Hooked On A Feeling

photograph || op81

summary: after receiving an old photo album from your mom you take a bittersweet journey through memories of your childhood best friend, oscar piastri.

pairing: op81 x childhood bestfriend!reader

warnings: heavy on the angst. unresolved feelings

word count: 2,155

a/n: first ever fully written fic 🥹 this is also definitely inspired by the song photograph by nickelback what can i say

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

with a big sigh you pulled the old photo album from the envelope your mom had mailed. she’d been tidying up the house back in melbourne and insisted you take it claiming that it belonged with you. and so there it was resting on your coffee table. the cover was still plastered with stickers and the words y/n's favorite book scrawled across it in glitter glue, a relic of your younger self. you ran your fingers over the worn surface, took a deep breath and opened it. the first page hit you like a truck bringing back an overwhelming amount of emotions. it was a full-page photo of you and oscar on your very first joint podium at 10 years old with the biggest smiles you could have mustered.

✿

you remembered the first time you saw him on track. he was barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel but the way he drove it, like the world around him didn’t exist, made you certain that something special was happening. you two were of similar ages but even then you knew that kid with the messy brown hair and the most determined look in his eyes was destined for something bigger than the little karting track in melbourne and the classrooms you two found yourselves in.

your weekends were spent racing, laughing, and sharing the kind of friendship that only childhood can provide. oscar was your closest friend but there was always something else, something unspoken, that lingered between you. it wasn’t obvious at first, not in the way he smiled at you after winning a race or how you’d both hang out afterward joking about everything and nothing.

but there was something about the way he looked at you in those quiet moments when your gazes met, that made your heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the thrill of racing. you would never admit it to him though because he was your best friend and someone you couldn't bear the thought of ever losing no matter how much it hurt to see him with other girls at school.

✿

shaking your head with a small smile, you turned to the next page of the photo album. this one was filled with pictures of you and oscar at your very first f1 grand prix together. tucked neatly beside the photos was the physical ticket from that day and a small picture you had painted that you had signed by your favorite driver at the time. it was a weekend you'd never forget.

✿

“you’re going to make it to f1 and race here one day,” you had told oscar as you two sat side by side watching the cars zip around albert park.

he smile that crooked smile of his and said something like "nah, I'm just racing to beat you silly girl!"

✿

the next page in the photo album brought a wave of nostalgia. it was a collage of moments captured with your beloved little digital camera, the hot pink one you carried with you everywhere back then like a secret sidekick. the photos were a mix of everything that had made that you happy at the time: snapshots of you and oscar grinning wide outside the track, arms slung around each other, sunburnt and buzzing with excitement; blurry, magical pictures of the night sky, stars peeking through the soft glow of city lights; and tucked between them, tiny doodles you’d sketched later of race cars, your helmet design ideas, and little icons of everything that had made you fall in love with racing in the first place.

✿

sometimes, late at night after a race, you and oscar would sit side by side in the grass behind the track. the night air would be cool, the stars barely visible through the lights and he’d talk about his dreams, about f1 and you’d listen, trying not to think about what it would all mean for your friendship.

you were only just kids and you had more time ahead of you or so you thought because the day he hold you he was leaving came sooner than you would've hoped.

✿

you flipped to the next page in the album which held your and oscar’s final last day of school photos that were taken just a few short weeks before he had left. you were on the front porch of the piastri family house in your favorite dress with your hair braided neatly back and oscar stood beside you in his usual school polo, his hair slightly messy, and wearing that same goofy grin he still hasn’t grown out of. you couldn't help but envy the way your eyes sparkled in the photo.

✿

you were sitting in your final class of the day before break - only half listening as the teacher rambled on about everything you'd have to complete while on holiday. you willed the time to go by and snuck glances at oscar who was sitting next to you. when the bell finally rang and you skipped out of the classroom excited for break, you noticed that oscar hung behind. you turned to face him and were met with a rather sad looking oscar, something you hadn't really seen before much less on the last day of classes.

“i have to leave,” he said, the words so simple yet terrifying. he was fumbling with the zipper on his backpack as he refused to make eye contact with you.

your heart dropped into your stomach. "wait.. oscar what in the world are you talking about? you mean leave class?" you asked quickly.

oscar finally looked at you now, his expression a little too serious for comfort. “i’m going to boarding school..... in england so that i can focus on my racing.” his voice was barely a whisper.

it took you a moment to process what he was saying. this wasn’t just about leaving class or even leaving your karting team behind.... this was him leaving everything including you.

“you..... you cant be leaving already? but… what about karting? what about your family? what about me?” you squeaked out as tears began falling down your cheeks.

“i have to do this, y/n/n,” he explained. “you know I have to. this is the next step for me y/n/n just like we've always talked about!! i want to make it to f1 and this.... and this is the way i do that.”

your chest tightened. you wanted to tell him to stay. in fact, you wanted to beg him to stay on your hands and knees but you couldn’t. he was chasing his dream and you knew that but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

✿

you wiped away a tear as the memory of that day replayed in your head. it felt like a piece of you had climbed onto that plane to england with him and no matter how hard you tried you were never quite able to find that piece again.

✿

when you said goodbye at the airport it was even harder than you expected. he stood there with his backpack, his eyes damp and his hair dishevelled. he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye either.

“i’ll be back,” he promised. “i’ll visit, and we can race again together, yeah?”

you nodded, though you didn’t know if you ever would because you were staying here and he was moving on without you.

the months that followed felt like years until they began to actually turn into them. he was gone and living a life you couldn't even begin to imagine. you’d send occasional messages, have brief update sessions but it was never the same. you wanted to be happy for him and part of you was but you missed him terribly. and it wasn’t just the friendship that you missed. it was the little moments like the endless laughter, the late night ice cream runs, and the way he made everything feel right even when a race or a maths test hadn't gone your way.

✿

the last page in your album held a photo of you and oscar at the final race of his you’d ever attended. it was not long after your birthday when nicole had insisted you come with her and hattie to watch one of his formula 3 races. you hadn’t seen him race in person since the karting days and truthfully you hadn’t really seen him much at all since then either.

after a lot of convincing you finally agreed to tag along. and it was there, standing at the edge of the track, that it hit you.. the boy you had grown up with wasn’t the same person anymore and you hardly even knew who that person was.

that day was the last time you'd had seen oscar.

wiping away more tears, you flipped back through the album looking through all the doodles, race tickets, school photos, and everything else in between. so many tiny pieces of your childhood was captured within these pages and so much of it included oscar.

you'd spent all these years thinking you were just missing your best friend. but now, looking back on it all, you knew the truth. you loved him and maybe you always had.

but he was gone now. not in a tragic way, just... in that way life sometimes pulls people apart. years had passed and the distance between who you were then and who you were now felt impossibly wide. you couldn’t call him up and tell him not after all this time. what would you even say?

so instead, you closed the album slowly, pressing your hand to the cover like it could hold everything in place.

you missed him and maybe you always would but that’s just how it had to be.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: ahhhh if you made it this far tysm for reading!!!! let me know if you would like a part 2... maybe of y/n getting an invite to australia 2025??

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

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Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I’m taking requests as well as blurbs/smaller pieces so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I’ll do my best to get to them!

Keep reading

look me in the eye | pt.1

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 seems unfixable but that might not be the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: kind of angsty? think this will be two parts. 2k-ish words!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The paddock is full of wind and empty promises. Bahrain's desert nights hold no warmth for those who find themselves at war with machines. Under the harsh lights of the Red Bull garage, your hands are stained with grease, burnt rubber and fuel having become your signature scent. The RB21 sits before you so still, like a child being yelled at. It's internals are exposed, betraying the effort you have poured into it. Another night. Another battle against the unworkable.

You wipe your forehead and the action leaves a dark trail.

"It's not you," Max's voice is acute in comparison to the exhausted engineers around you. "It's the car."

You sigh and rub your hand across your face again, leaving a another streak of oil on your cheek. "I've been through every possible variation of the floor. I've checked the suspension settings, even the cooling package. Nothing sticks. It’s like-"

"-like trying to control a wild animal?" he offers, a small smirk at the corner of his lips.

You huff. It could be a laugh, on some other day, but right now there is no humor in the situation. "More like taming a hurricane with duct tape."

Max leans against the workbench. His arms are crossed over his chest. Even under the brutal garage lights, even with this stupid car that no one but him can drive with some semblance of control, he's certain. "Well, you're still making it work."

That earns a scoff from you. "You make it work, Max. I just throw everything at the wall and hope something sticks."

His gaze sharpens, and it seems to pierce right through you. You, not just an engineer, but as a person who's given up everything to this job, to this team, to him.

"That's not true," he says quietly. "You don't just try. You build. You fix. You see what no one else does. And I-" He catches himself here, unsure how appropriate it'll sound. "I trust you."

The words, from him of all people, settle in your chest like an anchor. Trust is not given freely in Formula One; it is earned, lap by agonizing lap, through victories and through failures. You are not his race engineer. You're just another member of his team. There, hardly noticeable.

You doubt anyone outside RBR, outside the engineering teams, knows your name. Max Verstappen does, though, and that counts for something.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Australia is supposed to be a fresh start.

A new track, a chance to see if anything has changed. But as you watch Lando Norris cross the line in first place, with Max trailing behind in P2, your stomach sinks. The celebrations begin almost immediately. Confetti, cheers, McLaren mechanics embracing as if they had won the championship itself. You want to slap someone. In it feels like they have. They have proof that their car is faster, that their work is paying off in a way yours isn't.

Still, you push it down. Max fought for this podium, and you owe it to him to be happy.

When he walks into the garage, you're already there, waiting with the rest of the team. He’s drenched in sweat, his fireproofs clinging to his skin. He should be tired, but the familiar sharp focus is in his eyes, even now. He's always noticing things.

You force a smile and clasp his shoulder.

"P2, Max. You dragged that car through hell for it."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy." Max gives you a small smile. The way it doesn't fully turn up at the ends of his mouth betrays how tired he really is, despite playing it off. "You gave me something to fight with."

You nod. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes either. The noise of celebration around you turning to static. He sees it. Of course he does.

Max opens his mouth to say something else, but he's getting pulled away again for some interviews.

Later, when the festivities have died down, he finds you outside the garage. Away from the crowd. You sit on a stack of worn-out Pirelli tire blankets, staring at the ground. The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't startle you.

"What are you doing out here? No alcohol?" he asks. He always speaks sharply, concisely, reassured. Not anymore-Max is asking you now as he would a frightened animal. Don't run, it's as if he's saying, please stay.

You let out a breath. The weight of the race, the season, all of it pressing against your ribs. And then, before you can stop yourself-

"You're right," you murmur. "The McLaren is faster. We lack the pace."

The answer doesn't come right away. He's standing there, watching you with what might be regret. Because those are his words from mere hours ago, right after the race. A loose admission in the media pen, thrown out without a second thought. Max was happy with his race, not elated but he did things and the car was in the way and he forgot momentarily about all the work. He likes to be truthful with his words but he's slipped up.

