#ccupcakqs

— lesson plan ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: first time makeout, heavy kissing, mutual pining pairing: kimi antonelli x inexperienced female reader a/n: holy shit anon (also side note trust me kimi will be a champion soon! he's so goated wtf)

“so you’ve never made out before?”

kimi says it so casually, you almost miss the question. he’s sitting with one leg folded beneath him, hoodie sleeves pushed up, gaze steady on you from where he leans back against your pillows. his tone is light, neutral, but the way he’s watching you feels heavier than that.

“not really,” you admit, eyes fixed on your fingers. “just... one kiss. a long time ago. and it barely counted.”

kimi tilts his head. “not counting is fair. some kisses don’t mean anything. they don’t leave anything behind.”

your heart picks up speed. “but the good ones do?”

his mouth twitches into a soft half-smile. “the good ones ruin you a little.”

you blink. “oh.”

he shifts toward you, careful, slow. not pushing anything, just changing the angle. “want me to teach you?”

you hesitate. your mouth opens, closes. you look down at your lap and then back at him. “you’re not messing with me?”

“never.”

your voice is smaller than you want it to be. “then yeah. i want to learn.”

kimi reaches for you gently, fingers brushing your knee. “first thing you do is relax. you can’t kiss someone right if your whole body’s tensed up.”

you laugh nervously. “i’m not tense.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“okay, fine, i’m a little tense,” you admit. “what if i can’t relax?”

“then maybe you’re not kissing the right person,” he says, still smiling.

you look at him — really look — and something low in your stomach twists.

“close your eyes,” he murmurs. “just breathe for a second.”

you do. the silence settles between you like soft pressure. your breathing evens out. his thumb draws a slow circle against your knee.

“next step,” he says. “tilt your head a little. doesn’t matter which way. just not straight on. trust me, nose collisions are awkward.”

you smile with your eyes still closed. “got it. no nose-bumps.”

“and start slow. no one likes being rushed. feel it first. build it.”

your eyes open slowly. “and what about breathing?”

kimi leans in, just slightly. “through your nose. if you forget and breathe through your mouth, you’ll run out of air and have to pull back. not the worst thing in the world, but it does ruin the flow.”

you nod. “okay. tilt, slow, breathe. and... do we just start?”

“only if you want to.”

you shift closer on the bed, knees brushing. your heart feels like it’s sitting high in your chest. “i want to.”

he tilts his head slightly. “good. then come here.”

you lean in. carefully. cautiously. he meets you halfway, his hand rising to cradle your cheek with a gentleness that makes your ribs ache.

his lips press to yours, soft and slow. there’s no rush in it. just warmth. just the quiet pressure of his mouth moving against yours like he’s reading something written there.

you melt into him before you realize you’ve done it.

his fingers slip from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you in place just enough to deepen the kiss. his mouth opens slightly and you follow, matching him, mirroring the slow rhythm he sets.

you feel the tip of his tongue graze yours and your breath catches. your hand finds his hoodie, gripping at the fabric like an anchor.

he pulls back, just enough to whisper, “okay?”

you nod. “yeah. keep going.”

his lips find yours again, this time more confidently. his tongue slips into your mouth, slow and hot and steady. your knees shift, bringing you closer. your thigh slides over his and you don’t realize you’re half in his lap until he groans softly into your mouth.

your hands are in his hair now, threading through soft strands, pulling him closer like you can’t help it.

kimi kisses like he’s trying to memorize you — like every movement is mapped and deliberate. one hand stays on your waist, the other strokes down your back, trailing warmth.

you press forward. your hips shift, brushing against him.

he breaks the kiss for a second, breathing hard. “you’re doing better than good.”

you smile against his lips. “you’re a good teacher.”

he exhales a soft laugh and pulls you into his lap properly. your knees bracket his thighs now, straddling him, chest to chest.

your lips meet again, harder this time. he kisses you deep and slow, tongue sliding over yours, lips slick and warm.

your hips shift again, testing the movement, and he tightens his grip on your waist in response.

“fuck,” he mutters. “keep doing that.”

you do.

your body moves against his without thinking. the rhythm is instinct now. your hands tug his hoodie slightly, wanting more contact, more friction, more of him.

kimi’s mouth drops to your jaw, then down to your throat, kissing softly at the edge of your collarbone. you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.

“is this okay?” he murmurs.

you nod fast. “yes. god. yes.”

he pulls you tighter against him. your thighs ache, your lips are swollen, your chest is pressed to his like it’s the only way you can breathe right.

“how does it feel?” he asks into your neck.

you can’t find the words at first. everything is heat and pressure and the heady spin of having him this close.

“like i’m not gonna forget it,” you manage.

kimi pulls back, just enough to look at you. his eyes are dark now, blown wide. his hands are still on your hips, steady and warm.

“you won’t,” he says softly. “i won’t either.”

you kiss him again. not soft this time. you push your mouth to his like you mean it. like you’re not afraid anymore.

he kisses back even harder.

you lose track of time after that. the world narrows to breath and heat and the way your bodies move together. his hands stroke your thighs. yours explore under his hoodie. he never pushes too far. never rushes. just pulls you deeper into him until there’s no space left.

when you finally pull apart, gasping slightly, his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“you’re unreal,” he whispers.

you’re still breathing hard. your voice is quiet. “did i pass?”

kimi smiles. “top of the class.”

your head drops to his shoulder as your body settles, finally realizing how much you were shaking. he holds you there, arms around your waist, one hand stroking your back lazily.

“you’re a good student,” he says again, softer this time.

