Formula 1 X Reader - Blog Posts

Okay so like, I Never seen some one write an f1 driver with a belly dancer reader like, if you see their performances it’s actually pretty, also if anyone decides too can it be max or Charles or Lando??? And also possibly no instagram, just like them seeing one of her and her group’s performances and being like “wow” LOVE SICK

ღ - WHO I WRITE FOR. 💕

okay so like the title is quite deceiving but also i wanna say like i will write for any footballers or f1 drivers (i love being a tifosi) anywho so i hope this helps when requesting bc i know some of you have been hesitant bc ydk who i write for!! 💓

✶ 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.

i hope this finds you well ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

“you’ll be bored of him in two years,” oscar says flatly, “and we will be interesting forever.” (or: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘰.)

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x reader. ꔮ word count: 10.2k (!!!) ꔮ includes: friendship, romance, angst. cussing, mentions of food & alcohol. references to greta gerwig's little women (2019), mostly set in melbourne, oscar's sisters are recurring characters. ꔮ commentary box: i've written way too much oscar as of late, so before i go on a self-imposed ban, i had to get this monster out. fully, wholly dedicated to @binisainz, whose amylaurie lando fic does this feeling go both ways? started all this. birdy, i love you like all fire. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ let you break my heart again, laufey. we can't be friends (wait for your love), ariana grande. cool enough for you, skyline. do i ever cross your mind, sombr. bags, clairo. true blue, boygenius. laurie and jo on the hill, alexandre desplat.

Oscar Piastri is not the kind of boy who usually finds himself at house parties.

Especially not the kind with balloons tied to banisters, tables laden with sausage rolls and buttercream cupcakes, and a Bluetooth speaker hiccupping out the tail-end of some pop anthem. But here he is, cornered into attendance by his sisters—Hattie, Edie, and Mae—who’d all dressed up for the occasion and declared, in unison, that he had to come.

So he had. Because he was a good brother and an unwilling chaperone. 

And now he’s bored.

Oscar stands near the drinks table, nursing a cup of lukewarm lemonade and trying to look vaguely interested in the streamers above the kitchen doorway. Hattie had already been whisked off to dance by someone in a navy jumper. Edie had found the girl who always brought homemade brownies to school. Mae was giggling wildly with a trio of kids Oscar vaguely recognized from the street down. 

No one notices him lingering by himself. That suits him just fine.

Still, he can’t quite shake the restlessness crawling up his spine. The noise is too loud, the lights too warm. With a quick scan of the room and a glance over his shoulder, Oscar slips behind a long, velvet curtain that cordons off what seemed to be the study.

Except there’s already someone there.

He realizes it a moment too late, nearly landing on top of you.

“Oh my God—sorry!” he blurts out, practically leaping backward. His foot catches on the edge of the curtain and he stumbles a bit, arms flailing before catching the side of a bookshelf. His cheeks burn. “Didn’t see you. I didn’t think anyone else—sorry. Again.”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, legs curled beneath you on the armchair he had almost sat on. There’s a half-eaten biscuit on a napkin beside you, and your fingers are wrapped around a glass of ginger ale. Contrary to everyone else at this godforsaken event, you’re not a familiar face. 

“It’s okay,” you said, voice quiet. Accented. Affirming Oscar’s theory that you’re not a Melbourne native. After a pause, you tentatively joke: “You didn’t sit on me, so that’s a win.”

Oscar huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Close call.”

The silence after is not awkward, exactly. Just shy. The two of you are tucked away behind a curtain, neither fully sure what to do next. Oscar takes the plunge first, figuring it’s the least he could do after intruding on your escape.

“I’m Oscar. Piastri,” he adds unnecessarily. He gestures vaguely toward the chaos outside. “Dragged here by my sisters.”

“I figured you were with the girls,” you reply amusedly. “I’m new. Just moved here a few weeks ago.”

Oscar’s brows lift. “So this is your introduction to the madness?”

“Pretty much.” You offer a sheepish shrug. “I don’t really know anyone, and pretending to be cool isn’t really my thing.”

“Mine neither,” he says quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. “Hence the hiding.”

That earns him a soft smile. It’s a pretty smile, Oscar privately notes. 

He gestures to the empty bit of couch beside you. “Mind if I sit? Promise to check for limbs first.”

You shift slightly to make room. “Be my guest.”

He sits, careful this time, knees bumping slightly against yours as he settles. The party noise feels far away behind the curtain—muted like a dream. Oscar glances at you from the corner of his eye, curiosity bright beneath his awkwardness.

“Got a name, new kid?” he asks, because even though he had agreed that he doesn’t like feigning coolness, he’s still just a teenage boy with a god complex. 

You tell him your name. He repeats it back to you, careful with the syllables like he’s folding them into memory.

A few more minutes pass, filled with idle chatter. You talk about your move, the weird smell of paint still lingering in your new house, and the fact that none of the cupcakes at this party have chocolate frosting, which is a tragedy. Oscar, in turn, tells you about his sisters. How Mae once tried to dye her hair green with a highlighter and how Hattie got banned from school discos after she snuck in a smoke machine.

The laughter between you is easy. Unforced.

Then you say it, maybe without thinking too hard. “We should dance,” you muse, finishing off the last of your biscuit. 

Oscar freezes. His eyebrows shoot up, alarmed. “Dance? With me?”

“Unless you’d rather go back to pretending the streamers are fascinating.”

“I don’t dance with strangers,” he says, half-laughing, half-panicked.

“We know each other’s names now,” you point out. “That makes us not-strangers.”

With a beleaguered sigh and a scrunch of his nose, Oscar comes clean. “I’m bad at it,” he grumbles. 

“Who cares?”

“My sisters. They’ll see. And I’ll never live it down.”

You purse your lips, tapping your glass lightly against your knee. Then, a spark lights in your eyes. It’s the kind that spells trouble; Oscar has seen it in his siblings’ faces, right before they do something so invariably stupid and reckless. “Come with me. I have an idea,” you urge. 

He hesitates, a part of his brain screeching something like stranger danger! in flashing, neon lights. In the end, he follows.

You slip out through the back door, motioning for him to stay quiet as you lead him down the wooden steps and out onto the wrap-around porch. The party sounds are muffled here, only the faint thump of bass slipping through the walls.

“Out here,” you say, turning to him with an expectant grin. “Nobody to laugh. Just us.”

Oscar stares at you. “This is crazy.” 

“Shut up and dance.”

And so he does.

Awkwardly, at first, because you start them off with wild moves and dance skills that are much more abysmal than his. It gives him the confidence to start swaying a bit, his laughter poorly stifled as he watches you flail like an octopus. 

You take his hands, and he lets you spin him gently, sneakers squeaking against the porch boards. There’s no rhythm to it, not really. Just swaying and clumsy steps and the faint thrum of music in the background.

The porch light flickers above you, casting long shadows. Somewhere inside, someone cheers. But out here, it's just you and Oscar.

Two kids dancing badly and not caring.

“You’re a weird one,” he says with a smile that splits his face open.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, fingers squeezing his as you twirl yourself through his arm. It’s a gross miscalculation and you end up stumbling, the two of you cackling as you attempt to detangle from the mess of limbs you’ve entangled each other in. 

For the first time that night, Oscar thinks he might actually like this party after all.

Christmas morning in the Piastri household always comes with a sort of chaos—the kind born of slippers skidding across hardwood, sleepy giggles, and the rustle of wrapping paper long before the sun climbs properly into the sky.

This year, however, there’s something new. A wicker basket sits on the porch, ribbon-wrapped and dusted in the faintest layer of frost. 

It’s heavy with gifts, each one handmade and meticulously labeled in curling script. Hattie, first to spot it, gives a shriek loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Within minutes, the whole family is gathered in the living room, the basket placed like treasure at the center.

“It’s from the new neighbors,” their mum announces, plucking a card from the basket. Her voice is touched with surprise and delight. “The old man and his granddaughter. Isn’t that sweet?”

Hattie unwraps a pair of knitted socks, blue and gold. Edie lifts out a jar of spiced jam. Mae discovers a hand-bound notebook. Each gift is simple but exquisite, the sort of thing you only receive from people who notice details.

“She’s the one who doesn’t talk to anyone,” Hattie says knowingly, curling her legs beneath her on the couch. You were in the same level as her, it seemed—a year below Oscar. 

“That house is huge.” Edie glances out the window, towards your home. “Do you think her parents are loaded?” 

“I heard they aren’t even around,” Mae whispers. “Just her and the grandfather. He looks ancient, though. Like, fossil ancient.”

“Girls,” their mum cuts in sharply. “That’s enough. They were kind enough to send gifts. We will be kind in return.”

Oscar, perched on the armrest of the couch, stays quiet through the speculation. His hands toy with the tag on his gift—a simple wooden bookmark, engraved with an amateur sketch of a stick figure dancing. He doesn’t say anything about the study, or the curtain, or the ginger ale.

But the memory floats to the front of his mind: the soft hush of the party behind a curtain, the brush of knees, your laugh when he had called you weird. 

“We should make friends with them,” Oscar says finally, looking up. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

The girls pause. Hattie raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about new neighbors?”

He shrugs, trying not to look too interested. “Just saying. It wouldn’t kill us to be nice.”

Their mum smiles, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

Oscar glances back down at the bookmark, running a thumb over the edge.

He finds your family acquainting with his soon enough.

On a sunny afternoon, right as Edie is pouring cereal into a bowl and Oscar is elbow-deep in the dishwasher, the home phone rings. Hattie picks up, listens for a moment, then calls out, “Mae’s at the neighbor’s. She fell off her bike.”

There’s a rush of clattering cutlery and footsteps, and in no time, Oscar finds himself trailing behind his sisters down the sidewalk, toward the big house next door—the one with the sprawling lawn and mismatched wind chimes on the porch.

When they arrive, Mae is perched on your front steps, a bandage already wrapped around her knee and a juice box in hand. She waves lazily as Hattie and Edie fall upon her with a dozen questions. Your grandfather, white-haired and kind-eyed, stands nearby, looking amused by the commotion. He introduces himself and ushers them all inside despite their protests.

Oscar hangs back for a moment until he spots you just behind the door, barefoot and half-hidden by the frame. You glance up, catch his eye, and grin.

“You again,” you say, stepping out onto the porch. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah, just scraped her knee,” Oscar replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Thanks for patching her up.”

“We had a pretty solid first aid game back at my old school. I’m well-versed in playground accidents.”

He chuckles, leaning against the porch railing. “That so? Must be a pretty rough school.”

“Brutal,” you agree solemnly. “There were snack thieves and dodgeball champions. It was a jungle.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It built character,” you say with mock seriousness, then flash him a grin. “Want to come in? I made too much lemonade.”

Oscar nods and follows you inside. The kitchen smells like lemon zest and fresh biscuits. Hattie and Edie are now harrowing your grandfather with questions about the old piano in the corner and whether the house is haunted. He answers everything with a twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the attention.

You hand Oscar a glass and settle across from him at the kitchen table. He takes a sip. “You weren’t lying,” he says through another swig. “This is good.”

“Of course not. I take my beverages very seriously.”

“You’re weird,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m starting to think it might be a compliment.”

You clink your glass against his in cheers. He smiles, and something warm unfurls in his chest. A startling kind of certainty. Like something’s taking root—a real friendship, honest and surprising and entirely unplanned.

Oscar is surprised to find that he doesn’t mind. 

It happens gradually, like most real things do.

You begin spending Saturday afternoons with the Piastri bunch, lounging on their back deck with Hattie and Edie, gossiping about the neighbors or watching Mae attempt increasingly dangerous trampoline flips. You get good at knowing who takes how many sugars in their tea, when to duck because Edie’s chucking a tennis ball, or when Oscar is about to try and quietly leave the room.

You’re there for board games on rainy days and movie nights on Fridays. You help Hattie with her French homework, braid Mae’s hair when her fingers get too clumsy with excitement, and lend Edie your favorite books. Their mum always saves you an extra slice of cake, and their dad asks how your grandfather’s garden is faring this season.

It starts to feel like you’ve always belonged there, wedged into the rhythm of their household like a missing puzzle piece finally found.

Oscar is often quieter than the others, but he’s still a constant. You and he become fixtures in each other’s orbit. Trading messages about school, tagging each other in silly videos, or sending one-word replies that only make sense to the two of you. 

Despite being one year his junior, the two of you are close in a way that you aren’t with the girls. He swears it’s because he met you first, because the two of you have emergency dance parties and cricket watch parties that nobody else knows about.   

He leaves for boarding school, and the absence sits awkwardly on both your chests at first. But he never really disappears. He always texts when he’s back. Always walks you home at least once before he has to leave again. Always makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to.

And then—one summer—he comes home and something’s different.

It isn’t dramatic. You don’t swoon. He doesn’t speak in slow motion. It’s just... subtle.

Oscar stands taller. His shoulders are broader. His voice has deepened slightly. There’s a small scar at the corner of his lip you don’t remember, and when he grins, it strikes you—how he’s grown into himself, soft and sharp all at once.

You catch him staring at you too, once or twice. Like he’s trying to recalibrate what he thought he knew. Your hair is a little longer, and your skin is tanned from all the days in the sun. He remembers the freckles; he doesn’t remember when they became so prominent.

But it never becomes a thing. You don’t talk about it. You fall back into your usual rhythm.

Because even if your faces are a little older, your banter is still quick and familiar. You still chase each other down the street. You still squabble over the last biscuit. He still rolls his eyes at you, and you still prod him for his terrible taste in music.

Whatever has changed, whatever is beginning to, you both keep it tucked away. For now, it’s enough just to have each other nearby.

It’s a fact Oscar remembers as digs his toes into the hot sand. His jaw is tight; he watches the waves break in even swells. The sun’s beating down hard, but he barely feels it. Not with the way his chest still burns from the shouting match earlier.

Hattie had stormed out of the house with her towel clutched like a shield, and Oscar had followed, only because everyone else was pretending like nothing had happened. His sisters always expected him to be the reasonable one, and today—he hadn’t been.

He’d snapped. Something petty. A dig at her choice of music in the car. Then something sharper about her always having to be right. And before he knew it, she’d looked at him like he was someone else. 

He hadn’t apologized.

Now, he sits beneath the shade of a crooked umbrella, arms wrapped around his knees. He watches the group scatter across the sand and into the waves. Hattie’s already out with her board, paddling strong into the break like she’s trying to prove something. Edie is further down the shore, half-buried in a sandcastle war. Mae’s running between them, laughing.

You drop into the sand beside him, skin glinting from seawater, hair tied back and still damp. “You two going for the title of Most Dramatic Siblings today?” you ask, unsurprisingly up to date. Hattie probably told you all about it while the two of you were getting changed. 

Oscar sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was a bit of a tosser this morning,” he says dryly. 

You nod, not offering him an out. Just letting the honesty settle.

“She’ll forgive you. Eventually,” you add. “You Piastris always find your way back.”

He tilts his head, watching you. The sunlight makes your nose wrinkle when you squint toward the water. Your shoulders have lost some of their shyness from when he first met you. You’ve become more sure of yourself, laughing louder, teasing easily. Comfortable. Confident. Certain. 

He likes that. 

The two of you sit in silence until Oscar stands, grabbing his board. “I’m going out.”

“Be nice,” you call after him, and he flashes a grin over his shoulder—tight but genuine.

In the surf, Oscar feels the tension bleed out with every push through the waves. The water’s cold and biting, salt sharp in his mouth. He catches sight of Hattie up ahead and paddles after her, trying not to let the guilt slow him down. Hattie notices him, grimaces, and rushes on. 

Trying to prove something. 

The waves pick up. Hattie catches one, standing briefly before wiping out. She resurfaces quickly, almost laughing, but Oscar watches her expression shift just moments later. There’s a sudden pull in the water, subtle but unmistakable. A riptide.

She paddles against it. Wrong move.

Oscar feels the fright hit like a tsunami. 

He’s been scared before. Of course he has. He’s terrible when it comes to horror movies. He’s seen his karting peers fissure into pretty nasty accidents. But this, the fear of this, of his younger sister— 

He starts shouting, but the wind carries his voice sideways. Instinctively, he glances to shore—and sees that you’re already running. Board abandoned, feet flying across wet sand. You make it to him in record time, that crazed look in your eyes mirroring his.

Together, you plunge into the surf. Oscar’s strokes are strong, slicing through the current. He reaches Hattie just as she starts to panic.

“Float! Don’t fight it!” you yell, coming up on her other side.

Oscar grabs her wrist, firm but steady. You’re on the other, speaking calm, clear instructions, guiding her body as the three of you angle sideways out of the current. 

You’re the voice of reason; Oscar is the force that perseveres. 

It’s slow. Exhausting. But eventually, the pull lessens.

You reach the shore heaving, salt-stung, and shaking. Hattie collapses onto her knees, coughing up seawater, and Oscar sinks beside her, heart hammering. His hands rest at her back, as if he’s scared she’ll go down under the moment he lets go. 

Hattie says nothing at first. She just looks at him with wet, furious eyes.

It’s a look Oscar is used to seeing on Hattie’s face. They’re siblings. Of course they squabble, and they fight, and they know where to hit for it to hurt. Such was the curse and blessing of being a brother. 

Underneath all that, though, Oscar goes back to two cardinal truths: Being the eldest, he made his mum and dad parents—but when Hattie came around, they made him a sibling. 

And a sibling he would always be, come hell or high water. 

“You didn’t even say sorry,” Hattie sputters, like that’s still the worst thing that has happened this afternoon. 

Oscar can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh. You hover nearby, giving them space. But not too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s I’m sorry for picking a fight, and I’m sorry for being a bad brother sometimes, and I’m sorry I never taught you about riptides. 

Hattie sniffles, then swats at him. “You better be.”

And that’s how they make up.

Later, as the sun begins to dip, casting everything in amber, Oscar finds you rinsing your arms at an outdoor shower.

“Hey,” he says, stepping close with your towel in his hands.

You look over your shoulder. “Hey.”

He shuffles awkwardly. With salt in his hair and gratitude tangled in his ribs, Oscar thinks there’s no one else he’d rather have next to him when the tide pulls under. 

But there’s something deeper, something closer to guilt gnawing at him. 

You sense it, in the same way you know when Oscar’s about to have a bad race weekend or when he’s overwhelmed with schoolwork. Stepping out of the shower, you take your towel, wrap it over your shoulders, and gesture at Oscar to follow you. 

The two of you walk along the shore, away from where Edie is snapping photos of her sandcastle and Mae is reading some trashy romance novel. Hattie is passed out on a beach blanket, the excitement of the near-drowning taking the fight out of her. 

“If she had died,” Oscar tells you, his tongue heavy as lead, “it would’ve been my fault.” 

It’s the kind of thought he figures only you will understand. Not because you have any siblings of your own, not because you had been there, but because you’ve always read Oscar like he was a dog-eared book you could keep under your pillow. 

“She’s fine, though,” you say delicately, but he’s started and he can’t stop. 

