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back-on-my-bullsh · 2 months ago

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Eeeeeeeeeee this was my request!!! It’s so good!!!! I love it so much 🥹🧡

through the years

pairing: lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: a few glimpses into lando's journey of being in love with his best friend's sister. (5.9k) see request here!

a/n: r is three years older than max and lando. this has been a work in progress for months and was truly so so fun to write <3

sixteen

Lando’s tucking his helmet back into its protective case when he hears someone say your name.

He straightens up like he’s been electrocuted, nearly hitting his head on the shelf above him at how fast he looks up. If he had ears like a dog, they’d be perked.

His eyes land on you chatting with someone he doesn’t recognize, and his heart skips a beat in his chest.

See, Lando has a massive crush on you, probably since before he knew what a crush was. All he knows is that you’re a few years older, his best friend’s sister, and the most perfect person he’s ever known. He’s pretty sure he’d fallen in love with you the moment he met you at one of Max’s and his races.

But at only sixteen (nearly seventeen) years old, did he even know what love felt like?

Not really, but if Lando was being completely honest, he imagines it was the same feeling he got whenever he climbed into a kart—thrilling, exciting, a little bit of fear that he might puke.

He hasn’t seen you in a while though. You’ve been off at university for a year now, somewhere far off, but Max had said something (read: complained) about you being home for summer break.

Lando thinks he might be more happy about it than your own brother is.

“Hey!” Lando calls, raising a hand in greeting. You lift your sunglasses at the sound of another voice, squinting in the bright sunlight to see who’s shouting at you now. When your eyes land on him, you smile, waving back. Lando grins, one that only grows bigger as you start to make your way over to him.

“Looked good out there today, Lan. You’re getting pretty quick on the straights,” You say on approach.

He’s had a little bit of a growth spurt this past year, so he’s no longer craning his neck to look at you, but you’ve still got quite a bit of height on him as you reach out to ruffle his hair playfully.

“Thanks! Have you, erm, have you been here the whole time?” Lando’s voice cracks at the end of his sentence, mortifying him, but luckily you don’t seem to notice. You’re too occupied looking around the track for something, or someone.

“Nah, I just got here, like twenty minutes ago? Mum told me to give Max a lift home.” You shrug. Lando fights the urge to let out a relieved sigh. Thank god you weren’t here to see him nearly spin out into the gravel on the last corner. That would’ve been embarrassing. “Have you seen him, by the way? I need to wring his neck.”

A surprised honk of laughter splutters from Lando’s mouth. “What did he do now?”

“Little shit broke one of mum’s good dinner plates and blamed it on me! S’why I’m here playing chauffeur,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Grounded during summer holidays, can you believe it? I’m basically Max’s personal shuttle, so it looks like you’re going to be seeing quite a bit of me for a while. Nightmare, innit?”

“Not really. It’d be nice to see you around more again.”

“You’re sweet, Lan. The punishment might be worth it to see your cute face all the time.” You wink at him, pinching his cheek gently.

He knows you don’t mean it in the way he wants you to mean it. You still see him as just your little brother’s best friend, still a kid. But he’s older now, more mature. His voice is starting to drop, and he’s going places in his racing career by this point. He wonders if you know he’s joining McLaren’s Young Driver Programme next year. He wonders if you’d be impressed by it.

“Hang on. I’ve got to take this, it’s my mum. Probably demanding I stop off at the shops on the way home,” You sigh, holding up your buzzing phone. “Do me a favor, be a darling and go find my idiot brother, would you?” You answered the call before he could nod, walking a ways away to talk to your mum.

Lando remains rooted in place, watching you pace back and forth.

“What’re you looking at?” Max pops up next to him out of the blue, bumping his shoulder rather roughly. It doesn’t phase him though, because he’s used to Max’s antics at this point.

Instead, he sighs. “D’you think she’d ever like me?”

“Who?”

Lando nods his head in your direction, looking rather wistful. Max follows his friend’s line of sight until his gaze lands on you, on the phone, looking less than pleased.

“Are you fucking with me? Please tell me you’re fucking with me,” He asks, wrinkling his nose at Lando. Even though you’re three years older than him, Max was wildly overprotective over you. Lando shakes his head. He is most definitely serious. “Mate, that’s my sister.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Lando scoffs, giving Max a shove. “You’re disgusting.”

“So you’re telling me that every time you’ve asked me where she’s been, what she’s been up to, it’s ‘cause you fancy her?”

“Maybe. Yeah. I think she’s amazing.”

“I’m gonna throw up. I’m actually going to throw up, oh my god.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Lando rolls his eyes, picking up his things.

“You’re hot for my sister, how am I being dramatic? I think I’m being quite calm about this.”

“It’s nothing, really. She probably won't ever see me as anything but a little kid.”

“Oh, you never know. You’re getting bigger, mate. Stacking on the height, packing on the muscle.” He fakes two punches to Lando’s torso, grunting overdramatically when Lando pushes him away with another roll of his eyes. “Soon enough you won’t be able to keep the ladies off you, ya stud.”

“Thanks? You do know we’re still talking about your sister, right?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, still gross.”

“Oi, Max. Let’s go or mum’ll have my head if we don’t get home by dinner,” You grumble, reappearing behind Max and shoving him upside the head. Your gaze softens when it turns on Lando. “Bye, Lan. See you soon.”

Lando manages to get out a goodbye without his voice cracking again, thank god. He wants to go in for a hug, because part of him thinks it might lift your spirits, but knows Max would never let him hear the end of it. So he just settles for a slightly awkward wave before you turn on your heel and head for the car.

Max rolls his eyes. Then he smiles deviously, pointing at your retreating figure with one hand and Lando with the other, before smashing them both together, all while making overexaggerated kissy noises. He seems to have forgotten his previous disgust quite easily.

“Fuck off!” Lando hisses, flipping off his friend.

“I’ll leave you behind, Maximillian!” You warn, not even turning around to threaten your brother. Max rolls his eyes again, but doesn't hesitate in hurrying after you so you won't leave him stranded at the track.

Lando manages to catch your eye once as you’re pulling out of the car park and he waves again, trying but probably failing to stifle the goofy grin spreading across his face at the wave you gave him back.

God, he’s so down bad for you.

That year, however, the months went on, Lando found himself noticing that you came home less and less often, and not even for school breaks the following year. Max wouldn’t talk about it, but it was obvious it was somewhat of a sore subject, so Lando never pushed.

He’d always wondered what happened, but soon enough, his life became far too hectic to sit around thinking about all the what if’s and the why not’s. All he could do was hope you were doing okay.

-------

twenty

It’s hard to believe Max is turning twenty-one.

So will Lando, later in the year, but for now he remains a very youthful looking twenty years old.

Max invites a handful of people to a quiet dinner, nothing too flashy, nothing too fancy. Just a nice dinner with close friends and good food. His birthday sits right between race weeks, so Lando is fortunate enough to be able to carve out an evening for his best friend.

Now he’s sitting at the end of a long table, sipping a lemon sparkling water as the first few of their friends start to trickle in. He’d arrived unfashionably early under the guise of offering to help Max iron out last minute details, set up, things like that.

In reality, the reason why he’d turned up so early was you.

Lando doesn’t know if Max invited you, and if he did, he doesn’t know if you’d actually come. But on the off chance that you do choose to make an appearance, Lando wants to be the first one to see you.

Naturally, he spots you the second you walk in, and he’s instantly transported back to when he was an awkward teenager, pathetically pining over his best friend’s sister with absolutely no shot.

Hell, he’s still pining over you. He thought whatever feelings he had for you would’ve faded over the years, but one look at you and everything comes rushing back.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this, for seeing you again, but one thing that rises above all the other thoughts flooding his brain is that he’s not over you. Not by a long shot.

He watches you make your way over to your brother and hug him. You lean in close to say something into his ear, and suddenly you’re both looking directly at him.