And now, you're here, breaking yourself apart over them.

Max crouches down in front of you. His elbows rest on his knees. "That doesn't mean you failed."

You shake your head. "Feels like it."

He doesn't know what to tell you. Sorry? I'm sorry I said that. I was mad at the car. It wasn't about you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand against your forearm.

"You don't give up," he says. "I don't. We adapt. We adapt."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Shanghai is a lesson in patience.

The RB21 struggles on the mediums and the first stint is agony. You were worried about the lack of pace, the way the tires degrade faster than they should be. "We set out to do our pace, which was a fair bit slower than the cars around us," he later tells the reports, frustration just beneath the surface. "I'm trying not to destroy the tires."

Your stomach knots as you watch the sector times, the data painting a bleak picture. But when the switch to hards comes, something shifts.

There, the grip. There, a chance.

Lap by lap, the car becomes drivable. Not perfect, not dominant, but workable. And Max, as always, wrings everything out of it.

It's not a podium but after the disqualifications, it becomes P4. A bittersweet relief.

You find him outside your hotel room. The soft, golden glow of the hallway lights casts shadows across his features, sharp angles of exhaustion softened by something else.

"You know," you say as you close the door behind you. "For a man who just got handed an almost-podium, you're not looking very victorious."

His mouth twitches. "Doesn't feel like one, does it? I didn't earn it."

You tilt your head, considering. "Maybe not. Still, you can't count yourself out. Drinks?" You drum your fingers against the already-open minibar.

Max turns his head to look at you. "You always say things like that."

"I actually don't encourage you to drink that much," you defend.

"No. I mean, like you actually believe in all this." He gestures vaguely around as if the world of Formula One is something that can be captured in a single movement. "In the fight. Things turning around."

You shrug and take out a bottle. "Sure I do."

He studies you for longer than necessary, then shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "Crazy talk."

You feign offense and hold the drink close to your chest. "I am an engineer, Max. I deal in hard data and numbers. You're the intuitive one."

"Right." He eyes you, ever the skeptic. "Yet here you are, like a motivational quote board."

You grin. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep you from spiraling."

Max exhales through his nose, amused. "And here I thought I was keeping you from losing hope."

"Guess we're just stuck with each other then."

“Could be worse." His voice is lower now, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter.

The banter fades and here's a chance for you to do something. To let it sink in, to grasp the awful rawness of the moment. You don't know how.

"'least it's not Russell," you tell him. He flinches. It's small but doesn't slip your sight and you feel bad for making fun when he's trying to have a serious discussion. "Sorry. Feelings, hard. You know," you continue, "I think you actually had fun today."

His lips press together as if he's about to deny it. Instead, he relents. "Maybe a little."

"A miracle," you murmur.

"Don’t tell anyone."

You smirk. "Your secret's safe with me. Maybe we should hold off on the alcohol. Tipsy me isn't as trustworthy."

"I don't know about that." Max pretends to think. "Why don't we find out?"

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

When the sun wakes you up, Max has already managed to stumble back to his own room. Not entirely true. You just know he's no longer piss-drunk in yours.

Truth be told, you aren't as reluctant to spend time with him as you once were. His arrogant nature has softened with time. He's funny sometimes. But that isn't the only reason.

Red Bull was a hot mess the end of 2024. It is still one. You aren't out of options. You are friends with a friend who is friends with a head at McLaren and the offer sounds pretty good right now.

It's just a question of Max or Lando or Oscar. Or maybe there isn't a question at all.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Suzuka's next on your bucket list.

Red Bull's struggles have been the focal point of every media outlet, every discussion framed around whether the once-dominant team can claw its way back to the top.

You're in the motorhome, scrolling through your laptop, catching up on the latest coverage. A celsius-sorry, RB, but they just taste better- is by your side, half-finished. Then you see it. An interview, Max's face filling the screen, his expression as sharp and serious as ever. The reporter has just finished asking a question, pushing for insight into the difficulties he's been facing.

"It’s not easy," Max admits with his arms crossed. His Red Bull cap is pulled low over his eyes. "The car is… not where we want it to be. It's difficult to drive, unpredictable in certain corners, and sometimes it feels like I'm fighting it more than driving it."

You frown slightly, fingers tightening around the device. You've heard this before. You know all about his frustration, his honesty. It's a good trait that helps you know what to work on, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Then his tone shifts.

"But," he continues, "we're making progress. My engineer...she's putting everything into this car, finding solutions where it seems like there are none. Every race, every session, we're understanding it better. I have hope for the next races. Still very tough, but I trust her-sorry, them. We'll get there."

Oh, what a slip-up. Your breath catches. Max's face is slightly flushed. He definitely knows what he said.

You do too. Trust. He said it so simply.

You replay the clip, once, twice, and with every repeat, something warm coils in your stomach. The world hears his frustration, but you hear something else: recognition, appreciation. He sees what you do, what you give.

The corners of your lips curl into a smirk as you set the laptop down.

"Well," you say to yourself. "That was certainly something."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You don't know why you bring it up now, in the middle of the hospitality lounge, of all places. Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the way Max looked at you after the interview aired-like you were the only thing holding this team together. Like you were holding him together.

So you say it.

"I think I'm leaving next year."

Max, halfway through sipping his water, freezes. His fingers tighten around the bottle, knuckles turning white.

"No."

It’s not a question. Not even a reaction. Just a flat-out refusal.

You exhale, bracing yourself. "Max-"

"No," he repeats, louder this time. He sets the bottle down with a sharp thud, standing up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "You’re not leaving."

You stare at him, startled by the sheer force behind his words. "It's not up to you."

His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looks like he's physically holding himself back, like if he doesn't control it, he might actually go berserk. At any other time you would be aware of the other engineers in the room, pretending not to notice whatever's going on, but he's taking up all of your attention right now. Subtlety is pushed to the back of your mind. "You can't leave," he says, voice rough. "Not after everything."

You swallow and your voice is still not steady. "Max, you know how bad this year has been. The car is-"

"I know how bad it is," he snaps. He steps closer. "I know better than anyone, because I'm the one driving it. But you-" Max exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "You're the only one who makes it better."

Your heart stutters.

He’s staring at you now, eyes burning. You can't read what's behind them. "Every time I think this car is undriveable, you fix it. Every time I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle, you find a way to make it work." Max shakes his head, almost laughing. But it's humorless, frustrated. "And now you're telling me you want to leave? What am I supposed to do with that?"

You take a shaky breath. "Max, I-"

"You can't," he says again, and this time, his voice cracks. "Not you."

Max Verstappen has never been what people call a sentimental man. Right now, he looks as if tears are no longer foreign to him.

You should tell him it's just a thought, that nothing is decided yet. But the way he's looking at you-desperate, almost pleading-makes it impossible to lie.

So you say nothing. You give him that.

And Max? Max steps even closer, until there's barely any space between you. His gaze flickers down-to your lips, to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest-before meeting your eyes again.

"Stay," he murmurs. "Please."

And God help you, you don't know if you can say no.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: going back to my true roots as a narrative writer don't let this flop please xx

now that i’ve found you, i can’t let you go 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x alonso!reader

SUMMARY: you never imagined that a silly crush from 2018 would turn into something years after or you and lando are just idiots in love, and letting the nerves gets the better of you every time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: can’t believe i just wrote a story that’s over 10k hdhfhdhd i’ll be inactive until next week (or until i’m done with my midterms). remaining requests will be done after my midterms. hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 10.6k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, photos and videos are taken from pinterest, single dad!nando, no use of y/n, overthinking, anxiety, google translated spanish, reader has no socmed accs, and idiots in love

You had always understood the reason why your father, Fernando, had kept you out of the spotlight. The media could be ruthless and vile, and being his only daughter, he wanted to protect you from the harsh glare that came with being associated with his world, and truth be told, you were very grateful for it. Just the thought of being under constant scrutiny would always make your skin crawl. You had always preferred the quiet life, the privacy, and to just focus on your studies. After all, you had spent the last several years pouring your energy into earning your degree in International Relations at the National University of Singapore.

The only time you had ever come to the paddock with Fernando was back in 2018, during his last season in F1. He had decided that he would leave F1 for a while because he wanted to take on bigger challenges outside of F1. That was also the first time you met Lando Norris, the bright-eyed young driver who would go on to replace your father’s vacated seat. You remembered that day clearly—Lando’s easy smile, the playful way he joked around the garage. You were shy, as always, but there was something about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You had managed to develop a small, harmless crush on him, a fleeting thought that never went beyond that single interaction with him. Then, you disappeared from the paddock, along with it are also your feelings for Lando, and began burying yourself in university life.

But now, here you were again, stepping into the paddock for the first time in years, a full-fledged adult, and very much out of your comfort zone. Fernando had invited you to join him for the season, and after much internal debate, you agreed. You had missed your father, not to mention that you weren’t there for him when he scored his first podium after seven years back in 2021, and you knew how much he wanted you to be a part of his world, even for just a short while. Yet, as you walked alongside Fernando, you felt a familiar knot of nerves tighten in your stomach. The cameras, noise, bustle—it was all overwhelming for you.

Fernando must have sensed your anxiety because he gently placed an arm around your shoulders. “You alright, princesa?” He said softly, voice calm and familiar. “Yeah, just…a lot of people.” You admitted softly, eyes darting around at the bustling crowd.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning in closer, “remember that time when I visited you in Singapore, when we got lost looking for that restaurant, and I almost walked into a fountain?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. “You were so confident about the directions too, compared to your daughter who had been living in Singapore for years now.” Fernando grinned, the familiar warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a shield. “I’m never wrong about directions, mi vida. The fountain just got in the way.”

You shook your head, but the knot in your stomach began to loosen—his humor always works on you, as it always did, and you found yourself feeling slightly less on edge. You know that you would always be safe with your father, even in the paddock, where the eyes of the world could easily fall on you.

As you scanned the paddock, getting yourself familiar again with the surroundings, your heart skipped a beat when you spotted a familiar figure—Lando. He was walking nearby, assuming he just arrived, laughing at something, and for a brief second, it felt like no time had passed at all. Your old crush for him came rushing back, definitely unexpected and uninvited, bringing a sudden warmth to your cheeks. But just as quickly, your hope deflated when you saw a girl walking next to him, her hand wrapped around Lando’s arm. Of course, someone like him would have a girlfriend by now. Lando’s a handsome man, charming, and well…he’s Lando Norris. What were you even expecting?

Once you had settled in, Fernando had headed off for a meeting, and left you to your own devices. Until he had texted you to get something he had forgotten from his bag. So you found yourself on your way to his driver’s room at the Aston Martin motorhome. Your footsteps were quick, wanting to avoid any more awkward run-ins. As you rounded a corner, you bumped into someone, hard enough to make you stumble. But strong hands caught you before you could fall, and you found yourself face-to-face with Lando.

“Oh—hey!” Lando said, his voice bright with surprise. He paused, his gaze locking onto yours. “I remember you. You’re Fernando’s daughter, right? It’s been years since I last saw you.”

You froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Lando remembered you? After all these years? You never really expected him to remember you to be honest, you only had a brief interaction with him before.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, feeling your face heat up. “It’s been a while.”

“I didn’t think you’d come back to the paddock,” he said, still smiling as his eyes looked at you, and for a second, you wondered if he noticed how much you had changed since you last first met. “You look…different. Good different,” he added, a bit awkwardly, as if he hadn’t meant to let the compliment slip.

“How’ve you been? What’s going on in your life?” He added.

You were stunned by how he had effortlessly struck up a conversation with you. You hadn’t been expecting any interaction with him, let alone such friendliness.

“I’ve been good,” you managed to say. “I just recently graduated from a university…in Singapore.”

“Wow, that’s impressive!” Lando said with a nod of approval. “What did you study?”

“International Relations.”

“Smart and beautiful, huh?” He teased lightly, his compliment catching you totally off guard.

You blinked, really unsure of how to respond. His words were casual, but they hit you harder than they should have. You spent so long thinking he wouldn’t even remember your name, and here he was, not only remembering but also showing genuine interest in your life. It was enough to make your heart race.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I saw you with your girlfriend…”

Lando raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment. “Girlfriend? Oh—” he glanced behind him before laughing softly. “No, no. That’s just my cousin, she’s visiting this weekend.”

Your face burned with embarrassment. “Oh my god…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured, still smiling warmly. “But really, it’s good to see you. I hope we run into each other more often now that you’re back.”

Just as you were about to respond, Fernando appeared, his expression amused as he glanced between you and Lando. A smirk appeared on his face, and you immediately knew what was coming.

“There you are!” Fernando said, his voice carrying a hint of teasing. “I thought the media people had kidnapped you.”

“Nope, just me.” Lando laughed.

Fernando’s eyes twinkled knowingly as he rested a hand on your shoulder. “Well, we should get going, cariño. We don't want to keep you away from your busy schedule, Norris.”

“Alright,” Lando laughed. “Don’t be a stranger.” He said as he smiled at you and said his goodbyes.

You turned to leave, Fernando placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you forward. When you were a few steps away, he leaned in closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear.

“So he remembers you, huh? I wonder why that is.” You glared up at him, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away. “Papa, stop.”

He just laughed, a warm, teasing sound. “It’s very cute, mi vida,” he teased, ruffling your hair. “I’m just saying. I know how you act around boys you like. Don’t forget, I’m your father.”

“I don’t like him,” you protested, though your voice lacked conviction. “Okay, okay. Maybe just a little.”

Fernando only chuckled, pulling you closer as you walked. “You know, I may be protective, but I’m not blind. Just remember, mi amor, no one will ever be good enough for you in my eyes. But if anyone makes you smile like that…well, maybe I can reconsider.”

It has already been a couple of months since you’re back in the paddock, and it still felt surreal. So much had changed, and yet, certain things remained the same—like how Fernando’s protective nature never faded, or how Lance had effortlessly stepped into the role of being your older brother, with just being older than you for two years, during this season. Ever since Fernando introduced you to Lance, he had taken it upon himself to watch over you, especially during race weekends when his and Fernando’s had their hands full, Lance would always make time. Honestly, Lance was like the cool big brother you never had, and though his playful teasing could get on your nerves, it was always in good spirit.

“Hey, you alright?” Lance asked, nudging you gently as you both stood near the garage, watching the mechanics prepare the cars. Fernando had been whisked away for an interview, leaving you with Lance, as usual.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a small smile. He gave you a knowing look. “You sure? You’ve been pretty quiet since we got here.”

“Just getting used to all of this again,” you admitted, gesturing vaguely to the track. “It’s been a while.”

Lance nodded thoughtfully. “True, it’s a lot to take in, especially with all the media and fans around. But you’ll get back into the groove. Besides, you’ve got me to help you out.” He grinned, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thanks, Lance. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. I know Fernando can’t be here all the time, so I’ve got your back,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders in a casual, brotherly gesture. “Now, let’s go grab some coffee. I’ve got some time before we have our team meeting.”

As you walked through the paddock with Lance, he made it his mission to introduce you as well to a few people, keeping things light and easy. He was good at making sure you didn’t feel too overwhelmed, chatting away with everyone from the mechanics to PR staff. You felt comfortable around him, like you could just be yourself. However, Lance had also caught on to something that you had been trying to keep under wraps—your little crush on Lando Norris.

“So, Lando’s racing well this season, huh?” Lance commented casually as you passed the McLaren hospitality, his tone far too innocent for your liking.

“Don’t even start.” You glanced over at him, narrowing your eyes.

“What? I’m just saying,” Lance said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement. “You’ve been watching McLaren a lot today, just an observation.”

“I told you, I met him back in 2018. It’s not that big of a deal.” You rolled your eyes, but felt your cheeks warm.

“Uh-huh.” Lance’s grin widened. “So, you were surprised that he remembered you after all these years, huh? Sounds like someone made quite the impression.”

“Just like what Papa said,” you groaned, nudging him in the side. “Stop it, Lance.”

But he wasn’t letting up. “I mean, I get it. Lando’s a good-looking guy, charming, funny…oh, look! There he is!” He pointed ahead, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Lando walking toward the McLaren hospitality, chatting with a few team members.

“Lance—”

“Should I call him over?” Lance teased, raising his voice a little as if he were actually going to shout Lando’s name at any given moment.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare!”

He laughed behind your hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You dropped your hand, glaring at him, but he just grinned. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. I wouldn’t actually do it…unless, of course, you want me to.”

“I swear, Lance,” you mattered, glaring at him while he continued to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, what are big brothers for if not to embarrass you in front of your crush?” Lance said, folding his arms across his chest with a smug grin. “You’re not even my real brother,” you shot back, though your tone held no malice.

Despite his teasing, you appreciated having Lance around. He made the chaos of the paddock feel more tolerable for you, especially when Fernando was busy with meetings or media obligations.

“Technicalities,” Lance said, waving a hand. “Besides, Fernando practically trusts me to look after you when he’s not around, so that makes me your honorary big brother—and as your big brother, it is my duty to tease you about your crush on Lando.”

“Can you please stop calling it a crush? It’s just…he’s nice, okay? That’s all!” You groaned in frustration, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Lance raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying any of what you had said at all. “Right. Nice. Handsome, and funny, and…”

“Okay, okay!” You cut him off, your face burning with embarrassment. “I get it, you can shut up now.”

Lance chuckled again, then glanced over at Lando, who was still chatting nearby. “You know, he’s not that far. I bet you a hundred bucks that if I yelled out his name right now—”

“Lance, no!” You quickly covered his mouth with your hand again, “don’t even think about it.”

He pulled your hand away, laughing. “Fine, fine. But you owe me for holding back.”

“Owe you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, for not embarrassing you in front of your ‘not-crush,’” he said, air-quoting the last part with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but there was a fondness in the gesture. Lance had a way of making the most nerve-wracking moments feel lighter. Though you knew he’d never actually go through with his threats to call out to Lando, he kept your mind off your nerves and made being in the paddock a lot more bearable.

Just as you were about to give him another half-hearted glare, Fernando returned, fresh from his interview.

“Everything okay here?” He asked, glancing between you and Lance, clearly sensing the playful tension. “All good.” Lance replied with a grin, but you could see the mischief still twinkling in his eyes.

Fernando looked at you, raising an eyebrow. “You sure? Lance hasn’t been teasing you, has he?” You shook your head, biting back a smile. “No, nothing I can’t handle.”

Fernando smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Good. Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a bit of time before the team meeting, and I want to catch up with you.”

You and Lance followed your father, then you turned to him. “Thanks, Lance,” you said, voice soft.

Lance looked at you, slightly surprised by the sudden sincerity, then smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, I always got you.”

What you didn’t know, over the McLaren, Lando had also been dealing with his own set of nerves ever since that first conversation with you on your first day back at the paddock. It had been brief, but it left a mark on him. He couldn’t help but think about how much you had changed since the last time he saw you all those years ago—how you had grown into someone graceful, gorgeous, and kind, not to mention incredibly smart, which only made him more nervous to be around you.

Every time he would pass by the Aston Martin hospitality, he would always take a peek discreetly looking for you or when he saw you walking around the paddock with Fernando or Lance, his eyes would linger a little too long. But there was one problem—your father. As much as Lando respected Fernando, the idea of asking out his daughter was…intimidating, to say the least. The fact that Fernando was fiercely protective of you didn’t help. Yeah, he and Fernando were good mates on the grid, but that didn’t mean Lando was ready to risk his life, or his career, by doing something reckless, like trying to date the legendary driver’s only daughter.

So instead, Lando had been venting his frustrations at his teammate, Oscar, who had been on the receiving end of it and had quickly become the unwilling listener of Lando’s dilemma. Like the one he’s having right now. At this point, Lando is on the verge of a mental breakdown, and maybe possibly losing his mind about how he can ask you out.

“I don’t know, man,” Lando groaned as they sat in the McLaren garage, waiting for their next session. “She’s just…different. She’s smart, amazing, and don’t even get me started on how gorgeous she is. How am I supposed to ask her out when her dad is Fernando Alonso? I can’t compete with that.”

Oscar, who had been half-listening while scrolling through his phone, glanced up with an amused smile. “You’re overthinking it. You and Fernando get along just fine.”

“Yeah, on the track. This is completely different, mate!” Lando huffed, running a hand through his hair. “And what if she doesn’t even like me? I mean, she’s so quiet, I can’t tell if she’s interested or just being polite.”

Oscar leaned back in his seat, finally giving Lando his full attention. “You said she remembered you from 2018, right? That’s pretty much something. She’s been hanging around lately as well whenever Fernando would drop by at McLaren, so maybe she’s interested too. You’re never going to know unless you ask.”

Lando sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “But what if Fernando finds out and kills me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t kill me, and I have to deal with the awkwardness for the rest of the season?”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Mate, if you’re this scared of Fernando, you’ll never get anywhere. Plus, he’s not going to bite your head off. He’s a pretty reasonable guy, you just need to grow a spine and ask her out already.”

Lando shot him a glare. “Easy for you to say! You didn’t see the way Fernando looked at me when she and I talked last time, it was like he was reading my mind. Oh I swear he knows. Plus, you’re not the one trying to score a date with his daughter or the one that he’ll be running off of the track!”

“Okay, first of all, Fernando wouldn’t actually run you off the track. He’s a professional, mate, and maybe he does know, and maybe that’s why you need to stop hiding and just get over it.” Oscar laughed, shaking his head, “and second, yeah, that’s true. But I am tired of hearing you whine about it. Either ask her out or move on, you’re driving me insane man.”

Lando groaned again, but Oscar’s words stuck with him. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you did like him too. After all, you had seemed genuinely surprised when he remembered you from all those years ago, and there was also something in the way you looked at him sometimes—shy, but with a glimmer of interest, at least that gave him hope. But then, he’d remember your father, Fernando’s face popping in his mind. Fernando Alonso. One of the most respected and competitive drivers on the grid. How was he supposed to approach that conversation?