“you’re a good teacher,” you whisper back.

you don’t move for a long time. you just breathe, legs tangled, skin warm.

warnings: one punch thrown, mentions of someone insulting oscar, light arguing pairing: oscar piastri x impulsive female reader a/n: “she’s a menace but she’s my menace” energy, request!

you don’t even hear all of it at first. it’s late, you’re in the hospitality tent grabbing a bottle of water after the race, your head still buzzing with nerves and adrenaline. oscar’s doing press somewhere a few paddocks over, and you were planning to find him as soon as the media cleared out.

but then you hear his name.

and the way they say it makes your stomach twist.

“piastri’s such a damn robot, man. no balls. never makes a move unless someone tells him to.”

the second guy laughs. “he's the world’s most well-behaved number two. they should just paint ‘doormat’ on the back of his suit.”

a third voice—more smug than the rest—leans in. “he’s got the personality of an instruction manual. perfect for mclaren, right? all smiles, zero fight.”

you stop walking.

your water bottle crunches slightly in your hand.

then comes the worst one.

“you think his girlfriend’s with him for the fame? can’t be for the personality.”

there’s laughter. loud, careless, ugly.

you don’t even remember moving.

just your voice—sharp, clear, cutting through their little circle like a blade.

“what the fuck did you just say?”

they all turn.

you don’t flinch.

you step right into their space, eyes locked on the last one who spoke.

“say it again,” you snap. “say it to my face.”

he hesitates, hands raised like he’s trying to play it off.

“hey, relax. it was a joke.”

“not funny,” you say. “try again.”

“look, we were just talking. he’s not even here.”

“doesn’t matter,” you say, teeth gritted. “you don’t get to talk about him like that. not when you wouldn’t last five minutes doing what he does. you sit behind a screen and run your mouth like it’s brave. it’s not. it’s pathetic.”

the guy scoffs. “what, you’re gonna hit me now?”

you don’t answer.

you just let your fist connect with his face.

clean. sharp. direct.

the sound is sickeningly satisfying. his nose cracks and he stumbles back, swearing as blood spills down over his lip. one of his friends catches him. the others back off fast, eyes wide.

you toss the half-empty water bottle on the ground.

“think next time before you talk shit about people better than you.”

and then security shows up.

fifteen minutes later, oscar finds you sitting on the edge of a low wall near the paddock entrance, a small bag of ice in your lap even though your hand’s fine. you’re quiet now. a little flushed. slightly sheepish.

he stops in front of you, arms crossed.

you look up at him and wince. “hi.”

he stares at you.

you smile.

“they said horrible things,” you explain. “i couldn’t just let it go.”

he blinks. “so you punched a guy.”

“i was defending your honor.”

“you broke his nose.”

“he called you a doormat and insulted me.”

he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, trying very hard not to smile. “you can’t just hit people.”

“you can, actually,” you say. “there are consequences, but the action is entirely possible.”

he laughs under his breath and crouches down in front of you. “you’re insane.”

“i know.”

“and what if he hit you back?”

“then i’d have hit him again.”

he grabs your wrist gently, inspecting your knuckles like he’s still half in disbelief. they’re a little red, but not swollen.

“you’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself.”

you grin. “i train.”

“you box like once a week.”

“still counts.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a strange expression creeping onto his face—equal parts exasperated and… something else.

“you shouldn’t be doing that,” he says, soft now. “not for me.”

you lean in. “why not? i love you. you matter to me. i don’t care if they were just being loud and stupid. they don’t get to treat you like you’re nothing.”

he swallows.

his fingers flex slightly on your wrist.

“oscar?” you ask, brows lifting. “you good?”

he clears his throat, very pointedly not looking at your mouth. “yeah. just—yeah.”

you tilt your head. “are you—are you turned on right now?”

his ears go pink immediately. “no.”

“oscar.”

“okay. maybe a little.”

you burst out laughing.

he groans and buries his face in your shoulder. “don’t make it weird.”

“me? you’re the one with a weird protector kink.”

“i do not have a kink—”

“babe.”

“fine. i have a slight appreciation for how hot you looked when you went full unhinged.”

you hum. “you should’ve seen their faces. i didn’t even swear at first. i just stood there like i was about to ruin everything.”

“you did ruin everything.”

“i did it for you.”

he kisses you then—hard and a little breathless—like he’s trying to make up for how flustered he is by just giving in.

when he pulls back, he tucks your hair behind your ear and mutters, “next time, just threaten them. no punches unless absolutely necessary.”

you grin. “so violence is on the table?”

he sighs.

“you’re lucky i’m in love with you.”

warnings: fluffy beach day, teasing, sandy toes, sunshine, lots of soft moments pairing: oscar piastri x female reader a/n: so um im back?

by the time the two of you make it from the parking lot to the sand, oscar is carrying nearly everything.

the beach bag hangs from one shoulder. there's a cooler tucked beneath his arm, two towels thrown over the top of it, and an umbrella balanced awkwardly against his side. meanwhile, you're carrying a single tote bag that weighs next to nothing.

he's complaining.

of course he's complaining.

something about how this was supposed to be a simple beach day and somehow turned into a full expedition.

something about how he's beginning to suspect you pack for every possible scenario.

something about how nobody should need this many snacks.

you stop listening halfway through.

not because he's being annoying.

mostly because you're busy smiling.

the thing about oscar is that he complains about things he secretly enjoys.

you figured that out months ago.

maybe years.

the exact timeline is blurry now.

all you know is that somewhere along the way, you learned how to translate him.