Lando startles, nearly spilling his drink, but he manages to compose himself quickly. That swoopy feeling he used to get whenever you made your way over to him is back in full swing again. He scrambles to his feet.

“Hey, Lan!” You greet him keenly, wrapping him in a warm hug. Your perfume washes over him as you do, and he fights the urge to sigh happily. You still wear the same one you always did. He remembers because he’d more or less conditioned himself to associate the nice scent with you. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Lando chuckles breathlessly, praying you’re not able to feel how fast his heart is beating through his shirt. “Too long.”

You pull away, holding him at arms’ length, studying him with bright eyes. “You’re taller than me now.”

“I’d hope so. M’not sixteen anymore.”

“No, you’re not. You look good though, ” You say. You look like you mean it truthfully.

“How’ve you been?”

“Been better, but I’m…getting by, all things considered.” You shrug, sliding into the chair next to him.

Both of you swing sideways to face each other at the same time, knees knocking into each other as you do. You share an apologetic smile. Your hand blankets his where it rests on the table, squeezing a few times as your eyes light up with excitement.

You aren’t aware of just how much that one little move affects Lando.

“But what about you, McLaren’s newest Formula One driver? That’s so amazing. Seriously. I’m proud of you.”

He’s heard the compliment loads during his rookie year, but hearing it come from you makes his cheeks flush pink. He can feel the comfort of your words spreading from his face into his chest, tendrils of warmth wrapping around his rib cage. You’re proud of him, and it feels like he’s just won the world championship.

“Thank you,” He squeaks.

“I always knew you’d do great things.”

“You’ve been keeping up with my career?”

“‘Course I have,” You say warmly, nodding like it’s obvious. “It’s not everyday you can say you’ve known one of the up and coming talents of Formula 1 since you were kids.”

“We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?”

“You, yeah. Me…well, let’s just say I’m still trying to figure things out.”

“You’re doing the best you can, aren’t you? Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

“I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Lan. I needed to hear that.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, and Lando feels the need to break it.

“Y’know, I didn't know if you’d come. Since…y’know, whatever’s been going on all this time.” He doesn’t mean to prod, doesn’t mean it as anything other than him drawing a huge blank about why you haven’t been around.

Your expression still grows somber, brows creasing ever so slightly. “Max hasn’t told you anything?”

“Seemed like a sore subject, so I never pushed.”

“You must have a lot of questions then.” You murmur, tracing an idle finger over the pristine white table cloth. “About why I’ve been basically nonexistent for years.”

“I don't need to know. You’re here now, that's all that matters.”

“Y’know, you’ve always been so thoughtful, Lando. When we were all kids and Max was being…well, Max, you were always looking out for me, even though you didn’t have to.”

“I cared about you. Still do.”

It’s true. Lando cares about you in more ways than one, in more ways than just your little brother’s best friend should, but it isn’t something that he can help. You’ve still got him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it.

“So sweet.” You smile, squeezing his hand appreciatively, and Lando feels like he’s just been shown a new purpose. He wants to be the one to make you smile like this all the time, something he’s known in his heart for years. “So, tell me more about you. What’s it like in the big leagues?”

You wind up spending all night glued to each other’s side, filling one another in on what’s been going on in your lives since the last time you saw each other. Granted, it’s a bit more of him doing most of the talking with you on the listening end, but he gets the sense you’d rather have it that way.

He’ll gladly talk for hours if it meant you looking at him with the pride in your eyes you’ve had the whole night.

Eventually, the party rolls to an end, as all good nights unfortunately do. Lando wants to stay here, stay with you, but he can’t. He’s got an early morning and a day full of training tomorrow, so he’ll settle for walking you to your car after you’ve both said goodbye to Max.

You’ve got your arm looped through his as you make your way out of the restaurant with the rest of the dinner guests.

“This one’s me.” You jut your chin at the car coming up. If Lando isn’t mistaken, you almost sound kind of sad, but maybe he’s just looking too much into things because he doesn't want to leave. You leave his side, putting a little bit of distance between the two of you. “Thank you for keeping me company all night, Lando. It was really nice to see you again.”

“Likewise. I’ve…” He trails off into an airy chuckle, shoulders creeping towards his shoulders instinctively. For a moment, he wonders if he should even say anything. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You say softly, giving him a small smile. Lando feels his chest tighten at the sincerity in your tone. Then you step forward and wrap your arms around his neck in a hug and suddenly he’s just about ready to melt as his arms slide around you to return the embrace.

He isn’t expecting your lips against his cheek, or the way they linger a little longer than to be expected before you step away again. Heat blooms where you kiss him, zipping through his veins like the thrill of pushing the highest speed down the home straight towards the checkered flag.

“Don’t forget about me when you get to be a big hot shot in the racing world,” You say, only slightly teasing.

“Don’t think I could.”

He watches you get into your car and drive away, hands in his pockets, wishing he was brave enough to tell you how he feels about you. Some other time, maybe. One day he’ll muster up the confidence to say something.

-------

twenty four

No matter how many times Lando comes home to race at Silverstone, the feeling never goes away.

A mix of joy, pride, the unmistakable vice-like grip of anxiety. Lando is excited, no doubt, but all he wants to do is make his home crowd proud. His family is here, his friends are here. Everyone is counting on him to do something amazing.

He’s got a hundred things to do before he has to head down to the garage to gear up, a methodical mental checklist to get through in not a lot of time.

Buzzing with nervous energy, he paces the top level of the motorhome, amping himself up while also trying to calm himself down. He’s barely managed to eat anything all day, as evident by the basically untouched chicken wrap sitting on the table next to him.

Sure, he’s raced at Silverstone before, but this is the first year he actually has a shot at winning the whole thing. The car has proved to be a speed demon, and he’s been killing it this season, but neither of those help his nerves.

It makes his stomach twist more than anything. It’s one thing to not win because he doesn't have the facilities to do it, it's entirely worse to know he can win and still let everyone down.

“Well, if it isn’t little Lando Norris.”

He freezes at the unexpected voice. Your voice.

His mind flashes back to the last time he saw you, at Max’s birthday party. How you talked all night, and kissed him on the cheek before you parted ways.

It’s been three years since then, and you’ve stayed in close touch with each other, but you haven’t seen each other in person since that night. It isn’t either of your faults—life got in the way and neither of yours lined up. Nonetheless, he’s grown closer to you these past few years than he ever has, which definitely doesn’t help the massive crush he still has on you.

Part of him thinks he really needs to move on—he’s been in love with you for so many years he doesn’t even remember the exact number, but his feelings remain the same. Any relationship he’s tried to have, just to see if he could ever love someone else, has never lasted.

Lando thinks he might be stuck on you his whole life, if the entirety of his teenage years and first few of his young adult years have been any indication.

He’s very prone to wanting things he can’t have, it seems.

Lando gives his head a shake because it couldn’t be you. You couldn’t be here, because last he heard from Max, you were somewhere out of the country on a work trip and wouldn’t be able to make it to Silverstone for the race. It’s a bummer for sure, but Lando knows you would've come if you could. Max told him you sounded downright upset about it on your check in call earlier in the week to break the news.

He turns slowly, hesitantly. Hopefully. His fingers tighten on the water bottle he’s got clutched in his hands.

There you are, looking back at him like something straight out of his dreams.

You’re older now, as he is too, but there’s something different about you. About how you hold yourself. Like you've finally settled into the person you were meant to be. It isn’t something he could’ve clocked in on through texts and grainy video calls, but he sees it now, clear as day.

“Hi.”

“You’re here,” He breathes, disbelieving. He isn’t able to stop himself from rushing forward, bringing you into a very tight, very excited hug that lifts you off your feet.

You let out a surprised noise at his enthusiasm, barely managing to hook an arm over around his shoulders so you wouldn’t go flailing as he spins you around.

