Plushie Kidnapping

Bitter Taste - LN

@gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv prompt request #24- "I knew you'd break my heart."

Summary: Lando thinks breaking up is what's best when the hate gets too much, but y/n didn't want to let go that easily. But now it's like they never happened.

Warning: Sad ending

Word count: 1.1k

*2021*

Y/n tries to stop her lip from quivering as she blinks a little really trying to force herself to listen to Lando speak, but his voice is muffled by the pounding in her head.

She feels sick and she knows that he really believes this is the best solution.

"You're not even willing to fight for this." Y/n whispers biting her lip making Lando stop his rambling that had started as he tried to explain himself and why he felt this was best.

"I can't let other people hurt you anymore baby."

"You think breaking up with me is going to make them stop? You're lying to yourself just as much as you're lying to me with that sort of bullshit." Y/n mutters then sucking in a breath as she finally finds her bearings and stands up. "I'll pack up my stuff and leave. Just give me a couple hours."

"You don't have to take everything now, we can-"

"If you think I want to come back here or have other people come here or have any reminder of you that isn't already going to be pushed in my face by the same people you're blaming for this. Then you never knew me, but honestly you've already proven that." Y/n scoffs shaking her head.

Y/n gets to work packing up everything and somehow keeping her head held high, but she knows the tears are coming.

"Let me help." Lando mumbles seeing her struggle with the suitcase but she moves it out his reach swiftly.

"You've helped enough." Y/n snaps feeling her hurt and sadness breaking into a moment of anger.

"I'm sorry."

"You'd never have done this for that reason if you really felt anything for me. So whatever you're choosing of us, I really hope it's worth it because I know you weren't."

She's speaking from a dark and nasty place, a place that didn't exist before today and she wants him to know that he did this to himself.

-

*Present Day*

Lando knew what he lost as soon as y/n left and he's moved on. Or at least that's what he tells himself with his new girlfriend, Violet. She's a model, fits the F1 WAG label very well and they're happy.

From what he knows y/n has moved on too, she found a partner who gave her the life she always deserved. Though they could've broken up since he hasn't seen her post about him for a long time. But if they have, she hasn't deleted any evidence of his existence from her socials like she did with Lando. Even if she didn't block him and force him to unfollow her, she did unfollow him and seems to have filtered his name from her comments on her posts.

He was wiped before she even got on her flight out of Nice, although she's still there on his page.

Only one post remains that suggests he was ever part of her life and it's a picture of her on her flight home after their break up captioned "I knew you'd break my heart". That actually earned waves of hate to Lando since his fans suddenly switched up their attitudes and let Lando have a piece of their mind over the fact he broke things off with y/n.

They still make edits of the two and posts about their relationship saying they wish y/n would come back to Lando and Lando would take his head out his arse.

He can't deny he has regrets about how things ended, he has regrets about losing someone who brought joy to his every day the way she did.

That's how he ends up seeing her on live on her instagram getting ready for a date night. The chat knows he's there, they've made sure to point it out in the comments where his name isn't filtered for the live.

"Ok, guys. That's not really something I want to think about." Y/n sighs with a twinge of hurt crossing her expression.

Eventually she exposes that she is not spending Valentine's day with any man but actually she's having a Galentine's day with all her girls who are also spending the day alone.

Then the live ends and Lando feels his mood deflate immediately. It's frustrating that he's in a new relationship but just one interaction with y/n and the smallest indirect acknowledgement of his existence lifted him.

He does take Violet out for their own Valentine's day dinner but his mind is anywhere but on the woman across from him as she talks about whatever it is she's filling the voice with.

Y/n haunts him in his dreams that night, as she had in the months following their break up.

He was never sure if she blocked his number or got a new number but he wakes up at an ungodly hour, not able to keep seeing her every time he closes his and he texts the number he still has for her. Her username still saved as "lover girl", he winces tapping her contact and seeing their old conversations pop up.

They were so in love, just remembering how they ended leaves a bitter taste in Lando's mouth.

He should stop himself, but he sends the message asking if she'd be up to talk.

It has a delivered label.

"Idiot." Lando mutters feeling like a fool for even trying especially at such a time of day, but then the delivered changes to read.

The three little dots appear and he feels his heart rate pick up before they disappear and are replaced with a message that he really should've expected.

I think you've text the wrong number.

Should've seen that one coming.

He tries to send another message and sighs seeing the rest of his messages go undelivered. She hadn't blocked him but him bringing attention to that has meant that she corrected that error quickly.

It'd been too long to go back.

She always deserved for him to fight harder, she'd never let the hate get to her the way he pretended she did. It was him who couldn't handle it and he masked his pain as her to make things end between them.

He has no one to blame but himself and he was a coward when y/n was in his life. Now he has to watch her thrive while he drowns in his regret and guilt that haunts in the form of her ghost.

Grid Mum | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Despite you and Max not having any children of your own, it seems that your boyfriend still found a way to get a couple kids from his workplace.

Author's Note: I'M BACK MFS😭 feels like ages ago since i last wrote smth lol i think the off season killed my inspo but hey! It kinda came back ig??

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

If there was one thing you always knew about Max Verstappen, is that he would make a great dad.

Truth be told, it wasn’t in your plans at the moment to have a kid with him. Indeed, you had both agreed that you wouldn’t try for a family until Max felt ready to retire – which wasn’t happening anytime soon.

However, every time you saw how Max was with his sister’s children or Checo’s or some of your other friends’, you had to admit that part of you was excited for the day Max would act like that with his own kids.

It had started last year, when Oliver – Ollie – Bearman was called in to replace Carlos Sainz during the 2024 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. At that time, Ollie was in Formula 2 but also employed by both Ferrari and Haas as a reserve driver. And as soon as he stepped foot into the Formula 1 paddock, there was no turning back. Ollie quickly and easily charmed his way into being ‘adopted’ by the rest of the drivers.

And right now, you almost thought that this is what was happening with the new rookies.

It had been a while since a driver that young was racing at such high stakes: Lance Stroll in 2017 when he was 18, and Max in 2015 at only 17 years old. It was then easy for you to connect the dots as to why Max had been part of the drivers – mostly along with Charles Leclerc – that grew attached to the young British.

Max had the tendency to see himself in the young and promising drivers who were stepping into the F1 world at a young age. He would always remember the way he experienced it, despite the bittersweet memories that would sometimes make their way back into Max’s mind. You didn’t know him at the time; having only heard bits and pieces from around the paddock during the years that followed. But a couple months after you started dating Max a few years ago, he had told you about his first seasons in F1 and how they impacted him.

So when Max first told you about Ollie, you knew that you would be meeting him as soon as you would enter the paddock for the next race – which happened during the following grand prix when Max almost dragged you to the Ferrari garage to meet his and Charles’s protege. What you never told Max however was that he surprisingly never seemed to mind engaging with the ‘enemy’ whenever it involved a certain Monegasque.

Obviously, you’d had no choice but to also grow attached to Ollie back then. Max had been right: the kid was sweet, polite, funny, and full of potential. Having followed F2 from afar, you then became slightly more involved as you began to support the Brit and even came to visit him in his garage when F1 and F2 races happened during the same weekends.

Oh, how you were wrong. One grid kid was apparently not enough for Max. Because as soon as he saw how you were interacting with Ollie, he decided to introduce you to his other ‘hidden’ kids. Even though you were familiar with the Red Bull and Racing Bulls drivers, you had never paid much attention to the rest of their little family i.e. the juniors.

You thought that’d be it.

Therefore, the next time Max had been forced asked to film some content with the entire Red Bull family, he had made you come along with him.

“You’ll have fun! Don’t worry about them, they’ll love you.” Max had been weirdly excited about this meeting, and it didn’t take much time to understand why.

You ended up meeting Isack – F2 driver and Racing Bulls reserve driver, Liam – Red Bull reserve driver, as well as Amna and Hamda – the two sisters that raced together in F1 Academy. Watching them all film videos together, you had seen how comfortable the younger drivers felt around Max and how at ease he seemed too. He had smiled the entire time he was talking with them, and you couldn’t help the heartwarming feeling in your chest.

“So?” Max had asked you once you were back into a more private setting, just the two of you.

“It was fun, yeah.” No use in lying, the kids had been great and the whole team made you feel included during breaks.

As you hadn’t been looking at Max when answering him, this meant that you’d missed the way his grin got bigger and how he even did a celebratory fist pump, satisfied with your reply.

So once again, you’d had no choice but to keep in touch with everyone. You hadn’t expected them to enjoy being around you, but it seemed like Max had told them about you and they had surprisingly been excited to meet you.

So now, you had four other kids along with Ollie. And if you thought this time that was it, you were still wrong.

…..

Fast forward to the last few races of 2024, Liam had officially joined the F1 grid due to the departure of Daniel Ricciardo and Isack was promoted to Red Bull reserve driver. This meant that you were seeing him more often than ever as you were thus spending the races in the same garage. So whenever you and Max were in there, you could be sure that Isack wouldn’t take long before joining you two.