you learned that his dramatic sighs don't actually mean he's annoyed. you learned that whenever he claims he doesn't want to do something, there's a very good chance he'll end up enjoying it more than anyone else. you learned that his version of affection rarely looks the way people expect it to.

because oscar doesn't love loudly.

he loves carefully.

quietly.

in ways that are easy to miss if you aren't paying attention.

and you've spent years paying attention.

the first thing he does after setting everything down is hand you a drink.

he doesn't ask if you're thirsty.

doesn't ask what you want.

he already knows.

the bottle is cold against your fingers when he passes it over.

your favorite.

exactly the brand you like.

exactly the flavor you always buy.

you don't even remember mentioning it the first time.

but somehow he remembers.

of course he does.

you've stopped being surprised by that kind of thing.

a long time ago, it would've caught you off guard. now it simply feels like oscar.

he remembers everything.

not birthdays and anniversaries.

everybody remembers those.

he remembers the weird stuff.

the little stuff.

the things that shouldn't matter but somehow do.

he remembers that you hate tomatoes unless they're hidden inside something. he remembers that you always get cold in movie theaters. he remembers that whenever you're stressed, you start twisting the rings on your fingers without realizing it.

he remembers things you forget about yourself.

sometimes you think that's why you fell in love with him.

or maybe it's one of a thousand reasons.

it's hard to keep track these days.

the beach isn't particularly crowded.

there are families scattered near the shoreline, children racing through the water while exhausted parents watch from beach chairs. a group of teenagers are attempting to play volleyball several meters away. somewhere in the distance, music drifts through the warm afternoon air before disappearing beneath the sound of waves.

it's the kind of day people dream about in the middle of winter.

the sky is perfectly blue.

the ocean sparkles.

the breeze is just strong enough to keep the heat from becoming unbearable.

you sink onto your towel with a satisfied sigh.

oscar drops down beside you moments later.

for a while, neither of you do much.

you read.

he scrolls through his phone.

occasionally one of you points something out.

a dog chasing seagulls.

a child proudly carrying a shell larger than their hand.

someone losing a battle against an inflatable beach ball.

the conversation comes and goes naturally.

easy.

comfortable.

the kind that only exists between people who've spent enough time together to know there doesn't always need to be something to say.

every now and then, you catch yourself looking over at him.

you don't mean to.

it just happens.

he's stretched out beside you, sunglasses resting on his nose, one arm folded beneath his head.

the sunlight catches in his hair.

his expression is relaxed.

peaceful.

you don't think enough people realize how rare that is.

most of the world knows oscar as a racing driver.

they know the version that exists beneath bright lights and cameras.

the version constantly moving from one country to another.

the version surrounded by expectations.

you know this version.

the quiet one.

the sleepy one.

the one who steals fries off your plate and insists they taste better than his.

the one who accidentally falls asleep halfway through movies.

the one who looks happiest when nobody is asking anything from him.

your favorite version.

always your favorite version.

eventually, he notices you staring.

you immediately look away.

his laugh is quiet.

you hear it anyway.

heat floods your face.

you hate that he finds this funny.

you hate that he knows exactly what he's doing.

and you hate that he looks entirely too pleased with himself because of it.

mostly, though, you hate how much you love him.

the decision to get into the water takes longer than it should.

mostly because you keep changing your mind.

the ocean looks inviting from a distance.

less inviting the closer you get.

oscar notices your hesitation immediately.

he doesn't say anything at first.

just watches.

waiting.

you narrow your eyes.

his grin appears instantly.

there's something deeply irritating about how well he knows you.

you haven't even spoken and somehow he already knows exactly what's happening inside your head.

eventually you walk into the water anyway.

mostly because you're determined not to give him the satisfaction of being right.

the water is freezing.

absolutely freezing.

you regret everything immediately.

his laughter follows you across the shoreline.

later, after you've spent far longer in the ocean than originally intended, you're hit by a wave large enough to throw off your balance.

it happens quickly.

one second you're standing.

the next you're stumbling.

before you can react, a hand wraps around your arm.

steady.

firm.

familiar.

oscar.

of course.

the thing that gets you isn't the fact that he catches you.

it's how automatic it is.

how natural.

he doesn't hesitate.

doesn't think about it.

his body simply reacts.

like making sure you're okay is instinct at this point.

like it's something he does without even realizing it.

you've noticed that before.

the way he'll reach for your hand in crowded places.

the way he'll automatically move closer whenever you seem uncomfortable.

the way he always knows when you're tired before you do.

it's never dramatic.

never over the top.

just constant.

a quiet sort of care that exists beneath everything else.

his hand remains on your arm for a second longer than necessary.

just making sure.

always making sure.

your heart feels strangely full.

when the two of you return to your towels, you stretch out beneath the umbrella while the sun dries your hair.

the warmth feels nice.

comforting.

you close your eyes.

for a few minutes, you simply listen to the waves.

the distant conversations.

the occasional cry of a seagull overhead.

then something lands lightly against your shoulder.

you open your eyes.

sunscreen.

oscar is holding it out toward you.

you immediately laugh.

he doesn't.

"what?"

his expression remains completely serious.

"put it on."

"i'm fine."

he lowers his sunglasses slightly.

just enough to look at you.

it's a look you've seen before.

a look that says he knows you're being stubborn.

unfortunately, he's usually right.

"last time you said that, you got sunburnt."

"i barely got sunburnt."

"you complained about it for four days."

you sit up.

offended.