“Alright,” Lando said after a long pause. “I’ll think about it. I’ll ask her out…eventually.”

Oscar groaned. “Mate, if you don’t do it soon, I’m going to ask her out for you, or better yet, I’ll just tell Fernando.”

“Okay, okay!” Lando laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll do it. Just…give me some time to figure everything out.”

“Well, better figure it out quickly. Chop chop!” Oscar warned with a smirk. “Or else I’m really going to tell Fernando that his daughter’s got a secret admirer.”

He paled at the thought, Lando knew that Oscar would completely do it, without a doubt, and there was no escaping it. He had to do something, or he’d never live it down.

Lando had spent the better part of the week agonizing over how he would ask you out. After days of pacing, internal battle, and driving Oscar up the wall with his endless worries and overthinking, he finally devised what he thought was a foolproof plan.

“Okay, here me out. I’m going to ask her out during the Singapore Grand Prix,” Lando announced confidently, arms crossed over his chest. He looked over at Oscar, who raised an eyebrow.

“Singapore? Why there?” Oscar asked, clearly skeptical and a little bit confused. Lando shifted nervously, but kept his chin up. “Think about it. If she says no, I’ll have the whole month off before the US Grand Prix. Plenty of time to move on, right? It’s perfect. No awkward run-ins at the paddock, no weirdness during the races, just time to get over it.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking as he listened to Lando’s outrageously insane logic. “You do realize that even if you have a month off, you’ll still see her at the US Grand Prix, right?”

Lando blinked, his confidence faltering for a moment. “Well…yeah, but that’s like, way down the line! By then, things will have settled.”

Oscar snorted. “Or you’ll just be dragging it out longer, and it’ll be just as awkward when you see her at the US GP as it would be anywhere else. Let’s also not forget, she’s Fernando’s daughter, no way can you just avoid her.”

Lando’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he quickly straightened up again, determined to defend his plan. “Nah mate, it’ll be fine. If she says no, I’ll have a whole month to, like…recalibrate. By the time the US GP rolls around, I’ll be good. Plus, Singapore has always been special to her. She lived there, went to university there—it’s got sentimental value. It’s a good place to ask.”

Oscar sighed, shaking his head. “Mate, honestly, that is the worst logic I’ve ever heard. You’re going to see her whether she rejects you or not. A month isn’t going to magically make it less awkward.”

“Yes, but—” Lando tried to defend himself, but Oscar cuts him off.

“No, seriously. Just because there’s a break between races doesn’t mean your feelings are going to magically disappear in four weeks. You’ll have to see her, you’ll still have to deal with it. You’re not just going to poof get over it because the calendar says so.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. “Okay, fine, maybe it’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got! What else am I supposed to do?”

“How about this,” Oscar said, leaning forward, his tone dead serious. “Ask her out because you like her, not because you’re trying to time your emotional recovery between races. You’re just over complicating everything, man.”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. “But what if she says no?” Oscar gave him a deadpan look. “And if she says yes?”

What Oscar said definitely threw Lando for a loop. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if she says yes, what’s the point of your ‘one month to move on’ plan? You’ll see her even more. Mate, you’ll have to be ready for things to go somewhere, especially with her dad around.”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Yeah, but—well, I mean, that would be the ideal situation, right? If she says yes, then great! No need for a break, and she and I can ride off into the sunset.”

Oscar sighed, clearly amused but trying to help his friend make sense of things while he himself is currently on his wits end. “Look, I’m just saying your logic is a bit off. If you like her, just ask her out. Whether it’s in Singapore or the US or wherever, the outcome will all be the same. You either take a chance or keep overthinking it.”

Lando sighed dramatically, plopping down in the chair next to Oscar. “I know, I know. It’s just…I want it to be perfect, you know? I’ve liked her for a while, and it feels like I’ve only got one shot at this. As the wise words of Eminem and I quote, ‘you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo.’”

“Can’t believe that you really quoted Eminem,” Oscar laughed, though he couldn’t resist teasing him. “You’ve already got a shot, mate. She talks to you, she remembers you, and you’re the only one who keeps making excuses.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Fine, okay. Singapore it is. But if I get rejected, you’re the one driving me to the airport.” Oscar laughed, patting Lando on the back. “Deal. But if she says yes, you owe me free dinners until the end of the season.”

“What?! That’s insane!” Oscar rolled his eyes, but gave a small smile, “it’s enough to cover as a compensation for what you had put me through. Driving me insane with your crazy ass.”

“Alright, fine! Deal.” Oscar grinned, “that’s more like it! Now shake on it.” He held out his hand for Lando to shake, to seal the deal that they had made.

“Now, don’t you chicken out, or else I’m really telling Fernando myself.” Lando shot him a glare. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.” Oscar said with a smirk.

Despite Oscar’s teasing, Lando knew he was right. Whether or not the timing was ideal, he has to shoot his shot with you. Singapore was coming up fast, and with it, the moment of truth. He just hoped that whatever the outcome of everything, he wouldn’t end up regretting it—because, at the end of the day, you were definitely worth the risk.

SINGAPORE

The Singapore Grand Prix had finally arrived, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and comfort being back in the place you now considered as your second home. The familiar street, the warm tropical breeze, and the breathtaking skyline that always felt like a protective shield—all of it made you feel grounded. However, this year felt different though. You are here with your father, Fernando, but now you are grown, with your own life in Singapore. A part of you wanted to stay here permanently, and you knew that this kind of conversation with your father was coming.

You had also flown back to Singapore a little bit earlier than Fernando, so right after the race in Baku, you flew back to Singapore, and you would just meet up with him once he arrived. You made plans with some old university friends for a brunch date, and it had been very refreshing, catching up with familiar faces and feeling part of the city again, laughing over stories of your time during your undergraduate days and just listening to their life updates.

It was Tuesday when Fernando arrived in Singapore, and it felt like a reunion, even though you had been apart for a short period of time. You met him at the hotel he was staying in, and the moment you saw him, a gentle warmth spread through your chest.

“Papa!” You called, rushing to give him a big hug. He enveloped you in a tight hug, lifting you off your feet for a moment. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you too, mi pequeño campeón,” he replied, a proud smile on his face.

Despite the happiness you were currently feeling, the upcoming conversation with your father about your future was creeping at the back of your mind. You wanted to properly talk to him about staying in Singapore permanently, though you knew it wouldn’t be easy. The bond between you and your father had always been strong, and you didn’t want him to think that you were drifting away, especially that you’re the only one he has. After all, you were still his daughter, and no matter where you were in the world, that wouldn’t change.

“You’ve grown up so much,” Fernando said with a proud smile on his face as you walked through the bustling streets, the sounds of the city surrounding you. “It feels like just yesterday you were running around the house in your diapers and wearing your underwear in your head.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“Yeah, well, I’m all grown up now,” you replied, playfully nudging him. “But I’m really happy to be spending the time with you, Papa.”

You walked through the bustling streets, visited the Garden by the Bay, and took him to Sentosa, where you went to Universal Studios and rode the famous cable car. It felt good, just like the old times, where it was just you and him, with no race schedules or media obligations pulling him away.

As you strolled through the bustling hawker centers, savoring the delicious local food, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you, and with Fernando seeing you order the food you wanted to eat, he can perfectly see how you fit right in this kind of environment, it was like as if your were a true local. It made him happy to see that you are happy, comfortable, and content with the country that you were living in for the past years. Right after a satisfying dinner at the hawker centers, you decided to stroll at a park, and sat down at a bench, watching the Singaporean skyline.

“Papa, can we talk about something serious?” You said, glancing at him.

“Of course, mi vida,” he replied, leaning back comfortably on the bench, his expression turning earnest. “What’s in that little mind of yours?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I’ve been thinking a lot…about staying here in Singapore. I love it here, and I want to pursue my masters degree and build my career. I know it’s a big decision, but…I really feel at home here, Papa.”

He turned to you, his expression soft but curious. “I figured as much. You’ve always seemed at peace here,” he said with a smile, though there was a flicker of emotions in his eyes. “But does this mean you won’t be coming to visit me anymore? I’ll miss you, you know.”

You smile gently. “Of course I’ll visit you! I’m not disappearing, I promise. It’s just…I feel like I’ve found my place here. But you’ll always be my home too, no matter where you are.”

Fernando nodded, his arm draping over your shoulders. “As long as you’re happy, safe, and chasing your dreams, I will always support you. Just don’t forget to visit your old man, alright?” You leaned into him, grateful for his understanding. “I could never forget.”

“However, we’ll need to discuss the logistics and what that means for your studies.” You nodded, “of course! I’ll figure everything out.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence that stretched between you, but you knew there was something else you needed to come clean about. Something more personal and had been on your mind for a while now. As much as it makes you nervous, you trust your father enough to talk about it.

“Papa, there’s something else I need to tell you,” you said, your voice quieter now. Fernando turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “It’s about Lando.”

That got his attention. Fernando looked at you more intently, a mixture of surprise and curiosity crossing his face. “Lando? What about him?” You bit your lip, feeling your heart rate pick up. “I—I think I like him. It’s not just a silly crush anymore. It’s something more.”

For a moment, Fernando didn’t say anything, his face was unreadable as he processed what you had just said. You braced yourself, really unsure of how he would react. Would he be overprotective? Would he laugh? Or would he be mad? You couldn’t really tell.

But then, he sighed, his expression softening as he just smiled at you. “I had a feeling,” he said, surprising you. “You…did?” You asked, blinking.

Fernando chuckled. “Soy tu padre, mi amor. I always notice these kinds of things, and I have seen the way Lando looks at you too.” He shook his head slightly. “I just didn’t think it had gotten this serious.”

“It’s not serious, serious. But I can tell that it’s more than just a crush,” you admitted, feeling relieved that he wasn’t upset. “I don’t know if he feels the same way, but I want to be honest with you, I don’t like hiding things from you. You’re my Papa, and I wanted you to know.”

Fernando sighed, pulling you closer. “I appreciate that you told me, princesa. I trust you to make your own decisions, just…if things ever get too difficult, or if you need advice, don’t hesitate to come to me. Lando’s a good kid, but relationships are never easy, especially in this kind of world. But no matter what happens, I’m going to be always here for you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder.

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter now that you had told him the truth. “I will. Thank you, Papa.”

Fernando chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, it’s hard to keep up with you sometimes. One moment you’re my little girl, and the next you’re talking about pursuing a career and potentially dating a race car driver.”

You laughed, feeling a mix of relief and warmth. “I guess I’m just growing up. But you know that I’ll always be your little girl, Papa.”

“Well, if Lando makes you happy, I don’t see why you shouldn’t explore that,” he said, his tone softening. “Just be careful, okay? You know how the media can be, and I want you to be safe.”

“Of course, Papa. I promise.” You smiled at him.

As you sat there at the bench with your father, the weight of the conversation lifted, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. You didn’t know what would happen with Lando, but you knew you had the support of the one person who mattered most—your father, and for now, that was enough.