Then, it happened. At the end of the year, the entire grid for the next season had been confirmed: six rookies would be racing in 2025. Amongst them, three were already your unofficial grid kids and you had a feeling deep down that Max wouldn’t waste any time in quickly adopting the other three.

Every year, the FIA organised a photoshoot that aimed at introducing the drivers before the pre-season testing. You knew it wasn’t Max’s most liked event, but at this point, anything was better than the F1 75 Live that Max had been forced requested to attend the previous week. And when you watched some behind-the-scenes from the photoshoot, the smile that appeared on your face could only be described as amused and loving.

With no surprise, it happened before the season even began.

Seeing all the rookies flock to Max as they were done taking pictures made you chuckle. But what was even better was the amount of reposts and comments, even by the official Red Bull Tiktok account – you loved the admin. People were so supportive and positively responsive to the scene, most of them now qualifying Max as a ‘grid mum’ to all the rookies. And you knew Max loved it. When you had dinner with him later that day, you wasted no time telling him about it, showing him a couple funny videos about it. It was hard then, not to notice the way Max’s eyes softened as he realised how much the rookies looked up to him.

It wasn’t surprising though. Max was a four-time World Champion, with a hundred race wins and God knows how many podiums under his belt. He had broken tons of records since the beginning of his career, so it felt natural that the rookies were drawn to him.

Now if you were counting well, Max was now a proud father of six – Liam, Isack, Ollie, Kimi, Gabriel, and Jack. It would’ve been eight if the Al Qubaisi sisters were still racing in F1 Academy; but even though you wouldn’t see them that often anymore, they were still your girls more than they were Max’s.

Even though the media and other drivers at the time had always felt threatened by ‘Mad Max’ as they highlighted his aggressive and reckless driving, you – and the rookies as well – had always just admired his resilience and determination to get to where he currently was in his racing career. Sure, he could be intimidating. But the Max that all the people close to him were used to seeing could only ever be described as caring and silly.

And you thought the same would’ve been applied to Max’s new boys. You weren’t really familiar with them, maybe having exchanged a smile and greetings once or twice. But it seemed like they had already taken you for granted simply because you were Max’s girlfriend. You hadn’t expected it at all, and the surprise was obvious when Ollie came up to you on Media Day during the first grand prix of the season, Kimi and Gabriel lingering behind him. You had simply been drinking a juice in front of the Red Bull hospitality, before standing to greet the drivers.

“Hi boys!” You said as they approached you. You gave Ollie a quick hug and ruffled his hair. “Doing alright for your first weekend?”

They all nodded – Kimi and Gabriel were visibly nervous to talk with you, while Ollie quickly kept the conversation going.

“I’m glad we’ve all raced here before in F2”, Ollie explained. “Makes things easier than a whole new track that we’ve never been on.”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You turned to the two others, wanting to include them. “Are you confident on this track?”

“Hmm… Not my favourite memory, racing here. Got two DNFs last year so we’ll see if I have better luck this year.” Gabriel shrugged as if feigning indifference, but you could see that his past results in Melbourne were stressing him a bit more than he let on.

“It’s fifty-fifty for me, I’d say.” Kimi scratched the back of his neck. “I DNFed too for the Sprint, but got close to a podium in the Feature race so I’ll be hoping for the second one to happen this weekend.”

“I think Isack was the luckiest one of us there last year. He actually won the two races but got a penalty in the Sprint so only the Feature counted,” Ollie reminded.

“Well, you’re all in F1 now!” You told them with a smile. “Everything has been reset and we’re starting anew so don’t worry about the bad results of the past. Obviously it’s an experience that’ll be helpful for you to do better, but it’s a whole other racing category for you now. I’ll be cheering for all of you so just do your best and that’ll be more than enough to be proud of yourselves in the end!”

The three drivers all thanked you, glad for the support you were showing them. This was then, that you realised something.

“Did y’all want to see Max by the way? Sorry if I took up your time, I actually have no idea where he is.” You looked down at your wrist to see the time. “Haven’t seen him since he went to the press conference.”

“No, it’s you we wanted to see.” Ollie said it so casually that you almost didn’t believe it.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself.

“Yeah,” Ollie nodded in confirmation. “Kimi and Gabriel wanted to meet you, so I brought them here. Jack wanted too, but I lost him somehow”

“Oh…” You didn’t know what to say. The rookies actually seeking you out in order to meet you was definitely not your bingo card. The only thing you were sure of, is that it made your smile widen with this knowledge. “Well, that’s really sweet of you both. I wanted to meet you too so I would’ve for sure come to see you at one point during the weekend. Max talks a lot about y’all so I don’t think I had any choice but to see why for myself eventually.”

“That’s why we’re here!” Kimi immediately exclaimed with a smile on his face. “Max is always mentioning your name at least once or twice in every conversation.”

“Which we sometimes don’t know how he does”, Gabriel added.

“Yeah, I get you. He has that tendency of being able to link anything and anyone to his current topic, but you get used to it.” You shrugged with a chuckle. “Do you want to sit with me then?” You offered them. “I could use the company, other than my drink.”

The rookies excitedly nodded at your proposition, gladly sitting at the table where you’d been for the past hour or so. They were surprised when you asked them what they wanted to drink – “my treat”, you said – but gave you their respective orders before you left to go back inside the Red Bull hospitality and get their drinks. As soon as you left, Ollie turned to his friends with a satisfied smile.

“So?” He raised an eyebrow at them, clearly expecting something.

“She’s so nice, I think I could cry. It’s obvious why she and Max are together”, Gabriel said.

“Max is definitely the lucky one”, Kimi argued. “Thank you so much Ollie! This is almost making me wanna join Red Bull just to spend time with her.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Gabriel added.

“You’re both welcome”, Ollie replied with a proud smile. “And don’t ever join Red Bull for her, please. She’s actually their biggest hater and only tolerates them for Max, to be honest. She’d rather have you in another team just so she has an excuse to go to another garage.”

“Wow, okay…” Kimi had a hard time believing that; but then after thinking about it for a few seconds, he realised why you’d prefer to be anywhere else than around Christian Horner, and Helmut Marko, and occasionally Jos Verstappen. “No, yeah. Makes sense, actually.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. He was about to ask something else to Ollie, but cut himself short when he saw that you were coming back to the table.

You put down the drinks, and gave each one to its rightful owner.

“Enjoy!” They thanked you before you started talking again. “If there’s one thing that’s making me spend time here other than Max, it’s the food and drinks”. You were almost whispering as if sharing your biggest secret. “Thank God you’re all in different teams by the way; I will absolutely have the time of my life going around the paddock every weekend.”

Exchanging smiles, the racing trio had to suppress their laughs. This was exactly what Ollie had told Kimi and Gabriel mere minutes before, and the Brit gave them a look as if to say ‘I-told-you-so’.

You didn’t even notice the discreet exchange between them, as you sipped on a new drink you had gotten yourself and kept going on.

“So if one of you ever needs me to cheer you on, I’ll be glad to infiltrate whatever hospitality. Though I’ll stop by anyway at least once during the weekend.”

If there was one thing the three rookies could agree on, without a single word coming out of their mouths, is that they were never getting rid of you. Hell, they’d probably choose you over Max if you kept being this nice and welcoming towards them. If he were being honest, Ollie had made this choice long ago: first he’d obviously go for Charles, but between you and Max? He had long decided that you’d have his custody over your boyfriend, and he was right in thinking that it’d be the same for the rest of the rookies.

…..

You’d been talking with Ollie, Kimi, and Gabriel for almost an hour when Max came to find you. He hadn’t expected the rookies to be there, but it actually warmed his heart to know that you were getting along well with them.

“Having fun?” He asked, putting a hand on the back of your chair, his eyes softening at the sight of the young drivers in front of him.

They all replied that they were, the smile widening on their faces.

“Your girlfriend is so cool, Max!” Kimi stated.

“I know, kid. She’s even cooler than me sometimes”, Max chuckled.

“Only sometimes?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you have four championships under your name?” Max immediately questioned. When your mouth went agape at that, Max laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m sure you’d win even more than me if you were in the car.”

“You better be, Verstappen. And of course I’d win so many more races than you!” You gave him a competitive look. “In another car, obviously. Red Bull isn’t the best anymore,” you added with a smirk.

“I’d like to see you try”, he playfully challenged. “If Christian heard you, he would ban you from the garage I think.”

“Good think I don’t care, then? I have plenty of other choices,” you claimed as you gestured towards the rookies who were still there, silently observing the funny conversation between their grid parents. “Haas” – you pointed at Ollie – “Sauber” – you pointed at Gabriel – “and even Mercedes!” You finished by pointing at Kimi.

The trio all agreed that they would welcome you with open arms, each of them arguing that their team would suit you the best.

After talking for a few more minutes, you then noticed that it was getting quite late for all of you to still be at the track on media day. You all went back to the main parking, before Max and you bid the rookies goodbye. You wished them luck one more time for the weekend, assuring them that you’d come by their respective garage.