"it was not four days."

the look he gives you says otherwise.

you know arguing is pointless.

eventually you take the sunscreen.

you're halfway through applying it when the bottle disappears from your hands.

you blink.

oscar shifts closer.

without a word, he starts applying sunscreen to the places you'll inevitably miss.

your shoulders.

the back of your neck.

that awkward spot between your shoulder blades.

his touch is gentle.

careful.

familiar.

you stare out toward the ocean while he works.

because looking at him suddenly feels impossible.

it's ridiculous.

it's sunscreen.

that's all.

and yet something in your chest aches anyway.

because nobody talks about moments like this.

they talk about grand gestures.

flowers.

anniversaries.

expensive gifts.

they don't talk about someone remembering you always forget sunscreen.

they don't talk about someone quietly making sure you'll be comfortable tomorrow.

they don't talk about all the tiny ways love shows up.

but sitting there beneath the afternoon sun with oscar carefully making sure you won't burn, you think maybe those moments matter most.

by sunset, the beach has started to empty.

families pack up umbrellas.

children drag tired feet across the sand.

the sky slowly transforms into shades of pink and gold.

everything seems softer somehow.

quieter.

you and oscar stay exactly where you are.

neither of you seems particularly interested in leaving.

his shoulder presses against yours.

your hand rests in his.

the ocean stretches endlessly ahead.

for a while, neither of you speak.

you don't need to.

the silence feels full.

comfortable.

the kind of silence built over years of knowing someone.

the kind that only exists when you've learned every version of a person and decided to love them all anyway.

you think about the version of oscar the world sees.

then you think about the version sitting beside you.

the one who remembers your favorite drink.

the one who notices when you're cold.

the one who catches you before you fall.

the one who loves you quietly.

consistently.

every single day.

your chest tightens.

the evening breeze arrives just as the sun begins disappearing beneath the horizon.

you barely notice it.

oscar does.

of course he does.

before you can say anything, his hoodie lands across your shoulders.

still warm.

still carrying traces of sunscreen and saltwater and him.

you pull it tighter around yourself.

his smile appears immediately.

small.

soft.

fond.

the kind of smile that never makes it into photographs.

the kind that belongs entirely to you.

when you look up, he's already watching you.

for a moment neither of you move.

the ocean continues rolling onto shore.

the sky burns gold and pink overhead.

everything else seems to disappear.

his hand rises slowly.

fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

lingering against your cheek.

you lean into the touch without thinking.

his expression softens even further.

then he leans forward.

the kiss is gentle.

unhurried.

familiar in the best possible way.

it tastes faintly of saltwater and sunshine.

of long afternoons and warm sand and every small moment that brought you here.

when he pulls away, it isn't far.

his forehead rests against yours.

his eyes close.

so do yours.

and for a little while, the rest of the world simply ceases to matter.

because you're here.

he's here.

and somehow, after all this time, that still feels like the luckiest thing that's ever happened to you.

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!

warnings: light tension, protective kimi, established relationship pairing: kimi antonelli x female reader a/n: protective bf who?

kimi had always been careful.

quiet in public, serious with the media, controlled in a way most people weren’t at his age. even with you, even after months of early mornings and late nights and fingers curled into hoodies that didn’t belong to you, he stayed measured. nothing reckless. nothing loud. not where anyone could see.

that was the rule. not spoken, but mutual. you liked it better that way. no speculation, no pressure. you had your own path in the paddock. you didn’t want your name tied to his unless you put it there yourself.

but kimi wasn’t careful today.

it started slow — just a post-race stroll through the hospitality section. the heat still hung heavy in the air, but the sun had dipped low enough to soften everything gold. kimi’s cap was tugged low. your sunglasses hid your tired eyes. a shared water bottle passed between your hands.

you were talking. or laughing. or teasing him about the way he practically divebombed into turn six. whatever it was, it made him glance down at you, mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile too much.

and that’s when someone said it.

you didn’t catch the whole sentence. just the tail end — sharp, amused, mocking.

“…pretty enough to be grid furniture. not much else.”

the voice was male. press pass swinging from his lanyard, a camera bag slung over his shoulder. he kept walking, not even looking back to see if you heard.

you did.

kimi did, too.

you didn’t react at first. just blinked. looked away. shoulders tightening slightly, throat working around the words you wouldn’t say.

kimi stopped walking.

his hand brushed yours. not forcefully. not even obviously. just enough for you to glance at him.

his eyes were dark. unreadable. locked onto yours like he was trying to decide something.

“don’t,” you whispered, voice low.

but he already had.

his hand found your waist. the touch wasn’t rough, wasn’t rushed — just firm, steady. grounding.

he didn’t speak.

he kissed you.

right there. in the middle of the paddock. between the catering tent and the camera crews and the cluster of junior drivers finishing interviews.

it wasn’t messy. wasn’t frantic. wasn’t the kind of kiss that screamed possession.

it was softer. like muscle memory. like instinct. like he’d done it a thousand times behind closed doors and just forgot this door was open.

your fingers curled into his shirt. his thumb brushed the skin beneath your top, the only reminder that yes, he was real and yes, this was happening.

you barely registered the silence that followed. or the camera click. or the collective inhale from the people around you.

kimi pulled back slowly. not dramatically. not with a flourish. just enough to press his forehead to yours, breath still warm between you.

“you okay?” he asked.

you nodded once. “yeah.”

he didn’t say anything else.

he didn’t have to.

—

by noon, the photos were everywhere.

someone on staff posted it first — a blurry but unmistakable shot of kimi antonelli mid-kiss, hand at your waist, cap still on backwards. the caption was just a string of exclamation marks.

then came the reposts. then came the zoomed-in versions. and the slow-motion gif someone made within ten minutes. and the tiktok with the “accidentally soft launch” audio. and the threads about how kimi’s hand placement proved everything. and the fans who wrote entire essays about how he looked at you like you hung the stars.

you weren’t on your phone.

but your notifications were wild.

you sat in his driver room post-briefing, legs tucked under yourself on the small couch. kimi sat beside you, flipping through a strategy booklet like it mattered.

