Lando Norris after experiencing severe bullying since he was a child, was completely closed off and introverted in his rookie year. While Carlos and Zak Brown tried to get him to open up, it was impossible. The quiet, practically small boy struggled, and while Lando has worked through some traumas and made friends, he was still stuck in his head, suffering silently, his mental health debilitating. Carlos Sainz is reeling from a horrific encounter with a fan at a bar, where she took advantage of his drunken state despite him not giving consent. He's a natural care taker, always worrying and help out others over himself. The Ferrari driver is helplessly in love with his best friend and ex-teammate, but can't do anything about it. But maybe he has a chance, especially when after the Miami Grand Prix, he finally starts to see that maybe Lando might like him back. A story where two people who can't find love find it with each other. This story runs parallel to my other story, Finding Home 🤍

𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 ❝I spent years trying to forget you.❞ ( oscar piastri x fem! oc) (childhood friends to lovers!) (mature themes!) (follows the 2024 formula 1 season) ༊*·˚ cheerylogan, 2025 [COMPLETED]

A windswept encounter on a Scottish beach one day has the potential to change everything for both of them.

He wasn't supposed to notice her. Not like that. Not while sitting in the front row, his hand resting on his girlfriend's thigh, cameras flashing, the world watching. But then she appeared. Lucretia Moreau - a name whispered like a prayer, a vision wrapped in silk and light. The kind of woman who could make time hesitate, who walked the runway as if she owned gravity itself. Charles Leclerc had seen beauty before. He'd lived surrounded by it - in Monaco's glittering nights, in the sleek perfection of red machinery. Yet nothing compared to the way her eyes caught his. Cold, velvet blue. Dangerous. Curious. As if she knew he was already hers. One look was all it took. And in that moment, under the flash of a thousand cameras, he understood: some crashes don't happen on track. Charles Leclerc as himself Candice Swanepoel as Lucretia Moreau

Oscar Piastri was never supposed to matter. Quiet. Precise. Sharp. He moved through the world like a straight line-disciplined, steady, predictable. He didn't chase anyone. He didn't flirt. He didn't smile unless necessary. And yet, he kept finding Lando. A chocolate bar left on a desk. A sticky note in looping handwriting. A soft voice beside Lando's ear. "This is for you. Eat, please." Lando hated it. Hated the way Oscar seemed to anticipate his next move. Hated the hand that appeared just to shield him from bumping into corners. Hated the look in Oscar's eyes-slow, deliberate, almost gentle. One afternoon, under a sunlit tree, Oscar said, "Your star hairclip suits you. You look cute today." No one had ever watched Lando that closely. No one had seen past the showmanship, past the bravado. He pulled away. Snapped. Ran. Heart pounding, throat tight. And Oscar? He stayed. Patient. Quiet. Collecting the pieces of Lando's chaos like it was natural. The strangest thing, when others got too close to Oscar, Lando stiffened. His tone sharpened. "Why him? He doesn't even look at you properly." Oscar's voice was soft, patient. "Lando, why do you care?" "I... I don't. Just forget it," Lando muttered, looking away. He didn't care. But Oscar kept choosing him. In small ways, unnoticed ways, the kind that made Lando's chest tighten. If Oscar was pretending, Lando's heart might not survive. But if he wasn't, then maybe Lando was already falling. Hard. And he wasn't sure he wanted to stop.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Not with him. Not with the quiet, careful driver who rarely stayed past midnight - let alone until the world blurred into noise and neon and champagne foam. But when the sun broke over Abu Dhabi, she woke up to find Oscar Piastri's hand resting over her ribs, the hotel room still smelling like smoke and spilled victory. The McLaren press officer and the McLaren driver. A headline waiting to destroy them both. They agreed not to speak of it again. But F1 doesn't forget, and neither did they. Between press conferences and whispered PR briefings, glances turned into questions, and questions turned into jealousy - the kind that burns quietly, the kind that can't be contained in paddocks or press statements. Because sometimes the story you're paid to hide becomes the one you can't stop living.

"it's a LOVE STORY baby just SAY YESS"🖇️💌