Now in the car with Max, you almost found the silence to be too… quiet. Only the soft sound of the engine could be heard while Max was driving you both back to your hotel.

“Say it”, Max demanded with a sigh.

“What?” You looked at him, confused.

“I know what you’re thinking, so say it.” If his tone could indicate that Max was annoyed by your apparently loud thoughts, you knew better as you were certain a ghost of a smile was showing on his lips. When you stayed silent, Max took the matter in his own hands. “You miss them already, don’t you?”

“Is it so bad?” You asked. “They were so sweet, Max!”

“I won’t blame you”, Max reassured. “They can be quite…”

“Endearing?” You finished his sentence.

“Yeah”, Max nodded. “It’s kinda hard not to grow attached to them, even during a short span of time.”

“I knew you had a heart deep down!” You teased with a chuckle.

“How could you ever doubt that?” Max looked at you for a split second before focusing back on the road. “You’ve had it since the day we met.”

The way Max had uttered those words was so casual and natural, you didn’t know what to reply to that. The smile he had given you was one of those that he had always reserved for you – the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, but was still full of emotions, full of love.

Not hearing you talk back, Max laughed while you were a blushing mess. Even after several years together, he would still find ways to silent you with a single sentence. Even his compliments would sometimes still make you flustered like crazy, similar to when you had first started dating him.

“You’re alright?” Max eventually wondered, almost worried by your silence.

“I am, I am… You just can’t say shit like that, man.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye, still blushing a bit.

“Don’t call me man”, Max sighed.

“What? Why?” You chuckled. “Would you prefer ‘mate’ or ‘bro’?”

“God, no… Let’s keep that for my work colleagues, not to be used by my girlfriend. Thank you very much”, he sarcastically added.

“Noted… mate.”

Max glanced at you with a look that was saying ‘really?’ and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He didn’t even try one more second to pretend to be mad at you, simply laughing along.

Those were the moments you cherished the most with Max. Sure, you always loved to see him on track – aggressive and all serious, almost ordering the team around whenever he made his own strategy. On-track Max was the hottest version of himself if you were being honest. But nothing could beat those precious moments, when it was just the two of you and he was simply a regular guy spending time with his girlfriend – whom he was very much in love with.

…..

However, it seemed that now, there was maybe another type of moment that could compete with yours and Max’s alone time: spending time with Max, and the rookies you had somehow ended up all adopting.

One race that hadn’t been the luckiest for them, unfortunately. Isack, Jack, Liam, and Gabriel had all DNFed the Australian Grand Prix. Ollie had finished P14, which was actually last when considering the six DNFs that happened. Only Kimi had had a great race, finishing fourth on his debut.

It had only taken one race.

Even though Max had finished second and you could’ve been pleasantly celebrating his podium with just the two of you, he didn’t have the heart to refuse your request when you asked him if you could go out with the rookies and treat them to a nice meal. So here you were: Max, you, and your grid kids, having dinner together at a local restaurant that Oscar had recommended to you.

And watching your boyfriend interact with the young drivers, you couldn’t help the recurring thought that had already crossed your mind several times in the past: Max Verstappen would be such a great dad.

Unbeknownst to you, Max was having a similar opinion when watching you gentle parent the rookies as your hidden mother instinct was making its appearance: you would make such a good mother, and he couldn’t wait until the day he was ready to make you both parents.

For now, you’d both be training with your six grid kids. And one day, you’d put that into practice with yours and Max’s own child.

..........

Hope you enjoyed this!! It was my 1st time writing for max (after avoiding it for so long bc i was super scared of not doing him justice)

This is mostly written for my own happiness bc i have literally adopted the rookies back when they were in f2 (except liam and jack) so i feel even more invested in their career now that they reached f1 and I'm just so so proud of them for making it to that point😔

If I'm being honest, my fav rookie is ollie but isack is having his own special place in my heart bc I'm french and i can't help but supporting him🤍 don't hesitate to tell me your fav rookie in the coms!!

Stay safe, take care of yourselves, be happy, i love y'all xx

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

You Overhear Fans Being Rude About Him ~ Kim Namjoon

Murmurs of young girls behind you as you cleaned the coffee machine quickly captured your attention. You turned around, smiling softly at the till, waiting for them to fall silent before greeting them.

“He’s just so much better looking in real life,” you overheard one of them say, glancing across once they finally realised you were there.

You knew exactly who they were referring to, the silver haired, shy boy who often sat at the back of your coffee shop, lost in a book or two, with only a hazelnut latte to keep himself company. Of course, you knew who he was, BTS were the talk of the town, and having one of their member’s as a customer certainly attracted many people to the café.

To you, he was just another regular guy. He’d come in, first thing in the morning sometimes, and greet you with a warm smile, and a chirpy tone, enough to pick you up from the lowest of moods.

“Two cappuccinos please,” the other girl spitefully requested, snapping you out of your little daze.

Their whispers continued as you entered the order into the till, the cost popping up on the monitor, taking money from both girls to cover the cost. You hated listening to them speak so poorly of him, just like everyone else he deserved some privacy and respect.

“I reckon he’ll fancy me, maybe open up my top button, really attract his attention,” one of them suggested.

“He likes girls with their hair up, so I’m going to tie mine up into a bun.”

They made it sound like he was an object; you couldn’t believe they were so open in talking about him so rudely. Neither of them cared about who was around them or who was hearing the things they were saying, it was as if it was alright.

The two of them stepped aside whilst you made their drinks, continuing to tune into their conversation. Talk about his laugh, dancing and hair caught your attention, mocking his abilities on and off the stage.

It broke your heart listening to the way the two of them spoke about such a treasured customer, he was at the heart of the community, and so were you.

Once you were done, you took the two mugs, slamming them down, spilling a small amount of both coffees over the side. The two of them flinched, reaching out to take the mugs, only for you to refuse to let go.

“Yes, thank you.”

You tugged the mugs towards you, in turn sending the two of them closer towards you too. “A little bit of advice for the two of you, if you want to get photos and autographs from people, be careful about how you speak about them beforehand.”

Both of their eyes went wide, yanking the mug from you. They both possessed evil, vindictive smirks, but that was never going to intimidate you into backing down from what was right.

“Why don’t you just stay out of our business?”

“That man there is innocent and harmless, I know for a fact, if you go over there, he will be the sweetest soul, unassuming of all the horrific things you’ve just said- “

“-yeah, but- “

“-I’m not finished. I think the two of you need to learn some respect for others and yourselves, he deserves some privacy just like the rest of us, especially from people like you.”

Without saying another word, the two of them headed over to the table by the window. You knew exactly what they were whispering about as they walked away, continuously turning back to look at you, rolling their eyes distastefully.

You knew there was a reason he sat in the back of the café, to hide away from prying eyes and flashing cameras, you couldn’t blame him after all.

Satisfied that the two of them were out of sight, you turned back to the line of customers, blushing when you saw him stood, holding out his empty mug with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Let me guess, hazelnut latte,” you chuckled, taking the mug from him.

He nodded, pressing his hands together, sliding along the counter to the till, placing enough money for two drinks down, sliding it into the palm of your hand.

You put his drink through the till, taking the correct change for his drink, but he stopped you, handing you the additional money too. “I want you to have a drink or something on me, I don’t think you realised how long I was stood there, did you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I heard you speak up for me, against those girls, and I really do appreciate it. I’m sick and tired of fake fans, and I think we definitely found two of them there.”

You looked to the floor, beginning to start his drink, hiding the blush you could feel growing on your cheeks. Knowing the two of them would be looking in your direction too brought a whole lot more attention to your conversation.

From the start you definitely took a liking to him, his humble nature and kind soul took you by surprise when you first met him and he introduced himself, but over time you realised how special a customer he was.

“I was just doing my job.”

“You were doing far more than just your job, you were supporting me, and you had my back and that means a lot to me. The least I can do is buy you a drink, or if you don’t want to make it yourself, maybe let me take you out for a drink sometime.”

His mug was placed, refilled, before him, along with the change from your drink. He chuckled, knowing he wasn’t going to win the battle this time around, slipping the money into his back pocket.

“That drink would be nice,” you anxiously giggled, resting your elbows against the wooden counter, resting your head in your hands. “You seem like a nice guy.”

“You must think so after the things you were saying to those girls, I’ve never listened to someone speak so highly of me.”

“You’re a superstar, I’m sure a lot of people have spoken a lot nicer about you than I have. I just work in a café, think of all the millionaire producers who’ve spoken so well of you before.”

He slid along the queue, taking a sip from his coffee, refusing to leave the counter where you stood. You were busy, but he didn’t mind, he was patient, and willing to talk to you desperately.

“Just because you work in a café doesn’t make you any less valuable, if anything, I think more highly of you. I’m still grounded, and it’s people like you who keep me on the ground.” He smiled, resting against the counter.

You nodded, taking the order of the next customer, continuing your conversation with him whilst you did your job. It was part of the job and working with people, multitasking was a definite skill of yours.

“Perhaps I could come back at closing, take you out to one of the pubs down the road, nothing too fancy, just a little something, how does that sound?”