“you’re trending,” you said casually, glancing at your screen.

“again?” he replied.

you turned the phone toward him. he blinked at the headline: kimi antonelli’s kiss seen around the world.

“hm,” he said, eyes skimming the screen.

“hm?”

“should’ve done it sooner.”

you turned to look at him fully. “i thought we were keeping it quiet.”

kimi leaned closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “he said something disgusting.”

“i know. but—”

“i don’t want anyone thinking they can talk about you like that.” his voice was low. steady. “not when you mean more to me than anything else in this place.”

you swallowed.

“kimi.”

“they were going to find out eventually.” his fingers slipped between yours. “i’d rather it be on my terms.”

you watched him for a long moment. his eyelashes still damp from the cooldown shower. his jaw still tense, but softer now.

“well,” you murmured. “for the record…”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i liked it.”

kimi smiled. “i know.”

warnings: light tension, slow burn, subtle flirting, mild jealousy pairing: oscar piastri x lando’s sister reader a/n: the slow burn is killing mee

series master list

you never meant to stay long.

lando had texted that morning — bring my spare pass, please. left it on the counter. you said fine, though you hadn’t planned on showing your face in the paddock again so soon. the noise always felt too sharp, the attention too heavy. but a promise was a promise.

the mclaren hospitality was already half full when you got there. sunlight poured through the glass walls, catching on silver cutlery and the slow swirl of steam from coffee cups. somewhere near the back, lando was laughing with his engineers, one hand moving through the air as he told a story you could already tell was exaggerated.

you waved, lifted the lanyard, and pointed to it. he grinned and gestured for you to join.

you slipped through the tables, weaving between conversations and camera flashes, trying not to feel too out of place. someone from pr smiled politely at you, one of the drivers from another team nodded in passing. everything was smooth and polite — the usual.

then oscar looked up.

he was sitting a few tables away, hunched slightly forward, his cap pushed low over his hair. he wasn’t smiling. just watching. calm, unreadable. still.

you gave him the smallest nod, the kind that said hi, i see you, but that’s all. he returned it, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to count as acknowledgment.

you didn’t realize he was looking again until his gaze dropped lower — not in a rude way, but like something had caught his attention.

and then he said it, quiet, like it wasn’t meant to leave his mouth at all.

“wrong pass.”

you frowned, blinking down at the lanyard. the bright papaya strap glowed against your black top, the number 81 printed clear and sharp on the tag.

oh.

you laughed under your breath. “that’s embarrassing.”

“just slightly,” he said, a trace of amusement flickering across his expression. “unless it’s a statement.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, definitely. i woke up this morning and thought, you know what would make today great? accidentally impersonating oscar piastri.”

his smile barely widened, but his eyes softened. “you’re doing a great job so far.”

before you could answer, lando appeared beside you, all easy energy and bright charm. “finally! my pass thief returns.”

you held it out. “you left it on the counter. again.”

“i was testing your loyalty,” he said, smirking. “and you passed.”

you shoved it into his hand. “barely.”

lando turned to oscar then, clapping his shoulder. “she steals from me but still brings it back. family loyalty’s weird, mate.”

“apparently,” oscar said, voice even, though there was the faintest ghost of a grin. “and she stole mine too.”

lando’s brows furrowed. “what?”

you tugged at the lanyard. “grabbed the wrong one this morning. i’ll swap it later.”

“nah, keep it,” lando said, waving it off. “it suits you.”

oscar’s eyes flickered for just a moment — something small, something unreadable — before he turned away. you didn’t miss it.

later, when most of the noise had thinned, you found yourself near the lounge again. the afternoon light had softened to that honeyed glow that made everything look warmer than it was. oscar was there still, sitting alone now, half-scrolling through his phone.

you hesitated before walking past. he looked up anyway.

“still wearing it,” he said.

you smiled faintly. “thought it suited me.”

he tilted his head, almost smiling. “that’s my line.”

“well, it wasn’t trademarked.”

he huffed out a quiet laugh. “should’ve known better.”

you leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “do you always notice stuff like that?”

“what, lanyards?”

“yeah. small details.”

he took a second before answering. “sometimes. only when they stand out.”

and there it was again — that pause between words, the unspoken thing neither of you dared to touch.

you didn’t look away. not right away.

across the room, someone called his name, breaking the silence. he straightened a little, that easy composure sliding back over him.

“i should—” he began.

“yeah. go,” you said softly. “don’t worry, i’ll return your identity later.”

he smiled, a real one this time. “don’t rush.”

you found your real pass later that evening in a bowl near the exit, neatly placed on top like someone had meant for you to find it. lando’s handwriting scrawled across the edge — try not to steal this one, yeah?

but hanging over the corner of your chair when you got home was the papaya strap with the number 81.

you didn’t remember taking it off.

you hadn’t meant to wear it again.

it was one of those mornings where everything felt too early and too bright. your real pass was on your dresser, right where you left it. but somehow, when you reached for your bag, the papaya one — his — was the first thing your fingers brushed. it felt light, familiar. you didn’t think about it long enough to stop yourself.

by the time you reached the paddock, the smell of fuel and coffee had already filled the air. mechanics moved like clockwork, and camera crews hovered, trying to catch any moment that might look like magic later.

you tried to disappear into the rhythm of it all. but it didn’t work.

