#so osc will be back on pole anyway

[crabonfiber]

okay just watched the sprint and my main take away is that this was oscars revenge for hungary in a way asdhjjkl

he was told to get lando in drs and dropped back to exactly 0.9 before going back to 1 second

he did the fastest lap like three times over

and then he didn't give up the place until it was absolutely necessary

like he could have easily won that but the team strat was clearly discussed before the race and I do understand the team pov in that they really want this championship both constructors and drivers so that's why things are the way they are rn

oscar probably understands that too, and his time is coming

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : womp womp my final uni project is making me crazy and it’s hurting my wallet fr. Anyways, this update took way too long again, are we surprised? No, we are not. Lol Enjoy

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Mastelist

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Incoming call from xxxx xxx xxx

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hello?”

“You made a mistake choosing him”

“Wow, whose phone is this now, Lando?”

“He cant make you happy. The team will not allow it”

“Yeah whatever”

“Y/N I-“

“don’t care”

end call

call dropped

Y/N.

liked by oscarpiastri, y/bf charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, and others

Y/N. That boy is mine

tagged @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri Hi girlfriend🧡

Y/N. Hi boyfriend 🧡

charles_leclerc WE GET IT U LOVE HIM, why do I need to see him this way 😀

Y/N. get used to a cunty Osc.

charles_leclerc NO he’s an innocent baby, ur corrupting him!!

oscarpiastri wtf. alex pls collect charles

danielricciardo why is it spicy 🥹

oscarpiastri not my fault I’m hot, deal with it

Y/N. Preach.

logansargeant I MADE THIS HAPPEN

Y/N. I’ll give credit when it’s due… ok thanks logan hunter sargeant

oscarpiastri Thanks, now leave us alone pls

logansargeant WOW this is the thanks i get????

user1 Oscar made it into the feed!! Lets go

user2 Y/N and Oscar are now OFFICIAL official

user3 Y/N took the hard launch way to hard

user4 the amount of pda and tension in this post alone makes me want to cry. OK IM SINGLE thanks for pointing that out

user5 SLIDE 1 HELLO???!!

user6 ik!! im shooketh

user7 Osc is so in love with Y/N and it shows 🥹

user8 Osc is obsessed. Ugh I’m so single that it hurtssss

user9 Lol as he should, that is THE Y/N L/N

oscarpiastri

liked by Y/N. , logansargeant, charles_leclerc, markwebber, and others

oscarpiastri against all odds, that girl is mine

tagged @Y/N.

Y/N. Sorry ladies, dibbs! I claim this man🤭

oscarpiastri proudly urs, Luv

nicolepiastri U better not hide Y/N from us, Oscar!

Y/N. Hi Mrs. P 🥺

nicolepiastri hello sweetie! Can’t wait to meet you in person.

oscarpiastri You’ll meet her mom, don’t worry

charles_leclerc So sweet. The two of you are insufferable

oscarpiastri Wow ok. I’m telling grandma u said that.

Y/N. Get off the gram then old man!

user1 OK but why is Osc so hot all of a sudden

oscarpiastri its the girlfriend effect

user1 HI OSC!!

user2 its the Y/N influence~ boi got hotter instantly 🥵

user3 Osc posting Y/N all over his socials!! Flaunt your queen, King.

user4 Brother made sure everyone knew that Y/N is off limits

user5 This is how you treat ur significant other, you dont hide them and treat them like trash. Pls do take notes … Lando im looking at you.

user6 Oscar is spoiling Y/N~ i’m so here for it 😭🫶

user7 Y/N is finally getting the love she needs. Both of them are making efforts for each other, not just Y/N

user8 I’m still obsessed with what Osc did after his win. when will it be my turn huhhh?

user9 I will never let myself forget. My standards are thru the roof!

Notification: you were tagged by mclaren on a post

mclaren

liked by user1 and others

mclaren Welcome back to our side of the paddock @Y/N. We missed seeing you in papaya!