The atmosphere inside the Aston Martin garage was buzzing with the pre-race tension as you stood by, watching your father make his final preparations. Fernando will be starting in P7, and while you had been through countless races with him, the familiar knot of nerves still twisted in your stomach. You couldn’t help it—racing was unpredictable, and no matter how many times you had seen your father take on a track, you would always be worried. Just before he climbed into the car, you walked over and wrapped your arms around Fernando, squeezing him tightly.

“Good luck, Papa,” you whispered, your voice slightly muffled against his racing suit.

Fernando returned the hug, holding you for a moment longer than usual. “I’ll be fine, cariño,” he assured you, pulling back to smile at you with that calm, reassuring look he always gave before a race. “Just keep your eyes on the screen, and remember, I’ll be coming back to you after this.”

You nodded, managing a small smile despite the nervousness you’re feeling. “I know. But still, just be careful out there, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, giving you a smile before heading toward his car. You watched as he climbed in, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline that always hit just before the lights went out.

As the race began, you settled into the garage, your eyes darting between the live feed of your father’s car and, admittedly, a certain McLaren that had started from pole position. Lando. You weren’t sure why, but every time he appeared on the screen, your heart would always skip a beat.

Lando had an incredible start, holding his position from the first corner. You watched as lap after lap, Lando built a commanding 20-second gap over Max, pushing through the relentless humidity of Singapore. It was clear by the midway point that he had the race in the bag, and that didn’t stop you from feeling a strange mix of pride and nervous energy for him too.

Fernando, on the other hand, was fighting a tough race. It wasn’t easy, but you knew he’d give it everything he had, like he always does. When the checkered flag finally waved, Lando crossed the line first, successfully claiming his third win of the season. Max came in second, and Oscar rounded out the podium in third, making it a double podium for McLaren, while Fernando finished on P8. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, relieved that the race was finally over and that both Lando and your father had finished safely.

You waited for Fernando to make his way back to the garage, you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest. Lando had won, and while you were genuinely happy for him, you were also unsure of what to do next. Should you congratulate him? Would he even have time for you amidst the celebrations?

When your father finally walked into the garage, you rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around him again. “P8! That’s great, Papa!” You beamed, knowing it had been a tough race.

Fernando chuckled softly, patting your back. “Not bad for your old man, huh? It was a bit of a struggle out there, but I’m happy with it.” You pulled back and looked up at him, the warmth of post-race moments settling between you. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Singapore can be brutal.”

He nodded in agreement, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. “You’re right about that. The heat doesn’t make it any easier.”

The two of you just stood there, catching your breath, Fernando gave you a knowing look. “So…you’re not going to congratulate Lando?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, well…I mean, I was going to, but I thought he’d be busy celebrating, you know…podiums, interviews, all that.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, come on. He just won the Singapore Grand Prix, I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing it from you, you know.”

“I know, but…I don’t want to interrupt. It’s his moment,” you said, shifting on your feet, feeling unsure of yourself.

Your father shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re always so thoughtful, but you should give yourself more credit, cariño. He’s not going to mind talking to you, even if he’s celebrating.” You sighed, half-laughing. “I’ll think about it. Maybe later, if we bump into each other.”

Fernando put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched the scene unfolding by the McLaren garage from the distance. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Just trust yourself. Lando’s a good kid—and he likes you too, you know.”

Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, surprised by his comment. “What do you mean by that?” He just gave you a knowing smile. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I might be your Papa, but I’m not blind.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, looking away to hide your embarrassment. “Papa!” He just laughed at you, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’m just saying, hija. Don’t be so nervous, and if you do talk to him tonight, just be yourself. That’s all that matters.”

You leaned into him, grateful for his constant support. “Thanks, Papa. I’ll try not to overthink it too much.”

“Good. Remember, if he gives you any trouble, I’ll have a word with him,” Fernando teased, though you knew very well that he wasn’t entirely joking. You laughed, shaking your head. “I think I can handle it.”

“That’s my girl.” He said, ruffling your hair playfully before letting go.

It was late by the time you and Fernando finally left the paddock. The post-race chaos had kept you there far longer than you expected—interviews, debriefings, team meetings, but you didn’t mind too much. As the two of you exited the Aston Martin motorhome, you were feeling tired, but the evening breeze helped clear your mind, cooling your nerves after the long day.

You and Fernando walked side by side, heading towards the parking lot, and you were mentally replaying the events of the day. You both feel relieved and happy that your father had finished the race safely, but at the same time, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lando. The memory of him winning the race, standing on the top step of the podium—it had all been imprinted in your mind. You still hadn’t congratulated him, and now, the internal debate was in full force.

Just as you and Fernando reached the parking lot, you spotted Lando. He was about to leave as well, freshly showered and looking relaxed, though the sight of him made your heart race all over again. The internal conflict within you wasn’t exactly that subtle—your hesitation must have been really visible, because Fernando glanced at you but chose not to say anything, giving you space to decide.

Right before you could make up your mind, Lando had noticed you. His eyes lit up as he called your name, voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Hey!”

You froze for a second, then offered him a shy smile. Before you could even form a proper response, Lando began walking over to you, his expression bright and boyish. Your nerves kicking into high gear, and for a brief moment, you wished you had more time to properly collect yourself. But Fernando, always one to notice, just smiled and took your handbag from your hand.

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” he said, tone light and teasing as he glanced between you and Lando. “Take your time.” With that, he left, giving you an encouraging wink as he walked away. Now, it was just you and Lando.

The moment felt heavier than what you had expected, both of you standing there in the dimly lit parking lot, nerves getting the better of you. You could feel your palms starting to sweat, unsure of how to start a conversation. But Lando, surprisingly, seemed just as equally nervous as you, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting on his feet awkwardly.

“So…uhm, congrats on the win,” you blurted out, your voice a bit quieter than what you had intended. “You were amazing out there.”

Lando’s eyes softened, his grin widening at your words. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.” He paused, as if debating his next move. Then, in one breath, he blurted out, “Do you want to go out with me? Like, on an actual date?”

The question hung in the air for a second longer than it should have, and you blinked, too stunned to even respond right away. Did you hear that right? Did Lando Norris just actually ask you out on a date? Your mind raced, trying to process the suddenness of it all. Lando’s expression faltered slightly at your silence, his cheeks turning pink as he took a step back, clearly assuming the worst.

“Oh, uh…you don’t have to answer right away if you don’t want to. I mean, it’s totally fine if you’re not interested—”

“No, no! I mean yes! I mean—” you are fumbling, trying to get the right words out, waving your hands in front of you. “I’m not saying no. I just…I didn’t expect you to ask, that’s all. I—” you stopped yourself, realizing that you were rambling and it’s sounding so ridiculous and embarrassing. “Of course I’d love to go out with you.” You said finally, voice more even now.

Lando’s face brightened instantly, his nervousness giving way to a wide grin. “Really? You would?”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve kind of…liked you for a while now. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

Lando laughed, a light, relieved sound. “Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to ask you since…well, since forever, really. I just wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.” He scratched the back of his head, expression sheepish. “I thought your dad might…you know, run me off track or something.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nerves slowly starting to melt away. “He might, but I think he likes you, so you’re safe. Don’t worry.”

He chuckled, visibly more at ease now that the awkwardness had passed. Then, he hesitated, his expression turning curious. “So, are you staying here in Singapore after the race? Or are you going to be with your dad during the break?”

“I’m staying for a week,” you explained, feeling more comfortable now. “I’ve got some things I need to work on here, but after that, I’m heading off to St. Moritz with Papa. We’re going to spend some time there before the next race.”

His eyes lit up with a hopeful look. “Do you think we could…maybe squeeze in our date before you leave? I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the idea, and you nodded, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Yeah, I think we can definitely make that work.”

“Great! I’ll figure something out and text you, then.” Lando grinned, looking as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As you both stood there, a comfortable silence settling between you, Lando glanced towards the car where Fernando was waiting and then back at you.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your dad’s car before he thinks I’m keeping you hostage.” You laughed softly and replied, “He’s probably watching us from the rearview mirror right now.”

He fell into step beside you, his hand grazing yours for a moment before he hesitated, unsure if he should take your hand with his or not. The gesture was so innocent, so sweet, that without thinking, you reached out and took Lando’s hand in yours, giving it a light squeeze.

When you reached the car, he paused, giving you one last, nervous smile. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, definitely.” You replied, feeling a little giddy now.

Lando looked at you with a soft smile, and before you started overthinking again, you leaned in and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. The move surprised even you—you had no idea where you got the confinement all of the sudden, but it felt right.

“Goodnight, Lando.” You said softly and smiled at him, “Goodnight.” He replied back shyly.

You climbed into the car as he walked away, you swear you saw him cheering with himself as his figure disappeared into the night.

Fernando glanced at you, a knowing smile on his face. “So, how did it go?” You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “It went fine, Papa. Really fine.”

“Fine, huh?” He chuckled, shifting the car into gear. “Looks like it was more than just fine to me.”

You laughed softly, settling into the passenger seat as the car pulled away from the paddock, your thoughts still on Lando and your upcoming date.

The evening air in Singapore was warm and soft, carrying the sounds of the city as you walked beside Lando through the quieter streets. It has been an eventful week for you, but you were happy that your date with Lando had finally happened. Your date had been more than what you could have hoped for. He had picked you up from your apartment earlier in the evening, and you had taken on the role of his guide, showing him the city like a true local—taking him to places that tourists rarely visited. The city was your second home, and it felt special to be sharing it with him, especially since he’d only known it through the brief lens of race weekends.

Lando seemed eager to soak it all in. “So, where to first?” He asked, glancing over at you with a smile as you walked side by side with your hands intertwined.

“You’ll see,” you teased, knowing he’d enjoy the places you had in mind.

You had decided to take him to the quieter parts of the city—away from the tourist crowds and into the hidden corners where you had spent most of your time. You led him through the winding streets, showing him local markets, narrow alleyways adorned with colorful murals, and cozy cafés that are tucked between old buildings.

“This is incredible,” Lando said after a while, his voice full of admiration as he looked around. “I had no idea Singapore had all these little spots.”

“Well, it’s different when you’re not here just for the race,” you replied, smiling softly. “I love it here. It’s home.”

Eventually, you brought him to one of your favorite places—a small, family-run restaurant hidden away from the bustling city, where you had frequented during your college days. The smell of home-cooked food wafted through the air as you approached, and a warmth spread through you as you saw the familiar faces of the elderly couple who owned the place.

“Ah, you’re back!” The old man greeted you with a wide smile, coming around the counter to hug you. “It’s been too long, my dear. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” you said, hugging him back. “This is Lando, by the way.”

Lando smiled and offered his hand, but the old man pulled him into a friendly hug instead. “Welcome! Any friend of hers is always welcome here.”

The woman joined her husband, her eyes twinkling as she looked you over. “You’ve brought someone special this time, I see,” she said softly, her tone playful.

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, but Lando laughed, giving you a teasing look. “She’s showing me all of the best spots in the city.”