“you’re doubling down on the impersonation now?”

his voice came from behind you, calm and a little teasing. oscar’s tone had that low, even quality — the kind that made even jokes sound serious.

you turned, trying not to smile. “what if i just like the color?”

“what if i believe that?” he said, his expression steady.

you shrugged. “you shouldn’t.”

he laughed quietly, eyes flicking over the pass again before landing on yours. “you know, if the media spots you, i’m not explaining this to anyone.”

“you think people would actually believe i’m you?”

his lips curved slightly. “depends who’s looking.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending to check your phone just to steady your hands. it shouldn’t feel this heavy — it was just a joke, a simple mix-up — but somehow, when he looked at you, it didn’t feel simple anymore.

lando’s voice cut through the air before either of you could speak again. “hey! oscar! press in five!”

he nodded toward lando, then back at you. “see you later, identity thief.”

you couldn’t help it. “you make that sound like a compliment.”

he gave you that same small grin. “maybe it is.”

later, you ended up sitting with magui for a while in the hospitality area. she was warm, chatty, easy in ways you sometimes envied. she talked about the chaos of travel, the tiny rituals she’d picked up to stay sane during the season — journaling, new playlists, endless cups of tea.

you liked her instantly.

“you should come with us more often,” she said. “lando’s nicer when you’re around.”

you laughed. “that’s a low bar.”

she smiled. “true. but oscar too. i don’t think i’ve ever seen him laugh that much in one weekend.”

“he laughed?” you said, surprised.

“a little. for him, that’s like, a full performance.” she tilted her head. “you two seem to get along.”

you shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “barely spoken, really.”

she grinned like she didn’t believe you.

before you could say anything else, lando returned, still in his race suit, a smear of grease along his sleeve. “what are you two plotting?”

“how to make you less annoying,” you said.

“good luck,” he shot back.

“we’ll need it,” magui added, and the three of you broke into laughter.

it was easy, almost normal. except that when oscar walked past, you noticed. you noticed the way he looked briefly toward your table, just a flicker, quick enough that it could’ve been coincidence. but then his eyes caught on the papaya strap around your neck again.

he didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking. but the smallest trace of a smile appeared before he turned away.

you looked down at the pass, fingers brushing over the printed number.

“what’s that face for?” lando asked.

“nothing,” you said too fast. “just tired.”

but you weren’t tired. you were trying not to feel something that hadn’t been named yet.

you found oscar again later that evening, standing by the team trucks as the sun started to dip low. most people had gone for dinner. the air smelled faintly of rubber and rain. he was still in his team jacket, hands tucked into the pockets, hair messy from the helmet.

he looked up when you stopped beside him.

“you know,” you said softly, “you could’ve just taken it back.”

his eyes dropped to the lanyard. “didn’t want to.”

“why not?”

he hesitated, the smallest pause, then: “thought it looked better on you.”

your chest tightened — a small, stupid, uninvited feeling. you didn’t move, didn’t speak. he didn’t either. the silence between you stretched, not awkward, but alive.

a mechanic walked by, nodding to oscar, and the spell broke. he exhaled, a short, shaky sound like he wasn’t sure why he’d said it out loud.

you smiled faintly. “you say that to everyone who steals from you?”

“only you,” he said.

and for once, he didn’t look away when he said it.

that night, you hung both passes — his and yours — on your mirror. they looked strange together. mismatched. out of place.

and yet, side by side, they made sense in a way you couldn’t explain.

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!

warnings: baby fever, soft domestic fluff, light kissing pairing: oscar piastri x female reader a/n: im finally out of my slump!! (but im rll busy wth school so idk how much i can write)

you’re halfway into a panic spiral when oscar finally shows up at your door.

your niece is screaming in her car seat. your sister’s instructions are playing on loop in your head. and the bottle you tried to warm up is now suspiciously cold again.

you open the door with the baby on one hip and frustration in your voice. “you’re late.”

oscar just grins and steps in like he belongs there. “hello to you too.”

you want to stay annoyed but then he drops his overnight bag, kisses your cheek in that offhand, effortless way that still makes your heart skip, and reaches out for the baby.

she stops crying the second he holds her.

you blink.

“how are you good at this?” you mutter.

oscar bounces her gently, like it’s second nature. “i have nieces too, remember? plus, i googled things. i came prepared.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he taps the baby carrier strapped to his chest. “baby björn. safety certified. i’m basically a pro.”

you laugh despite yourself. “you’re a menace.”

“a responsible menace,” he corrects, adjusting the straps. “where’s the bottle?”

you point toward the kitchen and trail behind him, watching him test the temperature of the milk on his wrist like he’s done it a hundred times. he even hums while holding the baby, swaying side to side like a sleep spell.

you hate how attractive it is.

scratch that — you love it.

once the baby is fed and burped and mildly less destructive, you settle into the living room with her on the play mat and oscar lying beside her. he lets her pat his face with sticky hands and pulls funny faces that make her giggle.

“she likes you,” you say quietly.

oscar looks over at you with a soft expression. “yeah?”

you nod. “a lot.”

he watches her reach for a rattle, then glances back at you. “is this how you imagined our friday night going?”

you smile, curling your legs beneath you on the couch. “honestly? it’s better.”

he throws you a grin, then suddenly the baby grabs his hair and yanks.

“ow,” he says calmly, untangling her fingers. “she’s got a good grip.”

“a strong independent woman,” you joke.