“It sounds lovely, I’ll see you then.”

—

Masterlist

---

enough | mv1

500 celly request: prompt #33- “why wasn’t i enough?” w/ max

author’s note: teehee this hurt my feelings and i hope it hurts yours too 😋

warnings: hurt no comfort

word count: 1.9k

you’re wearing the dress he loves when it all falls apart.

the floor length gown that max zipped you into hours ago, humming as you smoothed the red silk fabric down, him pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.

you thought you were happy then, or you were at least pretending well enough that everyone around you believed it.

now, as you step back into the luxurious hotel room, max close behind you, the silence is oppressive and unbearable.

you don’t move to unzip the dress, and he doesn’t move to help you either. the tension in the room is palpable, but neither of you say anything to diffuse the situation.

the fight inadvertently started at the red bull gala, with one stupid lighthearted comment from christian, which instead landed like a grenade between you and max.

—————————

“still not engaged, verstappen?” christian teased, clapping max on the back with the grin that you barely managed not to grimace at. “you better put a ring on her before someone else decides to.”

everyone involved in the conversation laughed, max laughing as you force a brittle smile onto your face to play along.

but you don’t miss the way max’s hand tightens on your leg under the table, the tension that seemed to snap into existence.

and the rest of the night the crack seemed to keep spreading between the two of you. you played it off, but you know the tension was bound to boil over as soon as you got out of the public eye.

cracking a bit more with every media censored answer, every fake laugh, every glance you saw him give you out of the corner of your eye.

—————————

you knew this wasn’t about a ring.

it was about everything the ring meant that he couldn’t seem to promise you, the roots he would never lay down, the timelines that never came to fruition.

your eyes watch him now as he paces the room, tugging his cufflinks off his suit jacket as he pries the bowtie off his neck with rough movements. his suit jacket is shoved down his shoulders, hitting the chair in the corner of the room with more force than is necessary.

“you’re mad,” he mutters, his voice low as he looks up at you, slipping off your earrings, facing away from him.

it’s not a question, like he knows what every microscopic shift in your facial expressions tell him.

you swallow thickly, unclasping the necklace from around your throat. “i’m not mad,” you say quietly, which is true. you’re heartbroken. and that’s so much worse.

heartbreak is a silent killer, the kind of sadness you don’t know how to address out loud without falling apart, and you can’t bring yourself to say anything further.

he exhales through his nose, running a hand over his forehead like he’s been dealing with a headache from this future conversation all night. he cards a hand through his hair, scratching briefly at the crown of his head.

“you knew what this was,” he grits out, jaw tight. “you knew what my life was like when we started all of this.”

you flinch like he slapped you.

not because he’s being too harsh, or lying, but because it’s fully the truth. you’ve always known something like this might happen, and you decided to love him anyways.

“max, i can’t..” you start, fighting off the lump of emotions rising rapidly in your chest. “i can’t just keep following you around forever. i can’t keep putting my own life and career on hold, waiting for a future that might never happen.”

he turns to face you, and you feel your lip tremble at the conflicting emotions on his own face. his shirt is slightly rumpled, the first few buttons shoved open.

he looks exhausted. but he looks so beautiful and wrecked all at the same time, so far away even though he’s standing less than ten feet away.

“you’re asking me to stop,” he says, his tone flat and calculating, like he’s discussing strategy and not your relationship. “you want me to give it all up. to what, settle down with you?”

“i don’t want you to give anything up,” you whisper, eyes shining with tears. “i just want you to want something with me.”

the space between you might as well be a chasm with the way he looks at you, and you feel your throat close up with emotion.

you can tell that this is the end, even if neither of you say it outright. but it’s been over for a long time. you just managed to keep avoiding it every time he would smile at you from a podium or surprise you with hotel upgrades when he knew you were coming along for a race.

the tension between you is thick, but fragile, like a glass pane waiting to shatter upon impact.

max drags a hand down his face as if he’s trying to scrub the conversation away from existence, his eyes landing on you again.

“i can’t be who you need me to be,” he mutters, his tone softer and almost apologetic.

everything that has been building up seems to break wide open, the metaphorical glass shattering between you.

you don’t cry or scream, instead just nodding solemnly and walk past him toward the balcony, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you pass by.

the cool night air almost stings as it hits your face, heavy with salt from the waves crashing against the rocky shore not even two miles from the room, past the busy city.

your head is pulsing as you blink out the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes, looking down to the streets below. you know he loves you, but everything tonight almost seemed to cement your worst fears.

you hear him behind you, the subtle creak of the balcony door swinging shut again barely audible over the sound of the cresting waves. you’re gripping the railing beneath you so hard your knuckles are white, and you’re unaware you’re shivering until you feel the weight of his suit jacket being placed over your shoulders.

he stands close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to touch any part of you. the whole world seems to be holding its breath, witnessing the fragility of the moment unfurling on this small little balcony.

for a long moment, neither of you say anything, just staring out at the same city where you two had met years ago.

and then you ask the only thing that’s been circling in your head since you got back here, the words breaking loose before you can think to stop yourself.

“why wasn’t i enough?”

you don’t even attempt to look at him as you say it, you know you can’t. you keep your gaze forward, lip trembling when you feel him shift closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek like it’s the last time he’ll be allowed to touch you.

max’s lips brush over your forehead, and you can feel him trembling as he presses a kiss to your skin.

you make a quiet, pained sound, eyes looking away from him even as he guides your face toward him. the way he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t shut down your question with comments of how you are enough for him.

the city goes on without you, like everything is still moving forward even as you stand here, feeling like this is the end of the only thing you thought was stable in your life.

it’s like the waves crashing are mocking you, freely moving about the shoreline as you stay frozen in place, shaking again.

“i’ll get my stuff,” you say finally, not looking at him as you subconsciously pull his suit jacket tighter around your shoulders, shifting away from his warm touch.

you can’t look at him. because if you do, you’ll crumble and stay like you always have. you’ll pretend it’s enough to warrant getting put behind his racing, until something happens and shakes everything loose again.

you know he wants to try and fix this, some small hopeful part of you wishing he will just kiss you, pull you in tight enough against his chest until you can forget this night happened.

the stupid bit of hope that your love for each other is enough to fill in the cracks fades more, and you both know it. the jealousy that’s been simmering low in your body for never getting priority in his life has been rotting inside you for months, the way racing will always be his first loyalty, and his biggest love.

you were always going to be second.

the wind catches your hair, whipping a strand against your face so hard you have to blink, finally sending a tear down your cheek. you wipe it off quickly, ashamed that you’re seeming to fracture into pieces while he stands stoically beside you.

max lets out a shaky breath, his hand coming into view in your peripheral, like he’s going to reach for you again. “you don’t have to..” he starts, voice shaky and raw with emotion.

you could stay.

you could turn towards him, let him wrap his arms around you, let your forehead rest against his chest and hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat and feel his breathing shake because he thought he was going to lose you.

you could let him kiss the corner of your mouth, whisper apologies as he takes you to bed and makes promises to you for a future he doesn’t want, promises he can’t keep.

but it would only delay the inevitability of what you both fully realized tonight. and it’s going to hurt worse the longer you keep it going.

your hands find the railing of the balcony again as you steady yourself, sighing.

“i can’t keep being the thing you come back to when you’re done chasing after what you really want.” you whisper, so quiet against the sound of the waves that you’re not even sure he’s heard you.

a small piece of yourself wants to look at him, to see him crying too, but you don’t. you don’t want to remember him like this, torn between you and the life he’s chosen over you time and time again.

max shifts on his feet again, and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to pull you into him and kiss your worries away.

the unspoken realization that this is over hangs between the two of you, and the knowledge that letting you go is the only right thing he can do right now.

and worst of all? you don’t hate him for it. you could never hate him.

you love him too much to make him choose, and he loves you too much to lie about what that choice would be.

the lights of the city blur into fuzzy stars behind the unshed tears still shining in your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath.

you turn, careful not to meet his gaze, and brush past him back into the empty room where your suitcase sits still packed by the door from your rushed flight here.

max doesn’t follow you back in, but you can feel the weight of his eyes on you as you grab the few things you unpacked earlier for the gala, wincing to himself when he hears you sniffling.

but for the first time in a long time, he lets you go without any plans on how to fix this, and you leave the room knowing that he never will.

hi! how are you? i was thinking maybe max x reader where reader just needs a hug. like maybe someone has made her feel bad and she just can't help but crumble into his arms, sobbing in his chest. hurt-comfort kinda :)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you come home shattered after a rough day. max sees through your silence, holds you as you break down, and comforts you with quiet love

warnings | emotional distress, crying, hurt/comfort themes, mention of self-doubt/insecurity, soft fluff and vulnerability

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The day had started like any other. You woke up to the sound of your alarm, answered a few messages, even dared to wear that sweater you love so much the one Max always says makes you look “ridiculously adorable.” But as the hours passed, something inside you began to crumble, as if the world was mocking your efforts to hold yourself together.