He puts you down soon after, still beaming as he takes you in. “How are you here? I thought—Max said you were on a work trip!”

“I asked him to keep it a secret,” You chuckle, spreading a palm across his chest to steady yourself. “Wanted to surprise you for your home race. Hope that’s okay?”

“More than okay! It’s so good to see you again,” He insists, folding you into another, albeit much quicker hug. He holds you at arm's length right after. “You look really good.”

“I feel good,” You say sincerely. “Think I’m finally getting the hang of this whole life thing.”

“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you for pushing through, sticking it out,” Lando murmurs, just as genuine. There’s nothing better than seeing you finally find a good place, happy with where you are and what you’re doing. It’s all he’s ever wanted for you.

“Thank you. But oh my god, look at you!” You exclaim, taking his face in your hands. You pinch his cheeks the same way you used to do, but the way you’re looking at him feels much different than before.

There’s something that isn’t quite the same, like something about what you think of him has changed. The thought burrows its way deeper into his brain when one hand slides down to his chest for a few beats.

“You’ve grown up quite a bit again, haven’t you?”

He laughs, a little high pitched and a little breathless. “Yeah well, you know what they say about second puberty.”

“Still got the same cute laugh though.” You smile at him brightly, and it's like the sun has just poked its way through the dreary British fog for the first time in ages. His heart does an involuntary tap dance against his ribcage. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then. Sorry if I, like, disturbed your pre-race rituals or anything, I just wanted to pop in and say hi before things get crazy.”

“No, no, I’m glad you did. I think I needed to see a familiar face. Between you and me, I’m kinda freaking out.”

“Oh, Lan,” You sigh, squeezing his hand. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Hope so.”

“You will,” You insist firmly. “Don’t think about the people, don’t think about the crowd. Just trust your gut, and drive like hell.”

Lando didn’t know it before, but your words are exactly the thing he needs right now. He sighs deeply, letting his shoulders relax just the slightest bit.

“Anyways, I better go. Max is probably wondering where I’ve wandered off to.”

He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake. “Yeah, I should—I probably need to get going as well.”

“Good luck, be safe, all that. I’ll be the loudest one cheering you on.”

Lando hears himself call out your name when you’re a few steps away from the door. You turn back to him, and he knows this is the moment. He’s about to do something he’s never had the balls to do before, never in the nine years he’s been in love with you. Only today, right here, he’s never felt more sure of himself.

He’s trusting his gut.

“Would you wanna grab a drink tonight? Dinner too, if you’re up for it?”

“Yeah, ‘course! I’ll text my brother, see if he’s free.”

“No,” He blurts. You arch a surprised brow at his sudden outburst. “Sorry, I just—I meant like, maybe just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, and it feels like the longest couple seconds of his life. But then you nod, breaking into a big grin. “I’d really like that.”

Lando doesn’t want to get his hopes up in fear of possibly jinxing it, but it feels like maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance with you. After all these years, he’s no longer just a little kid to you, no longer just your little brother’s best friend.

The thought of that pumps him up better than a race in front of his home crowd ever could.

-------

twenty five

He’s done it.

Lando's just won in Abu Dhabi, gotten his fourth win of his career—his fourth win of the season. McLaren has just won the constructor’s championship for the first time in twenty six years, and Lando’s been an instrumental part in making it happen.

The moment he steps out onto the front of the car, hears the crowd cheering for him, he can barely even believe it. It doesn’t feel real at all.

He wants to find you. He knows you’re here somewhere, probably with his family in the garage. He also knows he doesn’t have the time to find you, not until after he’s taken care of his post race duties.

Lando doesn't see you until he returns to the pit lane in front of the McLaren garage.

The whole team is gathered there, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. He can feel the energy buzzing through the atmosphere, the pure excitement and joy of a long awaited championship not only for everyone here, but the whole team of papaya back at the factory too.

This is their time as much as it is his, if not even more. They’re the reason he’s able to live this dream every single day, and for that, he’ll never be able to say enough thank yous.

Instead, he’ll work even harder next season, keep pushing and honing his craft until he’s able to truly show his gratitude towards them.

But for now, he’ll celebrate. After a long, grueling (but fulfilling) season, he’s earned that.

He breaks into a jog towards the huddle, breaking into a face-splitting grin as he jumps into the team celebrations happily. Person after person clap him on the back on his way to his place beside the giant papaya sign, even after the team photo is taken and he gets doused by champagne from all sides.

Lando feels like a million bucks. This feeling has been a long time coming, a long time needed. If he could bottle it up and save it forever, he would.

There’s only one thing that could make this moment even better.

He turns to the crowd behind the barriers, searching, searching, searching for his loved ones until—

There you are, standing with his family just as he’d thought you’d be, cheering so hard he thinks you might even be crying.

Man, are you a sight for sore eyes. You’ve both been busy the past few weeks, him with this triple header and you with your job. You’d barely made it to this race, but he’s happy you’re here. Even happier you were here to see him win.

He makes his way towards you all, doling out hugs to everyone, not able to wipe the smile from his face as he chats with each of them.

His parents, his sister, and finally…you.

You’re beaming just as big as he is when he stops in front of you, flinging your arms around his neck in the tightest hug. He lets out a sigh of content, lifting you off your feet a bit in a hug just as tight, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he does so.

“Hi, baby,” He breathes, running his hands down from your shoulders to your forearms as soon as he puts you down again. “What’d you think?”

“What do I think?” You exclaim, taking his face in your hands. “I think you did amazing! I think I’ve cried, like, four times already since the race ended, honestly.”

He laughs, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “I made you cry?”

“Yeah, you made me cry, you muppet! I’m so fucking proud of you,” You tell him, sounding nothing but truly sincere. There’s tears in your eyes again, happy tears for him, and he feels a surge of adoration bloom in his chest. “Congratulations, Lan. You’re destined for so much greatness, I know it.”

He’s sweaty, sticky, and doused in champagne, but he still feels on top of the world at the joy in your eyes.

“I love you,” He blurts. He couldn’t have stopped the words spilling from his mouth even if he tried.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s knowing there’s no better time than the present, but it’s out there now. The past five months you’ve been dating have been absolutely mint, but Lando doesn’t think he could’ve gone another moment without telling you.

You let out a watery sort of chuckle, sliding a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and bringing him in for a kiss.

You’ve kissed before—a lot, actually—but this one feels different. Better. The giant secret that he’s been holding in from you for years and years is finally out, and it’s like a weight lifted off his chest.

“I love you too, Lan,” You murmur, words pressed against his lips like they're something reserved only for him. “God, I love you.”

There goes his heart right then, the last piece of his heart that he’d saved for the day he wasn’t sure would ever come. The last piece of his heart that belonged to him now belongs to you, and in this moment, you’ve got all of it.

All of Lando’s heart is now yours.

Lando didn’t think this day could get any better, but now there’s this. The woman of his dreams, the one he’s been in love with since you were both kids, finally loves him back.

He’s not sure what heaven is like, but Lando imagines it might be something like this.

Here, under the Abu Dhabi sky, he’s gotten the championship, he’s finally gotten his girl. To him, there’s nothing better than it.