Y/N. Just to support my man @oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri 🧡🧡🧡

danielricciardo @Y/N what an honor to be a guest at McLaren 😀 liked by author

Y/N. I know! I’m so happy to be back there 😀 liked by author

mclaren @Y/N MTC comeback soon? 🤔

Y/N. I would be stupid not to come back 🙂‍↕️😀

user1 Lmao who let admin post this? Y/N is clearly there just for Oscar.

user2 Y/N wouldn’t touch them with a ten foot pole, let alone go back 😭

user3 Mclaren ur embarrassing urself here honey.

user4 the obvious pr stunt, when in fact they hate Y/N for Lando’s stupidity

user5 Danny Ric and Y/N on the comments filled with sarcasm, chandler bing would be proud 🤡

user6 not mclaren actually liking the comments 🤡😭

user7 @user6 I like to think that mclaren knew it was sarcasm but they were forced to like it anyway

user8 I like user7’s version so much I’m gagging HAHAHA

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*You renamed the group to Timstams and Ranch

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

[blorbocedes]

”How I feel about a drivers fans is not how I feel about a driver, How I feel about a drivers fans is not how I feel about a driver, How I feel about a drivers fans is not how I feel about a driver”

Anyway Landos drive today was wildly impressive, especially considering there wasn’t a safety car that benefited him at all. I’m glad he looks happy after a race again, in unrelated news I will be avoiding twitter and TikTok for the next few days

esp since oscar never got more than a second ahead of charles the whole race, showing the McLaren's pace wasn't that much faster

ofc we have to take into account the same luck that didn't look down on him yesterday to knock him out of q1, did smile today with gasly and hamilton starting from the pitlane bumping him up to p15 and checo and sainz dnfing, moving him from p6 to p4. most of his race was beside max, so we can assume fate is a norstappie 😅

but yes even without that, he drove wonderfully and no safety car to help. the stint on those hards and the gaining on the mediums was scary. I think compared to starting near pole and having the whole team orders drama - today was the kind of drive where you truly build your confidence: start from the back of the grid and put yourself way up there in the mix. he even played the team game for osc and held checo back. the fact he didn't get stuck behind any drs train 🙏🙏 esp cause he was stressing that his setups were high downforce and the cars ahead were low and would be harder to overtake. If you go by social media noise then you'd think anyone who didn't win flopped so bad but if you evaluate the race itself it shows mclaren has the strongest teammate pairing rn

[beabnormal24]

My hand slipped, here's a Gax wip

I couldn't help myself so I posted the wip anyway, enjoyyy

(I don't know when I'll finish this fic, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it):

“Okay, so Max and George against me and Oscar. What do we say?” Lando pops his elbow on the net’s pole, chewing loudly on his gum as he bounces the racket on his knees. 

Oscar stands behind him with his arms crossed on his chest, a cap messily pulled over his hair, staring at Lando’s back like a good scholar waiting for instructions. 

George shares a quick glance with Max: the only answer he gets being a careless shrug. 

“I mean-“ he says, scratching the back of his head. “Wouldn’t it be a bit, I don’t know, unbalanced? No offence to any of you, of course.” He quickly adds, but not quick enough for Max to suppress his snort. 

George is not looking at him, but he doesn’t need to turn around to know he’s rolling his eyes. 

But maybe he’s smiling with the wrinkles next to them, in the way he does when he’s a bit endeared by him. Maybe, he can’t know. 

“Georgie, my dear. Let’s put it like this” Lando says, shaking his head. “Out of all of us, I’m the best.” 

Max coughs behind him. “Bullshit.” 

George has to press a fist against his mouth to cover his laugh. 

“You are all crap. Max and Oscar are real real crap, while you, George, are just slightly crap. Between Max and Oscar, Osc is the crappiest.” 

“Hey!” Oscar protests, glaring at the back of Lando’s head as he seems to finally wake up from his open-eyed slumber. There’s a frown between his eyebrows, George knows that he’s more than aware of how bad he is, but the competitive side of him just can’t let Lando expose him so bluntly. 

They’ve all been through that. 

Lando shushes him with a shake of his hand, blowing a raspberry with his mouth. “So, it’s all a matter of statistics-“ 

“That’s not what statistics is about, Lando.” 

“Which means that it’s me and Osc against you and Max, alright?” 

There’s nothing more to say that would change his mind, so George just shares an amused look with Max and wishes that for once his height might be of help. 