“What is wrong with me?” A laugh escapes Oscar—the self-deprecating kind, one that grates more than the sand beneath your feet. “I’ve made so many resolutions and written sad notes and confessed my sins, but it doesn’t seem to help. When I get in a passion—” 

A passion. A fit. With his siblings, with his mates, with you. He can’t count the amount of times his sarcasm has offended you. The instances where he’s made you cry, intentionally or not. 

And when he’s racing. God, when he’s racing. 

In a couple of months, he’s slated to join Formula 4. He has a stellar karting career behind him, one he can barely even remember—because he had seen red throughout it all. Oscar was clinical and cutthroat and cruel the moment he got behind a wheel, and a part of him worries that’s who he’ll always be. 

A man who would stop at nothing to be at the top step of any podium. A boy who would insist on being right like his life depended on it. 

“When I get in a passion,” he tries again, “I get so savage. I could hurt anyone and enjoy it.” 

It’s a damning confession. The kind that could absolutely ruin and unravel Oscar. But he knows, he trusts that it’s safe in your hands. You hum a low sound like he hadn’t just bared his heart out for you to sink your claws into.

“I know what that’s like,” you say, and he has to do a double take. 

“You?” He studies the side of your face, as if checking for insincerity. “You’re never angry.” 

You’re annoyed with him often and you’ve got a hint of fire in everything you say. But there’s never been rage, never been the sort of flame that could incinerate. And so it shocks him all the more when you confess, “I’m angry nearly every day of my life.” 

“You are?” 

“I’m not patient by nature. I just try to not let it get the better of me,” you offer, glancing up at Oscar. 

The two of you have come to a stop at the edge of the shoreline. Soon, you’ll have to get back to his waiting sisters. For now, though, he surveys your expression and finds nothing but the truth. 

He files the facts away in that mental cabinet he has containing what he knows about you. Angry, nearly every day. And then he takes to heart the rest of your words, the roundabout advice of not letting it consume him.

The blaze in him stops roaring for a minute. With you, it’s like a campfire. Inviting and warm. 

Better. You make him better.

“Look at us,” he says, tone almost awed. “After all these years, looks like I can still learn a thing or two from you.” 

There’s something in your eyes that Oscar can’t quite place. You’ve always looked at him a certain way, but he could never really put a word to it. It’s tender and pained all at once; subtle, ultimately, buried underneath whatever he needs you to be at the moment. 

“It’s what friends are for,” you respond, your voice catching on the word in the middle. He pretends not to notice. 

Friends.  

Oscar’s Formula 4 debut is everything he thought it would be.

The pressure, the lights, the nerves so sharp they buzz under his skin—it’s all there, and then some. He tries to soak in every second, from the chorus of engines roaring around him to the feel of the wheel under his gloved hands. But even with everything happening so quickly, even in the blur of adrenaline and pit stops, there’s still time for his thoughts to drift back home.

More specifically: To you.

It starts small. Just a notification that you’ve made a new post. A photo.

You with your boyfriend.

A guy Oscar’s met once, maybe twice. The sort of guy who plays guitar at parties and wears cologne that smells like department store samples. He isn’t bad—just doesn’t fit. Doesn’t match the version of you Oscar has always known. The one who once danced on a porch, hair a mess, daring him to keep up.

He doesn’t know what to do with the bitter feeling that curdles in his chest. You’re not his, per se. You’ve never been. But surely you could do better than this Abercrombie-wearing, Oasis-playing asswipe. 

Summer arrives like it always does—hot and sprawling, with cicadas humming in the trees and long days that stretch lazily into nights. Oscar is home for a few weeks between races. 

You’re still around, too. A little less, though, because your boyfriend is a demanding thing who insists he “doesn’t like Oscar’s vibe.” You fight for the friendship, citing it as a non-negotiable, and when Oscar finds out, he doesn’t even try to hide his smugness. 

The two of you steal away one evening, climbing onto the roof of the Piastri house with cans of lemonade and a bag of sour candy. It’s tradition by now. The tin roof is warm beneath you, and the stars blink faintly above, a faded scattering against the navy sky.

You sit close, your shoulder brushing his every so often.

“You’ve changed,” you say, head tilted toward him.

“Have not.”

“You look taller.”

“I’ve always been taller.”

You laugh, a soft sound. “Okay. You’ve changed in a good way.”

Oscar bumps your knee with his. “So have you.”

The two of you are older, now, more accepting of the facts of life. Time is not your enemy. It’s just time. You’re still in school, and Oscar is still racing. Your paths have diverged, but the road home is one you both know like the back of your hand. 

You go quiet, fiddling with the tab on your lemonade. He watches you closely, trying to read what you’re not saying. You’re nervous. He figures that much out from the fiddling. Nervous about what, though, he can’t— 

“I want to run away with him,” you say suddenly.

Oscar stiffens. He wants to call you out for making such a stupid joke, for not having all your screws on straight. You go on, eyes fixed on the dark street below. “Doesn’t sound too bad. Eloping,” you muse. “I’ve never been one for big weddings, anyway.” 

“Why?”

“Why don’t I like big weddings?” 

“No, stupid. Why the sudden plan of eloping?” 

“Because I love him.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, the slope of your cheek in the half-light, the determination behind your words. It doesn’t sit right. This isn’t you. You make rash decisions, but none so life-altering. Not anything that would give your grandfather grief, and most especially not anything that would disclude Oscar. 

“You’ll be bored of him in two years,” Oscar says flatly, “and we will be interesting forever.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you let the words hang between you. Those two things could co-exist. Your love for this loser (Oscar’s word; not yours), and the fact that there was nothing in the world that could electrify quite like your friendship with Oscar Piastri. 

He doesn’t know where this is coming from. He hadn’t realized this would be so serious, that he’d been away long enough for you to start considering marriage with what’s-his-face. 

“I don’t expect you to know what it’s like, Oscar,” you say eventually. “To want to be shackled.”

And there it is. 

You’ve always supported Oscar’s career. You have years worth of team merchandise for all his loyalties; you’ve been there for every race that mattered, each one that you could make. 

But you were also selfish in ways that his family wasn’t. You got moody whenever he had to go away after breaks. You made snide comments about him always being the one who leaves. He’s grown to tolerate that petulance, to take in stride your fears of him failing to come back in one piece. 

For the first time ever, Oscar feels what you do. And, God, it doesn’t feel good. 

“I just hate that you’re thinking of leaving me.” The words are past his lips before he can reel them in. 

It sounds desperate, so unlike him, that he understands the shock that flits across your face. There’s a split-second where he sees a hint of anger, too, like you’re mad at Oscar for being honest, for saying all this after his redeye flights and janky timezones. 

He goes on, because what’s the point of backing down now? “Don’t leave,” he presses. 

“O…”

You’re the only one who calls him that. O. OJ, when you’re feeling playful—Oscar Jack. He’s teased you time and time again about not falling back on Osc, as if you were desperate to carve out a nickname that belonged to you and you alone. 

“God,” he interrupts, eyes turning skyward, as if the stars might hold answers. “We’re really not kids anymore, huh?”

You were kids together. Now, you’re teenagers—young adults. Complicated, messy. Entangled in more than limbs and waves.

“Our childhood was bound to end,” you say, and then you reach out to put a hand on his knee. He considers joking something like Careful, your boyfriend might try to pick a fight and you know I have a mean left hook, but then you might come to your senses and pull your touch away. 

He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you. You just sit there on the roof, side by side, listening to the quiet hum of summer and the distant echoes of who you used to be.

You break up with your boyfriend sometime in early spring, citing incompatibility in a text that Oscar reads while lying flat on the floor of his hotel room in Baku. 

He blinks at the message, reads it twice, and then tosses his phone across the bed. The relief that floods through him is disproportionate, almost unsettling. He chalks it up to instinct. Or something like that.

He tells himself it’s just the same feeling he gets when Edie starts seeing some guy from her literature elective, a summer not too long after you joked about eloping. Maybe it’s the older brother in him, wanting to be protective of the women in his life. 

That’s what he’s muttering to himself when you catch him scowling at Edie’s date from across the local food park. He was chaperoning once again, though this time Edie had banished him to hang out with you while she was making heart eyes at this lanky transfer student. 

“I thought you’d be pleased,” you tease Oscar, popping a chip into your mouth.

Oscar doesn’t look away from where Edie is laughing at something the guy just said. “At the idea of anybody coming to take Edie away? No, thank you.”

You smirk. “You’ll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away.”

He finally glances at you, one brow raised. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

“So would I!” you shoot back, grinning as you sip your soda. Oscar’s withstanding singleness was something the two of you joked about often, even though he always reasoned that he was busy. Busy with racing, busy with family, busy with you. “That poor soul wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Oscar opens his mouth to reply, but then you pull a cigarette from your coat pocket. It’s a thing you picked up since you got to uni, and Oscar’s frown deepens at the sight of it. At your audacity. Before you can light it, he snatches it from your fingers.

“Oi!” you protest.

He waves it out of your reach. “None of that.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

You lunge for it, but he’s already up and jogging backward, the cigarette held aloft in triumph. You chase after him with a string of cusses, half-laughing, half-serious, and Edie and her date pause to watch you and Oscar bolt down the street like kids again—legs flailing, shouts echoing against the sidewalk.

“Are they—?” Edie’s date asks, and the Piastri girl only heaves out a sigh.

Oscar doesn’t stop until he hits the corner, chest heaving from laughter. You skid to a halt beside him, hair wild in the wind, eyes bright. The cigarette’s long gone, tossed in a bin somewhere behind them. 

“That was expensive,” you whine. 

“More incentive for you to quit it, then,” he responds. 

You glare up at him. He rubs a knuckle into your hair, his free hand snaking to your pocket to grab the rest of the pack. You screech profanities as he bins it, but he makes it up to you with a meal of your choosing. It takes a sizable chunk out of the racing salary he sets aside for leisure, but you’re unrepentant and he’s wrapped around your finger. 

You’re both older now. But sometimes, it still feels like nothing’s changed at all.

Albert Park is golden in the late afternoon. 

The sun spills through the treetops, casting shadows across the path as Oscar kicks absently at a stray pebble, hands buried in his jacket pockets. You’re walking beside him, careful to match his pace even as his strides grow longer with whatever is bubbling up inside him. 

A new year. A new contract. A new team, new plan, new person he has to be. 

“It’s all happening so fast,” he mutters. “The Renault thing. Tests. Travel. They said it’s everything I ever wanted—and it is, it is—but I can’t stop feeling like I’m coming apart.”

You glance at him, brows furrowed. “Coming apart how?” 

Oscar raises one shoulder in a shrug. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, but you’ve always had this philosophy that helped him be more honest around you. Say it first, you’d say. Backtrack later.

“I’m just not good like my sisters,” he blurts out, reaching and settling for a familiar comparison that might make him more comprehensible. “They’re—Hattie’s top of her class, Edie’s already talking uni offers, Mae’s got that whole ‘brightest light in the room’ thing. And me? I’m angry, and I’m restless, and I drive fast cars because I don’t know how to sit still.”

“You don’t have to be, O.” 

He lets out a dry laugh. "Why? Are you about to tell me that I’m patient and kind, that I do not envy and I do not boast?"

You stop walking. He does too, when he notices.

You’re just a step or two behind him, the afternoon sun bathing you in a light that practically rivals the warmth you radiate. But there’s something so utterly stricken on your expression, something so undeniably raw that Oscar feels everything click into place.

The look on your face is one his parents sometimes give each other. He’s seen it in movies, seen it in the photos of his mates with long-term relationships. It’s the expression you’ve given him for years, and years, and years, and he feels like the world’s biggest fool for missing all the signs. 

“No,” you say softly, denying him of his cruelty, of his failures. You think of him like that—patient, kind, humble. 

The makings of a person who deserves—

Oscar begins to shake his head, saying, “No. No.” 

“It’s no use, Oscar,” you say, your fingers curling into fists at your sides, and that’s his first sign that this is really about to happen. Not O, not Piastri, not any of the dozen annoying nicknames you’ve assigned him over the years. 

“Please, no—” 

“We gotta have it out—” 

“No, no—” 

Your conversation overlaps. It’s a twisted kind of waltz, as if the two of you are out of tune and out of step for the first time in your lives. Oscar starts pacing. Like he might somehow be able to run from what’s about to come. 

You barrel on. “I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Oscar,” you breathe, following his panicked steps. “I couldn’t help it, and I’ve tried to show it but you wouldn’t let me, which is fine—”

“It’s not—” 

“I’m going to make you hear it now, and you’re going to give me an answer, because I can’t go on like this.” 

He flinches, takes a half-step back. Tries to say your name with more of those despairing please, don’ts, which fall on deaf ears. 

You step toward him like the whole park is tilting and he’s the only thing keeping you upright. The words pour out too quickly now, too long held back. Years worth of yearning, bearing down on an unassuming Saturday. 

“I gave up smoking. I gave up everything you didn’t like,” you say. “And I’m happy I did, it’s fine. And I waited, and I never complained because I—”

You stutter, swaying on your feet like the weight of your next words was too heavy for you to shoulder. You soldier through like a champion; that’s why Oscar listens, hears them out, even though they rip through him as if he’s crashed right into a wall. 

“You know, I figured you’d love me, Oscar.” 

A damning confession. The kind that should be safe in Oscar’s hands, but his fingers are shaky and his eyes are wide and he thinks he’s going to die, then and there, over how absolutely heartbroken you look that he’s not agreeing with you immediately. That his love was something vouchsafed, a promise for a later time. 

“And I realize I’m not half good enough,” you whimper, “and I’m not this great girl—” 

“You are.” Helplessness wrenches the words out of Oscar’s chest. It’s the same emotion that has him surging forward, his hands darting out to hold your shoulders and keep you upright, keep you looking at him. “You’re a great deal too good for me, and I’m so grateful to you and I’m so proud of you. I just—”

He falters. You gave him your honesty, so he fights to give you his. 

“I don’t see why I can’t love you as you want me to,” he confesses. “I don’t know why.” 

Your voice gets impossibly smaller. “You can’t?”

His eyes close, just for a moment, before he answers. “No,” he says slowly, each word measured against your frantic ones. “I can’t change how I feel, and it would be a lie to say I do when I don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m so desperately sorry, but I just can’t help it.” 

You step back; his hands fall to his sides. The distance opens like a wound.

“I can’t love anyone else, Oscar,” you say dazedly. “I’ll only love you.” 

“It would be a disaster if we dated,” Oscar insists. “We’d be miserable. We both have such quick tempers—” 

“If you loved me, Oscar, I would be a perfect saint!”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’ve tried it and failed.”

And he has. He’s had sleepovers with you, wondering what it might feel like to wrap his arm around your waist. He had once contemplated holding your hand during a movie. He figured it would be a given; no one would bat an eye. You and Oscar. 

Except his heart had never fully gotten the memo, and now he pays the price for only ever being able to love the thrill of a race. 

Your voice catches on your next words. “Everyone expects it,” you say in a ditch attempt to change his mind. “Grandpa. Your parents, your sisters. I've never begged you for anything, but—say yes, and let’s be happy together, Oscar.” 

“I can't," he repeats, each syllable heavy. “I can’t say yes truly, so I’m not going to say it at all.”

The evening light keeps on glowing. The world doesn’t end. But you feel like it might've anyway, and he’s right there in that boat with you. You’re willing to settle for scraps, while Oscar refuses to give you half-measures. The silence between you stretches taut, pulling thinner and thinner until it threatens to snap.

“You’ll see that I’m right, eventually,” he says. Like he believes it will make the truth hurt less. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

You laugh bitterly. "I'd rather die."

He looks like you slapped him. “Don’t say that.” 

You’re walking, now, your pace quick as you hurtle down the park pathway with the vengeance of a woman scorned. He calls your name and follows, keeping a sizable distance between you should you not want him to close. 

“Listen, you'll find some guy who will adore you, and treat you right, and love you like you deserve,” he pleads, skidding in front of you and forcing you to do a full stop. “But— I wouldn’t. Look at me. I’m homely, and I’m awkward, and I’m mean—”

“I love you, Oscar,” you say, as if you’re savoring the first and last times you will get to say the words.  

He goes on. He can’t answer that, can’t say anything to those words. “And you’d be ashamed of me—” 

“I love you, Oscar.”

“And we would always fight. We can’t help it even now!" He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ll never give up racing, and you’ll have to hide all your vices, and we would be unhappy. And we’d wish we hadn’t done it, and everything will be terrible."

He gasps for air. You blink back the sting in your eyes. “Is there anything more?” you ask. 

He meets your gaze, and finds nothing there but rightful heartbreak. “No,” he murmurs. “Nothing more.”

You shoulder past him. He tilts his head back and eyes the sky for a moment, praying to be struck down by any higher power that exists. “Except that—” he starts, and you turn around so fast. 

You turn, retracing your steps, and the guilt wells up in him like a faucet that had burst. He realizes—you think he’s going to take it back. You think it’s going to be a … but I love you instead of an I love you, but… 

“I don’t think I'll ever fall in love,” he manages. “I’m happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up.”

Your expression crumples. “I think you’re wrong about that,” you sigh.  

“No.”

You shake your head, slowly. “I think you will care for somebody, Oscar. You’ll find someone, and you’ll love them, and you’ll live and die for them because that’s your way and your will.”

Oscar’s way. Oscar’s will. Two things he’s believed in wholeheartedly, until they’ve both failed him. Failed you. 

You take a step back. The anger you once claimed to always have is somewhere, there, beneath all the hurt and the love. Oscar sees it, now. All of it; all of you.

“And I’ll watch,” you add. 

Oscar will love someone— and you’ll watch. 

The wind rustles the leaves above. A bird sings somewhere in the distance. But all you hear is the sound of something breaking open, and bleeding between you. 

The deep and dying breath of the love you’d been working on. 

Oscar doesn’t see you much after that night in Albert Park. 

You’re still around, still next door. He hears you laughing with Hattie, helping Mae with a school project, or chatting idly with his mum over the fence. But it’s not the same. Something fundamental had shifted.

He tries. God knows he tries. He greets you when he sees you on the street. Makes light jokes. Keeps it easy, breezy, friendly. But every conversation feels like a performance, a pale imitation of what it used to be.

He’d broken both your hearts. He knows that too well. 

Oscar doesn’t tell anyone, not even Hattie, who always had a sixth sense for these things. He lets you control that narrative; he’s sure you’ll tell his sisters, and they’ll all have something to say. Surprisingly, none of them bring it up. He wonders if that’d been your condition with them, and he is grateful, and he is angry, and he is so, so sorry.

He channels everything into racing. He throws himself into his training, enough that it gets him trophies and podiums and a contract with a frontrunning team. 

His dream—the one he’d chased his whole life—is here. 

And it’s everything he ever wanted. Almost.

A few days before he’s due to fly out for testing with McLaren, he finds himself in the backyard, watering the garden with Mae. She’s picking mint leaves with the same dramatic flair she does everything. He doesn’t notice when she says your name until the silence that follows makes him realize he’s been staring blankly at the hose.

You have a part-time job now, Mae had said. Oscar knows. Not from you. Rarely does he know anything about you from you nowadays. He watches your life in fifteen Instagram stories, in the Facebook posts of your grandfather. He hears about you from his parents and whichever of his sisters is feeling particularly brave that day. 