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fewtrell!reader #lando norris fic #formula 1 x reader #fic rec

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back-on-my-bullsh · 2 months ago

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pairing: oscar piastri x fewtrell!reader, lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: y/n spends the day getting closer with the piastris

warnings: SMAU (no written parts), swearing, mature themes, alcohol consumption, use of y/n

previous part | masterlist | next part

a/n: oscar won the sprint! enjoy :)

★・・・★・・・★

ynfewtrell soaking up the sun

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gigihart YOU ARE A GODDESS I LOVE WOMEN

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ynfewtrell thanks for the love 💕

maxfewtrell @.oscarpiastri PLEASE talk some sense into her

oscarpiastri @.maxfewtrell You know, I actually think she should post more

username WHAT

pietra.pilao WOW!!!!!!! how are you real?

riabish hottie

magui_corceiro 😍

★・・・★・・・★

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#f1 smau #f1 imagine #formula 1 smau #lando norris x reader #lando norris smau #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smau #fic rec #luvstappen #it’s nice to have a friend

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back-on-my-bullsh · 2 months ago

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pairing: oscar piastri x fewtrell!reader, lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: lando finally breaks his silence.

warnings: SMAU (no written parts), swearing, mature and suggestive themes, use of y/n

previous part | masterlist | next part

a/n: the chapter you’ve all (probably) been waiting for! also, i don’t want to give too much away, but fair warning: this story is a slow burn! enjoy <3

★・・・★・・・★

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#f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 smau #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #it’s nice to have a friend #luvstappen

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back-on-my-bullsh · 2 months ago

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AYO??? This was beautiful. I work in Substance Abuse Treatment and the way you portray the kind of guilt and forgiveness someone has to do was really true to life. The hardest part is forgiving yourself, that goes for anything, y’know? Recognizing that you’re aren’t a bad person, that you just made mistakes along the way.

Anyway. I really loved this ❤️

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 // 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

Summary: “Do guys from therapy usually hit on you?” – Or, the one where Oscar has to go to group counselling after a turbulent race incident and meets you, the quiet girl at the back of the hall.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem! reader

Word count: 19k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: they meet in therapy, it's all angst, lying, guilt, implied former drug addiction and fraudulent behaviour. Smut: penetrative sex, oral (f! receiving), Oscar is a boob guy, very soft and vanilla, maybe a size kink? Fluff: they cuddle? and the ending is happy-ish? Other: takes place during a fictional 2025 season, an atheistic conversation about religion, smoking cigarettes.

A/N: This might be the gloomiest thing I’ve ever written, but it also has 5k words of pure smut, so yeah, there's that. I’m weirdly proud of it. Please tell me what you think ♡

Abu Dhabi, 2024. Oscar could still smell the smoke sometimes, in nightmares or if he zoned out for too long. The scent clung to his mind—burning tires, scorched metal, and marshals running around in panic. In his dreams, he could hear the crackle of flames, feel the searing heat against his skin, as they carefully dragged him out and placed him in the medical car. He was sure that it was already in some compilation on youtube about the worst crashes of the season. Hell, maybe even in history.

Verstappen had already claimed his title, but getting the last win of the season would be a dream for anyone. It was a matter of pride, ending the season on a high note. For Oscar, it ended with a crash instead, just as he was about to overtake for the win on the last stint of the race.

And of course, it had to be with Charles.

Everyone loved Charles. And everyone hated Oscar for being the reason their favourite driver lost out on a win. Hate was a strong word and he was used to people having varying opinions about him, but there was something about this that he couldn’t shake off.

The worst part was the screaming—screaming that he had later been told never even happened. He'd made it up in his head. When he was being pulled from the wreckage, he could have sworn he’d heard Charles crying out in pain. He’d replayed it over and over, only to learn that Charles had gotten out first—before the fire even started to spread. Sore from the impact, but otherwise unharmed.

Oscar didn’t realise in the moment that the crash would affect him. It took months for it to catch up to him. It all cumulated into a breakdown during the pre-season testing for 2025, where he had locked himself in a room to drown out Charles’ screaming, getting the attention of his trainer and people on his team that something was wrong.

He was supposed to be the calm one. This was the opposite of calm.

He had Murphy’s Law on loop in his head. Everything that can go wrong will. It had never been like that for him before—analysing every possible mistake. It wasn’t even the mistakes he actually made, but the ones that never happened. It made him paralysed to get in the car every single time, but once he actually started driving, all those thoughts went away.

It was the imaginative screaming that had led him to where he was today—the parking lot outside of St. Anne’s Church before a group therapy and support meeting. It wasn’t a grand building by any means. The stones of the church were worn, weathered with years of storms battering its exterior. It always seemed to rain in this fucking town.

His therapist, trainer, and team had decided that this was best for him. Mandated meetings once a week until he could feel calm outside of the car and not just while driving it. This wasn’t about talking to some high-paid therapist; he already had one of those. No, this was about learning to cope with normal people, people who had been through real trauma, people who didn’t live their lives in the fast lane.

“You need support,” they’d said, as if these weekly gatherings at a worn-out church with other equally messed-up strangers would patch up whatever was broken inside him.

He had talked on the phone with the man leading the group, explaining that it would most likely be best for Oscar to show up to his first meeting, take a seat, and just get a feel for how it worked.

The meeting was held in a hall on the side of the church, an annex built sometime in the seventies while the church itself was centuries old. He was hit with the smell of old wood and damp air as soon as he entered. The group wasn’t small—maybe twenty people scattered around the room, sitting on mismatched chairs. It didn’t feel like one of those alcoholics anonymous meetings he’d seen in movies, which had been his first preconception.

He found a spot on one of the middle rows, on the edge to not draw attention to him. The personalities he could see around the room were all different. There were the nervous ones, bouncing in their seats—maybe it was anxiety, maybe it was abstinence. The tired ones seemed to be the majority. He fitted into that group himself—tired of life. You also had the desperate ones, sitting in the front, almost leaning forward to better grasp whatever words of wisdom were being said.

Guilt seemed to be a theme for everyone.

One after one the facilitator let people go up and speak at a makeshift lectern. Some just gave little updates, giving Oscar the impression that they’d gone to meetings for a long time. Others were speaking up for the first time. One that stood out was a mother, maybe in her fifties, whose daughter had just passed away in a car accident. She cried as she spoke, searching for some way of dealing with the guilt she felt, having let her daughter borrow her car even though she knew it was old and unsafe.

This was around the time when Oscar thought to himself that he should just take the money he had, find a way out of his contract, emigrate to Iceland, and change his name to Fabio. Never ever have to think about a race car again.

People were going on about their lives, their regrets, their struggles with addictions, or just their attempts to survive whatever the world had thrown at them. But none of it really resonated with him. Oscar didn’t feel like he belonged here. His problems felt different. And he wasn’t sure if that was because they actually were different or because he just couldn’t find the right words to describe them.

At some point, his gaze shifted toward the back of the room, and that was when he noticed you.

A girl his own age. You were sitting there, apart from everyone else, half-hidden in the shadows near the exit. You looked like you didn’t want to be seen—shoulders hunched, sat far down in your seat. You stared at your hands, fidgeting with skin around your nails. Oscar could spot your chipped black nail polish from across the room. He had a hard time reading your face, mostly obscured by your hair and the collar of your jacket.

He couldn’t help but wonder why you were here. He wondered it about everyone else too, but you stuck out since you were similar in age��young enough that people didn’t automatically assume that you’d gone through hardship. You looked… different. Troubled, maybe. Definitely out of place.

Oscar forced himself to look away, trying to focus on the group facilitator, who was droning on about acceptance and healing. He felt restless, a creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Why had he even come? This place didn’t feel like it could fix anything.

By the time the session ended, he hadn’t spoken a word.

As the last of the attendees dispersed, Oscar lingered under the arched entrance, watching the downpour. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, offering him some warmth from the cold rain. A faint glow from distant streetlights illuminated the soaked pavement, creating an eerie atmosphere that somehow felt fitting.

That’s when he saw you again, as the heavy church doors closed behind him with a slight thud. You were the last one out of the building. Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar saw you light a cigarette. His eyes met yours briefly, but you were quick to look away.

You exhaled smoke, sitting down on the stone steps leading up to the entrance, letting single raindrops fall onto your leather jacket, while still being mostly covered by the awning.

For a second, Oscar thought about walking away. He didn’t know you—he didn’t know anyone here—but something kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe it was because he knew he would need to talk to someone here, not easily getting away from the mandated meetings. Maybe it was because you looked so damned lost.