It started with an offhand comment, one of those disguised as a joke but aimed straight at the heart. It wasn’t the first time someone questioned your place, your decisions, your way of being. But today, it caught you off guard. The words cut deep, right into that corner of your chest where you keep all your insecurities, that place Max tries to fill with his affection, but that sometimes just opens up on its own.

You pretended to be fine. You smiled. You nodded. You even made a joke yourself, as if it didn’t matter.

But it did matter.

It mattered so much that the moment you walked into the apartment you share with Max, everything felt heavy. You dropped your keys on the entryway table, like always, but you didn’t take off your shoes. Or your jacket. You just stood there, back against the wall, feeling your eyes well up with tears without permission.

Max was in the living room, checking something on his tablet—maybe telemetry or a strategy for the next race. When he saw you, his expression changed instantly.

"Love?" he asked softly, setting the tablet aside. "Are you okay?"

You couldn’t answer. You just shook your head, trying to say yes, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled completely with tears.

Max reached you in two steps, quick but unrushed, with that way he has of respecting your space without staying too far.

"Hey… look at me," he whispered, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "What happened?"

And that was it.

Your body trembled. Your lips broke into a muffled sob. You shut your eyes tight and threw yourself against his chest as if it were the only safe place on earth.

Max held you without another word. His arms wrapped around you with firmness, as if he could hold together all the shattered pieces you were trying so hard to keep intact. His chin rested on your head, and he began to sway you gently, while your tears soaked his shirt.

"You’re here now," he murmured into your hair. "I’m with you. You don’t have to say anything yet."

Your fingers clutched his back as if you were going to disappear, and he simply held you. Patiently. Calmly. Lovingly.

Because sometimes, understanding isn’t what matters. Just being there.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, in his arms, your face buried in his chest as your world melted into tears. The silence between you was warm, soft, as if Max knew exactly that you didn’t need solutions, just comfort.

When your crying slowly began to ease, you felt his hand stroking your back in slow circles, and his other hand interlaced with yours.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked quietly, no pressure, just leaving the door open for you to step through when you were ready.

You took a deep breath. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. He wasn’t in a rush he just looked at you with that tenderness that seemed reserved only for you. And then the words began to come, halting, with pauses and knots in your throat.

"It was something stupid…" you murmured, hating how vulnerable you felt. "Someone said something. Like a joke. But it hurt. It made me feel… like I don’t matter. Like everything I do is a joke."

Max frowned. Not in anger toward you, but toward whoever had made you feel that way.

"Who was it?"

You shook your head. You didn’t want to cause trouble. You just wanted the pain to go away.

"It doesn’t matter. It’s just that… I was already holding in so much. And that was like… the last drop."

Max brought your hands to his lips and kissed them slowly, never breaking eye contact.

"Of course it matters," he said, his tone firm but full of care. "Because if something hurts you, then it matters. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. You’re not a joke. You’re not less. And if someone made you feel that way, they clearly don’t know who you really are."

His words broke you a little more, but this time in a different way. As if each sentence was unraveling the knot of guilt you carried in your chest.

"Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in," you whispered. "Like I’m less than everyone else. Like I don’t have the right to be tired, or sad, or hurt."

Max shook his head, eyes locked on yours.

"You have the right to all of that and more. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. I’m here to hold you up when you can’t anymore. Always."

And then he hugged you again, tighter this time, as if trying to rebuild you from scratch with nothing but his embrace.

"You fit with me," he added, whispering in your ear. "In my life, in my world. And if the world doesn’t see how lucky it is to have you, then the problem is with the world not you."

A silent tear rolled down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness.

It was relief.

After that hug, there wasn’t much left to say… but Max still wasn’t ready to let go of you completely.

He helped you take off your jacket, took your hand, and led you to the couch as if you were made of glass—not out of pity, but out of genuine care. He made sure you were comfortable, knelt in front of you, and studied your face for a moment in silence, as if checking for any shadows that still lingered.

"Don’t move, okay?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What are you going to do?"

"Trust me."

And you did.

A few minutes later, the sound of the coffee machine filled the quiet of the house, followed by the soft crinkle of a cookie bag. It wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t an expensive gift or a surprise trip. But when Max returned to the living room with your favorite cookies, a mug of warm milk, and a blanket in the other hand, you understood something important.

It wasn’t the gesture itself. It was the way.

It was how he remembered what you liked when you were sad. How he knew exactly what to say without pushing. How he looked at you—as if even after seeing you fall apart, you were still his favorite person in the world.

He sat next to you and wrapped the blanket around you with a care that felt like pure love. Then he handed you the mug and settled beside you, pulling you against his chest while his fingers played with your hair.

"Did I tell you today how brave you are?" he murmured suddenly.

You shook your head with a shy smile.

"Well, you are. A lot. But even brave people need to rest. Cry. Feel bad. That doesn’t make them weak. It makes them real."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling more at peace than you had all day.

"Thank you, Max."

"Always," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "This is your place. And no one—absolutely no one—has the right to make you feel otherwise."

He didn’t respond with more words. He didn’t need to. He just hugged you tighter, let the silence speak for you both, and for the first time all day… you felt like you could breathe again.

Mr Oblivious

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri is absolutely oblivious to the fact that people try to flirt with him. It drives Lando nuts. Felicity finds it very amusing though. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Lando Norris had a very simple opinion about Oscar Piastri:

The man was smart, fast, loyal to a fault — And completely, hopelessly, oblivious.

Especially about certain things.

Like, say, the fact that every now and then, some thirsty influencer or overly-friendly interviewer decided they wanted to test their luck around one of McLaren’s golden boys.

Case in point: today.

It was supposed to be a simple media day.

Smile, wave, answer a few questions without accidentally swearing — easy stuff.

And then she showed up.

Some influencer.

Lando didn’t catch her name.

Didn’t want to.

Her outfit was orange enough to suggest she'd Googled "McLaren colors" five minutes before showing up.

 Her laugh was the kind that made Lando want to put himself in an ice bath.

But what really got him was the way she locked eyes on Oscar from the moment she walked into the room.

Like a hawk spotting a particularly delicious rabbit.

And Oscar — sweet, pure, unsuspecting Oscar — stood there politely, posture perfect, nodding like he was about to explain suspension geometry to a cactus.

She sidled up to him with all the grace of a Bond girl in heels, flashing teeth and dimples and Lando could see it coming.

Could see the slow-motion train wreck unfolding with the inevitability of a Ferrari strategy call.

She sidled closer.

Tilted her head. Big fake lashes, even faker laugh.

"So, Oscar," she purred, "looking very fit this season. What's your secret?"

Lando, standing just off to the side, already felt his skin crawl.

Oscar, meanwhile, nodded thoughtfully like she’d asked him about chassis balance.

"Consistency," he said, serious as anything. "And good hydration habits. Also core strength. That’s really important for maintaining control in high G-force corners. I’ve been working with a new strength and conditioning coach. Core engagement and flexibility training. Lots of functional range mobility exercises. Very important for endurance."

Lando nearly dropped the can of Monster Energy he was carrying.

He physically turned away, took a moment to compose himself, and turned back — and she was still going.

She giggled — the kind of giggle Lando associated with botched lip filler and red flags — and twirled her hair like they were in a teen movie from 2004.

"Flexibility, huh?" she said, her voice doing That Thing™. Then winked.

WINKED.

Oscar, God bless him, nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. Critical for cockpit comfort. Limited hip mobility can lead to premature fatigue during longer races."

Lando just stared.

The influencer stared.

Oscar stared earnestly back. Oscar blinked at her with the open innocence of a Labrador Retriever about to explain knee cartilage.

It was like watching someone flirt with a toaster.

And then — then — she tried it.

She went for the kill.

"Well," she said, laughing in a way that definitely wasn't natural, "maybe you could show me some... flexibility exercises later?"

Lando choked on air.

Oscar, bless him, just looked mildly puzzled.

Lando’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Oscar thought she wanted workout advice.

Meanwhile, this woman was basically trying to climb him like a tree.

"I mean," Oscar said, frowning thoughtfully, "I guess? If you’re interested in physiotherapy protocols? There's a lot of hip flexor and thoracic mobility involved."

He paused.

"Although," Oscar added very seriously, completely unaware he was standing in a verbal minefield, “you should always get a doctor’s clearance before starting any high-intensity exercise program.”

The influencer blinked.

Lando stared at the heavens.

Why.

Why had the universe given this man a marriage, a child, and a heart of gold, but no flirting radar whatsoever.

Lando was so angry on Oscar’s behalf he actually saw red.

Because it wasn’t just the flirting.

It was the disrespect.

Oscar — who had a wife who fixed racing models better than half the paddock. Oscar — who had a four-year-old daughter who beat engineers at Sudoku. Oscar — who literally carried his entire family in his heart wherever he went.

He wasn’t available.

He wasn’t interested.

And he damn well deserved to have people respect that without needing to tattoo MARRIED. TAKEN. HAS A BUMBLEBEE-OBSESSED DAUGHTER across his forehead.

And then — because clearly the universe wanted to personally test Lando’s self-control — the influencer winked.