The couple fussed over the two of you, bringing out plates of food that smelled and tasted like comfort, making sure that the two of you are comfortable and well-fed. The conversation flowed easily, with Lando making both of them laugh with his stories. It was nice—being there with him, surrounded by people who cared for you like family. After the meal, you thanked the couple, promising to visit again once you’re back in Singapore. They handed out a takeout bag for each of you, containing one of their desserts that you loved very much.

“Take care of her, young man,” the old woman said, patting Lando’s arm as you both stood to leave.

“I will,” Lando promised, voice soft but sincere.

It was already past ten in the evening, and the city lights are casting a gentle glow around you. Streets were peaceful, and the warmth of the evening breeze made the city feel even more intimate. Only the sound of your footsteps can be heard on the pavement as you and Lando strolled side by side.

“I still can’t believe I’ve never seen this side of Singapore before,” Lando said, his voice warm with admiration. You smiled, glancing up at him. “I guess it helps when you have a local guide. There’s so much more to Singapore than just the Marina Bay and the usual tourist spots.”

“I’m starting to see that,” he said with a soft chuckle. “And I like it.”

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the night around you quiet and serene. There was something so comforting about being with Lando like this—no cameras or media, just the two of you walking through a city you loved. The ease of it all made your heart swell with affection.

As you reached a small park, Lando slowed his pace, glancing at you with a thoughtful look in his eyes. You smiled, remembering your father’s request.

“Oh, right! I almost forgot, before Papa left Singapore, he asked me to extend the invitation to you. He wants you to join us in St. Moritz for the break. He said he would like to get to know you better, outside of racing. Only if you’re not too busy.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in surprise, then grinned. “Really? He actually said that?” You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. “Yeah, he did. He’s a bit overprotective, but he likes you.”

Lando laughed softly. “Well, that’s a relief. I was kind of worried he’d be ready to send me into a wall or something.”

You shook your head, laughing with him. “No, I think you’re safe. He just wants to make sure I’m okay.”

Lando’s expression softened as he looked at you. “I get that. I really would love to go to St. Moritz with you. It sounds…nice. Meeting your family, spending time with you.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page about…us.”

Your heart raced at the shift in the conversation. You had known this topic would come up eventually, and now that it had, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves.

“You mean…our relationship?” You asked softly.

Lando nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. I really like you—a lot, and I want this to work, but I also know that it won’t be easy. You’re living in Singapore permanently, and I’m always traveling for races. It’ll be a long distance.”

“I know. I’ve thought about it too. I’m planning to stay here, especially since I’m going to start my masters at the end of the season. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and Singapore is home now.” You sighed, feeling a knot form in your chest.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that, and I would never want to get in the way of your plans. But we’ll make it work, right? I mean, we have to try.”

“Yeah, we’ll try. It’s not going to be easy, but if we both want this, we can make it work.” You smiled softly, feeling a sense of comfort settle over you.

“Exactly. You know, it’s not like I won’t ever see you. We can visit each other during breaks, and I’ll be in Singapore for races. Plus, there’s always the off-season.” He smiled at you.

You laughed, feeling lighter now that the conversation had been laid out so openly. “True. I’ll visit you too in Monaco when I can. It’s just going to take some balancing.”

“Yeah, but I think we can handle that,” he said confidently. “Besides, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re right. It’ll be worth it.” He stepped closer, grabbing your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. We’ll figure everything out together.” Lando brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I don’t want to lose this, lose you. If that means I have to fly halfway around the world to see you, I will.”

In that moment, you knew you felt the same. You didn’t want to lose this either—whatever it was that had sparked between you two. Maybe it was new, maybe it was fragile, but it was real, and you were both willing to fight for it.

“Yep.” You smiled up at him. “And in the meantime, we’ve got St. Moritz. So, will you come?”

Lando grinned, pulling you into a playful hug. “Try and stop me.”

You laughed as he twirled you in the quiet street, your heart feeling lighter than it had been in a long time. You both walked back toward his car, hand in hand, the future didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

ST. MORITZ

The flight to St. Moritz was filled with quiet excitement. You and Lando had spent most of the time talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other’s company without the rush of the race weekend hanging over you. It felt peaceful, like a little bubble where the outside world didn’t matter. But as you began to descend into the Swiss Alps, your nerves started to pick up again, especially knowing that this trip would bring Lando one step closer to your family.

When you both arrived at the chalet, the crisp mountain air filled your lungs, and you felt an immediate sense of calm. Waiting outside the chalet was your father, along with your grandparents, who waved warmly as you and Lando got out of the car. Fernando greeted you first, pulling you into a tight hug. Then he turned to Lando, giving him a welcoming hug too, but there was a knowing look in your father’s eyes.

Lando smiled, trying to hide the bit of nerves you knew he must be feeling. “Good to see you again, Fernando.” Lando said.

“Good to see you too, Lando. Glad you can make it, and welcome to the family vacation.” Fernando replied, clapping him on the back before gesturing for you both to come inside.

You were quickly enveloped in the warmth of the chalet, and your grandparents greeted you with smiles, your grandmother pulling you into a soft embrace.

“Look at you, mi hija,” she cooed, brushing some hair out of your face. “How are you? And what have you been up to in Singapore?”

You smiled warmly. “I’m doing great, Grandma. Just finished my degree and I’m now working on settling down in Singapore. I’ve got my plans for my masters lined up.”

“¡Oh, nuestra hermosa y inteligente chica! Siempre haciéndonos orgullosos.” Your grandmother beamed proudly, as your grandfather gave a nod of approval, his eyes twinkling as he looked over at Lando, who stood patiently beside you. “And who’s this fine young man?” He asked, his tone playful but curious.

You introduced Lando to them, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. “This is Lando, Grandpa. He’s a driver too in Formula 1, just like Papa. We’ve…gotten close recently.”

Lando offered a polite smile, shaking your grandfather’s hand and exchanging greetings with your grandmother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with laughter, light banter, and plenty of teasing. Fernando, as you expected, couldn’t resist throwing in a few playful jabs at Lando, especially whenever the conversation turned towards racing. Your grandparents, however, were more interested in hearing about how Lando and you had met, gently nudging the conversation toward stories about the two of you.

“So, Lando,” your grandmother began, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “do you plan on visiting Singapore often? You know, to keep this one company.”

Lando grinned, glancing at you before answering. “As often as I can. I’ve already promised her that I’ll make the long flights.” Your grandfather chuckled, patting Lando on the shoulder. “Good man.”

After dinner, you and Lando lingered in the living room, soaking in the warmth of the fire while your grandparents shared stories with Fernando. It felt comfortable, like a real family gathering, and you could tell that Lando was starting to relax, even under the weight of the situation. Eventually, Lando turned to you, his expression a little more serious but still soft.

“I think I’ll be joining your dad and grandfather for a drink,” he said, his eyes betraying a hint of nerves.

You knew exactly what that meant—a talk. The one where Fernando and your grandfather would grill Lando just enough to make sure he had good intentions, but also bond with him in the way only family could. You smiled reassuringly at him. You knew your father and grandfather weren't going to scare him off—they just wanted to make sure that Lando understood the importance of looking after you.

“Good luck. They’ll go easy on you, I think.” Lando let out a small laugh, standing up and leaning down to give you a quick, comforting kiss on the cheeks. “I’ll survive.”

As Lando, Fernando, and your grandfather settled into a more private part of the chalet, you stayed behind with your grandmother, who started making tea and fussing over the details of dinner, especially the topic of you and Lando. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous for Lando, but you trust your father. Even though he could be overprotective, he just wanted the best for you, and it was obvious that he saw potential in Lando—enough to invite him to St. Moritz.

Meanwhile, in the other room, your father and grandfather wasted nontime diving into their questions.

“Lando,” your grandfather began, his tone warm but firm. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do outside of racing? What kind of man are you, really?”

Lando smiled nervously, but answered honestly. “Well, I enjoy a lot of things—gaming, playing golf when I can, running my own company, but mostly just spending time with friends and family. Outside of racing, I try to keep my life simple. But…I think I’m just someone who’s passionate about what I do and the people I care about.”

Fernando nodded, sipping his drink slowly. “And my daughter? How serious are you about her?” His voice was calm, but the weight of the question hung in the air.

Lando didn’t falter, he glanced toward the door as if picturing you on the other side before he spoke. “I’m very serious about her. I’ve liked her for a long time, and I know it’s still new, but I’m willing to put in the work to make it last. I care about her a lot, and I respect her decisions, her life in Singapore, everything.”

Your grandfather exchanged a glance with Fernando before leaning back in his chair. “She’s settled in Singapore, and you’re constantly traveling. Long distance relationships aren’t for the faint of heart.” he said thoughtfully.

“I do understand,” Lando replied earnestly, meeting both of their gazes head-on. “And I’ve thought about that a lot. I know it’ll be challenging, but I’m willing to make it work. She means a lot to me, and I don’t want to let the distance be the thing that keeps us apart.”

Your grandfather nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “That’s good to hear,” he said for a moment. “We’ve always wanted the best for her, and if you’re willing to put in the effort, that says a lot about the kind of man you are.”

Fernando didn’t say much after that, but you knew he was taking everything in, assessing the way Lando spoke about you, he just smiled widely at him. It was clear that he appreciated Lando’s honesty and sincerity, he just wanted what's best for his only daughter—which is his whole world. But as a father, he would always be protective of you.

After the conversation wound down, Lando returned to your side, visibly relieved but still wearing that charming smile oh his, and putting an arm around you as he sat beside you on the couch. You raised an eyebrow as he sat beside you.

“Hey, how did it go?” You asked, intertwining your hand with his over your shoulder, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Lando exhaled, running a hand through his hair with his free hand. “Well, let’s just say that your dad and grandfather aren’t easily won over,” he said with a grin. “But I think I passed.”

“I had no doubt you would.” You laughed softly, leaning into his chest.

The night wound down and the chalet grew quieter, you found yourself sitting with Lando by the fire, the two of you are wrapped in a comfortable silence. The warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of his breathing next to you made everything feel perfect. St. Moritz had a way of making everything feel more peaceful, and with Lando by your side, you knew this was just the beginning of something special.

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by aussiegrit, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, sebastianvettel, lance_stroll and 127,839 others

fernandoalo_oficial Vacaciones! Decided to take the kids skiing 😁🏂❄️

view all 34,847 comments

sebastianvettel is that little alonso? she’s all grown up now! i remember when she was still too shy to even say hello. time flies!

fernandoalo_oficial she’s still shy 😁 and she’s already catching up to me!

user1 kidS? hmmm

user2 last time i remember, fernando only has 1 kid 🤨🤨🤨🤨

jensonbutton little alonso! i remember when she used to hide behind you in the paddock! look at her now!

fernandoalo_oficial she still does! 😂

aussiegrit you’re making us feel old, mate! lovely to see you two enjoying St. Moritz.

fernandoalo_oficial ❤️

user3 we need little alonso on instagram!! 😩

fernandoalo_oficial she’s a social hermit, good luck convincing her to be on any social media 😂

user3 OHMGYGSKD I LOVE YOU!!

user4 nando out here calling his own daughter social hermit HEUHFJENDNX I CANT

user5 imagine if little alonso has her own instagram, there would be world peace

user6 omg i KNOW! we all know that her instagram feed will be so gorgeous and aesthetic

user5 but we still love our social hermit queen, even if she’s not chronically online 💔

user6 always getting our little alonso crumbs from fernando himself

user7 little alonso crumbs LESGOOOO

user8 when is she joining social media? we need to know more about her!

fernandoalo_oficial she’s a social hermit, trust me, not happening anytime soon 😂

user8 OMFHFEHJDJSJSJS

user9 LITTLE ALONSO!!! 😭😭😭😭 we used to pray for times like this

landonorris posted a story!

