite chunks out of each other at times in media but then they see each other in person, immediately hug and are totally fine. PR is PR. it’s either not reality or at best it’s a publicly-framed version of it. which leads to…

- Lando and Oscar don’t do the PR or the bromance thing. instead they giggle and side-eye their way through having to do scripted stuff and media interviews, and thankfully their occasional shared-brain thing and contrasting personalities are fun enough for most fans to enjoy. and literally the fact that they beam into each other’s faces Like That and it’s incredibly endearing. which is exactly how they handle these post race videos - trust me, they are not sitting there in media talking the same way they do in their little closed off world of just their drivers rooms and no one else. or even when cameras are off and they’re just around the team or other drivers. equally, they aren’t viewing how they talk about each other to media and fans as relevant. it’s solely how they talk to each other.

- Oscar is an acts of service guy; Lando is a words of affirmation guy. as Lando fandom has so much discussion around mental health*, it is very worth reminding that mental health inclusivity means learning the different ways that different personalities express affection and friendship! there is not just one way! clearly, Lando is very happy with having a teammate who may not talk much but his fondness of Lando makes up multiple compilation videos and posts about being absolutely whipped when it comes to … almost anything Lando wants or prefers (“nope, I’m gonna keep you happy”). and paying such close attention to Lando talking that he helps fill in the blanks when Lando’s brain struggles in public. and watching closely when Lando looked like he might trip over his own race suit.

- it’s worth mentioning here that Oscar inspires genuine affection in people who gain absolutely nothing from openly liking him. he maintains friendships from his early karting days, still has a group chat from the boys in his boarding house at school, and has been with Lily for 4 or 5 years now - but all of those people either have private social media or have remained so thoroughly normal that they’re undetectable. Tom Stallard, his race engineer, and Andrea Stella have taken to Oscar like a nephew/son despite Oscar not being a demonstratively emotional person (and how for himself he views extreme emotions on par with negative emotions which is innnnteresting!). bear in mind that Andrea and Tom remain very fond of Carlos and count him as a friend still, so their judgment is very much to be trusted <3 if you look up Oscar’s mum Nicole’s episode on The Red Flags Pod she confirms that he’s truly Just Like That and his family adore him. there’s also this tiny but very telling moment of Oscar sending a journalist gifts for their new baby and the fact that The Fast and the Curious Pod (wholesome nerds HQ) view Oscar as their child. and that Abbi Pulling thinks he’s “too nice to be a racing driver”. it’s healthy to learn how to receive love and affection from people based on how they are naturally and comfortably rather than expecting them to behave in ways that are more socially the norm/seen as "acceptable"!

*and side note it’s extremely gross and anti-mental health the way certain F1 fans have genuinely decided to interpret Oscar’s personality type as evil or cold or unfeeling. that is so profoundly backward and bigoted boomery thinking. yes it’s fine to joke a bit that Oscar’s a baby-face killer or robotic IF you make it clear it’s not true. but when I get sent links to adult women on tiktok claiming that Oscar’s mother and sister are part of some grand PR scheme orchestrated by McLaren to manipulate and maximize Oscar’s image then we’ve officially left the whole ‘I support mental health’ thing and entered ‘I persecute and suspect people who don’t fit a socially acceptable norm’. because of all the drivers who quite literally do orchestrate and manipulate PR for growing their careers or their impact (which is fine btw!!) sorry, Nicole’s sporadic social media presence is not remotely skillful PR and Oscar’s little sister is a college girl using tiktok to talk about her own interests. and if Oscar was trying to PR his way into whatever gain people imagine an introvert who dislikes being on camera could possibly gain then he’s doing an abominable job! his sponsors are still the ones he’s had since before F1 (including his dad’s company), his social media is as standard and bland with highly irregular sprinklings of personality, and he isn’t branching out into anything outside his racing career. like, sorry to destroy anyone’s insane projections of some grand plan onto a guy who truly is just happy to have his job and hang out with his friends and his girlfriend lasfgljsagfjlagfslagfsaj

so anyway, when Lando and McLaren team and staff members love on Oscar, it’s because it’s real and they clearly feel reciprocation from Oscar despite it not being traditionally emotional or verbal. plenty of teams and teammates can be neutral to fully disinterested in a driver and it's fine for it to be like that. if nobody actually liked Oscar or found him cold or unfeeling, they would make little to no effort to seem like they love him or like him. F1 isn't team sports, the whole public face of it aspect just doesn't exist outside of backmarker teams who need social media engagement to keep sponsors happy.