“just like her aunt,” he says, and the way he looks at you when he says it makes you feel like there’s no one else in the world.

later, when she’s finally asleep, oscar doesn’t move.

he’s lying on the couch with her chest to chest, one hand cradling her tiny back. her head is tucked under his chin and her tiny socks are crooked.

you sit beside them, quiet.

he whispers, “she’s so small.”

“i know.”

you watch the rise and fall of their breathing and feel something in your chest melt.

“you’re really good with her,” you say, barely above a whisper.

he glances over, his voice low. “so are you.”

you shake your head. “i was freaking out before you came. i don’t know what i’m doing.”

“neither do i,” he murmurs. “but we’re doing okay, right?”

you look at the baby’s peaceful face. “yeah. we are.”

then, as if on cue, she lets out the tiniest sigh and oscar smiles down at her.

your throat tightens.

“this is kind of insane,” you say. “watching you with her. it’s doing things to my brain.”

he chuckles. “yeah?”

you nod, your voice warm. “i think you might be giving me baby fever.”

he lifts his head, eyes gleaming. “that so?”

you hum. “don’t let it go to your head.”

oscar leans toward you, slow and quiet so he doesn’t wake the baby. “too late.”

your knees brush. his lips find yours in a soft, sleepy kiss — the kind that tastes like warm milk and bedtime stories and something that lasts.

and when he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “let’s do this again sometime.”

“babysitting?”

he grins. “i was thinking more like… the whole thing. someday.”

you don’t say anything.

just lean back against the couch and lace your fingers with his while a baby sleeps between you.

and think, yeah. someday sounds pretty perfect.

warnings: slow burn, secret relationship, forbidden romance, emotional tension, mutual pining, sibling dynamics

pairing: oscar piastri x lando’s sister reader

summary: you were just his teammate’s sister. easy to overlook. easy to stay away from. but what started as polite silence turned into shared glances, quiet moments, and something neither of you expected.

🎧- she calls me back, enchanted, little freak, nervous, nobody has to know, late night talking, slow dancing in the dark, nothing, this love, too good, call it what you want, if you see her, you are in love

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

part one: neutral synopsis ⇒ oscar doesn’t know your name. you barely register his existence. still, something about being in the same room feels a little too loud.

part two: the fifth wheel synopsis ⇒ lando invites him to dinner. you come along. oscar ends up across from you, and for the first time, you both feel the silence between you like static.

part three: orange peels synopsis ⇒ a quiet moment in the lounge leads to your first real conversation. it’s nothing special, but it stays with both of you longer than it should.

part four: hospitality passes synopsis ⇒ you show up wearing the wrong lanyard. he notices. it means nothing, probably. unless it means everything.

part five: eye contact synopsis ⇒ you catch him watching you. he looks away too fast. the next time, he doesn’t.

part six: social battery synopsis ⇒ the paddock afterparty is too loud. neither of you are good at small talk. outside, under yellow lights and night air, you find something quiet to share.

part seven: just teammates synopsis ⇒ lando jokes that oscar couldn’t handle someone like you. you laugh. oscar doesn’t. and he starts thinking about it more than he should.

part eight: late apex synopsis ⇒ this was never supposed to be anything. but it’s starting to look a lot like something. and he keeps finding his way back to you.

part nine: rainy sessions synopsis ⇒ a storm delays everything. you’re both stuck under the same canopy, soaked and shivering. his jacket ends up on your shoulders. your heart ends up somewhere else.

part ten: not even a kiss synopsis ⇒ everything builds until it breaks. almost. fingers brush, breath catches, but no one moves first. the moment passes. the tension stays.

part eleven: collisions synopsis ⇒ you pull away. oscar lets you. the space between you stretches thin, but neither of you crosses it. and lando starts paying closer attention.

part twelve: white flag synopsis ⇒ oscar shows up at your hotel room after the race. it’s raining again. this time, there’s no almost. no hesitation. only you, only him, and the choice you both make.

part thirteen: afterburn synopsis ⇒ everything is better. and riskier. you’re still sneaking around, but now it means more. it feels different. it feels real.

part fourteen: crash and tell synopsis ⇒ lando finds out. the fallout is loud. oscar tries to fix it, but some things can’t be undone. the question is what you’re willing to lose.

part fifteen: stay in your lane synopsis ⇒ no more hiding. no more silence. oscar tells the truth, and this time you don’t look away. this time, you choose each other.

warnings: slow burn, light teasing, protective!lando, tension pairing: oscar piastri x lando’s sister reader a/n: shes backk

series master list

the mclaren motorhome had its own rhythm on race weekends. laughter spilled out from the kitchen, clattering cups, someone shouting over an espresso machine. you slipped through the hallway, past framed photos and posters, weaving around staff who had places to be.

lando was a few steps ahead, tossing his cap from hand to hand. “you can’t keep showing up here like it’s your living room,” he said without looking back.

“why not?” you asked.

“because people notice.”

you rolled your eyes. “what, are they going to kick me out?”

“maybe i will.” he glanced back at you with a grin.

you shoved his arm as you passed him, slipping into the lounge before he could get the last word.

inside, the air was cooler, quieter. one of the engineers was perched on the edge of the sofa, scrolling through data on his tablet. magui was stretched out in the corner, headphones around her neck, scrolling on her phone. she spotted you immediately.

“hey,” she said, patting the space beside her. “you’re early today.”

“lando dragged me here,” you replied, sinking into the seat. “apparently i’m not allowed to exist anywhere else.”

magui laughed. “sounds like him.”

you let your gaze wander around the room. fruit bowls sat on the low table, oranges stacked high in the middle. the skin caught the light, all dimpled brightness.

oscar sat across from you, hood up despite the warmth, earbuds dangling around his neck. he wasn’t on his phone. just staring at something on the floor like he was half a world away.

you told yourself not to look again.

the minutes stretched out. conversation swelled and shrank around you — engineers checking notes, magui humming softly to whatever song she’d put back on.

lando dropped onto the arm of your chair, balancing precariously. “don’t break it,” you warned.