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63, lance_stroll, maxfewtrell, fernandoalo_oficial and others

user10 SIR???? 🤨🤨🤨🤨

user11 did you just yeet ur girl 😭😭😭

oscarpiastri THANK GOD! I’ll be expecting that free dinner soon until the end of season 😁

landonorris yeah yeah smh 🙄

oscarpiastri 😁😁😁

fernandoalo_oficial ❤️

fernandoalo_oficial you take care of her, alright? i trust you 👍🏻

landonorris don’t worry, she’s in good hands!

fernandoalo_oficial good.

lance_stroll i know fernando already gave you the talk, but still wanna say that you take good care of her

landonorris fernando and her grandpa gave me the talk, but don’t worry, i’ll take good care of her

user12 is this what i think it is????

user13 STOP THIS IS ACTUALLY SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY 😭😭😭

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, georgerussell63, lance_stroll and 3,749,837 others

landonorris ⛷️❤️

view all 45,748 comments

user14 STOP IT U GUYS ARE SO CUTE 😭😭😭

user15 lando out here winning sg gp and then having a new girlfriend 😔

oscarpiastri i’ll claim that free dinner until the end of the season ticket, please and a thank you as well

landonorris THANK YOU! 🫵🏻

user16 why can i hear lando’s reply 😭

georgerussell63 i see that you’re getting well acquainted with the family, huh? 👀

landonorris well, what can i say? 🤷🏻‍♂️

alex_albon so…you really bagged her, huh?

landonorris rizz god. all in a day’s work 😮‍💨

maxfewtrell you really had to take a photo before helping her…classic lando

landonorris can’t help it, too funny not to

maxfewtrell well, can’t wait to meet her!

landonorris I SWEAR I HELPED RIGHT AFTER THE SELFIE STOP ATTACKING ME 😣😣😣

carlossainz55 taking a selfie first? thought you’d be a gentleman, cabron

landonorris SHUT UP I HELPED OKAY

lance_stroll is that who i think it is? 🤔

landonorris 😁😁😁

pierregasly well well well, norris finally bagged the most elusive catch on the grid 😂

landonorris all thanks to oscarpiastri for giving me the pep talk. my #1 cheerleader 😍

oscarpiastri you guys don’t know the suffering i went through. almost wanted to drive myself up on the wall. better thank me on your wedding speech, i deserve it

user17 HALF OF THE GRID KNOWS WHATS UP!!! LET US IN!!!!

maxverstappen1 oh ho ho ho someone finally grew some spine!

landonorris 🫣🫣🫣

charles_leclerc have you already talked about the garage situation?

landonorris i believe that it’ll be non-negotiable, i’m afraid 😔💔

user17 garage situation??? gARAGE SITUATION??? WHAT WHAT

user18 guys, remember that time ages ago when he was spotted chatting with little alonso? that could be her?

user19 yeah, but she’s a really private person. girlie doesn’t even have socmed accs 😭

user20 that’s a bit of a stretch there

user19 not to mention that’s she’s literally shy by nature

user20 i know who’s also on a ski trip 👀

user21 the alonsos? nah, girlie’s shy af and mostly keep herself away from the spotlight

user20 but didn’t she came back to the paddock this season? could be her yk and lando’s just keeping it lowkey

user22 you guys are all over the place! it could literally just be a friend. RELAX! 😂

user23 not y’all really busting your braincells out there with just this post 😭🫵🏻

user24 CAN THIS PEOPLE GET ANY CUTER??? FIRST THE IG STORY AND NOW THIS???? 😭😭😭

user25 you guys need to stop assuming stuff. that’s literally not little alonso 🤥 she’s a really private person, never seen in public unless she’s with nando. it’s just probably one of lando’s friends…

user26 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH SIS!! people really out here assuming things 🤡

user25 TRUE

user27 i second that. can’t multiple people ski at the same time without connecting all these nonexistent dots together???

user28 if it’s really little alonso…how did he manage to bag nando’s daughter 😭😭😭 this man is playing 4d chess, i swEAR 😭😭😭

Chapter 2- Unspoken Yearning

Accelerating Emotions (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Oscar is becoming painfully obvious that he loves Y/N. Even Lando is sick and tired of him. Y/N's having some weird feelings. She's always been clumsy but these strange occurrences have her heart beating really fast.

Y/N was busy talking to her brothers and Oscar's sisters when she heard that familiar voice. He sounded much more older and mature. She turned around to look at the boy who was sounding a lot like a man and maybe he looked older too, she thought. Their eyes met and she smiled at Oscar. She hadn't seen him in ages; he sounded more mature, even hot if it wasn't weird to call her brother's friend hot, he had lost his cute cheeks that she loved pinching, his hair was just as fluffy as it used to be and the closer she got, she realised he had grown quite tall, almost half a foot taller then her. "Hi Oscar" she greeted him with her hand out; Oscar's eyes were wide and he was staring at her. She looked beautiful in the midi skirt and top she paired with a cardigan since the weather was cooler lately. Her eyes were still as warm as he remembered, her nails were neatly manicured. "Is something on my face?" she asked now self conscious. "Nothing" Lando answered, "I'm Lando" he added. "I know, I'm Y/N, a friend of Oscar's" she said. "Oscar never told me his friend was this pretty" Lando said. Oscar saw Y/N tuck her hair behind her ear while a blush graced her cheeks. "Everyone's here Oscar, you should go meet 'em" she called out as Lando walked away with Y/N.

Oscar walked towards the group to greet everyone while he could see his best friend shaking his head. "Why are you shaking your head?" Oscar asked. "Nothing, it looks like Y/N might ask Lando out if he compliments her one more time" Ansel pointed out. Oscar couldn't let that happen, he hurriedly walked towards the pair, "umm....Y/N...Ansel was calling for you and Lando we need to go see the engineers, they asked to come at this time" Oscar said looking at his watch, dragging Lando away. What a close call Oscar thought. Y/N walked back, looking visibly confused when Ansel denied ever calling her.

Oscar was starting the race at P16. It was like the good old days when Oscar used to kart; his cheerleaders were all present to cheer him on for the first time in a really long time. This was a special race for Oscar, since it was his home race. He ended the race in points for the first time in his Formula One career. He couldn't have asked for a more momentous feat. He was so excited getting out of the car. After the weigh-in, interviews and celebrations; Oscar was back in the hospitality greeted by his family. Everyone congratulated him and you could hear the cheering and hooting coming from the group.

Both the families were headed out to dinner to celebrate Oscar's first points in Formula One. Some how, Oscar likes to thank God who was looking down on him, maybe he pitied him but right now, Y/N was sat next to Oscar, he could feel her leg brush past his as she tried to pour herself a glass of water. She handed Oscar a glass too, "Loosen up, Champ" she whispered patting his shoulder. Oscar tried to relax but he literally couldn't, not when she was sat next to him. After exchanging life updates and ordering their food, everyone was talking amongst each other leaving Oscar to talk to the person next to him. He was about to open his mouth but Y/N beat him to it, "Why'd you tell me Ansel called back when I was talking to Lando? I was gonna ask him for his number" she told Oscar. That's exactly why. "I didn't know that. But I really thought he had called you. Anyways how's work?" Oscar asked trying to change the topic. "It's been great. I used to wrangle the 6 of you, I think I can handle pre-school children" she told him. "I helped you wrangle them" Oscar interjected. "Debatable" she said. "I always helped" he tried to reason. "Honestly, you listened to me the best. So, yeah, you did help" she replied thoughfully. Oscar felt like she was talking to him like one of her students. "You're talking down to me" Oscar whined. "God, you still as cute as before" she said ruffling his hair. "I'm not cute" Oscar groaned. "Sure sweetheart, whatever you say" she chided. But Oscar's cheeks were heating up, Y/N had never called him sweetheart even to tease him, he could get used to this, he thought.

The dinner ended with Nicole asking Oscar to drop Y/N off at home since she had come with them. Oscar didn't mind getting to spend some alone time, or so he thought. Poor Oscar was sweating bullets as the AC was blasting in the car. Y/N raised her hand to his forehead at the signal; "Do you have a fever?" she asked. "No" Oscar replied pushing her hand away. "You're sweating a lot" she said now taking a handkerchief out to dab his forehead. "You sure?" she asked again. Oscar caught hold of her hand and brought it down from his face, now looking into her eyes. "I'm not sick and stop treating me like a kid Y/N. I'm almost 22 in 4 days" he remarked. Y/N felt weird, the eye contact, his hand on her wrist and the way he was looking at her. "Sorry" she apologised and freed herself from his grasp and turned to face ahead before Oscar released the clutch to move the car.

The rest of the drive home was quite, Y/N's mind was everywhere; the whole while she stole glances at Oscar and his veiny arms, she quickly caught herself. Y/N had a whole internal monologue going on; 'I've been single for over a year. I've not felt the touch of a man in so long. I've not been dicked down either. I'm probably ovulating. There's no way in hell do I find that scrawny pale boy hot' she reasoned. She got out of the car, greeted Oscar good-bye. Oscar just smiled, "Won't you invite me for tea or coffee?" "It's almost 10, you won't be able to sleep if you drink coffee" she reasoned. "It's rude not to invite your guest in" Oscar expressed. "You're not my guest" she began but as she saw a pout form on Oscar's face; "You know what, I have some Jasmine tea. Come on" she offered. Oscar smiled so big, the street light seemed dim.

The two entered the flat, Y/N throwing her stuff on the sofa. Oscar started walking around looking at all the decorations and pictures on the wall until one caught his eye, a picture of Oscar and Y/N, no one else. "You have a picture of me" Oscar pointed out, holding the photo with a smile. "Yeah, I didn't have any with you other than that. I have pictures with everyone here" Y/N said while heating up the tea. Oscar took a picture of the photo frame; this might have made his day more than the points today. Y/N was busy putting stuff away when she knocked over the hot kettle, tipping all of its content on her hand. "FUCK" she screamed as the boiling hot liquid made contact with her hand. Oscar blotted from the living room into the kitchen on hearing the commotion. "That's gonna leave a mark" he said while quickly turning the tap on and placing her hand under cold running water. "You should be more careful." he told her. "that's gotta hurt" Oscar mumbled to himself. Y/N was staring at Oscar, her hand didn't seem to burn as much under the water but Oscar's hand were warm and big; one of his hand was enough to wrap both her hands, his eyebrows had creased in concentrating, had he always been like this? After a while Y/N slowly took her hands our from the running water, "I'll be fine Oscar. Stuff happens" she told him. "I'll make the tea, go and take a seat. You have ice in the freezer, right" he asked. She nodded at him and Oscar grabbed a cloth and bunched up a few ice cubes and placed it on her burnt hand.