It’s so sudden, his urge to be honest. And so, for the first time since what happened in the park—he lets himself speak his mind. 

“Maybe I was too quick in turning her down,” he says, voice low. Contemplative. 

Mae looks up from the mint. She looks a bit surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be the one to get Oscar to finally crack after over a year of dancing around the topic. 

“Do you love her?” she asks outright. 

He fucking hesitates. 

His throat feels dry. 

“If she asked me again, I think I would say yes,” he says instead, his gaze fixed on the poor tomato plant now drowning in water. “Do you think she’ll ask me again?” 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Mae straighten. She brushes her hands against her jeans and stares straight at him, willing him to look at her. “But do you love her?” she repeats, and he knows it’s not a question he’s going to escape. 

“I want to be loved,” Oscar admits. The words taste like copper.

Mae doesn't flinch. “That's not the same as loving. If you wanted to be loved, then get a fucking fan club,” she spits. 

Her voice is firm, but not cruel. It lands with the weight of care disguised as exasperation. And Oscar feels so much, then, but above all he feels gratitude that his sisters love you like one of their own. Their fierce protectiveness of your welfare—in the face of Oscar’s indecision—knocks some much-needed sense into him. 

“You’re right,” he says quietly.

“She deserves more than piecemeal affection, Oscar,” Mae adds, softening. “You can’t go halfsies with someone like her.”

Oscar knows his sister is right. 

Something aches in his chest, then. He can’t tell if it’s loneliness or the shape of losing you, still carved somewhere in his chest. Beneath the ache of what he turned away is the terrible fear that he never really understood what he was saying no to.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he promises Mae. 

Later that afternoon, Oscar is pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen when movement catches his eye through the window. He turns and sees you biking past with Hattie. Your carefree laughter carries across the breeze, light and familiar. Your hair catches the sun.

You glance up and see him. There’s a pause. Beyond the cursory small talk, the two of you haven’t really talked much this break. He understands why you need your space., and so he never presses, never pushes. 

Even though he can’t help but think of how a pre-confession you might have reacted. How you would’ve ditched your bike and slammed into the house, demanding he pour you a drink, too. Or how you would’ve goaded him into a race until the two of you were spilling onto the pavement, all breathless laughter and skinned knees.

As it is, all Oscar gets is a polite smile and a half-wave. He doesn’t know if it’s a hello or a goodbye. 

He raises his hand, waves back. He watches until you disappear around the corner.

And then he keeps watching, long after you’re gone.

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.com Subject: Stupid stupid stupid 

I hope this email finds you well. 

Actually, I hope it never finds you. This is a bit stupid. A lot stupid. But I’ve just had my first proper testing and I wanted to text you about it, except I wasn’t sure how you might feel to hear from me. I reached for my phone, opened our text thread, and then decided to fake an email to you instead. 

You’re right. It’s definitely more orange than papaya. 

And Lando Norris is not so bad. I think you’d like him. But not like like him. I’m not sure, actually. We could find out. Or not.

This is stupid. Bye. 

— O. (McLaren Technology Centre)

*** 

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.com Subject: I don’t know what to call this one

Hey,

Doha's airport smells like cleaning chemicals and tired people. I watched a family fall asleep upright on a bench. The dad had his hand curled around the kid's backpack like he was scared someone would run off with it. I don't know why I'm telling you this. 

Maybe because it's 2AM and I'm tired and I can't sleep on planes unless you're next to me. Which is stupid, because you were never on that many flights with me. But the ones you were? I slept like a rock.

I hope you're well. I hope you're sleeping.

—O. (Doha International Airport) 

*** 

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.com Subject: New Year 

Happy New Year.

I watched the fireworks from the hotel rooftop. I wish I was back in Melbourne, but stuff made it not-possible. 

It was cold. Everyone had someone to kiss. I had a glass of champagne and a view. 

You came to mind. You always do when things start or end. I'm starting to think that's what you are to me. The start and the end.

Love, O. (Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo) 

Edited to add: It was midnight when I wrote all that stuff. I’m rereading it now, hungover at the breakfast buffet. Guess I can be a bit of a romantic too, huh? Although I think it’s only ever with you. 

***

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.comSubject: You're in my dreams 

I dreamed about you again. You were wearing that ridiculous jacket you got on sale for $5, the one you claimed made you look mega. You did not look mega. You looked like someone lost a bet.

You hugged me and told me everything would be okay. Then I woke up and it wasn’t.

I know I don’t get to tell you this anymore, but I miss you.

—O. (Tokyo Bay Ariake Washington Hotel) 

***

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.comSubject: Hahaha

I heard someone with your exact laugh. Turned my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

It wasn’t you.

You’d tease me for how dramatic that sounds. You always said I was a little too sentimental for a boy who liked going fast.

Still thinking of you.

—O. (Silverstone Circuit) 

***

To: yourusername@gmail.com From: oscar.piastri81@mclaren.comSubject: If I had said yes…

Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I’d said yes that day in Albert Park.

I don’t know if we would’ve worked. Maybe we would have burned bright and fast and hurt each other in the end. Or maybe we would’ve grown into each other like roots. I don’t know. I just know I still think about it.

And that’s not fair. And I would never tell a soul. I just 

wonder.

Sometimes. 

Always your O. (Yas Marina Circuit)

The glitch hits sometime between 2 and 3 a.m. local time.

Oscar doesn’t notice at first. He’s still jet-lagged from the flight from Abu Dhabi, half-awake on his phone in bed, replying to a team manager's message. It's not until he opens his inbox to forward a document and sees the string of outbox confirmations—all with your name in the recipient line—that he realizes something is very, very wrong.

His breath catches.

He stares at the screen for a long, stunned moment before scrambling up from bed, heart in his throat. He checks the Sent folder. It’s all there. Every last one. The emails he never meant to send.

They'd been his safekeepings. His way of getting through the ache without adding more weight to yours. Some were barely a few sentences; others pages long. And all of them, every last word, are now sitting in your inbox like little bombs waiting to go off.

He Googles it with trembling fingers. Gmail glitch sends drafts. 

He sees the headlines flooding in. Tech sites confirm that a rare global sync error had triggered thousands of unsent drafts to be sent automatically. They call it “an unprecedented failure.” Users are up in arms. Memes are already spreading.

Oscar wants to fucking hurl.

He’s home for the winter holidays. Back in Melbourne, back in his childhood room with the familiar creak in the floorboard by the desk. And you—you’re just next door.

You. With those emails.

He covers his face with both hands, dragging his palms down slowly.

“Holy shit,” he mutters to himself. 

There’s no escape to this. Just the silent, inescapable weight of every unsaid thing now said. Every truth, every maybe, every I thought of you today signed off with hotel names and airport codes and times when he was still trying to figure out how to stop missing you.

And now you know. Every word of it. Every selfish, unfair thought that he didn’t deserve to have about you, not after he’d ripped your heart right out of your chest. 

He peeks out the window before he can stop himself. Your lights are on. 

For some reason, Oscar is reminded of the book you had been so obsessed with as a child. The classic Great Gatsby; the millionaire with his green light at the edge of the dock. Oscar never really cared much for the metaphor of it until now, until he stares at the filtered, warm light streaking through your curtains like it’s something he will forever be in relentless pursuit of. 

But then your light flickers off, and Oscar stumbles back down to his bed. 

You’re going to sleep, he realizes with a breath of relief. He sinks into the mattress with a thousand curses against modern technology. 

Oscar tells himself he’ll talk to you tomorrow. Explain everything. Try to salvage what’s left of the peace you’ve both learned to live in, however shaky and distant it is. He’ll explain that he didn’t send them on purpose. That he’s sorry. That he didn’t mean to—

A soft knock at the window makes him bolt upright.

He hasn’t heard that sound in years. Not since you were kids and the ladder in his backyard was your shared secret. 

His breath catches. He doesn’t move right away. 

He has to be dreaming, he thinks dazedly, but then he hears it again. Three quick taps. A familiar rhythm.

Oscar throws the covers off and crosses the room in two strides. He pulls the curtain aside.

You’re standing on the top rung of the ladder, and he briefly contemplates making a run for it again. 

Instead, he throws the window open. You climb in without a word, landing on the floor of his bedroom with the same ease you always had. You’re in cotton pajamas with a hastily thrown-on hoodie, which—whether you remember or not—had been one of Oscar’s from years and years ago. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” he breathes. 

“And you’re in love with me,” you say without preamble. 

Accusation. Question. 

Fact? 

Oscar is frozen like a deer caught in headlights. You’re staring up at him, searching, with that same matchstick flame of anger that has carried you through life so far. 

When he doesn’t immediately counter you, you go on. “Do you love me because I love you?” you ask, and the question knocks the wind out of Oscar. 

“No,” he says quickly. “It’s not like that.”

He— he would never forgive himself, if his affection for you was nothing more than an attempt at reciprocation. 

You stare at him through the darkness. “Why, then?” you press, because of course you deserve to know why. 

His throat works around the answer. It’s a confession that’s been in the making for more than a year. In some ways, it’s been there since he almost sat on you at that damn house party. The words tumble out of him, overdue but not any less sincere. 

“I love you because you’re a terrible dancer,” he says, “and you know how to swim against riptides, and you’re the person I think of when I’ve had a bad free practice and when I'm on the top step of a podium. I love you. It just took me a little while to get here, but I do.” 

“O,” you start. He’s not ready to hear it. 

He steps back, as if to give you space he should’ve offered long ago. “I don’t expect you to have waited,” he says hastily. “I would never—I would never ask you to reconsider, not when I know the type of person I am and how much time it took for me to get here.”

“Oscar.” 

“But I love you. I don't know how not to.”

The room is silent, but it feels like it holds the weight of a thousand words left unsaid. The ones he wrote. 

You remind Oscar, gently, of what you said in Albert Park those many years ago. “I can’t love anybody else either,” you say, your eyes never leaving his face even as he begins to panic, starts to retreat. 

He swallows hard, his throat moving with the effort. “I should have realized sooner,” he babbles. “I should’ve known. I—” 

You reach out, your hand slipping into his. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

It feels so good—your fingers in between the spaces of his. He wishes he could appreciate it more, but his race-brain has kicked in, and he’s suddenly not the calm, cool, and collected Oscar that everybody in the world think they know. 

No, he’s your Oscar. The one who’s a little bit of a wreck. The one who is always racing away from something. 

“I wasn’t kind,” he says, voice tight. “I let you go. I thought I was doing the right thing. and maybe I did, but it still hurt you. It ruined everything.”

“We’re here now,” you say simply. “That means something, doesn’t it?”

“What if we ruin what’s left? What if it doesn't work?”

You smile at him, soft and sure. “Then it doesn’t. But I don’t think we’ll fail.” 

“I’m still homely, and awkward, and—” 

Mean, he meant to say, but then you’re pressing your lips against his. 

It silences all his fretting, all his guilt. For a second, he doesn’t move, stunned into stillness, and then he kisses you back like he’s falling into something he’s wanted his whole life but never believed he could have. Like he can’t breathe unless he's doing this, unless he’s kissing you.

When he’s more sane, when he’s less panicked, this is something the two of you will talk about. He knows that. 

In this very moment, though, he can only watch his sharp edges dull; the fury of his rage, extinguish. The softness of your understanding, the kindness of your patience, the gentleness of your kiss. It’s all he wanted, all he needs.

His hands frame your face, hesitant, reverent, like he can't believe you’re really here with him. That you waited. That you still want him. 

In his head, he makes a promise: If he must hit the ground running, he will make sure it’s towards you.

When the two of you pull back for air, you murmur teasingly against his lips, “Your emails found me well.” 

He giggles, a short, incredulous sound, before kissing the laughter right out of your mouth. ⛐

shattered promises || lh44 x reader

|| pairings: lewis hamilton x reader, platonic f1 grid x reader

|| angst

|| from the author: read angst hcs of f1 so i had to write one please remember this is just fictional, a work of my imagination

-fic under the cut-

The family home buzzed with chatter and laughter, the scent of home-cooked meals filling the air as everyone gathered for yet another event—one of many you’d grown used to over the years. Normally, these events made you feel content, like you belonged to something stable, a network of love that kept you grounded. You found comfort in them, and in Lewis, who stood beside you. His hand rested at the small of your back as you mingled with relatives, the familiar warmth of his touch steadying you.

But tonight was different. There was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t quite place, a gnawing discomfort that tugged at your chest the longer the evening stretched on. Every so often, you caught your sister casting glances at Lewis—glances that felt too intimate, too knowing. At first, you brushed it off. You trusted them both implicitly; after all, your sister was family, and Lewis was the love of your life. The man who whispered sweet promises of forever in your ear on quiet nights, the man who made you feel like you were his world.

But something was wrong. You could feel it in the way Lewis’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes whenever he looked at you, or in the way your sister seemed nervous, her laughter too forced when they interacted. The uneasy feeling festered as the night wore on, growing harder to ignore.

It all came to a head when you excused yourself from a conversation with some cousins, needing a moment to breathe and collect your racing thoughts. As you walked down the hallway, seeking a quiet corner of the house, you heard it. Muffled voices. The soft murmur of your sister’s voice, mixed with Lewis’s low, frantic tones.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest as you stood just outside the door. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but something kept you rooted to the spot. You couldn’t stop yourself.

“Lewis, we can’t do this,” your sister’s voice whispered urgently, panic clear in her tone. “It was a mistake.”

“I know, I know,” Lewis replied, his voice strained. “It was a one-time thing. We were drunk, we weren’t thinking… but we can’t let her find out.”

Her. You.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, and the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. Your mind raced, a sickening realization dawning on you as the blood rushed in your ears. You felt your knees wobble, the floor beneath you seeming to fall away as the betrayal washed over you in suffocating waves.

You pushed the door open, your hands trembling. Their heads snapped toward you, faces drained of color as they registered your presence. Your sister’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Lewis stepped forward, panic and guilt written all over his face.

“Y/N…,” he began, his voice shaking. “Please, let me explain.”

Your throat burned as you tried to speak, but the words got stuck. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable, as you took in the sight of them together. Your sister—the person you had grown up with, confided in, trusted more than anyone else in the world. And Lewis, the man who had sworn he would never hurt you.

“How could you?” you finally choked out, voice breaking. “Both of you? My own sister, and you… Lewis, how could you do this to me?”

Your sister’s face crumpled as she stepped forward, reaching out, her voice trembling. “Y/N, it was a mistake, I swear. We were drunk, it didn’t mean anything. Please—”

“Stop,” you spat, taking a step back, your chest heaving with sobs you could no longer hold back. “Don’t say another word. Don’t try to justify it. You both knew what you were doing. Drunk or not, you knew.” You turned to Lewis, the hurt in your eyes piercing through the fog of shock that clouded your mind. “You promised me,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “You said I was your forever. Was that a lie too?”

Tears filled Lewis’s eyes as he reached out for you, desperation clawing at his every word. “No, it wasn’t. Please, Y/N, it was one mistake. One night. I was drunk—I wasn’t thinking. But I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”

But his words fell on deaf ears. Your heart was shattered, and all you could think of was getting away. You couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them, couldn’t bear to hear any more lies. Without another word, you turned and bolted out of the house, ignoring their frantic calls as you fled into the night, tears blinding your vision.

The cool night air hit you like a slap to the face, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you needed to run, to escape the crushing weight of their betrayal. Your legs carried you down the street, feet pounding against the pavement as sobs wracked your body.

“Y/N!” Lewis’s voice rang out behind you, growing closer as he chased after you, his footsteps echoing against the empty street. “Please, don’t leave! Let me explain! I can’t live without you. I love you, please… don’t go.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. His words only fueled your pain, making it harder to breathe. “Stay away from me!” you screamed, your voice breaking as your tears blurred everything around you. You were so lost in your grief that you didn’t see the car speeding down the road, didn’t hear the blaring horn until it was too late.

The impact came with a sickening thud, and the world went dark.

Lewis watched in horror as your body crumpled to the ground, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Time seemed to freeze as he stood there, paralyzed with shock.

“No… no, no, no,” he whispered, rushing to your side. His hands trembled as he gathered your limp body into his arms, blood seeping into the pavement beneath you. “Please, no. Please don’t do this. Y/N, wake up. Wake up, please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face as he cradled you. “I wasn’t able to make it right. Let me tell her I love her one last time. I know I never deserved her, but why take her away? Why now?”

His words echoed into the night, but there was no answer. Only the silence of the empty street and the cold, lifeless body of the woman he loved more than anything.

The day of your funeral was dreary, the sky gray and overcast, as if the world itself mourned your loss. The church was packed with family, friends, and the entire F1 grid, but the air was thick with anger and blame. Lewis stood at the back, his face pale and gaunt, hollowed out by grief. His eyes, red and swollen from sleepless nights and endless tears, scanned the crowd, but no one would meet his gaze.

As the service ended, the drivers gathered around your grave, their faces hard with fury. Fernando Alonso was the first to approach him, his hand clenched into a fist.

“This is your fault,” Fernando hissed, his voice low and venomous before his fist connected with Lewis’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. “You killed her.”

Lewis didn’t even fight back. The pain of the punch was nothing compared to the weight of his guilt. He barely reacted as the other drivers closed in, their faces a mix of rage and disgust. Max Verstappen, Sergio Pérez, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc—they all looked at him as though he were the lowest form of life.

“Stay away from her grave,” Oscar Piastri snarled, shoving Lewis back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Lewis stood there, unable to move, unable to defend himself as the drivers took turns spitting their anger at him. He didn’t blame them. He deserved every word, every blow. He had failed you in the worst possible way.

Your friends, Lily Muni He, Alexandra Saint Mleux, Kika Gomes, Flavy Barla, and Kelly Piquet, stood off to the side, their eyes filled with contempt as they hurled insults at him and your sister.

“You’re disgusting,” Kika spat, her eyes blazing with hatred. “How could you do this to her? She loved you.”

“And you,” Lily said, glaring at your sister, her voice trembling with fury. “How could you betray her like that? You’re her sister!”

Your family wasn’t any more forgiving. Your mother, her face streaked with tears, approached Lewis as they lowered your coffin into the ground. She slapped him across the face, her sobs tearing through the quiet.

“Why are you here?” she screamed, her voice hoarse with grief. “Go away! You have no right to be here!”

Your father turned on your sister, his face twisted with rage. “How dare you show your face here?” he growled. “You are no child of mine.”

The weight of their anger and blame was suffocating, but Lewis couldn’t leave. He couldn’t tear himself away from your grave, from the last place he would ever see you. He had lost everything—his love, his future, his world.

In the end, he stood alone, surrounded by the wreckage of his choices. You were gone, and no amount of apologies or tears could bring you back. He had destroyed the one good thing in his life, and now he would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his days.