- Oscar is famously Not ! a public speaking/on camera/PR/media person and you can see in their early 2023 stuff how much Lando helps him (this video esp is painfully cute bc Lando encourages and praises him and Oscar’s so pleased he does a song and dance). ask any longtime Oscar fan and they’ll tell you he’s leaned on the energy of extroverts and PR skilled people his whole racing career. and no, he really does not try to be a meme that's just what happens to awkward introverted ppl who have to be on camera a lot ;__;

- Lando used to be just as uncomfortable as Oscar with this stuff! and he’s said many times he has learned and adapted to be better at public speaking and media work, just as Oscar is learning! Carlos basically socialized and raised Lando from shy, twitchy mumbly little introvert to the person he became around 2021/2022. and we all observed how Lando basically copied Carlos and Daniel’s sense of humor to develop the bromance content we all know and love. and he does the same with Max F on streams as well. I wish I could find it but he said in one of the early winter break 2023 streams how he ‘usually lets other people do most of the talking and he interjects occasionally’.

-re the “thanking the sponsors” thing: to help Oscar get by on camera, especially with spontaneous speaking, Oscar uses little ‘scripts’ he’s worked out and approved of ahead of time so that he doesn’t have to deal with the white noise that hits him when having to speak spontaneously (the famous little ahhhh’s and uhhhhm’s and long delays he has before answering). which is why things like thanking the sponsors has been in rotation lately since it’s something Andrea said (remember him being teased for saying 'we're in Austria' x 50? and repeating the bit about his wisdom teeth? and the refrain of ‘my girlfriend says…’) because he’s just trying to get out something he knows is acceptable and palatable. compare the stiffness of his post race videos with when he’s one on one with an interviewer (the Laura Winter one is great) or filming non-scripted stuff w Lando and you can see the difference between him feeling under pressure vs how he expresses himself when he’s relaxed.

- it’s genuinely weird and adorable how Oscar doesn’t use gushy language or do PDA with Lily or Lando, but in exactly the same way with both he loves bringing up their little quirks or what they disagree with him about or things they like that he doesn’t etc ??? idk if they’re secretly very similar or what but for some reason Oscar shows his affection for them only occasionally in plain terms, but mostly by bringing them up seemingly for no reason and in extremely mundane ways ?? idk it’s just a very very cute observation I wanted to point out and he doesn’t do that with any other people aslfgsljagfafgl

so yes, those are the Things To Know about Oscar and his relationship with other people and with Lando to explain why he isn’t like Lando, Carlos, or Daniel. and that whether or not Lando or Oscar bring each other up or acknowledge each other in media duties is not something to get stuck on because that’s not something they personally pay attention to in their relationship. we got used to a specific almost identical type of teammate relationship with Lando’s previous two - and even other teammates who are less close all follow a similar pattern of humor and media friendly behavior. but Oscar is weird, Lando is weird and just adapts better, and they’re both very weird together. they can mindread when not under pressure and they obsess over details about each other’s food and choices etc and go off on bizarre tangents about naps and music and they don’t like posting content about their downtime together/purely social hanging out. oh and they openly complain that they want to spend more non-racing time together as if they couldn’t just… do it more ?? yea they’re just like that.

somehow I have more to say but it’s mostly observations so under a cut it goes (but the stuff above is basically the main points I wanted to make!)