They lose, terribly, George must admit that his pride is mostly wounded by the fact that Lando actually is the best out of all of them, so much so that Oscar doesn’t even need to raise his racket that many times and still they get horribly plastered to the ground and miss almost every single hit. 

Max doesn’t seem as happy about the result either, if the way he’s gasping for air and grabbing at his bent knees is anything to go by. For a professional driver, he’s probably got the worst resistance out of all of then, given how he had already started to pant after half of the first set. 

George lets himself stare at his profile for a second, the sweat dripping from his hairline to the tip of his nose, red from exertion, freckles bright under the deep flush, the cap on his head sliding slightly up as he brings a bottle to his lips. 

He casts away his eyes just as Max turns around, feeling his own face heat up at the possibility of being caught, busying his own hands with one of the bottles scattered behind the white line. 

“Next time.” Max exhales, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A droplet falls on his upper lip, George forces himself to stare at Oscar slumping tiredly against one of the walls of the club. “Next time we’re going to call Fernando and beg him to come back playing with us. He’s a lot more fun than those two idiots, I swear if I hear Lando moan Oscar’s name like a whore one more time-“ 

George glares at him, hoping with all his might that anyone milling around them is distant enough not to hear him. “Yeah, sure, let’s call Fernando. And how exactly would you do that?” 

Max raises an inquisitive eyebrow, mouth twisting in that way he does when he thinks an interviewer is asking the dumbest question ever. 

Unfortunately, George has been on the receiving end of it enough times to recognise it immediately. 

“You’re still his dearest baby, aren’t you?” Max asks, cheekily winking at him, tipping the neck of his bottle towards him to point at his chest with a finger. “If there’s anyone who can bring that old bastard back, it’s you. And maybe Lance and Carlos, but mostly you.” 

“Shut up.” George grumbles, hoping that Lando is not eavesdropping on them, or else he would’ve to deal with all the teasing he had desperately hoped to leave behind once Fernando had finally decided that enough was enough. 

One single year of being teammates, one single year of having to deal with Fernando’s complete lack of a filter and notion of personal space, and he’ll have to bear the consequences for the rest of his life. 

He does miss the old man, though, but they’ll probably catch up at the New Years’ party and George will have to endure at least a two hour long pleasant monologue about how retired life hurts Fernando to the core. 

“Alright lads.” Lando shouts on the other side of the court, stretching his arms above his head just like the showoff that he is. Oscar, at least, has the decency to appear completely unfazed. “It’s dinner time, I choose the place and the pizza is on the losers.” 

“Wait a second, we never agreed on that!” Max says frowning. 

“Yeah, no, he’s always like this. Just makes things up, it’s his talent.” Oscar deadpans. “But I have to agree with Lando on this one, it’s a good idea.” 

“Ah, no I won’t accept this. You don’t count, you didn’t even lose.” Max protests, narrowing his eyes in his direction. Oscar just shrugs innocently. 

“See? It’s three against you, Max. Losers pay.” Lando concludes, twisting the damp towel around his neck just to smack it against Oscar’s shoulder. 

Oscar smacks his own against his head in return, leading to a quick banter that inevitably brings the eyes of other people at the court towards them, as if being a bunch of drivers in a public space wasn’t already enough. 

“But I never agreed to anything.” George mumbles. 

“Either way, it’s always your fault, Russell.” Max teases, squeezing his forearm for a second as he shoulders past him. 

George swats it away weakly, his skin almost feeling like burning where there’s still the faintest feeling of a pressure. When he looks down at it, he swears he can see something glowing under the fabric of his thermal T-shirt, like a flicker, or even a spark, as if his skin is trying to light up on fire all of a sudden. 

“George.” He snaps his head up at the sound of his name, heartbeat growing faster in his chest, pounding, pounding, pounding- “Did you hit your head? Come on let’s go before he gets even more strange ideas.” 

George has to admit that Lando knows his stuff when it comes to eating. Perhaps being as picky as he is helps in that matter, but George still appreciates the choice of a small spot, private, a bit more distant from the other tables. 

They are not worried about being stopped, anyway, there’s not many tourists wondering about in Monaco when so close to Christmas, and definitely not on a weekday. 