Hi👋,

I want to start writing formula one themed fan fiction, if you have any requests, please send them here

https://forms.gle/3pRxUJpm7qMR8SUN9

Or ask for request

serendipity (noun)

the phenomenon of finding something good you weren't explicitly looking for.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60246181/chapters/153738448

i wrote this a while back, and finally got around to making a collage! i'd be very happy if some of you would check it out, i'm very proud of it :)

So cute 🥰🥰

you belong with me - gr63

summary: george has been in love with his best friend for 15 years, but she can’t see that she belongs with him

folkie radio: MY FIRST GEORGE FIC!!!! idk why it took me so long to write for him but i hope you like this !! send your feedback <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon and 87,846 others

yourinstagram finally race week! can't believe it's been 10 years of watching this one from the paddock. from sneaking into george's garage during f3 days to now having proper passes (still can't get used to saying "my best friend is an F1 driver" 😅). ready to watch @/georgerussell63 crush it this weekend!

view all comments

username1 MERCEDES QUEEN

username2 you guys are literally soulmates just date already

alex_albon The OG paddock bestie 🙌

└ yourinstagram and you know it

landonorris still waiting for my batch of cookies tbh

└ charles_leclerc Get in line

└ yourinstagram LMAOOO

username3 bestie you spelled wife wrong

username4 10 years of friendship and still going strong

username5 someone convince me they're not secretly married

georgerussell63 Wouldn't be the same without you here! Even if you still support Lewis more than me 🙄

└ yourinstagram HES THE GOAT!!!

└ username1 she’s so real

username6 we need more paddock content of you two!

username7 "best friends" sure jan

username8 george's smile whenever she’s around >>>>>

username9 MY FAVORITE DUOOOOO

username10 no one does best friends better than them

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris 1,028,946 others

georgerussell63 P1 BABY!!! Thank you to everyone for the amazing support - winning here in Austria feels amazing. Special shoutout to @/yourinstagram for the lucky socks tradition since F3 - even if they still have tiny race cars on them 😂 Team did a mega job this weekend! 🏆

view all comments

username1 THIS IS MY GOATTTTT

username2 GEORGIE I LOVE YOU

lewishamilton Great drive mate! 🙌

yourinstagram those socks won you GP3 AND F2, respect the lucky socks russell 😤

└ username1 YOU KEEP HIM HUMBLE YN

└ username2 whats the real lucky charm the socks or yn

└ georgerussell63 Fine fine, the socks stay

alex_albon expose him more about the socks pls @/yourinstagram

landonorris lucky socks with race cars?? we need pics

└ georgerussell63 Absolutely not, those pics are staying buried

username3 yn has been his real lucky charm since day 1 😭

username4 not the childhood best friends to lovers story we're witnessing

username5 the socks story is too cute i can't

username6 THIS IS MY GOAT

mercedesamgf1 Brilliant drive today George! 💫

username7 how long before he proposes guys??taking bets

username8 find someone who supports you like yn supports george

username9 that post-race hug though 👀

username10 These two give me hope in love

liked by username1, username2 and 15,378 others

f1_insiderinfo🚨 EXCLUSIVE: Mercedes driver George Russell spotted having an intimate dinner with mystery girl in Monaco! The pair were seen laughing and sharing food. Sources say they've been meeting here regularly. Has Britain's most eligible bachelor finally been taken?

view all comments

username1 MY BROTHER IN CHRIST THATS YN

username2 y’all must be new here 😭

username3 HEEEELP see we’re not delusional for saying they need to be a couple

username4 ffs that’s his best friend story being weird

yourinstagram ah yes, the very romantic dinner where I stole half his pasta and made him watch tiktoks of cats. very intimate. also that "usual spot" is just where they make his favorite tiramisu 🙄

└ georgerussell63 you INHALED half my pasta, there was no stealing involved. also you promised not to expose the tiramisu thing

└ yourinstagram what, scared the other drivers will find out you have a sweet tooth Mr. Professional Athlete? 👀

username5 not them exposing each other in the comments

username6 the way they banter like an old married couple

username7 "mystery girl" my foot, that's his other half since forever

username8 someone get me a friendship like this 😩

username9 SO TRUE YN AND GEORGE ENDGAME

username10 this is peak comedy

liked by username1, username2 and 12,836 others

russell.archive A thread of George Russell and his best friend YN through the years 🤍

Slide 1: 2014 - Their high school years

Slide 2: 2015 - Their prom photo

Slide 4: 2021 - His first points with Williams

Slide 5: 2024 - Another season together

The "just friends" agenda for 10 years and counting... 🤔

view all comments

username1 WAIT THEY'RE NOT DATING??? All this time I thought...

username2 the prom photo is giving soulmates idc idc

username3 slide 4… that's love

username4 not me thinking they were secretly married this whole time

username5 the way his race engineer calls her "the mrs" though

username6 look at how young they were in the first pic 🥺

username7 their height difference stayed exactly the same I'm crying

username8 everyone saying "best friends" meanwhile they act like this

username9 SOULMATES

yourinstagram omg the prom photo 😭 remember when you stepped on my feet during the entire first dance @/georgerussell63

└ georgerussell63 excuse me? who forgot the corsage at home and made us late?

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

└ username2 not me crying over this

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between george and yn

2019 rookies forever groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by jamessmith_eng, georgerussell63 and 82,468 others

yourinstagram date night 🍷thanks for a lovely evening @/jamessmith_eng

view all comments

username1 WAIT WHAT ABOUT GEORGE???

username2 someone check on george rn 😭

username3 the way my heart just DROPPED

alexandrasaintmleux 😍😍

username4 this has to be a joke right???

username5 10 years of analysis gone wrong...

landonorris inch resting

└ username1 LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW

username6 Not me having to explain to my bf that no, George and YN weren't actually dating this whole time

username7 guys can you please be normal for once? george and yn are FRIENDS stop being weird

username8 why is everyone being so dramatic?

username9 HAPPY FOR YOUUU

jamessmith_eng ❤️

liked by username1, username2 and 27,038

russell.archive The way he immediately looks for her after every race 🥺 (Hungary GP, 2024)

Scientists still trying to figure out how these two aren't together...

view all comments

username1 THE WAY HE LIGHTS UP WHEN HE SEES HER

username2 bro runs faster to her than he does on track

username3 10 year study of their relationship and still confused

username4 that hug is not giving "just friends" idc idc

username5 THE KISS HELLO

username6 not her wearing his mercedes jacket

username7 remember when he was sick and she flew across 3 countries just to make him soup??

username8 the race engineer calling her his better half I CANNOT

username9 someone tell that alpine engineer to back off please x

username10 very platonic sure

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, jamessmith_eng and 92,268 others

yourinstagram triple header concluded ‼️oh and i have a boyfriend now @/jamessmith_eng

view all comments

username1 OH-

username2 this feels... wrong

username3 not me zooming in to see if she's still wearing her matching bracelet with george

lilymhe cuties 🤍🤍

username4 THE ALPINE GUY?

username5 why is everyone acting weird like yn and george are just FRIENDS

landonorris 🤔

└ username1 he’s one of us

└username2 HEEEELP LANDO

└ yourinstagram you’re strange

username6 my heart breaks i really thought she was with george

username7 GEORGE’S SILENCE IS SO LOUD

username8 no like from george either 😭

jamessmith_eng 😍😍

└ username1 UM NO LEAVE OUR FAMILY ALONE

└ username2 go back to alpine

└ yourinstagram ❤️

username9 I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

username10 i know george and yn are just friends but omfg this feels wroooong

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 876,366 others

georgerussell63 Gained nine places today but overall the damage was done yesterday. Congrats to LH and the team on the podium. We have another chance to fight before the summer break in Belgium. Bring it on.

view all comments

username1 no yn mention??? are you okay???

username2 first race post this without tagging yn i'm worried

username3 the way he usually writes "couldn't have done it without my lucky charm”

lewishamilton incredible drive 👏🏾

landonorris most depressing caption i've ever seen mate

└ username1 HE KNOWS 😭

└ username2 he’s so annoying

username4 where's the usual "special thanks to my favourite paddock menace"

username5 he's posted about yn in every race post for YEARS this is not a drill

username6 even the emojis are gone 😭

username7 BRO IS DEVASTATED and not only about the race

yourinstagram no selfie? 🥺 breaking tradition much

└ username1 CRYING

└ username2 george why are you breaking tradition

username8 alpine guy better make yn happy at least

username9 GEORGIE I BELIEVE IN YOU

username10 the damage in question was un hard launching her bf

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between george and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by jamessmith_eng, lilymhe and 86,992 others

yourinstagram coffee runs with this oneee 🤍 @/jamessmith_eng

view all comments

username1 isn't that… george's usual coffee spot??

username2 the way she used to do this with george every race weekend 💔

username3 why does this feel wrong

iamrebeccad ❤️

francisca.cgomes i miss youuuuu

username4 BE NORMAL IN THIS COMMENT SECTION CHALLENGE

username5 she and george are endgame tho idc

username6 the wasy geroge never likes her posts with her tho

landonorris 🤐

└ username1 LANDO STOP

└ username2 he has no chill

└ yourinstagram i never understand what u mean

└ alex_albon oh honey

└ username3 IM WHEEZING

jamessmith_eng My ❤️

└ username1 i don't like his vibe george aside

└ yourinstagram love youuu

liked by username1, username2 and 16,038 others

f1gossip SPOTTED: George Russell with mystery brunette at London restaurant 👀

view all comments

username1 HELLO??' SINCE WHEN??

username2 yn's twitter likes suddenly very aggressive

username3 someone check on yn PLEASE

username4 the way she's sitting in yn's usual spot i feel sick

username5 toto watching his team's morale depend on these two idiots

username6 th groupchat must be wild rn

username7 GEORGIE WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGG

username8 ou george boyfriend era?

username9 this is alpine guy's fault

username10 THAT SHOULD BE HIM AND YN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

2019 rookies forever groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by jamessmith_eng, francisca.cgomes and 83,044 others

yourinstagram date with my favorite human 💕thank you for making me smile x @/jamessmith_eng

view all comments

username1 okay this might be cute

username2 CRYING AGAIN

username3 THAT SHOULD BE GEORGE

jamessmith_eng Perfect day with my perfect girl ❤️

└ username2 ewww

└ username1 come on they're happy stop being weird

└ yourinstagram 🥺🥺🥺

lilymhe we should have a double date!

└ alex_albon we're kinda busy

└ username2 LORD

└ username3 ALEX YOU'RE INSANE

└ username4 he said im with my boy george forever

└ yourinstagram buzzkill

username5 george didn't like this post either

username6 this is how we can get rid of him

username7 why are some people so weid about them yn and george are FRIENDS

username8 i want this

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 839,022 others

georgerussell63 Some traditions never change. Pre-race selfie and coffee with my best friend #15YearsAndCounting

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username1 I LOVE THEM SM

username2 george russell choosing violence today

username3 HE TAGGED IT 15 YEARS AND COUNTING I'M SCREAMING

mercedesamgf1 🤍

username4 GEORGE MARKING HIS TERRITORY

username5 james has been real quiet since this dropped

landonorris territorial much?

└ username1 LANDO STOP THIS MADNESS

└ georgerussell63 You're so strange mate

└ username2 SURE GEORGE play dumb we'll play along

yourinstagram LOVE YOU GEORGIE BOY!

└ username1 girl he loves you but like loves LOVES you

└ username2 wake up he's in love with you

└ georgerussell63 ❤️

username6 whe said who's james we don't know her

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texts between george and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by francisca.cgomes, jamessmith_eng and 86,370 others

yourinstagram thank you for the flowers and for always finding your way back to me @/jamessmith_eng 🤍

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username1 GIRL

username2 this is the 4th "second" chance but ok

username3 not the apology flowers AGAIN

lewishamilton 👀

└ username1 EVEN LEWIS KNOWS

└ username2 PLEASE

username4 the whole garage pretending we didn't hear them fighting yesterday

alex_albon 🤦‍♂️

└ username1 ALEX IS HIS BIGGEST HATER

username5 somebody check on george

username6 girl get up

username7 can pierre and este sabotage him or something 😭

jamessmith_eng Love you baby ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you too x

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

georgerussell63 has added to their stories

replies:

username1 GEORGE SWIFTIE CONFIRMED

username2 taylor’s version too

charles_leclerc 😂😂😂😂

alex_albon YOU FINALLY EMBRACED THAT YOU’RE TAYLOR SWIFT

└ georgerussell63 don’t push it

landonorris JUST TELL HER

pierregasly Whats this supposed to mean

yourinstagram YOU’RE SUCH A SWIFTIEEEE

└ georgerussell63 I love the lyrics of that one :)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 98,749 others

yourinstagram 15 years of friendship and watching you live your dream from the grandstands, and i still get butterflies every time that 63 crosses the line 🤍 couldn't be prouder of my best friend. race day ready as always @/georgerussell63 (still wearing the lucky charm bracelet you got me when we were 12 btw 😉)

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username1 MY FAMILY

username2 IM SOBBING

username3 james from alpine found shaking

lewishamilton 🖤

username4 THE KARTING PHOTO I'M SOBBING

landonorris remember when she used to hide behind trees to watch him practice?

└ yourinstagram LANDO DELETE THIS

└ username1 I LOVE THEM

username5 it has always been HIM

georgerussell63 Still can't believe you kept that bracelet

└ yourinstagram it's my good luck charm, you're not getting it back russell

└ georgerussell63 Wouldn't dream of it x

└ yourinstagram better not crash today, i'm wearing it

└ georgerussell63 Wouldn't dare disappoint my number 1 fan

└ yourinstagram since karting days

└ georgerussell63 And counting ❤️

└ username1 DID WE JUST WITNESS A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL?

└ username2 THEY CANT JUST DO THIS IN PUBLIC

username6 yeah they’re in love and everyone knows it but them

username7 james alpine you are BONES

username8 JUST GET MARRIED

username9 this slow burn friends to lovers idiots in love…

username10 lando and alex screaming rn

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,022,497 others

georgerussell63 Found out she's still terrible at paddle after 15 years. Some things never change 🏸

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username1 girl whatever he said wasn't THAT funny you're just in love

username2 the way she looks at him vs the way she looks at james- anyway

mercedesamgf1 🖤

username3 NO ALPINE BOYFRIEND IN SIGHT WE WON

username4 the way she only laughs like that with george

username5 yn looking at george vs yn looking at james: a thesis

kimi.antonelli Great day 👏

landonorris "terrible at paddle" mate you dropped your racquet 3 times

└ georgerussell63 Trying to make her feel better

└ alex_albon by embarrassing yourself? smooth

└ username1 THIS IS MY FAMILY

└ username2 best trio forever

username6 not yn pulling a zendaya

yourinstagram i'm not that bad!

└ georgerussell63 You hit yourself with the racquet

└ yourinstagram you DISTRACTED me

└ georgerussell63 By existing?

└ yourinstagram by being annoying

└ username3 THE TENSION IS KILLING ME

username7 ou james don’t make that face

username8 i feel like something is shifting and these two will confess soon

username9 JUST KISS ALREADY

username10 the best friends secretly in love with each other of it all

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texts between george and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 102,927 others

yourinstagram always 🤍

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username1 THE WAY I SCREAMED

username2 FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY

username3 that's george's hand i've studied it for 5 years I KNOW

mercedesamgf1 🥹

└ username1 toto just fist bumped lewis in the garage

landonorris took you long enough

└ username2 LANDOOO DONT CLOCK HER LIKE THAT

username4 the childhood friends to lovers pipeline never fails

username5 the easy we all just KNOW they finally confessed

username6 AND FUCK THAT JAMES GUY

username7 DO A PROPER HARD LAUCH

georgerussell63 ❤️

└ yourinstagram🤍

username8 if look idiots in love in urban dictionary a pic of george and yn shows up

username9 MY PARENTS

username10 plot twist this is actually the alpine guy 😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

2019 rookies forever groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 19,738 others

f1gossip GEORGE AND YN AT THE LAS VEGAS PADDOCK RIGHT NOW THIS IS NOT A DRILL

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username1 OMFG

username2 I CANT BELIEVE THIS

username3 james found crying in alpine

username4 NO WAY FINALLY

username5 THESE TWO IDIOTS FINALLY REALIZED

username6 i’m crying, this is the softest love story ever

username7 ya conspiracy girlies were always right !!!!!!

username8 we witnessed this best friends to lovers slow burn happen in real time i can’t believe this

username9 NOT ME CRYING AT THIS

username10 guys they’re KISSING like WE USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THESE

username11 george finally grew balls and confessed

username12 JAMES FROM ALPINE YOU’RE BONES

username13 WATCH GEORGE WIN TOMORROW

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yourinstagram not just the race you won today mr russell 🏆🤍

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username1 THE WAY HE RAN STRAIGHT TO HER

username2 YOUR SMILE WHEN HE PICKED YOU UP

username3 the way james had to watch this from p7 💀

mercedesamgf1 Best vegas grand prix ever confirmed 👏

landonorris get a room

└ yourinstagram we did

└ landonorris HELLO???

└ username1 I HAD THE SAME REACTION LANDO

└ username2 no fucking way

username3 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES

username4 they had been in love since forever like we could SEE IT it was about time they realized

username5 HE. GOT. THE. GIRL

username6 george russell you fucking did it

username7 IDIOTS IN LOVE SLOWBURN TROPE I FUCKING LOVE IT

username8 YABADABADOOOOO WE WERE RIGHT ALL THE TIME

username9 a love story fifteen years in the making

username10 EVERYTHING FALLS INTO PLACE

georgerussell63 Still can't believe you're mine

└ yourinstagram always have been. just took me a while to realize

└ georgerussell63 Worth every second of waiting 🤍

└ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

└ username2 this is the most beautiful thing ever

liked by yourinstagram, lewishamilton and 2,018,476 others

georgerussell63 Vegas ‘24. Won more than just a race tonight.