“i’m light,” he said, leaning more of his weight onto you.

“you’re annoying.”

“same thing.”

you pushed him off, and he stumbled into magui, who groaned. “get your brother away from me,” she complained.

you smirked. “see? everyone agrees.”

lando was about to fire back, but one of the staff called his name from the hallway. he gave you a look like don’t get into trouble before disappearing.

the room thinned out slowly after that. magui followed a few minutes later, lured away by the promise of coffee. the engineers left in pairs, voices fading down the corridor.

you stayed. partly because it was comfortable, partly because you wanted to see what would happen when it was just the two of you.

oscar hadn’t moved. not until the quiet pressed enough that you noticed the smallest sound — a nail picking at the edge of the fruit bowl.

you glanced up. he was peeling an orange. slowly, neatly, like every strip of skin had to come off in one piece.

the scent hit the air. sharp, clean.

he looked up once, caught you watching.

you looked away first.

still, you heard the faint sound of peel tearing, section by section, until he dropped a small wedge onto the table between you.

not pushed toward you. not offered. just… there.

your hand moved before you thought about it. you picked it up, pressed your thumb into the soft flesh, and ate it in one bite.

sweet, bright, a little too much pith.

you didn’t thank him. he didn’t expect you to.

but the taste stayed, lingering longer than it should.

you shifted in your seat, pulling your knees up, trying to look more focused on your phone than the boy across from you.

you scrolled through messages, notifications, anything to anchor yourself.

but every now and then, you caught yourself glancing up again.

and every time — he was already watching.

the sound of voices carried faintly through the hallway before the door swung open again. you shifted quickly, pretending to be absorbed in your phone.

lando strode back in, cap backwards now, chewing on a piece of gum. “what’s this?” he asked, eyeing the fruit bowl. “you ate all the oranges?”

“not all,” you said.

“selfish,” he muttered, reaching for one anyway.

you smirked. “you’re just mad you didn’t get here first.”

“exactly.” he plopped down across from you, sprawling without a care. “oscar, back me up.”

oscar didn’t answer. he was still peeling his second orange, slower this time.

lando narrowed his eyes. “wait. did you give her one?”

that earned him silence too.

you leaned back, smiling. “maybe i just took it.”

lando groaned. “unbelievable. i can’t leave the room for ten minutes without betrayal.”

you laughed, tossing a cushion at him. he caught it with ease and tossed it back, a grin spreading across his face.

the banter felt easy, practiced. it had always been like this between you and lando — equal parts love and irritation, the rhythm of siblings who knew exactly how far to push without crossing a line.

what you didn’t expect was the weight of oscar’s quiet in the background, the way it pressed into every exchange, adding something unspoken.

the door cracked open again, this time revealing zac brown with a cup of coffee in hand. he stepped inside, scanning the room.

“quiet in here,” he said, eyebrows raised. “that’s unusual.”

“don’t worry,” lando replied, “she’s keeping me entertained.”

“she usually does.” zac shot you a smile, warm and fatherly. “you doing alright?”

you nodded. “yeah. just waiting on him.” you tilted your head toward lando.

zac chuckled. “good luck with that.”

as he left, he clapped oscar lightly on the shoulder. “don’t let them drive you crazy, mate.”

you watched the brief exchange, the casual familiarity of it. oscar gave the faintest smile, almost like he wasn’t sure he deserved the camaraderie.

you wondered if anyone else noticed that about him.

the room settled again. lando was sprawled across the sofa, tossing an orange up and down, clearly bored.

“want to go walk the paddock?” he asked you suddenly.

“not yet.”

“what, you like it in here?”

“maybe i do.”

his gaze flicked between you and oscar. then he smirked.

“oh,” he said slowly. “i see.”

“you don’t see anything,” you shot back.

“sure,” lando teased. “sure, sure, sure.”

he stood, stretching. “don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”

“that’s a very short list,” you muttered under your breath.

he laughed on his way out.

the door clicked shut, and it was just you and oscar again.

silence.

not heavy, not awkward. just the kind of silence that makes you aware of your breathing, the rustle of clothes when you shift, the distant hum of machinery outside.

he finished peeling his orange, laying the perfect spiral of skin on a napkin. his hands lingered there a moment too long, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them next.

you stared at the peel. then at him.

“you’re… neat,” you said quietly, surprising yourself.

he looked up, a flicker of confusion in his expression.

“the way you peel it,” you clarified. “like it matters.”

his gaze held yours, steady, unreadable.

“maybe it does,” he said.

you didn’t answer. you just leaned back into the sofa, biting the inside of your cheek, the taste of citrus still on your tongue.

the hallway filled with noise again — voices, laughter, the shuffle of feet. the moment broke like a bubble popped.

magui returned, plopping down beside you with two cups of coffee. “okay, remind me never to stand in line with george again. the man can talk for hours.”

you smiled faintly, taking the cup she offered. “thanks.”

she glanced between you and oscar, brow raised, but didn’t say anything.

lando reappeared soon after, announcing something about media duties. chaos rushed back in with him, as if the quiet had never happened.

but later — hours later, after the paddock lights dimmed and the noise dulled — you still tasted orange on your tongue. and when you closed your eyes, you saw the steady way he’d looked back at you, like he wasn’t afraid of the silence at all.

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!