Like, full-on, slow-motion, cartoon-style winked at Oscar.

Oscar blinked back, confused.

Then said, very seriously:

"You should also stretch regularly to avoid cramping."

Lando actually made a noise — somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.

The influencer tried to recover, laughing awkwardly, but Oscar had already turned — calm, unfazed — and was politely thanking the PR rep for organizing the media day.

Lando stormed over, practically vibrating with protective rage.

"Mate," he hissed when Oscar finally wandered off-stage, "you realize she was hitting on you, right?"

Oscar frowned. "Was she?"

"YES," Lando hissed, arms flailing. "She was basically ready to throw herself at you!”

Oscar looked genuinely perplexed.

"But... I’m married."

"YES," Lando repeated, louder, like he was explaining quantum physics to a pigeon. "You are married. You have a kid. You are the dictionary definition of off-limits."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck.

"Maybe she didn’t know?"

"She definitely knew," Lando muttered darkly. "You are actually wearing your wedding ring for once and Bee’s little bead bracelet. You might as well walk around holding a sign that says 'I love my wife and daughter more than oxygen.'"

Oscar shrugged, entirely unfazed.

"I mean... it’s true."

Lando stared at him.

Somewhere between admiration and absolute rage.

When they reached the McLaren motorhome, Felicity was there — perched on the couch, Bee asleep with her head on Felicity’s lap, Button the Frog tucked under her tiny arm.

Oscar’s whole face lit up like a sunrise.

He crossed the room without hesitation, dropped a kiss onto Felicity’s hair, and gently stroked Bee’s back.

Felicity smiled up at him, all soft and warm and easy, like they had a language no one else could hear.

Lando stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

Watching how Oscar's whole world just locked into place around them, without hesitation, without second thought.

Yeah.

Let them flirt. Let them try.

Oscar Piastri had everything he needed right here. And he was smart enough — good enough — to never even glance anywhere else.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpill: BREAKING: Influencer tries to flirt with Oscar Piastri.

Oscar responds with “core strength” and “doctor’s clearance.”

Meanwhile, Lando Norris nearly combusts in the background.

[attached: video clip]

@/pitlanechaos: Not Oscar offering that woman a PHYSIOTHERAPY REFERRAL I’m losing it. He thought she wanted professional advice. He’s too pure for this world.

@/felicityfanclub (pinned tweet):

‼️OSCAR PIASTRI IS MARRIED

‼️HE LOVES HIS WIFE

‼️HE LOVES HIS DAUGHTER

‼️HE IS OBLIVIOUSLY LOYAL

‼️AND WE ARE HERE TO DEFEND HIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER ENERGY

@/formulawoah: This man said “consult your doctor” instead of realizing she was flirting. He’s not oblivious. He’s loyal at a molecular level.

@/landohmygod: Lando Norris being 1 second away from lunging across the paddock like an angry chihuahua deserves its own Emmy. He was FIGHTING for Oscar’s honor.

@/suspension_nerd: If I was that influencer and Oscar hit me with “thoracic mobility is important” when I was trying to flirt, I would simply evaporate on the spot.

@/gridgossip: This man has a wife who fixes telemetry errors in her sleep, and makes him bento boxes everyday. AND A DAUGHTER WHO BEATS ENGINEERS AT SUDOKU. What did you THINK was going to happen??

@/F1psychology: Watching Oscar Piastri react to flirting like it's a sports injury safety video is the most fascinating psychological case study I’ve ever seen. Also, Lando's visible rage is priceless.

***

Oscar waited until Bee was down for the night.

She’d fallen asleep curled up around Button the Frog, one arm flung dramatically across her pillow like she was staging a nap-themed protest. He’d kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket under her chin, switching the night light to its soft pink glow before slipping out of her room on quiet feet.

He figured... if Felicity was going to hate him, she probably shouldn’t have to do it in front of their daughter.

Which was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He was sweating, suddenly aware of how clingy the collar of his t-shirt felt. His hands wouldn’t sit still — twitching, tapping, twisting his wedding ring around and around until the skin beneath it burned.

He felt fifteen again. Awkward and uncertain and too full of words he didn’t know how to say.

And then Felicity padded into the living room, hair twisted into a lazy bun, bare feet soft against the floorboards, wearing one of his old McLaren hoodies that hung off her like it still didn’t understand how it ended up lucky enough to be wrapped around her.

She looked soft. Tired. Safe.

She smiled when she saw him, sweet and a little sleepy, like she was expecting him to ask about what tea she wanted or whether he’d remembered to order oat milk.

Oscar nearly chickened out.

Instead, he sat up straighter — awkward and abrupt — and blurted:

"Someone tried to flirt with me today."

Felicity blinked.

Tilted her head slightly, eyebrows raised — curious, not alarmed.

"Okay," she said, in the same tone she might use if he told her they were out of clean towels.

Oscar frowned.

"No, like — really tried. At a media thing. In front of cameras."

She just blinked again. Still calm. Still patient.

Still not mad.

Just... waiting.

Oscar swallowed.

"And I didn’t realize it was flirting until Lando nearly had an aneurysm."

That earned him a real laugh — soft, sudden, surprised. The kind of laugh she gave him when Bee said something absurd or when Oscar accidentally fixed something in the kitchen by whacking it with a shoe.

It went straight to his chest.

God, he loved her.

"And I was worried—" he continued, words stumbling out now like they’d been dammed up too long, "I was worried you’d think I was — I don’t know — encouraging it or — or being stupid, or not noticing because I wanted to miss it—"

Felicity crossed the room in three quick steps, not breaking eye contact once.

She dropped onto the couch beside him, slid her legs over his lap like she did every night, and tucked herself against his side like she’d always belonged there.

"You thought I’d be mad," she said, amused, "because some random influencer tried to flirt with you?"

Oscar nodded miserably, guilt still clinging to the back of his throat.

Felicity pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Eyes shining. Smile small and full of something dangerously close to laughter.

"Oscar," she said slowly, "I saw the whole video. You tried to offer her hydration advice."

He groaned, already regretting every decision he’d made since opening his mouth.

"Please don’t remind me."

"You told her to stretch her hip flexors," Felicity said, delighted. "Oscar, you sounded like a yoga instructor trying to scare off a client."

"Bee probably would’ve handled it better," he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Felicity laughed — a real one this time, head back, eyes crinkled, full-body kind of joy.

Oscar melted a little.

She curled closer, arms winding around his waist like she didn’t intend to let go anytime soon.

"I’m not mad, love," she said gently, brushing her nose against his shoulder. "She never stood a chance."

Oscar blinked down at her, stunned. A little breathless.

Felicity grinned up at him.

"You are so... mine, it’s not even funny."

She said it like a joke. She said it like a truth carved in stone.

Both were true.

Oscar let out a long, shaky breath, tension finally bleeding out of his chest.

"I just didn’t want you to think—"

She kissed his cheek, quieting him with the ease of someone who knew every version of him — the champion, the kid from karting, the dad who braided Bee’s hair with frog clips.

"I married you," Felicity whispered. "I know exactly who you are. I trust you with my life. And frankly, if anyone tries to flirt with you again, I might just send them a condolence card."

Oscar laughed, startled and in love and still trying to figure out how he’d ever ended up this lucky.

"And also," Felicity added, smirking like a fox who had absolutely won, "it’s way too funny to be jealous about."

He buried his face into her neck, overwhelmed by the warmth of her, by the sharp edges of her wit and the soft edges of her love.

"You’re ridiculous," he mumbled, muffled by her skin.

"And you," she said, threading her fingers through his hair like he was something precious, "are very bad at realizing when people want you." A beat. "And your brain is permanently stuck on ‘wife good, daughter best, car fast.’"

Oscar smiled, eyes closed, letting her steady him with nothing more than her heartbeat and her presence.

"You really aren’t mad?" he asked, still half-disbelieving.

Felicity leaned back, just far enough to look at him fully — bright-eyed and ferociously sure.

"Oscar," she said solemnly, "you are the most obliviously loyal man I’ve ever met. If I had to design a loyalty test, it would look like you."

Oscar kissed the curve of her throat, slow and reverent.

"Good thing I only ever wanted you," he murmured.

Felicity’s arms tightened around him, like she could will him into her bones.

"Exactly," she whispered.

Exactly.

✶ 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.

Paddock Bunny 4

AN: Sorry it took so long! I've decided to forget about the schedule I once had and I will be updating this when I feel the motivation to write for it! I love my Bunny and want to keep writing for her. I was originally gonna write George's DSQ but decided to hold off so look out for the next few days to see the next part to Paddock Bunny!!!

TW: ROUGH sex, slapping, spanking, multiple orgasms, protected sex, UNPROTECTED sex, oral, creampie, face fucking, MDNI 18+

WC: 3.1k

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Y/N POV

The Mclaren garage after Oscar's first win is very different from when Lando won his first Grand Prix. Everyone is trying to be excited for the young Australian driver but there's an undertone in the room that is making it more awkward than anything.