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username1 SOBBING AGAIN

username2 i still can’t quite believe this

username3 GEORGE RUSSELL THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

alex_albon boy went from you belong with me era to lover era real quick

└ georgerussell63 Stop with the Taylor Swift references

└ landonorris NEVER

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SO MUCH 😭😭

username4 THIS IS BETTER THAN ANY ROMANCE MOVIE

username5 alex and lando screaming somewhere because of this

username6 imagine being that alpine guy right now LMFAO

username7 they’re proof that real love always finds a way

lewishamilton Prod of you mate. On and off track 🖤

└ username1 AWEEEEEE

username8 best friends to lovers Y E S

username9 the fact that george waited YEARS for her and watched her with other guys but got her in the end. THIS IS TRUE LOVE

username10 this is way too pure

yourinstagram quite the victory lap mr russell

└ georgerussell63 Had to make it special for my special girl

└ yourinstagram you’re such a sap

└ georgerussell63 Your sap tho. Officially now

└ yourinstagram was always yours. just took me 15 years to realize 🤍

a distinguished gentleman - t.w.

pairing: fem!reader x toto wolff

warnings: allusions to smut, mentions of oral (m! receiving), mentions of fingering (f! receiving), some cursing, lemme know if there's anything i missed, yadayadayada

a/n: this isn't necessarily a cohesive fic, more like a spitballing of the thots i have related to this topic. i hope y'all enjoy them hehehe <3 thank you to @chaerylecq for the inspo!!!

when it comes to driving, toto is the one who always offers.

after all, you are his passenger princess.

i feel like he wants you to be comfortable as possible in his car, so he always has a little makeup bag or cosmetics bag with deodorant, makeup remover, makeup wipes, perfume, etc., for you in case you ever need to touch up. he also has a plethora of hair accessories for you to use in case you ever need one. all you have to do is just reach in the glovebox, or he keeps the pouch in the center console for your convenience.

when he starts to drive, his hand is either resting comfortably on your thigh, or his fingers are intertwined with yours. for longer drives, he always offers for you to lay your legs on top of his. (even if it not necessarily the safest route)

his windows are tinted (duh) so there are numerous times in which his fingers are plunging into you, curling as they pump in and out. for clean up, he'll usually just have you suck on his fingers, groaning and cursing under his breath as your tongue laps at the juices.

if he can't wait until you make it home, he'll have your head bobbing, one hand clutching the wheel while the other is palming the back of your skull, applying pressure so that you'll go deeper and deeper. he prefers to keep the radio off, so the filthy, obscene noises will flood the intimate space. his desire to fuck you only soars by the second, his tip pressing deeper and deeper down your throat.

if he's desperate enough, he'll nearly swerve off to the nearest exit, pulling off in an enclave or parking lot. with his large stature, he typically has you ride him in the driver's seat, savoring the way your figure molds with his perfectly as the windows fog.

other times, he just wants to hear your voice, engaging you in deep conversation. there are a variety of topics, each with their own nuance and question he'll begin with. there's nothing more that he cherishes than drives with you, because he gets to build more and more emotional intimacy. getting to know you is one of his favorite things to do, so of course he's going to seize the opportunity.

he is the type of person to request kisses at stoplights, even if they are brief. there was one time he took you cruising along the brackley campus, purposefully stopping for as long as possible at the lights or signs, just so that he can get a smooch.

of course, you don't mind. you love him. oh so dearly. of course you're going to kiss him whenever the opportunity is presented.

also, you are the one who has the aux most of the time, your phone paired to the bluetooth the second you're in that passenger seat. he enjoys your taste in music, finding a new favorite song or two each time. sometimes he'll ask you to add the song to his personal playlist, not shy in the fact that he gets a lot of his new music from his girl.

whether it's cruises at night, enjoying the skylines of whichever city you're in, or countryside tours, you just love being in that passenger seat. there are times in which you tease that he needs to get that section of the dash engraved, customized with your name.

little do you know, he has that in the works.

not just for that car, but for every vehicle in his fleet.

superstar | ms47

request: can "superstar" be about mick? y/n is a very supportive girlfriend and she cheers for him and goes to every race but she's not famous, she's a "pretty normal" person compared to him, so his fans don't really understand what he sees in her?

summary: where two young kids fall in love but the world one of them is involved in seems to be against their happiness.

warnings: angst yeah and a bit of relationship doubts.

notes: the second story and first request of the eras masterlist is finally here! i hope ypu guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writting it, also it was my first social media au, and remember that requests are still opened!

masterlist

Mick’s life had always been filled with the thrilling sound of car engines and the adrenaline that comes with excessive speed. His father being probably the most famous Formula One driver in history was perhaps the reason why he was so interested and enamored by the sport, making him always wonder if his father was not who he was, would he even be this obsessed with it, or would he want to be a football player or a pianist.

So he made his way through the motorsport world, karts like any kid and then a formula three and two champion until he achieved the highest category and just like his father he became a Formula One driver but he realized that even now when he had finally achieved everything he had dreamed of, he felt, lonely.

Even when he stepped inside the most rapid vehicles in history, where he thought he would feel the most complete, his heart told him that something was missing, to make it alright, to put it all in place. He didn’t know what it was but his soul ached for it, he longed for a deeper connection, someone who would see him for who he truly was and understand his mind and soul.

So when he crossed paths with Y/N, one Sunday evening back home in Germany those lingering feelings disappeared, he knew she was the one.

Mick remembers the day they met as if it was yesterday, he remembered her clothes and could describe in a detailed way how her hair was wrapped in a hair band forming a low ponytail that rested on her shoulder.

He was wearing some long-sleeved shirt that was years old and a pair of dark blue jeans tightened with a belt that probably belonged to his father, considering the damaged black leather of it.

That cold evening he and his sister decided to go out for a coffee, and after an insisting chat with Gina, he decided to go. He was back home, finally, after a never stopping routine of constant travel he had some time for his own, and like every year he went to Germany, with his family. So that day they decided on a small café that not many people frequented.

Mick had asked for a cappuccino and Gina for a macchiato, his order was the first one they called but just as he was stepping towards the girl who was handing it to him, exactly like in a rom-com his sister made him watch, he felt a coldness hit his chest, in a second his white long-sleeved shirt was splashed in brown iced coffee.

A wave of apologies said by a sweet voice filled his ears and that was the moment he finally looked at the girl who had accidentally thrown her coffee onto his shirt.

—Don't worry too much, I'm lucky it was an iced one—He said, slightly chuckling, placing his hand on her wrists, stopping her from smudging it more. Now his mind wondered why she was even ordering it when outside you could see slight traces of snow.

Their eyes finally met, for the first time, before, she was too busy trying to get rid of the stain on his shirt to pay attention to the person she was cleaning it off of. Embarrassed by the situation with her cheeks flushed in a light pink that went all the way up to her ears she stopped for a moment the apologies.

They told each other their names and rapidly started talking, as if faith had brought them together and made them meet like that. In the back, Gina laughed at the poor flirting attempts of her brother who had also completely forgotten about their arranged siblings' coffee date.

And for months after that, they were friends, each too afraid to confess the feelings they had, until finally, one night, when he had traveled to her hometown as a surprise Mick tried to in the most rom-comish way he could, confess his feelings.

Afraid about not hearing an answer to his confession, all kinds of thoughts run through his mind, maybe he had read the signals wrongly and she just wanted to be friends.

But for his luck, the thoughts were interrupted by a pair of lips clinging onto his.

Now, months into their relationship he knew that she was that missing piece he had looked for all along. He raced in the fastest cars in the world yet he felt more adrenaline when he looked at her, his nervousness when he started a race did not compare to that of placing his eyes on hers. And his worries faded to nothing when he looked at her

But people started talking, they always did, and at first, not caring was so easy, in the end, a relationship with a superstar who has thousands of fans all around the world was hard for everyone who was in one, except that to Y/N, his fans seemed harsher on the critics.

They speculated about her motives, if it was for some quick fame or the money he could bring to your home or even the connections she could get and that after catching them she would rapidly leave him, both of them knew the truth, they loved each other and nothing could stop them from it but sometimes it felt like they could.

Mick knew he shouldn't doubt their relationship but he could not stop his mind from wandering if she truly loved him, he knew he loved her but what if it was not like that to her, what if they were right.

The doubts started to get to his head, the side comments, the replies to any post he made about her or she made about him, they, at a point, became to much, so the distancing started between them, slowly, but not slow enough for her to not notice.

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, lilymhe, yourbestfriend and 537 others

yourusername half of my weekend dump !

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sarahluvs47 only here for the mick content like all of us.

formulaleclerc this the girl mick is dating, why? lol

wagsl0ver no one know really, he could

truly do much better

yourbestfriend you look so hot, how do you do it, stop

As the sun began to set in the Saudi Arabia grand prix circuit, everyone's faces filled with excitement, the voices high pitched with enthusiasm. She stood with her hands on the metal railings that separated the crowd from the track.

Although excitement filled the air, Y/N's heart ached. She loved Mick, so much, his love completed her, but people commented on it, on a love that was so pure it seemed almost indestructible, and for a moment she was so foolish she believed that, that their love would be forever, even with all the comments from the outside, their own little world would stay the same.

She knew, the second Mick had told her he was a driver, a formula one driver, that it would be hard to maintain a relationship with a superstar like him. But she was willing to try, even if it meant that the moment she stepped out into the world as Mick Schumacher's girlfriend, that her way of living would not be the same and that that quiet life she liked to have would not be possible, at least for the time they dated. And for him, she was willing to try.

Taking a deep breath in, she locked her phone, reading through the dozens of messages and comments people left her was exhausting and she did not understand the why of them, she hadn't done anything to anyone, she was aware of the ruthlessness of the internet but she had never experienced it first hand.

The comments had been recently getting to her head and she knew they had gotten to Mick's too. Lately he had been more distant, quieter also, and she didn't know what to do about it, talk would be the obvious thing but she avoided serious talks at all costs, she wasn't good at it and her eyes got all watery when she made eye contact with the one she was talking too. But, right now, it seemed like the only thing she could do, force him to chat with her.

…

The wheels on the car were barely been held together, after forty two laps with them and fifty seven laps total, the race was coming to an end and for the first time, Mick, was finally going to place his feet in the podium, second place, just milliseconds behind the blue car numbered "one".

Gina and Corinna sat by her side, the three of them on the verge of tears. The cameras pointed at their faces and then back at the race, she wouldn't celebrate yet, to her it was bad luck. Her heart accelerated at the same pace as the cars passing on the screen in front of her, one more lap and it was his.

The checkered flag appeared in the air, finally it had come to an end, the moment the car passed the checkered flag, the three women and the entire team got up, at the same time, screaming and hugging each other. Now they waited for him to arrive and congratulate him.

Her eyes placed on his, she knew that behind that helmet, a pair of blue eyes were staring back. She smiled when he finally ran towards his team to hug them, the flashing of cameras and screams filled her ears but as soon as he reached out for her and his arms wrapped around her, her head on his chest, his helmet still on, it felt as if they were the last people on earth, just them.

It was celebration day for Mick Schumacher, after that eventful race and his first podium he could finally celebrate it, with his friends and his team, even part of his family and of course, his girlfriend who had been with him for months now and was one of his biggest supporters.

He had changed already after a shower, into a pair of light washed jeans and a navy blue shirt. Mick looked at himself in the bathroom mirror one last time, he didn't need to look great but in the end it was a celebration for him so he had to be presentable at least. After a few minutes in the bathroom he finally came out to go look for his girl, who he thought was going to go with him.

He was surprised to find his girlfriend facing towards the TV, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a matching black and light pink sweats set he had gotten her one time after she had told him she had liked it. Her phone facing down by her side and her hands where, he supposed, resting on her face, covering it.

— Hey, what's wrong? Are you not coming? — He sat by her side, putting his arm around her, fingers softly twisting her hair between them.

— We have to talk Mick, I, I can't stand this anymore — Her voice cracked at the end, even if she tried to hide it, he knew it had.

— What? Y/N, look at me, what is going on? — His hands grabbed her face now, his blue eyes scanning over her features, she was god damn gorgeous.

— Those comments, you know, they keep saying that I'm only with you because of your connections and shit, and you have been so distant lately I just — She looked in his eyes, not for long before she drifted them away from him and started to look at different things that seemed now, extremely interesting. Not the best at keeping eye contact especially in moments like those.

Mick immediately reacted back with the intention of talking back, refusing to hear her re-call the comments but Y/N talked before.

— I just don't want that to destroy us and you to think that I'm looking for fame, I just love you so much, and you've been so great to me so you suddenly distancing yourself from me is, I, please don't hear them —

His heart broke when he heard her shut down cries and saw her tear stained face. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and his hands grabbed her head softly and hid it against his chest, immediately feeling a wetness on his shirt, her tears.

A wave of sorries emitted in a low flooded her ears his nose against her head whispering them closely.

— I, you were right, I did listen to some comments, but I doubted myself and if I would be able to have a true relationship, and with you after today I know I have it. — Y/N felt his smile as he talked just by hearing the way he said the words. — When mom talked to me after the race she told me that you were the one and that you looked at me the same way she looks at dad —

The blond haired boy smiled as soon as he felt the smile of her girlfriend on his chest.

With his right hand, the one which he was not holding her with, he cleaned her tears from her face — I love you, so much I can barely hold it inside of myself, okay? You are the best girl someone could ever ask for. — She said it back after that and he repeated it a few times before falling quiet and for a few minutes they stayed like that, her arms wrapped around his chest and her head on his chest, one of his hands on her back and the other on her hair softly caressing it.

When they separated her hands went to her cheeks to wipe away the tears she had, now drying. — So, you're staying? — He asked, she simply shook her head — I'll go get ready, i have the cutest outfit planned —

She got up and walked to the bathroom quickly — You had an outfit planned without even knowing if I would get on the podium? — he asked, laying down on the bed — Of course! I felt it in my heart, you know, that you were going to be up there. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to jinx it, so I kept it to myself. — Mick smiled, looking at the ceiling, she had felt in her heart that he would be on the podium, how was he supposed to act after knowing that.

— Okay, I'm ready, let's go — She appeared on the room again, wearing a silk dress, black fishnets and a pair of black mary janes on her feet, her hair slightly wet and her eyes painted with a sharp eyeliner.

— You look, great, gorgeous actually — He walked up to her, admiring the way she looked, when he was finally in front of her he kissed her, with love and pureness.

To Mick, Y/N was his superstar and he knew she was hers too.

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 852,094 others

mickschumacher celebrating P2 for the first time and some pics with her.

comments on this post where limited

yourusername i love you <3

gina_schumacher truly proud of you !

taglist ;; @amayakingw @f1wh0r3 @misiafix @dan3avocado @thtbwltts @myaurorasandsadprose @qualitygiantshoepsychic @myescapefromthislife @light-23 @magical-imagination-kgp @leclercsbae @here-comes-the-moose @leclercs-posts

𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐩𝐠𝟏𝟎

pairing: pierre gasly x fem!reader

summary: All the love she ever knew was one that hurted and burned but at a Parisian coffe shop on a wednesday she realized that maybe that was not all that love had to offer.

warnings: some angst mentioned because of the subject of the song.

notes: hey! my first story for the eras masterlist is finally here, so sorry it took me so long, i had a bit of a writers block, hope you enjoy it, also remember that if you want to ask for anything the requests are still open <3

masterlist

Took a deep breath in the mirror

Her apartment felt lonely now that he was gone, she was so used to the always present sound of his voice or some football match none of them paid attention to that now, in the quiet of her bedroom she also felt lonely.

Y/N felt as if a part of him was still trapped with her in that apartment, his things were still there and his smell on the shirts lingered as if they had been worn only a few days ago. It was unhealthy, she knew, that to keep reminding herself of him and what they could've been was probably one of the most self-destructing things she could do, but her mind just couldn't do anything else but go to the back of her mind and bring out memories of them.

She had spent hours looking at their room, now only hers; the feeling of his hands on her body still lingered over her every day. But she knew she could not hold that lifestyle for much longer because people would start worrying and she hated when they asked about her life; she thought she could solve her problems on her own with no help needed from anyone.

He didn't like it when I wore high heels

But I do

But ironically she found herself accepting the proposal of her friend to have a date, a blind date with a guy she had never met before and whose only information she had was his name, Pierre. She didn't really have good luck with the french but Y/N reminded herself that she needed it, she needed to meet new people, hiding away from the dating world and encapsulating herself in the same routinary life couldn't happen anymore.

Lily had set them up for a coffee date. While Y/N ended the last touches of her makeup and looked at the clothes she could wear, she put as a background sound, which was always needed, the multiple five-minute long audio messages she had sent. Where she told her trivial things but just one thing truly stuck around; "Wear your favorite shoes, those heels you love, the black ones"

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror, she could only see her face and top as she bent down to check her makeup. Taking a deep breath in, she sat on the edge of her bed and slipped her black shoes on. And in the action, she remembered how he didn't like it when she wore high heels, and the hour-long arguments about what she liked and what he didn't like her to wear.

She shook her head slightly with the intention of blurring out those memories and got up from the wine-red sheets that decorated the twin-size bed and started pacing around the room, thinking about all the possible outcomes of the date and trying to find the courage to go.

. . . . . . .

The weather in Paris was not the best on those days, it rained too often for her and her hair's own good and even when she told herself that the cold days were not that bad, they were. The cobblestone streets were still humid from the midnight rain of the prior day, making her do an effort to get to the cafe without slipping on them. Her shoes click-clacked on the sidewalk's grey tiles and stopped when she reached the corner of it where a small coffee shop stood.

Y/N took a deep breath in and walked inside, the chime rang inside the small cafe, a few heads turning to look at her hastily before focusing once again on their prior actions. It wasn't too crowded, usual for a Wednesday afternoon. A warmness hugged her when she stepped in, the heating of the place suddenly replacing the before feeling of coldness.

Walked in expecting you'd be late

She was six or seven minutes late, used to her ex-boyfriend always arriving late to the dates he planned but reproaching her when she showed up a few minutes after the clock hit the hour they had agreed upon. She didn't know how she was supposed to know who the guy was, her friend didn't even give her a physical description of him.

Y/N approached the counter and quietly asked for a Latte and a Croissant. While she waited she looked around, paying attention to the people, imagining their lives, what they worked as if they had studied something and what, and then she moved on to the furniture, the trinkets that decorated empty parts of shelves and the antique tables covered by sheer white tablecloths.

"Order for Pierre" She heard who she assumed would also give her the order say, the name made her head turn, and right there was when she connected with probably the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. He was now looking back at her probably after feeling her stare.

But you got here early and you stand and wave

I walk to you

As she approached him, Y/N couldn't help but realize how handsome he was, Lily had told her that he was but she didn't imagine it. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle under the rays of sunshine that faintly reached his face also making his hair seem blonder.

"Hey, this is weird, I'm sorry I'm not the best at blind dates but, I'm Y/N, Lily's friend." She said and as the realization that she was the girl he had been waiting for settled in he warmly smiled, making Y/N's nervousness slightly dissipate.

"Ah, yes, bonjour Y/N. It's great to finally meet you, truly. You are even more gorgeous than I imagined" Her cheeks flushed as the words left his mouth, the man in front of her offered his hand to her to shake and she accepted gladly.

They both sat down at a corner table beside one of the windows. The conversation started rather awkwardly, as most first conversations on blind dates do but both of them easily connected, faster than she thought they would.

"So, how do you know Lily," He asked before taking a sip of his cup "She's the first person that I friend-shipped I guess, when I first got to Paris" Pierre nodded, noticing that she was going to keep talking, not wanting to interrupt her. "How do you know her?"

"Well, she's the girlfriend of a friend of mine and, by the way, she talked her tongue out about how amazing you were, that's how she convinced me to come" She laughed at his words, Lily could certainly be a lot sometimes "Yeah, she was like that with me too, I haven't dated in a while so when I told her I was coming she was more excited than me" He laughed at her words "Not like I wasn't excited to come you know she was just super happy I am excited yeah but-" Her rumbling was rapidly stopped by his voice that told her not to worry and he understood what she meant.

And you throw your head back laughing

Like a little kid

As they chatted Pierre couldn't help but notice the way Y/N's eyes sparkled each time she talked about her passions, making him want to know more about the girl, to explore every inch of her mind and soul, something he hadn't felt about anyone ever, especially not on a first date, and Y/N couldn't help but notice how he laughed at her jokes and didn't roll his eyes at them like he used to do each time she did or said something relatively funny.