a lot of misconceptions have happened both because Lando's grown and changed so much since the start of 2023 and because Oscar's real personality is so slow to be revealed... and tbh it's def yet to be understood fully by a lot of people…

Lando very openly kicked against the idea of being the older/more experienced big brother role widely expected of him when Oscar was announced for Mclaren (to this day he jokingly but semi seriously says he envies Oscar’s “youth”). Lando had spent the previous four years as little brother and gotten very comfortable in that role. around Austin 2023, he realized Oscar was happy to look after himself and didn't need serious help with anything except media/PR/public speaking. this is where Lando found his big brother role and ran with it happily. it’s where the Finish the Lyrics video happened and we saw a major shift in the landoscar dynamic.

take Lando’s initial insecurity trying to figure out the dynamic with a quiet, low energy rookie and contrast that with how someone five years behind in experience to their teammate is NOT as secure of his position** and has much more to prove. yes Oscar has a contract but he knows better than anyone !! that those are not set in stone or immutable. he frequently has said - and his mom has said - Lando's place in F1 is already established as a front-runner. therefore Oscar's job is to push himself and prove himself to that level.

all of which is why you can’t look at Lando and Oscar in media - or even on track - and mistake their closeness in age for being able to judge them similarly.

**the refrain of 'why can't he be a support driver until Lando gets a WDC' is easy to answer: for one thing absolutely NO driver wants that and for another, he very understandably does not assume he has the space or stability to just not try his hardest unless specifically asked by the team.

without opening a can of worms on my personal opinions, I’ve consulted my family/friends of family who have been F1 obsessed since I was born - and the reality of guys who are seen or who actually are ‘support driver’ (not rly an official term but we all know what it is) is NOT the same as a number 2 driver, and neither of those are even options for Oscar.

a number 2 is a driver seen as having become relatively disposable compared to the number 1 and who just wants to keep a seat in F1 despite the insult. they will at least tacitly accept that their role is to follow team orders and suck it up while number 1 chases the glory (whether that’s points or podiums). a number 2 has a limited life span either because his skill drops off and he becomes a liability or because he can’t stand it after a while.

a support driver is someone who either brings money/sponsorships/a unique regional fanbase and can occasionally or at least theoretically compete with their teammate. and who for whatever reason is judged as the guy who has to suck it up when the other guy has a better shot at the glory. but if the other guy falls behind or suffers a DNF, the support driver is automatically the number one. and if the support driver has a shitty season or the gap in ability widens between him and his teammate, he retains his seat anyway because of the money/sponsorships/unique regional fanbase he brings. so basically, he’s pretty damn safe.

Oscar does not bring money, sponsorships or a unique regional fanbase. Australia doesn’t need convincing to be invested in F1, Oscar’s sponsorships are peanuts compared to what sponsor-grabber Zak Brown already has and Oscar’s funding ran out before F1 and his career only continued because of Mark Webber taking an interest in him (for more on that, see K’s excellent primer - you can scroll down to the screencap of a sheet with a lot of numbers on it for that particular part). and despite insane conspiracy theories about him, Oscar’s PR and image not only don’t have anywhere near the numbers of many other drivers, he also had to recover from the immensely bad PR following Alpinegate. he had most fans of McLaren, Alpine, Danny Ric and Lando (as the prospective teammate) all hating his guts before he’d even stepped into his first papaya race suit. all he’s had getting him past all of that was his promise from F2 and F3 and then his improvement as a driver.

so that’s being support driver out of the question.

and also referencing Mark Webber, without leaning too cornily into the obvious like… no, Oscar’s not going to be the one F1 driver to be okay with the idea of being a number 2. his own mother said how he viewed potentially having Lando as a teammate as advantageous for a rookie because he wouldn’t be expected to match up immediately. the flipside of that is what he’s had to achieve and become immediately after his rookie year in order to be seen as around Lando’s level. his job is to prove to McLaren and to his race team that he's going to try and bring them the best result on every outing. if mathematically that means team orders in favor of Lando then fine, which he's more than proven he'll do. but without said orders, Oscar's job remains to try and get at the very front - just like it is Lando's. there isn't an option or a reason for Oscar to just... intentionally fail or ease off that responsibility (again, unless ordered to).