Either way, he found himself speaking before he could stop himself.

“Uh,” he started awkwardly. “I like your stockings.”

You blinked, glancing down at your legs. Through the rips in your jeans, a pair of sheer black stockings peeked out, the floral lace pattern barely visible. You didn’t say anything right away, just stared at him with a look that was half-surprised, half-annoyed. Then, you blew out smoke from between your lips.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Oscar shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he should leave or try to salvage the moment. Why had he said that? He wasn’t good at small talk, never had been. He had no idea why he thought this was the time to start improving that skill.

You let out a low chuckle, almost like you were laughing at him. Wordlessly, you asked him if he wanted a cigarette, lifting the carton up in his direction.

He shook his head. “I don’t smoke.”

You took another drag, shrugging your shoulders, basically saying suit yourself to him. With your gaze turned back to the ground, the silence stretched on awkwardly, only broken by the sound of raindrops splattering against the asphalt.

“Aren’t white lighters supposed to be bad luck?” he asked suddenly, noticing the bright plastic you were flicking between your fingers. He’d heard that somewhere, an old superstition and coincidence—that a group of famous people who had died at a young age all had white lighters in their possession. It was a stupid thing to say, but it felt better than nothing.

You looked down at the lighter in your hand and then back at Oscar, a humourless smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe that’s the fucking point.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say to that. He wondered if you actually meant it—that bad luck didn’t matter to you, like you almost welcomed it. He wasn’t sure he believed in luck in that sense anyway. To him, life felt more like a balance of choices and chances, not fortune’s favour. But sometimes, maybe when the stars aligned and all that palaver, he believed in luck and he believed in doing the right thing to experience that luck.

Call it superstition, if you must.

The both of you continued to stand there in silence. Well, technically, you were still sitting. Two strangers, clinging to the building that was supposedly about to fix them, all while not really knowing if they even wanted to be fixed.

After a few long moments, you stood up, stubbing out the cigarette on the wet stone. You stuffed your hands into your pockets, casting him one last glance before heading out into the rain. The water immediately soaked your hair, but you didn’t seem to care. You hopped into a car that had pulled up at the end of the parking lot, an older woman in the driver seat.

You left him without a word and a strange feeling inside of him—like this situation wasn’t already odd enough.

_______________________________

You put out your cigarette as you reached the entrance of the church, again. Just another Tuesday in your life. You’d lost count on how long you had been going to these meetings. Two hours every Tuesday and one hour every Sunday.

It was a bit of a lie, that you didn’t know how long it had been. You just didn’t want to know how long it had been and therefore told yourself to not think about it until you’d all but forgotten about it.

However, Oscar was a new addition to the meetings, for a month or so. Seeing him, seemingly waiting for you before going inside, was odd? But not uncommon by now.

You didn’t say anything as you walked up beside him on the church steps, only giving him a slight nod as a way of saying hello. You looked out over the parking lot, glistening wet from the rain that seemed to haunt this small town. You were practically lucky that it wasn’t raining at the moment.

Something about the parking lot was different today, though. It stood out like a diamond in a drawer of costume jewellery.

There, parked conspicuously at the curb, was a sleek McLaren. The kind of car that didn't belong in this part of town, especially not parked outside a church where people came to unload their emotional baggage.

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar caught you staring with raised brows. “What nobhead takes their McLaren to counselling?” you muttered under your breath, clearly not expecting him to hear. But he was close enough, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

He chuckled, a low, surprised sound. “That would be me.”

You blinked, not expecting it to be him, let alone be so direct about it. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Oscar chortled, shaking his head, like he found your frankness refreshing, if not amusing, as though he wasn’t often spoken to like that.

“Yeah, it’s a dickish thing to do,” you admitted, giving him a half shrug. You couldn’t help but smile a little, though. He had a way of taking the sting out of your sharp words, as if he didn’t mind your snark.

You’d quite frankly been rude to him at a few of the former meetings, yet he still didn’t mind sitting in silence next to you for two hours every Tuesday. You were both here, after all—both stuck, both dealing with whatever mess had brought you to therapy.

The last few sessions had been the same—catching each other’s eye as you sat in the back of the room, listening to people’s stories. Neither of you said much during the meetings, but you always seemed to find each other afterward, just outside the church, where the air felt a little less suffocating. You smoked, and Oscar just stood there, pretending not to be bothered by the cold weather.

It had become something of a routine. You weren’t friends, exactly, but there was a strange sort of understanding between you. Tonight was no different as the meeting started.

You slipped into your usual spot near the back, watching as Oscar settled in a seat nearby. The room was filled with voices, people exchanging quick pleasantries before it started, just like every week, with people telling their stories.

You’d gone to meetings for such a long time that you knew the backstories of most people. It had been so long that some regulars had even stopped going, claiming they were fixed. Or at least fixed enough. You guessed that was the real goal—to not completely overcome trauma but to learn how to live with it. Then there were the people who were mandated to be there, by their workplace or by a court order. They were more hesitant than the people who went by their own free will, but their stories were always better when they finally got to talking, more interesting to listen to.

“Have you ever gone up there?” Oscar whispered at one point, curious.

“Nope,” you replied without hesitation, not looking at him. “They can force me to be here, but they can’t force me to talk.”

He looked at you for a moment, head tilted slightly, like he wanted to ask more but thought better of it. You could practically feel the question hanging in the air—who the fuck were they?—but he didn’t press. Instead, he glanced around the room again.

You liked that he didn’t push. That meant you didn’t have to lie to him.

There was an unspoken rule in these circles. Speak, or don’t, but never fake it. It couldn’t be about pretending, and for now, silence was as close as either of you seemed willing to come to honesty.

When the session ended, you found yourselves once again standing on the church steps, the night air brisk and cutting. You fumbled with a cigarette, attempting to light it against the persistent wind. Oscar lingered nearby, hands in his pockets, as he watched your futile attempts, half amused.

“Not getting picked up today?” he asked.

You shook your head, giving up on the cigarette and putting the lighter and carton back into the pocket of your jacket.

Oscar hesitated for a second, unsure whether to say anything. He was starting to feel that familiar awkwardness creep back in, the same feeling he’d had the first time he spoke to you. But before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I could give you a lift.”

You shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m not sleeping with you, Oscar,” you said flatly.

Oscar’s eyes widened, and he spluttered, “W-what? No! That’s not—” He stumbled over his words, horrified.

You raised a brow, watching as he struggled to find his words. He was blushing, his ears practically glowing red under the streetlight. “You offered to drive me home without ulterior motives?” you asked, sceptical.

“Yes, I was just trying to be nice,” he said firmly, but flustered. “Do guys from therapy usually hit on you?”

You let out a dry laugh, almost feeling guilty for your wrong assumption about him. “You’d be surprised at how many men find head-cases attractive.”

He only became more embarrassed, his mind flashing back to the first thing he’d ever said to you—a compliment on your stockings, of all things.

There was a vulnerability to him you hadn’t expected—something behind the stubborn façade and expensive car. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who was used to rejection. Or awkwardness. Or therapy, for that matter. But his loser personality made all of those things very possible.

“Well… I just wanted to make sure you got home safely,” he said, shifting awkwardly.

You studied him for a moment, weighing his words. Then, with a sigh, you jerked your head toward the McLaren. “Fine. Start the fucking car.”

Inside the car, the quiet was different, somehow more suffocating than outside on the church steps. Maybe it was the notion of having to actually talk to each other now that hadn’t felt as forced outside of the car.

“So, where to?” Oscar asked, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.

You glanced out the window, your fingers tapping idly on the door handle, almost scared to touch the absurdly shiny car. “Do you know the council houses behind the post office?”

“By that one pub? With the—”

“The Swan, yes that’s the one,” you interrupted. “My aunt lives right there.”