We tell stories and you don't know why

I'm coming off a little shy

But I do

While the chat went on she found her heart skipping a beat when he laughed or touched her hand that was resting above the table and she began to feel a sense of hope in his words, Pierre's presence warmed her wounded heart, and found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn't with no one else, not even her stupid ex-boyfriend.

I think it's strange that you think I'm funny, 'cause

He never did

"Sometimes my mind wonders if I will ever find love again you know." She confessed, and their conversation had turned to a deeper tone now. "But also starting something from scratch is so hard"

"Trust me, I know the feeling ma belle" The nickname made her blush "But I'm certain that sometimes love comes knocking on your door so suddenly you don't even realize it"

I've been spending the last eight months

Thinking all love ever does

Is break and burn, and end

As the afternoon set in and those who had entered the cafe while they talked had left she realized she had never felt that way before about anyone on a first date, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him in a way.

Their conversation continued until the cafe started to close, obligating them to leave, but they couldn't end it there, and as if it was natural they left the cafe still talking and what was supposed to be a two-minute-long walk to her car turned into a walk around the city; they strolled through the cobbled streets laughing and chatting

And we walked down the block, to my car

And I almost brought him up

But you start to talk about the movies

That your family watches every single Christmas

Both of them ended up sitting alongside the Seine River watching the water flow past them. They enjoyed the comfortable quietness of the moment. Eventually, Y/N turned to him and said "I have to admit, I was nervous about this date, I haven't been to one for a while, but in all seriousness, I'm really glad I came."

Pierre felt a warmness in his chest as she pronounced those words. He knew he felt the same way she did but he couldn't find in his mind the right to express them verbally. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her lips, softly, to which she quickly responded in the same way.

As they pulled away from the several-second lasting kiss, Pierre whispered "We should go on a second date after this, right?" She giggled and nodded before kissing him again.

And I want to talk about that

And for the first time

What's past is past

They both now knew that their blind date had been something they would never regret and the start of an endless connection. And they were also endlessly grateful to Lily for setting them up, who by the way, would never shut up about how it was thanks to her that they had happened.

They found love in the most unexpected of places, and they knew they would cherish it for a long time.

But on a Wednesday in a cafe

I watched it begin again

taglist ;; @amayakingw @f1wh0r3 @misiafix @dan3avocado @thtbwltts @myaurorasandsadprose @qualitygiantshoepsychic @myescapefromthislife @light-23 @magical-imagination-kgp @leclercsbae @here-comes-the-moon @leclercs-posts

BE MEAN TO ME

★ oscar piastri x reader !

cw: SMUT, cockwarming, orgasm denial, degrading, crying, swearing, dom!oscar, sub!reader

"oscar, please," you whine, shifting restlessly in his lap. the two of you had gotten into a slight disagreement after his race, and now you're being subjected to the ultimate punishment: cockwarming.

"what is it now, baby?" he teases, fully aware of the torment he's putting you through.

oscar remains composed, his cock still buried snug inside your warm cunt. you can feel every inch of him, and the way he's filling you completely but remaining motionless is torture.

"please, move. please," you whine, body aching for his touch. "this is so frustrating!" you cry out, hands clutching at his shoulders as you try to roll your hips.

oscar watches you drop your head to his shoulder in defeat, too exhausted and annoyed to continue grinding on his lap without receiving any attention.

he's mesmerised by the way his fat tip prods at your cervix with each slight roll of your hips that has your eyes welling with tears.

you can't help but pout, lower lip trembling as you try to hold back the whimpers that escape your throat.

"made me lose, babe," there's a teasing edge to oscar's tone, but underneath it, you can sense the genuine disappointment. "don't cry—'s your fault," he brings a hand up to wipe away a tear that runs down your cheek.

the way your body responds to him, the way you clench around him with every breath, drives him fucking crazy.

"you need to learn, love," his voice drips with mock sympathy. "next time, maybe you'll think twice before running that smart mouth of yours."

the underlying message is clear in his words. he wants you to behave, simple as that.

you grip his shoulders tightly as you roll your hips. your movements are clumsy and each attempt to fuck yourself on his cock is met with resistance as oscar's strong hands remain firmly on your waist.

"uh-uh," he tuts. "we're not gonna do that, 'kay?"

tears of frustration prick at your eyes. "oscar, please. ngh, need more."

suddenly, his hips buck up into you, causing you to let out a high-pitched yelp. "oscar!" you gasp, but just as quickly as the movement comes, it stops. he sits there with his cock still stuffed inside you.

you repeat his name, this time sounding more upset. "oscar."

"something wrong, sweetheart?" he asks innocently. "use your words, baby. can't promise i'll listen, though."

"i'm sorry—so sorry, osc. jus' need you to fuck me. can't take it anymore, hurts so bad." you blabber, the words spilling from your lips without a second thought.

oscar rolls his eyes. "you sound so pathetic that it almost makes me wanna give you what you want."

your breath hitches when you feel him pick up his pace ever so slightly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. "osc—keep going, please, keep going!"

but just as you feel the tension building to a breaking point, he stops again. the loss of movement makes you sob.

"just hurry up and fuck me!" you complain, but instantly regret your choice of words when oscar responds with a firm, "right, that's it."

oscar lifts you from the chair, keeping his cock buried inside of you. before you can fully process what's happening, he slams you down onto the mattress.

"there you go again, always with that mouth of yours," he grunts. "when are you going to learn that it gets you in trouble?"

oscar hisses sharply as he pulls his dick out of your warm, slick cunt, the sudden loss of contact making you gasp.

he takes a moment to look down at you before sliding back into you with a forceful, deliberate thrust. your body instinctively pulls him back in, greedily welcoming him with a sweet grip.

oscar groans as he begins to fuck you with a rough rhythm. his cock stretches you to your limits that has you arching your back, lips parted and everything.

"don't get all dumb on me now," he swats at your thigh. "this is what you wanted, yeah?"

you want to say something, anything, but the words won't come. all you can do is moan and whimper, your mind too fogged with pleasure to form coherent sentences. oscar's relentless pace leaves you no room to think.

oscar continues to piston in and out of you, each thrust driving the thick head of his cock deep against your cervix. your nails dig into his back, treating it like a chalkboard as you cling to him for support. it only seems to spur him on.

"you've gone all quiet, baby. all that attitude gone, huh?" he taunts. "m'gonna fuck some manners into you."

his cock almost forces an answer out of you with a particularly harsh snap of his hips. you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it drags against your inner walls.

"look at that pretty face, you're loving this, aren't ya? don't need that smart mouth to tell me that."

© kissedsuns

BE MEAN TO ME

★ oscar piastri x reader !

cw: SMUT, cockwarming, orgasm denial, degrading, crying, swearing, dom!oscar, sub!reader

"oscar, please," you whine, shifting restlessly in his lap. the two of you had gotten into a slight disagreement after his race, and now you're being subjected to the ultimate punishment: cockwarming.

"what is it now, baby?" he teases, fully aware of the torment he's putting you through.

oscar remains composed, his cock still buried snug inside your warm cunt. you can feel every inch of him, and the way he's filling you completely but remaining motionless is torture.

"please, move. please," you whine, body aching for his touch. "this is so frustrating!" you cry out, hands clutching at his shoulders as you try to roll your hips.

oscar watches you drop your head to his shoulder in defeat, too exhausted and annoyed to continue grinding on his lap without receiving any attention.

he's mesmerised by the way his fat tip prods at your cervix with each slight roll of your hips that has your eyes welling with tears.

you can't help but pout, lower lip trembling as you try to hold back the whimpers that escape your throat.

"made me lose, babe," there's a teasing edge to oscar's tone, but underneath it, you can sense the genuine disappointment. "don't cry—'s your fault," he brings a hand up to wipe away a tear that runs down your cheek.

the way your body responds to him, the way you clench around him with every breath, drives him fucking crazy.

"you need to learn, love," his voice drips with mock sympathy. "next time, maybe you'll think twice before running that smart mouth of yours."

the underlying message is clear in his words. he wants you to behave, simple as that.

you grip his shoulders tightly as you roll your hips. your movements are clumsy and each attempt to fuck yourself on his cock is met with resistance as oscar's strong hands remain firmly on your waist.

"uh-uh," he tuts. "we're not gonna do that, 'kay?"

tears of frustration prick at your eyes. "oscar, please. ngh, need more."

suddenly, his hips buck up into you, causing you to let out a high-pitched yelp. "oscar!" you gasp, but just as quickly as the movement comes, it stops. he sits there with his cock still stuffed inside you.

you repeat his name, this time sounding more upset. "oscar."

"something wrong, sweetheart?" he asks innocently. "use your words, baby. can't promise i'll listen, though."

"i'm sorry—so sorry, osc. jus' need you to fuck me. can't take it anymore, hurts so bad." you blabber, the words spilling from your lips without a second thought.

oscar rolls his eyes. "you sound so pathetic that it almost makes me wanna give you what you want."

your breath hitches when you feel him pick up his pace ever so slightly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. "osc—keep going, please, keep going!"

but just as you feel the tension building to a breaking point, he stops again. the loss of movement makes you sob.

"just hurry up and fuck me!" you complain, but instantly regret your choice of words when oscar responds with a firm, "right, that's it."

oscar lifts you from the chair, keeping his cock buried inside of you. before you can fully process what's happening, he slams you down onto the mattress.

"there you go again, always with that mouth of yours," he grunts. "when are you going to learn that it gets you in trouble?"

oscar hisses sharply as he pulls his dick out of your warm, slick cunt, the sudden loss of contact making you gasp.

he takes a moment to look down at you before sliding back into you with a forceful, deliberate thrust. your body instinctively pulls him back in, greedily welcoming him with a sweet grip.

oscar groans as he begins to fuck you with a rough rhythm. his cock stretches you to your limits that has you arching your back, lips parted and everything.

"don't get all dumb on me now," he swats at your thigh. "this is what you wanted, yeah?"

you want to say something, anything, but the words won't come. all you can do is moan and whimper, your mind too fogged with pleasure to form coherent sentences. oscar's relentless pace leaves you no room to think.

oscar continues to piston in and out of you, each thrust driving the thick head of his cock deep against your cervix. your nails dig into his back, treating it like a chalkboard as you cling to him for support. it only seems to spur him on.

"you've gone all quiet, baby. all that attitude gone, huh?" he taunts. "m'gonna fuck some manners into you."

his cock almost forces an answer out of you with a particularly harsh snap of his hips. you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it drags against your inner walls.

"look at that pretty face, you're loving this, aren't ya? don't need that smart mouth to tell me that."

© kissedsuns

BE MEAN TO ME

★ oscar piastri x reader !

cw: SMUT, cockwarming, orgasm denial, degrading, crying, swearing, dom!oscar, sub!reader

"oscar, please," you whine, shifting restlessly in his lap. the two of you had gotten into a slight disagreement after his race, and now you're being subjected to the ultimate punishment: cockwarming.

"what is it now, baby?" he teases, fully aware of the torment he's putting you through.

oscar remains composed, his cock still buried snug inside your warm cunt. you can feel every inch of him, and the way he's filling you completely but remaining motionless is torture.

"please, move. please," you whine, body aching for his touch. "this is so frustrating!" you cry out, hands clutching at his shoulders as you try to roll your hips.

oscar watches you drop your head to his shoulder in defeat, too exhausted and annoyed to continue grinding on his lap without receiving any attention.

he's mesmerised by the way his fat tip prods at your cervix with each slight roll of your hips that has your eyes welling with tears.

you can't help but pout, lower lip trembling as you try to hold back the whimpers that escape your throat.

"made me lose, babe," there's a teasing edge to oscar's tone, but underneath it, you can sense the genuine disappointment. "don't cry—'s your fault," he brings a hand up to wipe away a tear that runs down your cheek.

the way your body responds to him, the way you clench around him with every breath, drives him fucking crazy.

"you need to learn, love," his voice drips with mock sympathy. "next time, maybe you'll think twice before running that smart mouth of yours."

the underlying message is clear in his words. he wants you to behave, simple as that.

you grip his shoulders tightly as you roll your hips. your movements are clumsy and each attempt to fuck yourself on his cock is met with resistance as oscar's strong hands remain firmly on your waist.

"uh-uh," he tuts. "we're not gonna do that, 'kay?"

tears of frustration prick at your eyes. "oscar, please. ngh, need more."

suddenly, his hips buck up into you, causing you to let out a high-pitched yelp. "oscar!" you gasp, but just as quickly as the movement comes, it stops. he sits there with his cock still stuffed inside you.

you repeat his name, this time sounding more upset. "oscar."

"something wrong, sweetheart?" he asks innocently. "use your words, baby. can't promise i'll listen, though."

"i'm sorry—so sorry, osc. jus' need you to fuck me. can't take it anymore, hurts so bad." you blabber, the words spilling from your lips without a second thought.

oscar rolls his eyes. "you sound so pathetic that it almost makes me wanna give you what you want."

your breath hitches when you feel him pick up his pace ever so slightly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. "osc—keep going, please, keep going!"

but just as you feel the tension building to a breaking point, he stops again. the loss of movement makes you sob.

"just hurry up and fuck me!" you complain, but instantly regret your choice of words when oscar responds with a firm, "right, that's it."

oscar lifts you from the chair, keeping his cock buried inside of you. before you can fully process what's happening, he slams you down onto the mattress.

"there you go again, always with that mouth of yours," he grunts. "when are you going to learn that it gets you in trouble?"

oscar hisses sharply as he pulls his dick out of your warm, slick cunt, the sudden loss of contact making you gasp.

he takes a moment to look down at you before sliding back into you with a forceful, deliberate thrust. your body instinctively pulls him back in, greedily welcoming him with a sweet grip.

oscar groans as he begins to fuck you with a rough rhythm. his cock stretches you to your limits that has you arching your back, lips parted and everything.

"don't get all dumb on me now," he swats at your thigh. "this is what you wanted, yeah?"

you want to say something, anything, but the words won't come. all you can do is moan and whimper, your mind too fogged with pleasure to form coherent sentences. oscar's relentless pace leaves you no room to think.

oscar continues to piston in and out of you, each thrust driving the thick head of his cock deep against your cervix. your nails dig into his back, treating it like a chalkboard as you cling to him for support. it only seems to spur him on.

"you've gone all quiet, baby. all that attitude gone, huh?" he taunts. "m'gonna fuck some manners into you."

his cock almost forces an answer out of you with a particularly harsh snap of his hips. you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it drags against your inner walls.

"look at that pretty face, you're loving this, aren't ya? don't need that smart mouth to tell me that."

© kissedsuns

shaking for you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, pussy-drunk oscar, oral (fem!receiving), p in v - no protection, minor overstimulation, oscar is a dirty talker, mention of cockwarming [914 words]

request: can you please do do 28 from the 🌶️ prompt list with oscar 😽 [28. “I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking.”]

The grip you had on his hair was unrelenting, his tongue moving in circles as you pushed your core closer to his face, practically begging him for more, begging for him to make you cum for a third time that night.

He had practically bent you over the second he was through the door, having not seen you in weeks, he was insatiable, eager to see you, eager to get the chance to be inside you, to have his tongue pressed to your clit. To have you moaning his name. Shaking for him.

Your clothes lay in tatters on the floor, bruises forming on your hips, your breasts, up the side of your neck. 

Oscar’s skin wasn’t much different. Scratch marks littered his arms, his back, love bites were forming all over his chest and neck. His lips bruised and puffy, practically aching to be kissed again. 

“You gonna be good and cum f’me, baby? Gonna gush all over my lips? Been so good for me all night, know you can give me one more, c’mon,” he taunted you, a finger circling your entrance before pushing inside.

He had stretched you out nicely on his cock earlier in the evening, the finger he had pushed inside of you barely satisfying the ache that was yearning for more, desperate to feel him inside of you again. Mixed with his tongue, though? It was indescribable, it was everything you were craving and more.

And he knew that. Knew what he could do to make you scream for him, to make you soak his face in your juices.

Which was exactly what he was doing. Pushing a second finger inside you alongside his first, his lips and tongue slurping, sucking, and licking at your clit; the whimpers were falling from your lips, your hips unable to keep still as you continuously pushed up into his face.

If there was one thing Oscar was sure of; it was that he could die happy if he got to eat you out for the rest of his life. The sounds you made, the way you gripped his hair, the way you begged him, the way you directed him on what you like, the taste of you… it was everything and more to him.

He loved everything about you, but he especially loved this. Was honoured that you trusted him enough to do this, to make you feel good day-in and day-out.

He could tell you were getting closer as he began lazily flicking his tongue, still pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your core muscles began clenching, the grip on his hair tightening as he groaned into your cunt, the slick of your pussy increasing as the sounds you were making grew louder.

Oscar helped you ride through your orgasm, your thighs tightening around his head as your entire body shook. It felt like you were flying, your third orgasm of the night rushing through your body as moans fell from your lips.

It didn’t take long for the Australian to crawl up your body, his hardened member easily slipping inside your wet core; soft groans falling from both of your lips. He had already cum once tonight, and knew he likely wouldn’t again; but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel your tight, wet heat wrapped around him again.

Lazily looking up at him, a soft smile was directed down to you before he was pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him, on his tongue as he pressed it against yours. You couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips at the realization. Something about it had you bucking up into him, into his cock that was slowly thrusting in and out of you.

“So pretty f’me, baby. So pretty all fucked out, look at you. God. Bet you’d let m’fuck you all night, wouldn’t you? You’d let me sleep with my cock inside you, y’just wanna be close to me all the time, hm? Gonna warm my cock?”

Pussy-drunk Oscar Piastri was a different type of aroused. He talked like a mad-man, like all he could talk about, all he could think about, was you.

“Mhm, course’ Osc. Would let you fill me up all night long, keep your cock inside me til’ we woke up. Let you fuck me in the morning, too,” you groaned, his legs stuttering at your words.

Bottoming out, Oscar grunted as he watched your lips open in a long-drawn out moan. His own moan followed, as he turned the two of you onto your side, maneuvering both bodies so his member remained sheathed inside you.

“God, baby. I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking,” he said.

Practically rolling your eyes, almost four orgasms later, what did he expect? It was hard to even attempt to keep your legs still. 

You slapped at the hand that began slithering towards your clit again. Your hips bucked as he began to rub a gentle circle on the enflamed nub, the sensitivity overtaking you as you shook your head at him.

“N’more, please. I can’t take it.”

Shushing you, Oscar pressed a kiss to the skin behind your ear.

“One more, baby. Y’can do it, promised me you’d be a good girl. One more, then w’can go to bed, hm?”

Mewling at his words, you knew you could give him one more. Could be a good girl for him, like you always were.

i started this?? and then couldn't stop?? the words were being typed before i even had the chance to comprehend them which is why this is so nasty... pls enjoy 🫶🏻

TAKE IT, OSCAR PIASTRI

cw: SMUT, oral, biting, overstimulation, hair pulling n more . . .

"oscar! 's too much—i’m—" you hiccup, trying to push his head away, your legs trembling so much it feels like they might give out.