so that's a no go for being a number 2 driver.

and some more about Oscar and mental health for those who think it only applies to drivers who talk about it frequently: Oscar has talked about how, when his dad came with him to the UK, initially Oscar felt he had "too much time to think". and about his difficulties in moving all alone to boarding school (“sacrificing” being with his family) on the other side of the world at fourteen. I cannot for the life of me find the post again but he even hired a sports psychologist to help him. he’s always been called mature and competent for his age and he and Lily seemed to just go right into domestic almost-married codependency after about two years together. there’s a whole school of thought about children who leave home early and parentification and boarding school syndrome etc but that’s getting way too speculative for even me to go into. but basically, Oscar leapt into a lot of unknowns without a lot of the usual safety nets drivers have/have had. he's had to be self-reliant in a way that's not common among the extreme privilege of the average F1 driver and for those who have it similar to him, they have a similar outlook and approach***. so to mistake his confidence and determination for cockiness or coldness is as wildly off as people misinterpreting Lando’s genuine honesty for him being a cocky asshole. overall, Oscar’s self-assurance and maturity are why he’s continued and succeeded in such a volatile sport and pipedream career because compared to a lot of other drivers on the grid, he has not had a smooth or assured journey.

***obv in reality, apart from Ocon and Hamilton, we're always talking about very relative disadvantages. but Oscar is absolutely in the class of drivers who have to live far away from a family support system and who financially were not guaranteed career progression.

by contrast, Lando was a totally unique phenom and had big, welcoming hands grab him as a teenager and bring him into the McLaren and F1 fold. pundits and cameras and fans all saw him bringing drinks to Alonso and toddling around being helpful in the garage before his time with the team had even come. by the time he drove his first F1 race he was already everyone's beloved baby and Carlos basically got a crash course in parenting as he took full responsibility for socializing Lando and even having to cope with his teenage mood swings. Lando also had a comparatively gentle learning curve by dint of being so immensely talented and exceeding expectation for his age - but also always having older, more experienced teammates as his nearest competition. I will say he made sure to state he didn't want people to give him bias simply because his teammates had such an advantage of experience - and that he personally judged himself equally against them (to his detriment of confidence sometimes!). but it's only logical that people would factor in the age gaps anyway. by the time he'd entered his third year in F1 he was firmly established, had one of the largest fanbases and McLaren couldn't have made it clearer how badly they wanted to keep him from the clutches of other teams.

again - very much NOT saying that Lando doesn't feel the need or pressure to keep proving himself because he absolutely does, but it's still a VERY unique and unusual first few years in F1 !!

Oscar had a very different experience of not knowing if he could progress after winning F2, having to hang around in reserve and then show up at McLaren without much fanfare (except the unanimous walls of hate from Danny Ric fans, Alpine fans and McLaren fans) and work from the backmarkers up with the team to prove himself - all while those months before the upgrades were spent with fans united in wanting him to fail and celebrating his difficulties.

so yea, all even more worth bearing in mind when it comes to how Lando takes the approach of speaking about Oscar and the team from a proprietary sense of pride - versus Oscar still focusing on his own races because it’s normal for young drivers early in their careers to be more focused on proving themselves and asserting themselves in order to become established in the way Lando is now. they seem so similar in so many ways but when it comes to their positions in the team and in the sport, it’s well worth remembering that big gap exists and why it makes them different sometimes - but that crucially, they end those post race videos united either in misery or in happiness and pride <3

I AM SO SORRY TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS FAR GOD I WON’T SHUT UPPPP

#inchreplies #long post #landoscar meta #inchidentallyanessay #jesus christ this is enormous #anon I hope this remotely answers things in a clear way ????#landoscar #for reference #landoscar dynamic

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