Oscar nodded, pulling away from the curb and heading in the direction you’d indicated. You kept your gaze fixated out the window as the car began to move. The streets passed by in a blur, the rain-slicked asphalt reflecting the dim glow of the town’s yellow lights.

“Aunt?” he asked after a beat of silence. “Parents not around?”

You didn’t answer immediately. For a moment, Oscar thought he’d overstepped, thought you were going to turn to a rudeness that he couldn’t joke his way out of.

Then, quietly, you muttered, “I think I am the one who’s not around.”

He heard you clearly, but he didn’t press further. He didn’t try to fill the space with meaningless chatter, and for that, you were both grateful. For a moment, it was peaceful, almost as if you were just two people out for a casual drive instead of a pair of strangers bound by a not-so-positive common denominator.

As the car approached the run-down council houses, you unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t immediately move to get out. Instead, you turned to him, studying his profile in the low light, something unreadable in your expression.

“Thanks,” you said after a moment.

“For the ride?” he asked.

“For not being a complete dick,” you replied as you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold. You didn’t look back, but you knew that he was smiling behind you.

_______________________________

The following week, you were late. Not late enough for it to actually be a problem, but late enough that Oscar felt the awkward tension of deciding whether to wait for you outside like he usually did or go inside. He definitely could have waited, but he was particular about time, so he went in.

Oscar glanced around the room, sitting somewhere in the middle now that you hadn’t decided seats for the two of you. He noticed the faces that had become a strange sort of fixture in his life over the past months.

The season had started and it was going fairly well. He had thoughts of disaster almost every weekend, but he didn’t hear Charles’ screaming as often. It was usually worst during qualifying, when the short amount of time made the anxiety build up quicker. But he was stable. Even his therapist had said that. He wasn’t a danger in any way, but he still just wished to get an answer as to why this crash had affected him in the way that it did.

Your heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, your Doc Martens making a thumping sound against the old hardwood flooring. You looked like a drenched, unhappy cat, caught in one of the town’s relentless downpours. For a moment, Oscar smiled; he hadn’t thought he’d ever see you sit anywhere but the back row, yet here you were, sliding into the empty seat next to him with a huff.

You took off your wet leather jacket and threw your bag on the floor, almost curling into your seat on the uncomfortable chair, a paper cup of hot water warming your hands. There was a station outside of the room with tea and coffee and you would grab a cup of tea for yourself before every meeting. Oscar had learnt that by now—also knowing that you brought your own tea bags since they only offered black tea and you drank rooibos. Oscar had lived in England for a long time, but the science behind drinking tea was still something that confused him.

You rubbed your face dry with the sleeves of your oversized sweater, not caring that your mascara smudged around your eyes. Oscar thought about offering his own hoodie, or at least a tissue, but you didn’t seem the type to want help with something so small. Instead, he kept quiet, simply watching as you tried to shake off the rain.

A beat of silence passed between you both. Then, you spoke first.

“You never come to the Sunday meetings.”

You tried to sound casual, but the question was deliberate; it was thought through. He glanced at you, surprised. It wasn’t often that you were the one to initiate a conversation, and when you did, they were short and edged with sarcasm.

“Didn’t even know they had meetings during the weekend,” Oscar replied with a shrug. “I work most Sundays.”

“So do I, but I manage to show up here anyway.”

He noticed the way your eyes held his gaze, challenging but curious. You weren’t shy to look him straight in the eye, unlike himself. The light from the nearby windows cast a muted glow over you, softening the lines of your face, your smudged makeup giving you a look of tiredness that felt familiar to him.

It was like you were waiting, expecting him to talk again, and he felt that familiar twist of unease, a reminder that vulnerability wasn’t something he navigated easily. A hint of a smile crossed Oscar’s face as he looked away, not sure how much to say.

Today’s meeting wasn’t much different from all the others. There was the mother who dealt with guilt after losing her daughter in a car crash. There was Anthony, a local restaurant owner, who was there as part of his probation plan after an assault charge. There was Jenny, a girl in her thirties who was mandated by her therapist to be there as exposure for her agoraphobia. It was definitely ironic that the girl with a social anxiety disorder did more talking than you and Oscar combined.

During a brief five-minute break, Oscar looked over at you again, seemingly lost in your thoughts.

“You think you’ll ever get up there?” he asked, nodding toward the lectern.

Oscar knew he had asked similar questions before, but this one was more to ask if you thought this group counselling thing would ever lead to you opening up—if you saw an end to these countless meetings by actually letting them help you, letting them make you feel better.

“No,” you answered flatly. “Opening up to strangers is weird.”

He smiled at that. “I think this is supposed to have the opposite effect,” he said, crossing his arms. “That it’s easier with strangers because we won’t feel judged in the same way.”

You looked up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Keep talking Oscar, and we won’t be strangers by the end of this.”

He laughed, shaking his head. There was a subtle humour to your banter, like you both enjoyed pushing boundaries without really crossing them. Oscar settled on the idea that he didn’t want you two to be strangers after all.

As the meeting came to a close, people began to shuffle out, some lingering to chat with one another, others heading straight for the door. You, as usual, made your way outside without a word. Oscar followed, as he always did, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that it didn’t feel like a coincidence.

He never knew why he lingered. He wasn’t even sure if you wanted him to. But the silence you shared after group therapy felt easier than the forced vulnerability inside.

Outside, the air was crisp, the rain from earlier having tapered off, leaving the ground damp and slick, the sun breaking through the clouds. You leant against the stone wall of the church, lighting another cigarette with the same white lighter he’d seen you use before.

Oscar frowned slightly, feeling a strange sense of unease creep into his chest as he watched you. He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared, but before he could stop himself, he spoke up. “Can you stop buying white lighters, please?”

You raised your brows, almost mocking him. “Why? Are you superstitious?”

“No,” Oscar replied, shaking his head. “It just feels like a weird thing to jeopardise.”

“What do you know about the 27 club anyway?” you asked, taking another drag. You were mindful enough to turn your head in the opposite direction as you blew out the smoke.

The 27 Club—a bunch of musicians, mostly rockstars, who had died at the age of 27 due to rough lifestyles. Rumour had it that they all used white lighters for their cigarettes and other smokeable substances. Oscar didn’t know anything about their music or the club they were in. He just knew of the rumour.

“Literally nothing except that they died carrying white lighters,” Oscar admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And that you deserve to live way past the age of 27.”

You blinked, taken aback, and for a moment, the armour you wore around yourself seemed to crack. You stared at him, cigarette halfway to your lips, processing what he’d just said.

“Who knew you could be so sweet?” you teased, trying to be your usual sarcastic self, but there was a warmth in your voice that hadn’t been there before. That tiny hint of warmth made his chest feel strangely tight.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before you broke it; your voice quieter now. “Why do you keep coming here anyway? You don’t talk much either. So why show up?”

Oscar hesitated, unsure how much to say. He wasn’t a stranger to lying about his job to people, often times just because he couldn’t be arsed to explain or have people ask if he was rich and famous. It wasn’t like that with you, but he still decided to lie—or opt out of telling the entire truth. He wanted you to think he was normal.

“I’m mandated to be here by my workplace,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “I caused a car accident with a colleague of mine, and I kind of need to be able to drive to keep my job.”

You frowned in confusion. “But you drove me home? Are you scared of driving?”

“It’s… different,” he admitted. “Driving long distances for work or just around in this little hellhole.”

You studied him for a long moment, as if weighing his words. Then, in a surprisingly gentle tone, you asked, “Do you like… get flashbacks of the crash and blame yourself all over again?”

Oscar nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah, I guess it’s like that. I keep replaying it, even though my colleague was fine. It’s like this… loop in my head, where I keep imagining every possible way it could have gone worse. Murphy’s Law, you know? Like, I can’t help but think of every possible mistake I could make.”

“Murphy’s Law is about engineering, though,” you pointed out. “You can’t just apply that to your everyday life. It’ll turn you into an impossible perfectionist, constantly waiting for everything to fall apart.”