Oscar made the Jasmine Tea with a few instructions from Y/N and the two sat in silence drinking the tea while Oscar placed one hand on the make shift ice pack. Oscar cleared the cups and offered to buy her medicines. "I'm fine Oscar. You should go." she said. "I just feel bad about leaving you alone" he expressed. "I can manage. Don't worry about me. Spend some time with your family" she told him pushing him towards the door. "Do you not like having me around?" Oscar pouted. "You're a joy to have around, more than my own brothers some times, but your parents miss you. Spend some time with them. Okay?" she said. "You're talking to me like I'm a toddler" Oscar whined. "I'm talking to you like your best friend's sister" she stated. "Are we not friends?" he asked. Y/N sighed, "yes, we are friends Oscar. I'm saying this as your friend, spend time with your family. They miss you." she clarified. Oscar smiled. "I don't want us to be friends for long" he mumbled exiting the house. Before she could ask Oscar what he meant by that, he had vanished.

On Oscar's birthday, everyone had come over and he had the biggest celebration he had in a while. The cake was from the local bakery that Y/N had picked out. Oscar doesn't remember what everyone got him but he remembers what Y/N got him and it was a hand knit sweater with a 'happy birthday Mr 22 years old' note which made Oscar laugh. When Ansel saw the sweater, "You got the better one, mate. I've been receiving all of her prototypes" he said. "She made this?" Oscar asked. "Yup, she's been knitting people gifts since she became obsessed with knitting. Reminds me of my grandma honestly" Ansel replied. Oscar was going to cherish this gift for the rest of his life. This was gonna be the family heirloom he passed on.

Oscar didn't get to spend as much time with Y/N as he hoped since she was busy with work. But something had changed in him; he wanted to be hers. Ansel left for university since he had taken a few days off to see his best friend race. Oscar was now stuck with his family for the next few days; Y/N would pop in to help his mum around the house and Oscar would only see parts of her because some how in his house, she was the busiest person. She would leave soon, saying something about her mum needed her home too. On the day before Oscar was supposed to leave, Y/N came over and was stood on the step ladder changing the bulb. Oscar was walking by when he saw the step ladder wobble and Y/N lost her footing. Thankfully Oscar was there to catch her; "Are you okay?" Oscar asked worry written all over his face. Y/N on the other hand, her heart was beating really fast, probably from the fall. Oscar's chest was firm and warm, he was toned, she thought. His arms were strong, he was literally carrying her. She gulped hard before nodding. "Why would you do this alone?" Oscar asked annoyed. "I usually do this alone" she replied barely above a whisper. "What if you got hurt?" Oscar groaned. Was he always this hot angry? Y/N thought. Her priorities were truly in a very strange place. "Please don't do anything that would get you hurt" Oscar begged. "Oscar, you drive F1 cars for a living. I was just changing the bulb. I should be the one saying that to you. Now if you'll put me down, lemme clean this mess." she stated. "No" was all he said before carrying her away from the broken glass of the bulb and cleaned the place and also changed the bulb.

Oscar was back to racing. But this time, no matter what he did, he couldn't forget about Y/N. He couldn't stop wondering if she was okay or if she got hurt. Not like he could call her every day and ask. So, Lando now had to deal with a pouty Oscar who would only ask the most random questions like do you think you can hurt yourself if you trip on something? the answer was yes. Or do you think you can cut yourself while cooking? also yes. Or are there any household chores you wouldn't risk hurting yourself? sadly the answer was no. Lando was so confused, he felt like he had an annoying toddler following him around suddenly. Everything started to make sense when he saw Oscar staring at a picture on Instagram. On close inspection, Lando realised it was Y/N, Oscar's best friend Ansel's sister. His teammate was a goner, Lando thought patting his shoulder. "Mate, stop staring. You'll burn holes through your phone" Lando chuckled. "I'm not staring" Oscar said while scrolling away. "Sure" Lando began, "I finally get all the weird questions you've been asking me" Lando finished. "What do you mean?" Oscar asked. "You're worried about someone rather someone special?" Lando teased.

Lando was good at making people crack or was Oscar itching to talk to someone about his love for Y/N, we will never know. It was like a dam broke inside Oscar who started talking about Y/N morning, evening, day and night. Lando was getting sick of it; he wasn't sure how many more weekends he would last before he told Y/N that Oscar was in love with her. In their driver's room or their hotel rooms, late at night, as Lando's eyes would be closing from the tiring day they had; Oscar would be describing in painful detail how Y/N's hair looked in different seasons of the year. Lando was sure not even documentaries put him to sleep faster than Oscar did. One night, annoyed and tired, Lando interrupted Oscar, "Just tell her already mate. I think I'll be able to profile Y/N in my sleep at this point" Lando whined. Oscar's eyes widened. "Sorry" he mumbled. "I'll head back to my room" Oscar walked towards the door dejected. "Also ask her the fuck out mate. It's about time. The worst she could say is no" Lando called out. To Oscar the worst that could happen was, he lost his found family. It was scary and Oscar wasn't sure he could go through with asking her out even though he wanted to.

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

Resa’s Writing Masterlist

1K Celebration Drabble Masterlist!

Five-ish Sentence Fics

resa.3kfiestabingo Masterlist

ONE CHICAGO

⌁ Jay Halstead x Reader

⌁ Kelly Severide x Reader

⌁ Will Halstead x Reader

⌁ Connor Rhodes x Reader

⌁ Adam Ruzek x Reader

⌁ Matt Casey x Reader

⌁ Halstead!Sister

⌁ Severide!Sister

⌁ Stellaride

⌁ Burzek

⌁ Brettsey

SUPERNATURAL

⌁ Dean Winchester x Reader

⌁ Sam Winchester x Reader

⌁ Winchester!Daughter

⌁ Winchester!Sister

the ‘born to die’ series

summary; a series of written/smaus fiction of various formula one drivers based on releases of singer, lana del rey

f1 masterlist

norman fcking rockwell | daniel ricciardo pt 2

daniel proves that he is just a man and that’s just what he does.

the other woman | charles leclerc

after his engagement party, y/n realizes that she will always be the other woman.

ultraviolence | carlos sainz

carlos and y/n always find themselves going back to the same toxic relationship. no matter how hard they try, it just always felt like a kiss.

chemtrails over the country club | max verstappen

nobody’s son and nobody’s daughter finally find peace with each other after the toughness of their childhood.

carmen | lando norris

y/n was addicting to everyone, the boys and the girls. lando was just another one in her path to become ultimately addicted.

young and beautiful | oscar piastri

due to her pregnancy, y/n wonders if oscar will always love her, if he will love her after she’s had their baby, after she’s no longer young and beautiful

west coast | lewis hamilton

y/n leaves lewis due to the feeling of being held back from consistently traveling to his races, only to realize how much she missed him.

say yes to heaven | george russell

3 important times during y/n’s and george’s relationship where she says yes to heaven

margaret | alex albon

moments when alex’s knows that y/n is the one for him. when he knows that he will spend the rest of his life with her.

american | logan sargeant

y/n was never one to mess around and rebel against her parents, until she met a fellow american, logan

pretty when you cry | pierre gasly

y/n will always wait for pierre, no matter how many times he leaves her crying, she will always wait.

salvatore | esteban ocon

after living a life full of cold exes, y/n never expected to find her ‘salvatore’ during a summer in monaco

million dollar man | lance stroll

in the world of her million dollar man, y/n can’t help but feel like a lost puppy and stick out like a sore thumb leading to mess of jumbled feelings

born to die | fernando alonso

coming from two different worlds, two different generations with two different goals in life, fernando and y/n question if they were really born to die

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

note; i've been meaning to do this series since norman fcking rockwell lol, but it's finally here! it may take some time to do everything but bear with me! and which fic I post may not be in order as listed!!

2022 Bucky Barnes Fic Rec 9

All of them are COMPLETE SERIES

fic rec masterlist | request

fav fics - ✨

Status - Updating

1. So far away by @queenofslytherin71

Bucky x Reader

Reader is pregnant with Bucky’s child and she hasn’t told him yet. Reader must go on an undercover mission and it goes horribly wrong.

2. Hello and Goodbye, by @sweetascanbee ✨

Bucky x Adopted Wilson!Reader

You are Sam's adopted little sister, and he brings home a mysterious friend.

3. Three Shades of a Man by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Reader

It was different every time, what Bucky needed from you to survive himself. It was in these moments you saw the shades behind the mask he wore in front of the world. 

4. Save Me From Myself by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader

You are being hunted by HYDRA and Bucky has been tasked with keeping you safe. Problem is, the two of you have a history.

5. Quiet by @nastybuckybarnes

Bucky x Reader

Steve Rogers makes an accidental discovery while on a simple hydra base raid. You. He brings you back to the Avengers Tower where they all try to figure you out. Your… interesting way of communicating makes that especially hard. Until one super-soldier proves otherwise.

6. Deepest Desires by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader

A series of sexual escapades where Bucky shows you what it’s like to give in to your deepest desires.

7. The Proposal by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Bucky Barnes world is turned upside down after he agrees to marry his boss, a woman he despises.

8. The Playlist by @bolontiku

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

being new to the Avengers you can’t help but screw with Bucky’s playlist.

9. Dreaming of Better Days by @wizardofrozz ✨

40s!Bucky x Reader

Steve always manages to find a fight no matter where he goes and Bucky is always ready to defend his best friend, until one day someone beats him to it. Bucky isn’t prepared to find you standing up for his best friend and he definitely wasn’t prepared to be so swept up by you. But most of all, he didn’t expect you to have such an important place in his future. 

9-2. Echos of the Past by @wizardofrozz

Bucky x Super Soldier!Reader

Bucky’s gone again, leaving you and Steve to regroup. Finding Bucky seems impossible, and the relentless memories don’t make things easier. One thing that scares you the most is who you might find when you’re reunited after 70 years. Has Hydra destroyed you and Bucky beyond repair?

10. Grease Lightning by @language-rxgers ✨

Bucky x Reader High School AU

You’re on the hair & makeup team for your school’s production of Grease, and Nat has signed you up to do the makeup for the lead role of Danny Zuko- played by none other than Bucky Barnes. 

11. Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had by @language-rxgers

Bucky x Reader

When you find out your sister is getting married and expects you to bring a date to her wedding in two months, you panic, having not gone on so much as a coffee date with a guy in far too long. After all, being an Avenger doesn’t leave too much time for a life outside of work. So, when your best friend, none other than the James Buchanan Barnes himself, offers to pretend to be your boyfriend and plus one, how can you refuse? It seems like something that would come out of a movie. However, real life is never like the movies, and stories like this never go as planned.