Chapter Text
Lando didn't care that it was 3 in the morning, or that his neighbours were trying to get some sleep, no, he had just secured tickets to the British Formula 1 Grand Prix.
And boy was he excited.
He screamed in joy as he texted his best friend, Max, not Verstappen unfortunately, that he'd got the tickets.
“Mate that's great” came the reply to his paragraph of text.
“God max ur so UN EXCITED” Lando typed furiously, appalled at his friends seemingly bored-ness.
“Its three in the morning muppet what did u expect” the other man replied sarcastically.
“Fair enough…” Lando mumbled to himself, closing the phone when he meant to reply, but oh well.
He opened his laptop and immediately began typing away, his followers on Tumblr were now going to have a whole lot of him in their dash.
“OMG I GOT TICKETS TO THE BRITISH GP, IM GONNA GET TO SEE HIM HOLY SHIT”
#british gp’25 #op81 #oscar piastri #WTFFSJDNCHDJ
The replies came rolling in—
“Ur gonna walk out with an Oscar shaped bag aren't you”
“LUCKYY"
He continued to scroll through his feed, reblogging all the McLaren and Oscar Piastri content he came across.
Yeah, Lando ran an Oscar Piastri fan blog on Tumblr as a grown adult man going to university, but does he look like he cares?
In the day, he's your average rich boy who gave up on karting when he was a kid, opting to pursue photography and journalism, and at night he runs a horny and down-bad blog dedicated to a certain Australian driver in papaya orange.
As long as no one too close to him found out, he was fine. That was one of the perks of being anonymous online, no one in his real life needed to know he was salivating at Oscar's thighs after watching that video of him on the simulator, but at least he could let strangers on the internet know about his yearning for a man who doesn't even know he exists.
Which is why Lando shouldn't be reading reader x Oscar fanfiction right now, and should be focusing on his photography project instead, so he can at least get a job in the paddock.
But giggling and tossing around in bed while blushing at words on a screen is much easier than going through his camera roll.
It's already 5, and he's just drifted off into the realm of unconsciousness.
Lando groaned as he sat in class, the lack of sleep getting to his head, Max having to nudge him awake every other minute.
“Mate, what do you even do so late at night?” he rolled his eyes.
Lando took a sip from his can of monster, not bothering to answer.
“Hmm, prolly thirsting over Oscar” Max teased.
“Shut up you muppet, I'm not that down bad” he is infact, that down bad.
Max laughed as he pat Lando on the back, promptly bringing him back to earth.
“I'm so bored dude, this shit sucks ass man” Lando grumbled under his breath as he stuck his head between his hands on the desk.
“Just focus on class man, it's not that hard” Max said matter-of-factly.
Lando cursed under his breath as he opened his phone, checking his notifications, nothing new popping up.
God, he couldn't wait for the weekend.
Oscar wiped his face with a towel as he got off the treadmill, his face slightly flushed from the physical exertion.
“Good job Oscar, we're done for the day, go ahead and cool down and head home, I have some stuff to attend to— Good luck this weekend!” His trainer chirped, ever the cheerful one.
Oscar smiled as he nodded, taking a sip of water as he sat down on one of the benches here in the McLaren gym, his chest falling and rising softly after the workout, his hair tousled and damp with sweat.
He opened his phone and was greeted by a bunch of emails, mostly regarding PR, which he didn't necessarily hate, unlike popular belief.
In fact, he'd say he was quite good at the PR game.
Over all his years in f2 and f1, he'd built an image of being the quiet, concentrated, perfect driver. He'd deliver on track, never say anything out of line, always smiled politely, answered interview questions with the practiced caution of a veteran, and was okay to look at. He'd perfected it, now all he had to do was maintain this wall plastered onto him to make him seem perfect.
But he was far from it, he had emotions, desires, outbursts and hate in him too, but it was all caged up, rarely falling out during tense moments.
Truth being told, he was probably one of the most selfish on the track, making risky moves when the pressure got to him, attempting to manipulate the team into making Daniel give back a position, not smiling after a rough race weekend, or snarky comments made to no one in particular. He'd do anything for a good result, a podium, and even attention.
But this all seemed normal enough, especially for a rich athlete in a high stakes sport, right?
But Oscar wasn't just selfish, no he was also seeking adoration.
Not fame, but similar. He was popular, but he was never the center of anything. Sure, he was leading the championship, but he'd never be the smiley, perfect and funny Australian his teammate was. He'd never be adored, worshipped, loved the way his teammate was.
And Oscar, he liked to believe that didn't bother him.