I make my way to Oscar's driver room knowing he would be alone since his engineer had just walked back towards my dad to do their debrief.

"Come in," I hear Oscar call out when I knock gently on the door. When he sees that it's me he instantly breaks out into a wide smile.

"I'm so fucking proud of you," I say while making me way to where he is sitting on the couch before climbing into his lap and into my arms.

"I think you are the first person from the team to say that," Oscar mumbles into my chest where he had buried his face.

"Not even Tom?" I say while pulling his face up to look up at me. He just kinds of shrugs the question off.

"Probably but it's been a bit of a blur if I'm being honest," Oscar tells me making me smile. When he sees me smiling he starts to smile too letting his eyes shine in excitement for the first time since I've walked into the room.

"I think that was the most awkward podium I've ever been on," Oscar whispers making me pout. It was awkward just watching it happen so I couldn't imagine being up there.

"You deserved better," I tell him softly while my fingers lightly trace over his cheek bones making him look up with a soft smile.

"If a weird ass podium gets you in my lap at the end of the day, I'll suffer every race," Oscar tells me with a smirk while dropping his hands from my waist down to my ass where he gives it a little squeeze before pulling me in closer and bringing his lips to mine.

"Lily, called and said you looked beautiful in the garage," Oscar tells me softly making me smile.

"Tell her thank you," I whisper before leaning down and pulling him in for another kiss. Feeling Oscar's tongue tangling with mine I can't help the small moan slipping from my lips.

"Will you be spending your night with me?" Oscar asks me softly making me smile and nod my head.

"Only if you'll have me over?" I reply back.

"Of course I want you over. I sure my mom will want me to call her when I get to the hotel so," Oscar kind of trails off not really being able to find the right words to what he's saying.

"I'll hide in the bathroom while she calls," I say with a small smile making a sign of relief excape Oscar's lips.

"I also have parents I don't want knowing about this," I say with a laugh making Oscar realize he's not alone in wanting to keep this all under wraps.

When we finally get back to Oscar's hotel room he makes himself comfortable on the bed and gives his mom a ring while I hide in the bathroom.

I spent my time texting Lando letting him rant about how he felt about the race but as soon as I hear the bathroom door open I put my phone down and look up to find Oscar making his way into the bathroom.

I'm sitting on the bathroom counter which is perfect for Oscar to quickly slots himself between my spread thighs while pulling me closer into him.

"Good chat?" I ask softly making Oscar nod before pulling me even closer to him before pulling me in for a soft kiss. He quickly deepens the kiss pulling me into his arms and walking the both of us towards the bedroom where he quickly plops me down on the bed before pulling off the flimsy dress I was wearing leaving me in my matching bra and panties.

"Look so pretty," Oscar says while pulling at the string of my thong before letting it snap back against my skin making me whimper.

Oscar quickly pulls his phone out and snaps a few pictures making my cheeks heat slightly but trusting him enough that they would be for 'his' eyes only.

Once Oscar gets a few more pictures he tosses his phone somewhere out of sight before he's pulling off his shirt letting me see his toned chest.

I quickly wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his body down on top of mine letting my nails trail his back while his mouth starts exploring my jaw and neck.

"So pretty," Oscar mumbles into my skin making me giggle at the way his breath tickled my skin. When his mouth finds my sweet spot I let out a small whine when I feel his teeth sink into my skin leaving a small hickey behind.

I can feel Oscar leaving a small trail of hickeys down my neck and towards my bra covered tits where he quickly unclips the back of my bra and discarding it somewhere across the room before he attaches his mouth to my hardened nipple.

"Osc," I moan softly when I feel his tongue start twirling around the sensitive bud. I feel Oscar softly tugging on the barbell through my nipple making me whimper at the stimulation.

"Sound so pretty," Oscar mumbles before trailing his mouth to my other nipple and giving it the same treatment as the previous one. Once both of my nipples are standing at attention from Oscar's mouth he pulls my panties down my legs and tosses them somewhere along with the rest of my discarded clothes.

When I feel Oscar's mouth near my core I can't help but try and pull him closer to where I need him the most which only has him pulling back and sending a harsh slap to my inner thigh.

"Ow! Oscar," I cry out in a loud whine making Oscar look up at me with a smirk before leaning down and kissing my lips softly.

"Patience," Oscar whispers before leaning back down near my core but instead of bringing his mouth to where I need him he starts trailing soft kisses all along my inner thighs and even leaving a few small hickeys behind before I finally feel his tongue softly start exploring my folds making me whimper.

The more Oscar's tongue explores my soaked folds the tighter my grip on his hair gets making me pull his hair trying to bring him closer to where I need him the most.

"Fuck," Oscar groans when I pull his hair hard enough making me whimper at the vibrations his voice sent straight to my core.

"More please," I beg wiggling my hips trying to bring Oscar's mouth to my throbbing clit.

"Ah! Yes," I whine when I finally feel Oscar's tongue lightly graze over my clit before moving his mouth back to my inner thigh making me whimper at the loss of contact.

"Oscar! Stop teasing," I cry out only making him pull back and slap my inner thigh once again.

"Let me enjoy watching you fall apart for me," Oscar whispers with a smirk before leaning down and spitting directly onto my clit and using a few fingers to roughly rub it into my clit giving me the stimulation I had been chasing but being far too rough to give me true pleasure.

"Osc, please," I whine again. This time Oscar leans down slightly placing a soft kiss on my sensitive clit before pulling it into his mouth making me sign in relief from the stimulation which quickly turns into a soft scream when his teeth sink into my clit.

"Oscar!" I cry when I feel him biting down onto my clit and tugging is before releasing.

"I said patience," Oscar teasing in a sing song voice before flicking my nipple piercing making me jump at the stimulation.

When Oscar finally climbs off the bed I see him pulling the rest of his clothes off, making me bite my lip softly when I see his already hard length.

Oscar climbs back into bed and quickly rolls a condom on making me bite my lip making me realize he's finally gonna give me the stimulation I was looking for.

When I feel the tip of Oscar's fat cock nudging at my clit I can't help the moan that falls from my lips.

"Beg for it," Oscar's smug voice rings out breaking me out of my lust induced haze to find him looking down at me with a smirk.

"Please," my voice weakly rings out in the room while I bring my hand down to his cock trying to get him to push his cock in.

"Greedy little thing," Oscar says with a smirk while pulling his hips back so I'm no longer touching his cock.

"Oscar God damn in, I need you to fuck me," I finally snap at the Aussie making him look down at me with a raised brow.

"Please," I add weakly.

Oscar wastes no time slamming his hips into mine filling me up with his cock and thrusting not giving me any time to adjust to his size.

"Fuck," I cry out when Oscar start thrusting directly into my G-spot.

I feel Oscar's arms wrap around my legs and pull them over his shoulders before leaning down and fucking me at a new angle.

"You take my cock so well," Oscar grunts out before placing a soft kiss on my lips while I moan into his mouth.

"Fuck, too much," I cry out when I can already feel an orgasm starting to build.

"Too. Much?" Oscar says while slowing down his thrusts but making sure to thrust into me roughly with each word.

"You were just crying for this? No?" Oscar teases before picking up his thrusts again and fucking into my soaked pussy even harder.

"I'm gonna cum," I cry out when Oscar continues to fuck me not letting his pace slow down in the slightest.

"I don't care, I'm not done fucking you," Oscar roughly tells me, making sure I know this is about his pleasure.

When I fall over the edge for the first time I can't help but squirt all over Oscar and I but it does nothing to slow him down.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cry in a chant as he continues to fuck me harder not giving me any time to come down from my high only throwing me instantly into another orgasm.

"Oscar!" I cry out through my second orgasm of the night. Instead of Oscar acknowledging me he quickly pulls out of my overly abused pussy and quickly flipping me over so I'm on all fours before pushing back into the gummy walls of my pussy.

"Fuck!" I cry when Oscar starts fucking me just as rough in a new angle hitting me in all different spots.

"So good," Oscar grunts letting the grip he has on my hips tighten before he takes one hand and slaps my ass as hard as he can,

"Fuck," I cry out when the pain of his spank finally registers through all the pleasure.

"Fuck, you're gonna cum again," Oscar points out when he can feel me clenching around him.

When Oscar starts slapping my ass and fucking into my pussy I fall over the edge again making me cry out.

"I can't!" I cry when I can feel Oscar starting to fuck me harder through my third orgasm.

When I can feel the overstimulation start to take course I can't help the tears that start to stream down my face.

"Give me one more," Oscar grunts out while taking my hair into his fist and pulling me up so my back is flush with his chest while he continues to fuck into my overworked pussy.

"Oscar," I cry out as the tears continues to stream down my face while his thrusts don't slow down into he slightest.

"Come on, one more," Oscar teases trying to coax me through my finale orgasm.

When Oscar pulls my hair even tighter exposing my neck even more he sinks his teeth into my shoulder while freeing his hand from my hair and bringing it to my throat giving it a squeeze.

"Fuck," I gasp through my cries while falling over the edge while Oscar continues to softly choke me. I can feel the waves of my orgasm only intensify as Oscar slowly chokes me harder with each passing second.