Oscar is a pretty good conversationalist, George already knew that, so he spends most of the dinner talking with him about his plans for the Holidays and his sister dealing with her first semester in Chemical Engineering while Lando and Max chat about a game or something Martin’s related, probably. 

But the strange feeling on his chest remains constant, like a gentle blow against his skin, right under the sweater he had brought as a change. 

From nothing more than a distant sensation, it starts to properly itch halfway through the meal, when Max moves his chair closer to the table and their knees knock against each other, and George almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden touch. 

Max looks at him weirdly, his raised eyebrows trying to ask questions that George does not have the answer to, so he just shots him his politest smile and goes back to his glass of water. 

Too often than he would like, the itch becomes so unbearable that he has to scratch it, shoving a hand under his sweater and rubbing his fingernails until he’s sure his skin must be all raw and red and pretends like it’s nothing. 

Oscar, at least, doesn’t seem to pay it any attention, or if he notices anything weird, he’s kind enough to not point it out. 

To avoid talking about racing it’s pretty easy, nobody wants to be reminded of their respective places in the Championship, with Max missing second place to Carlos for a bunch of points, George grazing the top three but not reaching it, and both Lando and Oscar still left behind. 

They had all hoped for something better, with all the new regulations, with all the new possibilities. At the very least, they’re all happy for the end to Charles’ long suffering. 

George does not pay at all, in the end, because as soon as he makes a gesture of taking his wallet out, Max is rolling his eyes and huffing and shoving his arm behind his back saying something about being the one who earns the most out of the four of them, anyway. 

At that point, George’s chest might as well have caught on fire with how much his skin starts to burn. 

He’ll blame it on stress, he thinks, because it has been a stressful bunch of months, from first to fourth in a span of a year does something to your head and George hasn’t exactly been in the best position to actually deal with whatever was going on inside of himself without people assuming that he was bending to the challenges of his new teammate. 

Lando and Oscar say goodbye with half hugs and promises of catching each other during the rest of the break that George knows are just a polite way of saying that if they happen to be in the same place at the same time, then they should try and meet up. 

But it will probably be impossible with Lando flying from one part of the world to another doing things that they are all pretty sure he shouldn’t be allowed to do at all. 

They leave together, arguing like kids about some stupid thing with knocking shoulders and twinning heads ducked down, hip to hip, arm to arm, always doing the same thing but not quite, and George has to properly spread a hand over his chest when he’s left alone with Max and his skin starts to feel like thousands of pins prickling at it, sharp and annoying and oh so unbearable. 

It’s just stress, it’s alright, he just needs to go back home and run himself a good bath with those salt things that Charles got him for Secret Santa last month, and then, tomorrow, he’ll just have to catch up with Aleix and find the number of his therapist and book an appointment or two. He’ll detox at his parents’ house and then at the New Years’ party and then he’ll be all focused for the next season. 

Just like every other time. 

“Russell.” 

A hand wraps around his bicep, small but strong. It feels heavy on him, perhaps he lost too much weight. His heart thumps uncontrollably against his ribcage, and George knows that if he were to take a look at his chest right now, he would probably catch another spark. 

But maybe it’s all in his imagination, he’s just stressed. 

Max looks at him from the tip of his big nose, his eyes smiling with the corners of his lips as he pats George’s shoulder, almost affectionately. And it looks good on him, George has just changed his mind, the third place almost makes him seem more human, more reachable, even if George had already reached him last year (but it never felt as right as it does now). 

He likes that. 

Max squeezes one last time, knocking their arms against each other. It’s not a hug like Lando, but it’s something close to it and it makes George feel acknowledged in that weird kind of way you that only Max’s things make him feel. 

“Just don’t be a stranger, yeah?” It doesn’t sound as empty as George would’ve expected. 

Max disappears in Monaco’s breeze with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket and his head turned to the side to look at the coast following him, or it’s him who follows the coast. It’s not that simple to guess when George feels the way he does about him. 

He stares at the broad expanse of his back until he’s nothing more than a distant figure just like any other person around and he can pretend that he’s no one in the middle of the world. 

The blessing of anonymity, he muses, gripping at the hems of his sleeves. 

All of a sudden, his chest feels quiet.