"sshh, it's okay," he murmurs, pulling you in closer and not letting up. "don't fight it, just let yourself go," his fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he continues to devour you.

his tongue glides along your inner thigh before he gently sinks his bunny teeth into your skin.

you're like a drug to him—the more he tastes you, the more he needs you.

you almost scream from the sensation and tug on his hair so hard it feels like it might rip off. "i can't—oscar, i’m—i can't take it!" you sob, overwhelmed as the pleasure edges into pain.

"shh baby, it's alright, shh," he shushes you as he senses your struggle. "just relax, relax,"

"can't take it—osc, please!" your thighs instinctivally tighten around his head, a desperate attempt to get him to stop.

"don't you dare try to squeeze me out," he growls. "i know it's a lot, princess, i know," he says softly, but the look he's giving you tells you he has no intention of stopping quite yet.

"just try to be a good girl for me, okay?" he teases the inside of your thigh with his finger, barely even grazing the skin. "can you do that for me?"

you struggle to form a coherent response as oscar's head lowers once again, making an absolute mess as he swirls his tongue against your throbbing clit.

your chest heaves, "osc—osc, oscar! i’m—oh my god, oh my go—oscar! oscar, oscar please! s’too much, s’too much!"

he presses down on your stomach to keep you still. "stop fidgeting," he warns, as his fingers dig into your flesh, leaving little indents.

"i know you think it's too much, but trust me. you've got at least one more in you," he smiles against you, "c'mon, be a good girl f'me," he looks up at you, taking in your flushed cheeks.

"just don't close your legs, baby."

© kissedsuns

BUNNY, OSCAR PIASTRI.

cw: SMUT, oral, biting n more . . .

you lie in the hotel bed, tangled in each other's embrace, the warmth of oscar's body pressing against you.

the room is dimly lit with the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows across the walls. the sheets are a disheveled mess around you and it's almost impossible to fall asleep with oscar's lips persistently on your shoulder.

"mmh, osc.." you moan tiredly, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flutter shut.

he hums in response, the vibration against your skin sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

pulling away from your shoulder, oscar tilts his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with adoration. with gentle care, he cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a soothing rhythm.

oscar resumes his attacks on your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites on your delicate skin. his free hand moves to explore your body, following the curves of your form.

"sshh, just relax, baby. lemme take care of you," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

you nod weakly, surrendering to his touch. as you do, oscar sinks his teeth into your skin, nibbling softly which sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

you adore his little bunny teeth. the way they leave distinct imprints in your skin that make you feel claimed.

he moves to shower your neck with kisses, enjoying the way your body reacts to his touch. "you're so sensitive, sweetheart," he murmurs, his hand tracing a teasing path up and down your thigh.

you wince slightly at his comment, thighs instinctively clamping together as his hand inches lower. his fingers are cool against your heated skin, and his nails leave faint trails that only heighten your arousal.

"now, now, darling. none of that," oscar gently scolds, his hand firmly grips your inner thigh to keep your legs open.

"jus' wanna play with you." he adds before dipping beneath the covers, the fabric enveloping him as he positions himself between your legs. a place he seems to find himself fairly often.

however, instead of going straight for your pussy, oscar starts by nipping gently at your inner thighs and his beloved bunny teeth graze your skin occasionally.

"hurry up, pleasepleaseplease!" you moan desperately, your body arching in response to his touch.

"where are your manners?" oscar's eyes narrow with a predatory intensity, and you can feel yourself almost tremble under the weight of his gaze.

finally, his mouth reaches your core, and the sensation is overwhelming to say the least.

with deliberate slowness, he takes the tender flesh of your cunt into his mouth, starting with frustratingly gentle laps of his tongue. the soft strokes quickly evolve into something more animalistic.

"gonna behave f'me, okay?" oscar quickly murmurs before reattaching his tongue to your puffy clit, finding all the right spots to make you writhe in pleasure.

© kissedsuns

BE MEAN TO ME

★ oscar piastri x reader !

cw: SMUT, cockwarming, orgasm denial, degrading, crying, swearing, dom!oscar, sub!reader

"oscar, please," you whine, shifting restlessly in his lap. the two of you had gotten into a slight disagreement after his race, and now you're being subjected to the ultimate punishment: cockwarming.

"what is it now, baby?" he teases, fully aware of the torment he's putting you through.

oscar remains composed, his cock still buried snug inside your warm cunt. you can feel every inch of him, and the way he's filling you completely but remaining motionless is torture.

"please, move. please," you whine, body aching for his touch. "this is so frustrating!" you cry out, hands clutching at his shoulders as you try to roll your hips.

oscar watches you drop your head to his shoulder in defeat, too exhausted and annoyed to continue grinding on his lap without receiving any attention.

he's mesmerised by the way his fat tip prods at your cervix with each slight roll of your hips that has your eyes welling with tears.

you can't help but pout, lower lip trembling as you try to hold back the whimpers that escape your throat.

"made me lose, babe," there's a teasing edge to oscar's tone, but underneath it, you can sense the genuine disappointment. "don't cry—'s your fault," he brings a hand up to wipe away a tear that runs down your cheek.

the way your body responds to him, the way you clench around him with every breath, drives him fucking crazy.

"you need to learn, love," his voice drips with mock sympathy. "next time, maybe you'll think twice before running that smart mouth of yours."

the underlying message is clear in his words. he wants you to behave, simple as that.

you grip his shoulders tightly as you roll your hips. your movements are clumsy and each attempt to fuck yourself on his cock is met with resistance as oscar's strong hands remain firmly on your waist.

"uh-uh," he tuts. "we're not gonna do that, 'kay?"

tears of frustration prick at your eyes. "oscar, please. ngh, need more."

suddenly, his hips buck up into you, causing you to let out a high-pitched yelp. "oscar!" you gasp, but just as quickly as the movement comes, it stops. he sits there with his cock still stuffed inside you.

you repeat his name, this time sounding more upset. "oscar."

"something wrong, sweetheart?" he asks innocently. "use your words, baby. can't promise i'll listen, though."

"i'm sorry—so sorry, osc. jus' need you to fuck me. can't take it anymore, hurts so bad." you blabber, the words spilling from your lips without a second thought.

oscar rolls his eyes. "you sound so pathetic that it almost makes me wanna give you what you want."

your breath hitches when you feel him pick up his pace ever so slightly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. "osc—keep going, please, keep going!"

but just as you feel the tension building to a breaking point, he stops again. the loss of movement makes you sob.

"just hurry up and fuck me!" you complain, but instantly regret your choice of words when oscar responds with a firm, "right, that's it."

oscar lifts you from the chair, keeping his cock buried inside of you. before you can fully process what's happening, he slams you down onto the mattress.

"there you go again, always with that mouth of yours," he grunts. "when are you going to learn that it gets you in trouble?"

oscar hisses sharply as he pulls his dick out of your warm, slick cunt, the sudden loss of contact making you gasp.

he takes a moment to look down at you before sliding back into you with a forceful, deliberate thrust. your body instinctively pulls him back in, greedily welcoming him with a sweet grip.

oscar groans as he begins to fuck you with a rough rhythm. his cock stretches you to your limits that has you arching your back, lips parted and everything.

"don't get all dumb on me now," he swats at your thigh. "this is what you wanted, yeah?"

you want to say something, anything, but the words won't come. all you can do is moan and whimper, your mind too fogged with pleasure to form coherent sentences. oscar's relentless pace leaves you no room to think.

oscar continues to piston in and out of you, each thrust driving the thick head of his cock deep against your cervix. your nails dig into his back, treating it like a chalkboard as you cling to him for support. it only seems to spur him on.

"you've gone all quiet, baby. all that attitude gone, huh?" he taunts. "m'gonna fuck some manners into you."

his cock almost forces an answer out of you with a particularly harsh snap of his hips. you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it drags against your inner walls.

"look at that pretty face, you're loving this, aren't ya? don't need that smart mouth to tell me that."

© kissedsuns

the wolff's mouse

torger "toto" wolff

cw: smut/pwp, wife!reader, nicknames, drinking/drunk!reader, daddy kink, size kink, ditzy!reader, age gap (20s/50s), missionary, dirty talk, pet names

bunny says: this is for the server, folks!

the liquor was smooth through your body as you walked along the edge of the pool. you were all giggles as you tried to keep your balance.

"maus." you heard toto's voice as you were moved away from the pool against his chest.

you held onto the front of his white shirt and giggled. you looked up and smiled, "wolf-y." you tried to get up on your tiptoes to kiss him. forgetting that reality that you were in the middle of a pool party.

someone had too many sangrias and was a ditzy little drunk mess by the pool. toto almost found it adorable, if you weren't so close to the pool. he didn't want his little mouse to hit her head.

he cupped the back of your head for a moment and pressed your face to his chest. you whined a little in his shirt as the rush of being drunk raced to your head. poor little mouse.

"what are you doing, maus?" he asked as he pulled you further away from the pool and towards the patio chairs. he set you down and crouched down beside you.

"i wanted to swim." you chirped and kicked out your feet a little. which only made you devolve into giggles. you were painfully adorable.

you were dressed for the occasion, in a pastel yellow and dark blue printed bikini that happily showed off your curves to the attendees at the party. you could catch any man's attention, but then they'd have to deal with the death glare from mercedes' team principal.

toto took your hands and looked at you, "i don't think that is the best idea right now." he rubbed your knuckles for a moment as he looked down at your hands, "don't stand too close to the edge, liebling. you could get hurt."

you looked at him and giggled, "toto, you worry too much!' and linked your fingers with him playfully, "i'm right as rain."

toto looked at you, you very clearly were not 'right as rain', you were drunker than a sailor and you still had more in your cup. thankfully he got it on a nearby side table before you downed the entire time. he kissed your hands lovingly and said, "how about we go inside for a little bit." his tone was tender.

"but the party."

toto leaned up to kiss you on the lips, "i know you're the life of the party." he leaned in a little more to your ear and said, "but papa wants you to not be hungover. verstehst du mich, liebling?"

you pouted for a moment before you nodded your head and let toto help you out of the chair. he kept close to you as he brought you inside. thankfully most were outside, enjoying the italian summer sun.

but toto's poor maus had too much liquor and too much sun. he worried that you'd get a sunburn as he brought you through the summer house and up to the bedroom you were sleeping in for the week.

toto stopped you by the foot of the bed before he undid the strings of your bikini and let it fall off your body was easy. nothing was keeping them held to your body.

his poor girl, the tan lines were going to be interesting in a few days. he placed his hands on your bare hips and looked into your eyes. they crinkled when he smiled, "good girl." he rubbed circles into your hips with his thumbs, "i know you wanted to party more, but papa has to take care of you."

you pouted, "i'm not even that drunk. i could prove it!" you chirped pathetically. you were his little drunk princess today.

"and how would you do that, maus?" he asked as he looked down at you. he lingered over you like a tall shadow, he was almost a foot taller than you.

"i could suck your dick!" you smiled at him.

he looked at you and smiled, "i think i've spoiled you, haven't i?" he asked as he held your chin to keep looking up at him. he chuckled, spoiled you rotten, you think you can get whatever you want if you suck my cock?" he shook his head.

he couldn't believe he let his baby girl become so spoiled, thinking she could get her way if she just got him off. he put you down on the bed and got on top of you. his belt was the first thing to come off.

he quickly worked the belt around your wrists, making sure his little angel would stay still. with your wrists bound, he looked at your naked body. his hands ran up your sides which made you squirm.

"this is why i didn't want you in that bikini." he said with a shake of his head, his eyes glued to your form, "everyone was going to stare at you. the most beautiful woman they had ever laid eyes on." he curled closer to you and kissed at your face with such affection, "i didn't want my little wife to get hurt. you had so much to drink, maus. you need to listen to papa or else you could get hurt."

his tenderness made you squirm, you could feel the stickiness between your thighs grow from his gentle yet strong words. he wasn't throwing his princess over his lap and smacking the cheeks till they bruised. he just thought you simply didn't know better, you weren't used to things being in such abundance.

you were toto's smaller, weaker, more innocent, painfully younger wife. toto felt a sense of protection over you as he captured your lips in his own and his fingers found their way into his hair. you moaned into the kiss and could feel your heat radiating off your body.

when he pulled away, you reached for his white shirt and started to undo the small buttons. you were growing impatient and like the brat you were, you dropped your hands back onto the bed and whined, "daddy!"

he chuckled, and leaned back upright to get the shirt off of his body. once he got it and the white undershirt off, your hands roamed his bare torso.

your core throbbed as you whimpered, "daddy, c'mon. i've been good!"

he smiled down at you and let the articles of clothing fall off the bed into a heap on the floor. his little sunshine goddess, his little maus. there weren't enough words in any of the languages were spoke that would accurately describe how he felt about you.

he got out of his pants without your help and your gaze lingered on the bulge in his briefs. his cock was painfully hard, which meant that you'd be feeling the length of him deep in your cunt.

he was a shower for sure. uncut and heavy. even after all this time of having sex with him, it still was a tight fit. he once said that it was like trying to fit into a tight parking spot. when you grimaced at his joke, he simply threw your knees to your ears and made you see stars.

"do you like what you see, schatz?" he asked curiously, he grabbed your bound hands and made you touch his cock through his underwear. its impressive size still made you gulp as you felt it up.

you weren't happy to admit this, but another time you were drunk at a pool party, you happily chatted with either lewis or george (you couldn't remember) that toto was in possession of the "nicest vienna sausage" then burst into giggles before you staggered off to find your husband. all you knew is that both drivers couldn't look their boss in the eye for about two months afterwards. the knowledge of it all was just too much for them.

you nodded, "i do, daddy. i think it's gotten bigger."

he chuckled as he pulled his underwear down under his cock, it bobbed and you swallowed at the sight of it. he said to you as he reached in to pet your soft cheek, "it's only to keep up with your insatiable appitite, schatz."

you pouted, the buzz in your head was strong as you said, "i'm not that greedy!"

he gave you a look, a stern one as he said, "maus, don't lie. you know what happens to liars." he said his eyebrows at you and watched your shift uncomfortably. he could tell you were getting hot all over.

"i'm sorry, daddy."

he got his underwear off and onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. it felt like the rest of the world turned off, he couldn't even focus on the sounds of the party outside. the music and chatter came through the open windows, but he was so enraptured by your naked beauty under him.

his hands grazed along your sides as he watched you giggle. you squirmed a little bit, such a ticklish little girl. he leaned in to kiss you, he was knelt between your legs and his hands were groping your breasts.

the kiss was sloppy and messy, it made you feel hot all over. having your handsome husband lingered over you, his tongue inside your mouth. his cock stood at full attention, eager to sink into you. he rubbed up against you, his hard cock pressed against your stomach.

the prodding made you heart race before he pulled away and you stared into those beautiful eyes. you shifted a little bit, the pleasure and alcohol made your thoughts murky. you seemed to be driven by the sole purpose of reaching orgasm.

he grabbed you by the thighs and lifted them, you held the position as he got an extra pillow under your hips for leverage. he licked his lips at the sight of you.

"beautiful, little maus." he laughed, "schatz." his tone was glazed with affection as he got fully between your legs and rubbed his cock up against your pussy lips.

you whined and tried to cover your face with your bound hands. but toto was not having any of that. he pinned down back down to the bed and loomed over you. his hard cock in his other hand, "don't hide from me." he said, his voice tinged with more lust, "i want to see my beautiful wife's face when i am fucking her." his words were filthy, "i want you to remember this face for when i am away and you get so needy. needy little girl."

you heart hammered as he rubbed his cock up against your pussy, almost sliding right in. you squirmed a little in anticipation but toto kept you down.

"no, no." he said, "you stay still."

"but wolf-y." you pouted.

he shook his head, "behave." it left an ache in you that was soon filled by his cock easing itself into you. he watched you wince and waited for a moment for you to adjust because he sank the rest of the way in.

his mind went blank for a moment before he snapped himself out of it to continue to push his entire length into you. he had your legs wrapped around his waist. he loved the feeling of your soft skin against his. you looked divine, flustered and drunk but yearning for him.

a carnal ache, the kind that left your head spinning. pleasure left you choked up as your moans were sweet noises to his ears. his lovely wife. how'd he get so lucky.

he kept you pinned to the bed by his hands on your wrist and started to thrust. he used his grasp on you as leverage. his cock was snug in your tight cunt, a proper fit. he thrusted in and out of you and it left you breathless. he heard you airy moans as he bullied his cock into you.

you were just so painfully sweet. his ditzy little maus, the little thing that had him around your fingers. he gazed at you lovingly, going in for searing kisses. he hips bumped against you as you back arched off the bed. you didn't have the strength to get out of his grasp.

even at his age, he still was able to pin you down and fuck the daylights out of you. make you see stars when the pleasure washed over you. a few moans got caught in your throat which on spurred him on to fucking you hard.

the iron rod bed frame hit against the white wall of the bedroom. the afternoon light came through the windows. you were a sight to behold in the glow of the day. his poor angel, you were a little sunburned.

but it was alright, papa would take care of it. just as he took care of you in every other way. his kisses were delicate across your cheeks and collarbones, as opposed to the pace he was fucking you in.

it was oppressive and strong, it made your stomach tie in knots as you felt the beating your heart in your ears. he held onto you and bounced you on his cock.

your squirming only fueled the fire in his gut as he pushed his cock in you to the root. he made sure that you firmly remembered the feeling of him inside of you. your expressions, from the bit of pain to the immense pleasure only made the older man more aroused by you.

his words were dirty as he rutted against you, "do you like when i fuck you? when it feels so good? you like when i have you pinned to the bed and fucking you like an animal. there are people outside that want to see and talk to you, but instead you are too busy taking your husband's cock like the good girl you are." he kissed at your draw, they were wet and made you hot all over, "beautiful, girl." he purred, "you know exactly how to make me feel good. it's not your fault that you got so drunk, you were just handed glass after glass. silly little thing" he chuckled lowly as he left a nice hickey on your neck.

you were on cloud nine, letting your husband fuck you. you felt the roll of pleasure in your gut the harder he thrusts. you were lost in a sea of lust as you felt your walls grip around his cock. two halves of a perfect hole.

you panted wildly and you tried to hold onto him, but he had you by the wrists. you were pinned under him, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you.

his pace started to stagger and you felt the heat in your gut pool. you whimpered and squirmed as much as you could. and before you knew it, you felt the rush of climax consume you whole. your noises were cut off by them getting caught in your throat and your head was throbbing from the rush.

"maus." he purred.

"wolf-y." you replied, your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

he pushed further inside of you, bending your back to drill his cock into you. you could taste the precum in the back of your throat. he fucked you with little abandon until he felt the heightened experience of orgasm.

he came in you, and you accepted it like the good wife you were. you whined his name as he slowed down. his poor girl was already so overstimulated. he wanted to go for a second round but you were fucked out. your hair was a mess, partially sun burnt with the alcohol still in your system.

"poor, maus." he cooed as he held his cock inside of you for a moment.

he then pulled out and rubbed his softening cock up against your pussy for one last feeling of your sex. you were blissed out, exhausted under him.