"Good girl," Oscar grunts while quickly pulling his cock from my pussy and pulling me by my hair to get on my knees where Oscar quickly pulls the condom off and shoves his dick into my mouth.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts as he slowly starts fucking my face allowing me to adjust to his size before he starts to pick up the pace making me gag around his length.

"Take me so good," Oscar grunts when his hips start to falter in pace slightly letting me know he was getting close to finishing.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts out before shoving his cock deep into my throat and starting to cum filling my mouth with his cum before pulling out and jerking the rest of his load all over my face.

I quickly swallow the cum he left in my mouth before opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue to allow Oscar to finish painting my face while trying to catch some of the load with my tongue.

"Fuck, such a good whore," Oscar grunts while one final rope lands on my tongue.

Oscar takes roughly 10 seconds to gather himself before he's pulling me off my knees and into his arms where he takes us into his hotel bathroom and placing me back on the counter.

"Did so good for me," Oscar says while taking a clean rag and getting it wet with warm water while slowly starting to wipe his excess cum off my face.

I allow Oscar to continue to softly wipe my face in silence before I finally lean down and pull him in for a soft kiss.

"Was that a good way to celebrate?" I ask softly with a small smile playing on my lips when I pull away from the kiss.

"The best way," Oscar tells me softly before pulling me back in for another kiss.

When Oscar pulls away from the kiss he turns his attention to the shower where he turns it on letting it warm up.

When the steam has finally filled the bathroom from the hot shower Oscar pulls me back into his arms and brings the both of us into the shower where I instantly relax into his arms letting the hot water relax my sore muscles.

"Was I too rough?" Oscar asks softly making me lift my head from his shoulder and look him in the eye.

"No, and you better not tell anyone but I think you just fucked me better than anyone else ever has," I admit with a smile tugging on my lips.

"That's bragging rights! I don't think I can keep that a secret," Oscar teases but I can still tell he's worried.

"I mean it Oscar! It was perfect, and there's a safe word if it really was too much," I tell him with softly running my fingers through his wet hair.

I can see him relaxing into my touch which makes me smile.

"Sorry if I left any visible marks," Oscar says sheepishly when he notices a few of the hickeys he's left behind.

"For a maiden win, there's no rules," I saw with a smile and a shrug. It takes Oscar roughly 10 seconds to realize no rules means he could fuck me with no protection.

"Fuck, you would let me?" Oscar asks looking me directly in the eye.

"I'm clean, and up to date on my birth control. I think it's safe to assume you're also clean," I say softly getting nervous at the idea I was pitching.

"Hey, if you don't want to we don't have to. Don't feel pressured," Oscar says when he starts to pick up on my energy shift.

"No, I do! I guess I just didn't know how you would feel," I admit softly making Oscar smile down at me.

"I would love to fill that pussy of yours up with my cum," Oscar says with a smirk making me smile and pull him down for a kiss.

I was expecting Oscar to become rough once again but this time he slowly pulls one of my legs ups to wrap around his waist while I feel him softly teasing my still soaked folds with his hard cock.

I whimper into the kiss when I feel him start to push into my still sore pussy.

"Can you go one more?" Oscar asks softly making me whimper and nod my head.

"Words," Oscar tells me sternly making me look him in the eye and verbally confirm that I wanted him to fuck me.

"Fuck," Oscar groans when he continues to push the rest of his length deep into my pussy making me whimper at the stretch.

"Oscar!" I moan out as he starts to slowly thrust his cock in and out of my sensitive pussy.

"Take me so well," Oscar groans as he slowly starts to speed up his thrusts making sure to hit my G-spot with each thrust.

"Feels so good," I gasp throwing my head back exposing my neck enough for Oscar to drop his mouth and start leaving small scattered kisses all alone my neck.

"I'm not gonna last," Oscar gasps speeding up his hips even more clearly chasing the same release I was chasing.

"I'm close," I whine while bringing my hand between our bodies and lightly teasing my clit while Oscar continues to fuck into me bringing both of us closer to cumming.

"Cum for me," Oscar groans softly making me fall over the edge and pulling him with me.

"Oh shit!" Oscar grunts while still pumping his hips into my pussy. During the waves of my orgasm I can feel Oscar's cum being pumped into my pussy making me whimper.

"So good," I whine out starting to come down from my high once again.

"Did so good," Oscar mumbles while softly pulling out and letting my leg rest of the ground so I can now stand on my own.

"So good for me," Oscar continues to mumble while starting to clean me up.

It was clear that no matter how rough or gentle Oscar fucked he would always spend the next several minutes praising and cleaning up. I couldn't help but blush under his praise and when we were finally cleaned up and helped me dress into one of his shirts before getting the both of us comfortable in his bed.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Summary: Lando discovers you’re hiding your illness to avoid worrying him, leading him to care for you tenderly through the night, reaffirming how deeply you mean to him.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, fluff

TW: Mafia, Illness

A/N: I planned on posting this tmr but for some reason it posted itself. Well, it doesn’t matter. Looks like tumblr didn’t want to wait for this masterpiece to be dropped.

thank you so much!! I hope you like the story! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The soft hum of the clock echoed in the quiet apartment as you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water to soothe your aching throat. You were feverish, exhausted, and the pounding in your head refused to subside. But you couldn’t let Lando know.

Not today.

He’d just returned from a grueling, dangerous mission that had left him visibly drained. Lando Norris was ruthless in his world—cold, calculating, and unyielding to anyone who crossed him. But to you, he was the kindest, most loving man you’d ever known. And the thought of adding to his worries made your chest tighten.

So, when he strode into the apartment earlier that evening, you’d masked your weakness with a smile and a casual greeting.

"Hey, love," he murmured, his tone softer than usual as he pulled you into a hug. The faint scent of leather and smoke clung to him, a stark reminder of the life he led outside these walls. "Missed you."

You leaned into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. "Missed you too," you whispered, praying he wouldn’t notice how clammy your skin felt.

Lando cupped your face, studying you with those brown eyes. "You sure you’re okay? You look a little pale."

"I’m fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Probably just tired."

He nodded, though his gaze lingered for a moment longer. "Alright. But let me know if something’s wrong, yeah?"

You promised you would, even though you had no intention of keeping that promise.

By the time night fell, your symptoms had worsened. The fever burned hotter, your limbs felt heavy, and a dizzy spell left you gripping the bedframe for support. Lando was in the living room, busy with a phone call that sounded serious—his sharp, clipped tone carried through the apartment.

You slipped into bed, hoping rest would make everything better. But as the hours passed, the pain only intensified. When Lando finally came to bed, you were curled on your side, trembling beneath the blankets.

"Love?" His voice was gentle as he slid under the covers beside you. He reached out to touch your shoulder, and you flinched involuntarily.

"Cold," you mumbled, though your skin felt like fire.

Lando frowned, his hand brushing against your forehead. "You’re burning up!" His voice was tight with worry now, and you cursed yourself for not telling him earlier.

"I’m fine," you tried to protest, but the words came out slurred.

"Like hell you are," he snapped, his usual composure cracking. "Why didn’t you tell me?!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the room spun violently, and darkness began to creep in at the edges of your vision.

"Lando…" you whispered before your world tilted and faded into black.

When you came to, the room was dimly lit, and Lando’s voice was the first thing you heard.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," he murmured, his tone raw with fear. His hand cradled yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I’ve got you. I’m here."

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you found his face hovering above yours, his features etched with concern.

"Lando…" you croaked, your throat dry and scratchy.

"Shh, don’t try to talk," he said, reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand. He helped you sit up just enough to take a sip, his movements careful and precise. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest.

He shook his head, his jaw tight. "Don’t you dare apologize. You’re sick, and you hid it from me. Why, love? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I didn’t want you to worry," you admitted, tears pooling in your eyes. "You’ve got so much on your plate already…"

Lando sighed, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "You’re my priority," he said firmly. "Nothing—nothing—is more important than you. You mean everything to me, sweetheart. Don’t ever hide something like this again, okay?"

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Lando wiped them away with gentle fingers. "I’m sorry," you whispered again, your voice trembling.

"It’s alright," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Just let me take care of you now."

And take care of you, he did.

For the next several hours, Lando didn’t leave your side. He cooled your fever with damp cloths, coaxed you into sipping broth when your stomach could handle it, and whispered soft reassurances whenever you stirred.

"Rest, my love," he murmured, stroking your hair. "I’m here. Always."

As dawn broke, the fever began to subside, and the pounding in your head dulled to a manageable ache. You woke to find Lando sitting beside you, his hand still in yours, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but full of love.

"How’re you feeling?" he asked, leaning forward to kiss your temple.

"Better," you admitted, giving him a small smile. "Thanks to you."

He smiled back, though his expression was still serious. "Don’t scare me like that again, alright?"

"I won’t," you promised, squeezing his hand. "I love you, Lando."

"I love you too," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "More than anything."

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how tough Lando was to the rest of the world, he’d always have a soft spot for you.

Thank you for reading!