Oscar smiled, appreciating the unexpected insight. It reminded him of how little you knew about him, since, y’know, he hadn’t told you the truth—that engineering actually was involved in his everyday life. And yet, somehow, you still seemed to understand. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he found himself wondering what other surprises you might be hiding.

You stubbed out your cigarette, bending down and reaching into your bag for a piece of chewing gum. He watched as you unwrapped it, slipping it into your mouth, the familiar scent of artificial strawberry filling the air. It was a ritual he’d seen before, almost like you were trying to erase the smell of smoke as quickly as you’d created it. The action was so practiced, and he found himself charmed by the small, sort of endearing quirk.

“You’re not gonna ask me why I keep on showing up here?” you asked, looking wondering up at Oscar, mumbling slightly as you chewed to get the gum soft.

He glanced at you with a faint smile. “You’ll tell me when you feel comfortable enough. I know that.”

A soft, almost approving nod was your only response.

“There’s my ride,” you murmured as a car drove into the parking lot—the same car he’d seen many times before, the same old woman driving. He could now assume it was your aunt. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then.”

Oscar stumbled on his words as he tried to say goodbye to you, caught off guard by how you almost skipped down the church stairs, looking happier than ever. It was a weird juxtaposition, because you obviously weren’t—happier than ever, that is. You actually dared to look back at him, smiling as you walked over the parking lot. The mascara still sat heavy under your eyes as light shone down on you from the clouds breaking above, and in that moment, you looked like the saddest thing under the sun.

After the car had driven away, Oscar stood still with his thoughts outside the church for a second. He had to look into the weekend meetings. Even if he could never attend them himself, he needed to know why they were important enough for you to mention them to him.

With a last glance toward the parking lot, he went back inside, his eyes drifting toward the bulletin board in the hallway. Various flyers covered its surface. The community really tried its hardest, offering support groups for just about anything—newly becoming parents, cancer survival, dealing with grief and death.

Oscar looked at the schedules, most of them being on weekdays. However, anonymous groups for recovering alcoholics and narcotics were on Saturdays, respectively, Sundays.

It didn’t take long for Oscar to understand.

He also understood why you had asked him. You wanted to know if you had another thing in common other than the group meetings. You hadn’t known he was there because of a car crash, so in your mind he might as well have been there for other issues, like drugs or alcohol.

Oscar didn’t know your full story. He didn’t know why you were here, why you kept showing up week after week, or what had led you to seek out meetings. But he did know one thing: you weren’t as unreachable as you pretended to be, and he was willing to wait until you felt ready to show him the parts of yourself you’d kept hidden.

_______________________________

The soft clink of glasses and low murmur of voices filled the pub as you wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your hands moving out of habit, eyes scanning the sparse crowd. Picking up an afternoon shift instead of the night shift wasn’t something you normally did, just for that reason. It was the same amount of hours, but it felt a lot longer since the customers were fewer. Thankfully, the evening crowd was starting to build up.

A woman sat at the counter, maybe ten years older than you, her fingers tracing the rim of an empty glass, her gaze flitting between the door and her phone. She had a nervous look and was dressed too nicely for the pub. You knew the type—the first daters—planning nights to the last detail, hoping for it to go well but preparing for disaster.

“Waiting for someone?” you asked, offering to take her glass.

“Yeah, a first date. I needed some liquid courage in advance,” she replied with a tight smile.

“Well, you look gorgeous,” you assured, showing her a genuine smile. “If they turn out to be a wanker, just come up and order an angel shot and I’ll help you out of here.”

Her smile widened, a bit more relaxed now, as she thanked you.

You made a point to watch over her as your shift went on. Her date arrived shortly after. You let yourself relax; at least he wasn’t a no-show, and he didn’t look like the type to catfish someone. In fact, he looked almost as nervous as she did, and you found yourself rooting for them.

Working in a gritty pub had never been your dream, but it was what your CV got you at this point in life. You had tried living in London, making ends meet by working at a cocktail bar, but you had crash-landed back in your hometown, like big time crashing.

Thankfully, the owner of The Swan hadn’t looked too closely into your past, or he at least didn’t care. You knew how to pour a pint, you knew how to clean up, and you knew how to deal with rowdy drunk people. That made you a top employee.

You moved on autopilot around the familiar bar with its familiar patrons. Some old, who frequented the bar even on weekdays, and some young, who you mostly saw on weekends.

You had learnt to listen to some and to eavesdrop on others. Like, you knew all about Denny’s divorce and custody battle because he sat by the bar and went on and on about it as he downed London Prides. But you had to eavesdrop to know that the group of girls who came in after work on Fridays had finally staged an intervention for their friend who put up with too much shit from her boyfriend.

Little things like that made bartending enjoyable.

Other things—like loud groups of lads your own age—almost always made it less enjoyable. That was why you felt a tiredness fall over you like an anvil in a slapstick comedy when you, even with your back turned to the door, could hear them enter. You let out a resigned sigh, knowing that the evening was about to take a livelier turn, and maybe not for the better.

However, they weren’t the usual group that gave you and your colleagues trouble. This were customers you’d never seen before. Strange for being such a small town with only The Swan and two other pubs. Sure, the boys were loud as they came to the bar to order from your colleague, but they were patient and not overly rude.

You froze in surprise.

You felt your grip slip from the glass you were holding, almost dropping it. While his friends filed up to the bar with an eagerness for drinks, Oscar lingered, his eyes darting around the room before landing on you. The shocked look on his face was almost priceless. He looked as startled as you felt, his eyes widening briefly as they locked onto yours.

He seemed out of place in the gritty atmosphere of the pub—too put-together, too polished. You knew he wasn’t British from his strong accent, and you knew he wasn’t the most outgoing type from his well… personality. He didn’t belong in here, but for some reason his friends had waltzed right in to The Swan, never having done so before.

You were scared to think about why, but deep down you knew.

Before your colleague could ask him for his order, you stepped forward. You wiped your hands on a towel and raised an eyebrow. “You lost?” you teased lightly, leaning against the bar.

Oscar’s friends were still gathering their drinks, a couple of them glancing your way with open curiosity. Your colleague doing the same, knowing full well that you would have to explain this to them afterwards.

Oscar smiled back, a bit shyly. “No, just… here with some friends.” He gestured vaguely behind him, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“So,” you said, folding your arms. “What can I get you?”

Oscar chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not drinking tonight. Just…moral support, I guess.”

“You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise around you fading into the background.

His friends soon called after him to join them at their table and you had a job to do. As you moved around the bar, greeting regulars, wiping down counters, and handing out drinks, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Oscar was still there, his presence lingering even when he was out of view.

Each time you glanced over at their table, you caught him glancing back. The first few times he seemed nervous to be caught, but when he realised how often you looked at him, he really had nothing to be ashamed of if he stared back at you.

After a while, the place grew livelier, and you lost sight of him in the ebb and flow of customers, the noise picking up as more people filled the seats. The usual rowdiness of a Saturday night began to take hold.

Eventually, you saw his friends begin to gather their things, settling their tabs, pulling on jackets, and nudging each other as they headed out. You felt yourself get stuck in your steps behind the bar as you watched Oscar stand up from his seat. He exchanged a few words with his friends as they left, but he stayed, earning what you assumed were amused laughs and some crude comments.

Oscar waited a moment, watching them go, before he turned his gaze toward the bar. You tried to make yourself seem busy, cleaning a counter that wasn’t even dirty. You felt a flicker of nerves as he approached, unsure if you should be the first to talk. He sat down on an empty bar stool next to Denny. He didn’t have to dare to look at you because you already had all of his attention.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this long without a cigarette before, y’know,” he said, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “I only smoke when I’m stressed, which is less often than you’d think.”