"my little mouse is done for the day?" he asked as he palmed your breasts, feeling the mass between his fingers.

you nodded slowly, "yes, daddy"

"well you rest now, maus. i'm going to see how our guests are doing. if you feel better, you may join us again. but no more alcohol, it's not good for a girl like you." he kissed the top of your head before he got out of bed to find his clothes.

you remained snuggled up naked with the blanket over your head, you peeked out from the blanket and got a good view of your husband's ass as he was bent over to pick up his briefs. you giggled to yourself before you kept an eye on him.

his little spoiled maus. <3

needy, oscar piastri.

cw: SMUT, p in v, hair pulling, & more . . .

"be gentle, oscar," you warn as he swiftly pulls you onto his lap, straddling him.

his fingers toy with the waistband of your pants before removing them entirely, causing you to emit a high-pitched whine.

"i know, i know," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs while pressing kisses along your collarbone. he moves to your ear, nibbling softly on your earlobe. "i'll take care of you."

an amused smirk plays on his lips as you squirm in his lap. "just can't keep still for me, can you?" he says, tracing patterns on your skin.

"alright, big stretch," he slowly lowers you onto him, watching as you take him in, bit by bit, until half of his dick is inside you. "there we go."

"oscar!" you cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"shh, shhh..." he whispers. "such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

"wait, oscar," you tap his shoulder gently. "need to adjust," you pant, feeling his grip on your body loosen for a moment. "you can move now." you swallow thickly, nodding.

"okay, baby, we're gonna go up.." he lifts your body up, "aaand down." then he lowers you back onto his dick, causing you to let out a breathy moan.

"oh my g-oood!" you gasp, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. you lean forward and bury your head in the crook of his neck, trying to muffle the sounds escaping your lips.

"aww, trying to be quiet, are we?" his lips curl into a cocky grin as he gives your hips another quick pinch.

he takes one hand off your hip and threads his fingers through your hair. "gonna keep you like this all night long," he coos, "keep you right on the edge, baby."

this went on for hours until he finally brought you to four orgasms. four. you didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

© kissedsuns

mille-fuelle (idk how the fuck to spell it) with a side of vodka shot pls! make it verstappen pls!

the bakery menu!

there is still tons of sweet treats on the menu at the bakery! submit your own order!

mill-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + vodka shot (rough sex) served to you by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rough sex, praise kink, (loosely) translated dutch, handcuffs/bondage, (low) doggy style, (slight) dom/sub

the off season was tiring. despite it being the off season. most used it as a chance to catch up on much needed sleep or go on a vacation. some even just laid in bed for the first week of the off-season to just relax.

you and max had different plans.

after the first week of the off season, max had turned of his phone and put it on the dining table, to be left there for a day or two. you did the same, telling your friends and family that you and max were going on a boat trip for a few days.

you didn't want anyone to worry, especially when you knew that you'd be limping by the end of your little escapade. sparse visits over the year have left you both painfully pent up, it felt like over the season the only time you two saw one another was for cute photo-ops, there was very little room for intimacy between your career and his. so the off-season, nothing else mattered except for scratching that itch.

max made sure that you got a meal in you, he wasn't going to neglect your needs because he needed to get his cock wet. he even took the lead and made you breakfast (he really did miss you). While the eggs were perfect, the bacon was a little more crispy than you liked it.

"it's amazing." you giggled as you took another bite. max lingered against you like a shadow, his arm slung around you as he kissed at your neck a little. you turned your head to look at him and he kissed you on the lips.

"i'm excited."

you reached to him and cupped his face, then looked into his blue eyes, "well, hold your horses, i have a surprise for you." and then let go of him so you could quickly finish.

you didn't see max's curious expression at the surprise you had for him. he still followed you while you cleaned up, those large hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. you could feel his clothed erection up against your backside,

"so what's the surprise?" he asked as he held you as you put the plate in the drying rack.

you looked over your shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, then said, "surprise, verstappen." once you were done cleaning up, he followed you into the bedroom.

you apologized to the cats as you closed the door to the room. you could tell that max was getting antsy, why wouldn't he be? he had another stellar season but at the cost of being away from his woman.

"mooi meisje, waarom laat je me wachten?" he asked softly as he sat on the bed you two shared. his cock was pressed against the front of his loose shorts.

you turned away from him and went to your underwear drawer, as you dug around in it you responded, "omdat sommige verrassingen de moeite waard zijn om geheim te houden."

he sighed through his nose, his cock throbbed in his pants. dutch may not be the most sensual language, but he cursed the day that he decided to painstakingly teach you the language. it was almost like second nature to you, and it made his heart beat faster. he leaned back on his hands and watched you pull out a pair of Velcro wrist restraints.

using handcuffs seemed a little cliche, and the idea of losing the key and having to figure out how to get max out of them wasn't something you were interested in. they were softer around the wrists and easier to get out of.

"liefde?" he asked with a bit of concern.

you approached him and placed them in his lap, "if you don't want to try it, then say it. if you want to, tell me." you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

his face felt hot as he said, "i'm guessing you're wearing them?"

you smiled, "next time you can wear them." and could feel your boyfriend's burning gaze as you got out of your sleeping clothes. which was honestly just a ratty red bull t-shirt and slightly too big sleeping shorts. your sports bra and panties were off as well and when you looked at max once more, he had his shirt off and his cock in his hand. his shorts were pushed down and his gaze was heavy.

"you look good." he said, his words heavy on his tongue.

you came of and straddled his waist for a moment, his cock brushed against your pussy but you never sank down on it. you could see his jaw tense.

you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tender kiss. you felt his hands on your hips, he was threatening to pull you right down on his cock. the kiss quickly parted and you got up from his lap and onto the bed. max was close to you once more with teh cuffs in hand.

"i guess we need a safe word."

you were already one step ahead, "red bull."

he got you onto your hands and knees on the bed and slowly got your arms behind your back. it was then secured by the cuffs. max could've lost it in that moment, the site of you was erotic. his naked girlfriend with her arms tied behind her back. he couldn't wait any longer, it was driving him up the wall.

he got his shorts full off and his hand on your hip. it wasn't hard for him to sink his entire length into your aching cunt. he held the chain that connected both of the cuffs to the center of your back, you weren't going anywhere.

you groaned when you felt his cock deep in your cunt, the stretch was amazing. while it left you a little tender for days after, it was the type of ache that stirred your stomach.

the sex was rough, there was little tenderness. and max at least tried to be romantic when he pleasured you, but this carnal need was driving both of you. your heart thumped in your chest, the rush of pleasure made your head throb.

his pace was quick and feral, his grip was tight on you. he wanted to make sure you didn't go slipping away. as if you ever would. he ran his fingers through his hair while he still held you down. he could feel the sweat on his body begin to form as the bedroom became hotter.

the morning light shined through the open window as the two of you fucked with a hot passion. it felt like striking hot iron with the sparks that scattered as a result.

"that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl." he panted heavily in your ear as he kissed your temple. you moaned in response and he pressed his nose into your hairline for a moment as he had you practically bouncing on his cock.

you whined, "shit, max, ah!" each thrust felt like a short circuit to your brain. his words were filthy, his voice was hot and low. you could feel him rearrange your guts.

the bed creaked against the wall and you felt the air leave your lungs. sometimes it drove you crazy how intensely max's cock made you feel. before sex was just a fun past time with a partner, but with max is made you ache inside and out.

he rutted up into you, his cock gave a small twitch inside of you. he could hear you sweet little pants and moans into the covers. you looked like a fucking dream, his beautiful girl.

"you're so good for me, my love." he groaned, "you feel so fucking tight around me and i don't know what to do with myself. you drive me mad. i want you all the time." he panted heavily, "it was all i could think of during the races, your tight pussy around my cock. i always wondered if i could get you to fit in the car with me, bounce you on the my cock while the engine rumbled. you'd like that, wouldn't you, slet."

you swallowed, while the idea was probably unrealistic, the thought of it was rather erotic. the almost claustrophobia of being so close to him in a tight space.

you didn't have to respond for him to say, 'i know you'd hate it, right? because you're my good right, correct?"

you nodded and moaned a little louder as you felt the thrill of lust climb through your body. you squirmed under the restraints, it was a little bit of tension on your shoulders but it did make you core ache. you panted dumbly against the covers as he fucked you with a heavy heat.

"pretty fucking little thing." he growled as he pushed your top half further into the soft mattress. the angle gave him the best place to cram his heavy cock into your sweet cunt.

you felt the moans fold off your tongue as you felt the pleasure capture you whole and climax crashed down on you. it felt like your earth was shattered when it grabbed hold. you whined, "holy shit, max."

he chuckled and felt the wetness between your legs only grow more, he doubled down his thrusts and left you totally pinned under him. he rutted into you like an animal in heat, even as your pathetic little moans rang in his ear.

"honey, ah. that's a good girl. fuck you're mine." he groaned as he bottomed out into you. his cock nudged against your cervix and spat cum against it. while made your back arch.

"fuck." you panted.

he pulled out and quickly, without much through took off the cuffs. he took you in his arms and laid down beside you, spooning you. his larges hands massaged your wrists. even though they didn't hurt.

he peppered the back of your neck with kisses. so loving, so kind despite how rough he was moments earlier. max worshiped you, praised you like the sun.

"my beautiful girl." he sighed contently.

"the cuffs felt good." you responded, your legs tangled in his.

he kissed under your ear and said quietly in your ear, "maybe next time i need to tie you up fully." he chuckled a little as he held you in his arms.

it was good to be home. <3

shaking for you ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, pussy-drunk oscar, oral (fem!receiving), p in v - no protection, minor overstimulation, oscar is a dirty talker, mention of cockwarming [914 words]

request: can you please do do 28 from the 🌶️ prompt list with oscar 😽 [28. “I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking.”]

The grip you had on his hair was unrelenting, his tongue moving in circles as you pushed your core closer to his face, practically begging him for more, begging for him to make you cum for a third time that night.

He had practically bent you over the second he was through the door, having not seen you in weeks, he was insatiable, eager to see you, eager to get the chance to be inside you, to have his tongue pressed to your clit. To have you moaning his name. Shaking for him.

Your clothes lay in tatters on the floor, bruises forming on your hips, your breasts, up the side of your neck. 

Oscar’s skin wasn’t much different. Scratch marks littered his arms, his back, love bites were forming all over his chest and neck. His lips bruised and puffy, practically aching to be kissed again. 

“You gonna be good and cum f’me, baby? Gonna gush all over my lips? Been so good for me all night, know you can give me one more, c’mon,” he taunted you, a finger circling your entrance before pushing inside.

He had stretched you out nicely on his cock earlier in the evening, the finger he had pushed inside of you barely satisfying the ache that was yearning for more, desperate to feel him inside of you again. Mixed with his tongue, though? It was indescribable, it was everything you were craving and more.

And he knew that. Knew what he could do to make you scream for him, to make you soak his face in your juices.

Which was exactly what he was doing. Pushing a second finger inside you alongside his first, his lips and tongue slurping, sucking, and licking at your clit; the whimpers were falling from your lips, your hips unable to keep still as you continuously pushed up into his face.

If there was one thing Oscar was sure of; it was that he could die happy if he got to eat you out for the rest of his life. The sounds you made, the way you gripped his hair, the way you begged him, the way you directed him on what you like, the taste of you… it was everything and more to him.

He loved everything about you, but he especially loved this. Was honoured that you trusted him enough to do this, to make you feel good day-in and day-out.

He could tell you were getting closer as he began lazily flicking his tongue, still pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your core muscles began clenching, the grip on his hair tightening as he groaned into your cunt, the slick of your pussy increasing as the sounds you were making grew louder.

Oscar helped you ride through your orgasm, your thighs tightening around his head as your entire body shook. It felt like you were flying, your third orgasm of the night rushing through your body as moans fell from your lips.

It didn’t take long for the Australian to crawl up your body, his hardened member easily slipping inside your wet core; soft groans falling from both of your lips. He had already cum once tonight, and knew he likely wouldn’t again; but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel your tight, wet heat wrapped around him again.

Lazily looking up at him, a soft smile was directed down to you before he was pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him, on his tongue as he pressed it against yours. You couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips at the realization. Something about it had you bucking up into him, into his cock that was slowly thrusting in and out of you.

“So pretty f’me, baby. So pretty all fucked out, look at you. God. Bet you’d let m’fuck you all night, wouldn’t you? You’d let me sleep with my cock inside you, y’just wanna be close to me all the time, hm? Gonna warm my cock?”

Pussy-drunk Oscar Piastri was a different type of aroused. He talked like a mad-man, like all he could talk about, all he could think about, was you.

“Mhm, course’ Osc. Would let you fill me up all night long, keep your cock inside me til’ we woke up. Let you fuck me in the morning, too,” you groaned, his legs stuttering at your words.

Bottoming out, Oscar grunted as he watched your lips open in a long-drawn out moan. His own moan followed, as he turned the two of you onto your side, maneuvering both bodies so his member remained sheathed inside you.

“God, baby. I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking,” he said.

Practically rolling your eyes, almost four orgasms later, what did he expect? It was hard to even attempt to keep your legs still. 

You slapped at the hand that began slithering towards your clit again. Your hips bucked as he began to rub a gentle circle on the enflamed nub, the sensitivity overtaking you as you shook your head at him.

“N’more, please. I can’t take it.”

Shushing you, Oscar pressed a kiss to the skin behind your ear.

“One more, baby. Y’can do it, promised me you’d be a good girl. One more, then w’can go to bed, hm?”

Mewling at his words, you knew you could give him one more. Could be a good girl for him, like you always were.

i started this?? and then couldn't stop?? the words were being typed before i even had the chance to comprehend them which is why this is so nasty... pls enjoy 🫶🏻

🤍🫶

Wedding Nerves : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: it's the night before your wedding and lando can't bare to spend it all alone

Your head shook as another knock at the door came, knowing exactly who was on the other side. You tried your best to ignore it as you unpacked your suitcase, but they were ever so persistent, knocking once again. 

“Lando, you shouldn’t be here,” you called out, walking over to the door. “You can stand there all night long but I’m not opening the door. The boys will all be wondering where you are.” 

“I don’t care abou them,” Lando replied, leaning against the other side of the door. “I just want to see you one last time before tomorrow, just a couple of minutes, that’s all that I’m asking for.” 

Your eyes closed as you leant on the door, hearing Lando sigh. His voice was desperate as he tapped on the door once again, letting you know that he was still there. You could only smile at how determined Lando was, refusing to go without seeing you. 

“You’ll get to see me forever after tomorrow,” you tried to assure him, “it’s only one night away from each other, we’ve done it hundreds of times before.” 

Lando’s head shook, “this time it’s different, it’s our wedding morning tomorrow.” 

“Why are you here Lando?” You groaned, beginning to think that there was more to things than he was letting on. “Something’s not gone wrong, has it?” 

His head shook, remembering that you couldn’t see him. “I spoke to George and he said Carmen told him that you were feeling nervous. I wanted to come and see you and make sure that you were alright, I don’t want you to be nervous, you should be excited.” 

“I am excited,” you responded, dropping down to the floor, “tomorrow is just such a big deal, and there’s so many people going to be there. I hate having all that attention on me, that’s all.” 

Lando remained where he was, only wanting to see you more now that he knew how you felt, keen to settle your nerves and reassure you not to worry. 

“Let me see you and just give you a hug,” Lando requested, tapping the door once again. “We’re fine to see each other, tradition is only tomorrow morning, not that either of us really care about that anyway.” 

The sound of the lock turning made Lando jump up, watching as you opened the door slightly. It was wide enough for Lando to see you, but not open enough for him to be able to reach in and hold onto you. 

“Lando, I promise you that I’m absolutely fine. Go and enjoy your evening.” 

“I can’t see well enough to be sure,” he grinned, refusing to give up quite that easily, trying to push the door to fit his hand through it. “What’s the point of just letting me see a bit of you, why not just open the door all the way?” 

“Because once you’re here I know you won’t go away,” you chuckled. 

Lando’s eyes widened at your assumption, shaking his head in reply to you. The smile on his face told you otherwise though, you knew exactly what he was up to, and once he was in, there was no way that he was going to be walking back out again. 

You tried your best to keep the door shut, but Lando was far stronger than you were, digging his heels into the ground and pushing the door open, stumbling over his feet and falling straight into your hotel room. 

“Serves you right,” you grinned, offering your hand to help him up.  

Lando stood himself up and straightened his clothes before heading in your direction. His arms wrapped around your frame as he tightly held you against his chest, pressing several kisses against the top of your head, refusing to let go now that he had a hold of you. 

Lando kicked the door to your hotel room shut, keeping you in his hold as he walked you both over to your bed, dropping down in the middle of it with you by his side, making himself comfortable like he was there for the night. 

After a few moments, Lando’s hand trailed along your back. “There’s no need to worry about tomorrow you know, it’s going to be perfect, I’m sure of it.” 

With all the efforts you and Lando had put in, you knew there was no reason to worry, there was no chance of anything going wrong. You had the perfect place, perfect theme, and everyone who you wanted to attend was doing so, there was nothing more you could ask for. 

“Maybe if you are nervous, it might be a good idea for me to stay here,” Lando added, catching your eyes roll. “I mean we both know how much it helps when you sleep next to me when you’re worrying, so it makes perfect sense, right?” 

“I’m not going to let you stay,” you said, quickly shutting Lando down. 

Lando hummed in reply to you, “we both know how this is going to work, I’m going to wear you down until you say yes, you know that, don’t you?” 

“Nope,” you laughed, “I refuse to cave tonight, you’ll be gone soon.” 

“You’ll have to get rid of me,” Lando told you, “and judging by your hand against my chest, I’d say that you’re pretty happy for me to stay a while still yet.” 

You quickly moved your hand off of Lando’s chest, shuffling across the bed to create some distance between you both. Lando looked at you in surprise, trying to move back towards you again, only for you to move back too. 

“It’s going to be a pretty rubbish stag do if you’re not there,” you reminded him, standing up from the bed. “Plus, you only said that you wanted a couple of minutes of my time.” 

“I don’t need a stupid stag do, not when I could spend my night with you instead,” Lando sighed, sitting up in the middle of the bed. “Do you really actually want me to go?” 

You tried to ignore the little voice in your head telling Lando to stay, nodding your head. You didn’t want him to miss out on his stag do, the party that he had been looking forward to for so long. 

“I should probably go,” Lando pouted, sliding off of the bed. His shoulders hung low, his feet dragging along the floor dejectedly. “But all you have to do is give me a call and I’ll forget all about the boys tonight and rush straight over here to be with you instead.” 

“Go on,” you grinned, opening up the door. “I’ll be alright without you for one night.” 

Lando stood in the doorway, turning back to face you one final time, letting you see just how disappointed he was that you were making him leave. 

“In five years, I think this is the first time you’ve declined to spend the night with me,” Lando mused, “and the night before my wedding too.” 

“I’m not declining to spend the night with you,” you protested, “this is what we agreed on, you’re going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life after tomorrow anyway.” 

“I can’t believe it,” Lando smiled, “the rest of our lives together.” 

“Only if you go,” you teased, pushing Lando out of the door. “Go and enjoy your evening, I’ll see you tomorrow Lando.” 

“I can’t wait to marry you sweetheart.” 

“I know, me too Lan.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