.
This felt really embarrassing and stupid to Oscar, and he has no idea how he stooped to such low levels, he never thought he'd do this—
But here he was, searching up his own name online.
No, he didn't have the excuse that it was to check if he had “done anything wrong by accident” or if “he was liked by the general public”, he was sure that was all positive, his grasp on his image rock solid.
No, he was searching for something else.
He was looking for those fans. The ones who worshipped drivers, the ones who endlessly complimented them, raved about them, posted only the best photos of them.
Sure, it felt like a really lame and self centred thing to do, but it helped when Oscar felt like he didn't have control, reading compliments made his brain relax, seeing the things people say and think about him positively hits him hard in a way he finds… satisfactory.
And he stumbled upon gold today, it seems—
“OMG I GOT TICKETS TO THE BRITISH GP, IM GONNA GET TO SEE HIM HOLY SHIT”
#british gp’25 #op81 #oscar piastri #WTFFSJDNCHDJ
Him, referring to Oscar.
Cute.
He smiled to himself as he scrolled through the blog named “no.1 OP81 fan”, reading their plans to bring a very specific banner to the upcoming grand prix, keeping the details in mind so he could find that banner.
His face flushed as he went further through the blog. This person had done deep dives into Oscar's character, PR image, his driving style, his outfits, personality and whatnot. They'd complimented his driving and his face and his body and holy shit—
This person was obsessed with Oscar.
And to an extent, Oscar was obsessed with being obsessed over.
Lando stood outside Max's apartment, both of them awake at a time extremely unusual for them, but it seemed Lando was a bit too excited for a race happening much later in the day.
“Why must you do this to me…” grumbled Max.
“Mate— hurry up! You're so fucking slow!” He retorted as he began walking to the car.
“What am I gonna do with you Norris” Max sighed.
Lando turned around to flash a cheeky smile as he opened the door, motioning for Max to get into the passenger seat.
“I'm driving” Lando smiled proudly.
“Yeah yeah, whatever, but I'm taking the aux”
“Geez Max, can't even give up the aux huh?” Lando teased.
Max just rolled his eyes at that, already opening up his phone after settling down in the passenger seat, when he turned around to see a huge piece of chart in the backseat.
“What's that for? Catching Oscar's attention?”
“Shut up Fewtrell, it's to show my support!”
“God you're such a fanboy” he snorted.
“Fuck you—” began Lando when he was interrupted by loud blaring music, the kind they both liked. He huffed as he turned his attention back to the road, the both of them bickering every now and then.
As they reached the circuit, the playlist had somehow evolved into house music, but they were too busy fighting to realise or change it, but Lando did eventually notice, and he did giggle when he realised it was the song Oscar had put on his last Instagram post.
“Oh god you fucking muppet you are a fanboy just admit it!” Max dramatically quipped.
“How the fuck do you even know about—”
“He's probably the most famous person I know that listens to house music, and you definitely don't listen to it, so I took a wild guess” he snickered.
Lando just gave up, grabbing the banner which he managed to stuff into his backpack and got out of the car, leaving Max behind who had to catch up.
“Bob! Don't get into your feels man! It's okay to have a little celebrity crush, wait!”
Oscar stood beside Zak Brown, who kept talking about tire deg and downforce, and how he had to get podium to secure an easy championship win, but all Oscar had in his mind was that blog. They were genuinely, freakishly obsessed with him, it was a bit concerning, but really fucking hot.
“So, Oscar, goodluck!” Zak exclaimed as he pat him on the back a bit too hard.
“Thanks Zak.” Oscar smiled that PR trained smile.
He put on his gloves and climbed into the car, the engineers doing some maintenance, his eyes glued to the screen in front showing garage shots, interviews, and most importantly—
Fans.
His eyes immediately caught a bright papaya banner with the words he'd read earlier;
Oscar you're the most handsome man I know, and I exist!
Written in bright bold letters, surrounded with hearts and pictures of him.
But what caught Oscar's eye the most was the person holding the banner
From where he was sitting, it was difficult to make out exactly what this person looked like, but they were a guy, and they were tanned and his curls lay perfectly on his forehead, flashing such a charming smile, Oscar was breathless for a second.
Oscar couldn't believe such a perfect guy was obsessed with him.
But now it's time for that warmup lap, and Oscar won't be able to get that face out of his head for a while now.
A smile—
creeped up onto his face, along with a blush he could only hope wasn't visible.
“Did Oscar Piastri just smile at your fanboy sign?” Max gawked.
Meanwhile, Lando just short circuited.