Oscar’s smile lingered, a warm glint in his eyes that hinted that he understood that the only time he saw you was at the group meetings and that they were the thing that caused you stress to the point where you felt the need to smoke. You wouldn’t even consider yourself a nicotine addict. However, of all things, nicotine wouldn’t be the worst thing to admit that you were addicted to.

Your conversation was briefly interrupted by your other patrons, like Denny, who flagged you down for another pint. You poured his drink wordlessly, and Oscar waited, his presence somehow calming amidst the usual chaos of the bar.

The couple you’d served earlier—the first-daters—approached to settle their tab.

“That looked successful,” you remarked with a friendly smile, referring to their date.

“Yeah, honestly green flags all around,” she replied, throwing her date a soft smile as he took out his wallet. “Thanks for the angel shot advice, though.”

You smiled. “Glad you didn’t need to use it.”

The woman chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she looked from you to Oscar, as if piecing something together. She tilted her head toward you. “Do… you need an angel shot yourself?”

“For this bloke?” you asked in surprise, pointing at Oscar. “Nah, I can handle him myself.”

The woman nodded, smiling in amusement as she gave Oscar another once-over before heading out with her date, holding hands. Oscar, who had been listening to the entire exchange with a bemused expression, raised an eyebrow.

“What’s an angel shot?” he asked.

“It’s a code we use for people on bad dates,” you explained with a shrug. “If they order one, it means they need help, and I step in. It’s a subtle way for someone to signal they’re uncomfortable without making a scene.”

Oscar’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he nodded. “That’s pretty smart.”

“Yeah, it can be useful. When I worked at a cocktail bar in London we had to use it almost every night. This place is a lot calmer.”

You knew it, Oscar knew it too—that rich people drinking Negronis at a rooftop bar in London were more troublesome once they got drunk than what people like Denny did once they were in on their seventh pint of the evening in a small town pub.

There was a brief lull in the conversation, the uncomfortable kind where you just waited for someone to break the silence. Oscar’s fingers tapped lightly on the bar, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment before, as if summoning courage, he spoke again, his voice a bit hesitant.

“So… when are you off?”

“In…” you stopped to check the clock on the wall behind you. “Three minutes.”

Oscar shifted, clearly nervous. “Do you want to maybe hang out? Get dinner or something?”

You blinked, taken off guard. He looked so uncomfortable. It was endearing in a way you hadn’t expected. He was as unsure of himself as anyone else was.

Oscar, meanwhile, felt as though he was the world’s worst at this. It was no wonder he never had casual things like Lando seemed to have every other weekend, one night stand after one night stand. Not that Oscar necessarily wanted that, but to even feel like he had the possibility to ask someone out would’ve been nice.

“I mean, if you’re up for it,” he added quickly, tripping over his words. “Like, we don’t have to or anything. I just thought—”

You cut him off with an uncharacteristic giggle, the sound breaking through the tension. “Only if I can use your shower. I smell like cheap beer and fryer oil,” you said, lifting your t-shirt with the pub’s swan logo on it to your nose, grimacing at the smell.

“Oh,” he breathed, his face lighting up in relief. “Absolutely.”

You tossed the towel onto the counter, giving him a playful smile as you stepped around the bar to join him. “But I’ll let you know,” you said, lowering your voice, “you shouldn’t hang out with someone like me. I’ll defile you.”

“I’m not as innocent as I act,” he said teasingly, but he wasn’t even sure if he believed his own words, let alone did he fool you.

_______________________________

Oscar sat like a sociopath on the sofa waiting for you to finish showering. He was not sure his posture had even been this good. You’d made your way to his flat after your shift had ended. He’d offered you his shower and clothes while he said he’d fix the rest. However, every film he could think of watching seemed pathetic. Every type of food he could think of ordering seemed disgusting. He hadn’t exactly thought this through when he asked you to hang out. He hadn’t expected it to be so… casual? Or maybe easy? Like you actually wanted to be here, in his flat, spending the evening with him.

He was probably overthinking this—no, he was overthinking this. But how could he not? He tried so hard to not think of the fact that you were wet and naked just a wall away, but he was pretty sure his brain broke in the process. Every detail was suddenly monumental, as though he was a teenager again.

The faint sound of the shower stopped, and he quickly sat up straighter, mentally scolding himself to look less… tense. He wasn’t sure he was pulling it off. He could hear the bathroom door open, and then you were padding down the hall, and he practically whipped his head around to see you.

You were wearing one of his favourite shirts, the maroon fabric hanging over your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair was still damp, small droplets darkening the shirt where they fell. The sweatpants you’d borrowed were too long, so you’d tucked them into your socks—baby pink, fuzzy socks with little red hearts on them. The socks were definitely not Oscar’s. He couldn’t believe that was what you were hiding under your Doc Martens.

Oscar blinked, trying to reconcile the idea that this—this ridiculously adorable version of you—was the same person who’d honestly scared him during your first conversation.

“Cute socks,” he chuckled, unable to stop himself.

“Shut up,” you muttered, hiding a smile, before flopping down on the sofa next to him, already more casual than Oscar could ever be. “What are we watching?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was acutely aware of how close you were, your leg brushing against his as you made yourself comfortable. You didn’t hesitate to grab a blanket that was thrown over the back of the sofa, cuddling into it as you wrapped it around yourself.

“We could watch… uh, anything you want,” Oscar finally managed.

You rolled your eyes, sinking into the sofa cushions. “If you let me pick, it’s going to be something dumb.”

“I’m okay with dumb.”

Your lips curled into a smile, but you didn’t say anything as you leant forward to grab the remote. Oscar sat there, watching as you navigated through streaming options. You were on the hunt for something specific, he noticed. Right in on Disney+ and quickly you searched for…Brother Bear?

Oscar’s brow lifted in surprise, but he didn’t question it. In a way, it felt perfectly fitting. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and settled into the cushions, letting himself ease into the film, into the quiet comfort of the moment.

You both ordered pizza that arrived sometime in the middle of the film. You liked pineapple on pizza, but he guessed he could overlook it. Especially if it meant you were here, sitting beside him, taking a bite with a content look on your face.

You’d grown soft around the edges, for him. This was domestic, bordering on romantic. The girl he had first met—cigarette and white lighter in hand—would’ve never admitted to liking Disney films and to wearing pink fuzzy socks.

When the pizza was finished and the movie neared its end, you laid down in the corner of his L-shaped sofa, blanket fully surrounding you. Oscar wanted to scoot over, closer to you, maybe put your feet in his lap, but he hesitated, scared to cross boundaries. He chewed the inside of his cheek, lost in thought, hoping that his nerves would miraculously disappear.

And then you made a sound—a soft, involuntary awe that escaped your lips during the scene where Koda, the little bear cub, was reunited with his deceased mother through some sort of glowing spirits in the sky. Oscar had to admit that even though he’d seen this film as a kid, the plot was now completely lost on him because of you.

It was cute. Like, painfully cute, and Oscar felt that weird mix of cute aggression, where something is so adorable you just want to squeeze it. Instead, he let himself simply watch you, taking in the way your eyes glistened and your mouth parted slightly, as if you’d forgotten everything around you, wrapped up in this world of animated magic. He mentally cursed himself when you caught him looking.

“Why are you staring at me?” you muttered.

“You look like you’re about to cry,” Oscar teased and smiled boyishly.

“Shut up, I do not,” you shot back, rubbing your eyes with your fingers. You were sharp enough to draw blood, and he was somehow always left unscathed.

He couldn’t help but smile wider, watching as you tried to hide your embarrassment. In a brave moment, he moved closer, daring to take a hold of your wrist so that you couldn’t hide from him. Your eyes were shining and a couple of your eyelashes had clumped together from the moisture.

“It’s okay to cry to movies,” he said, nudging you gently. “Especially one’s about animated animals.”

“I am not crying. Not even close,” you insisted, laughing, sinking further into the sofa, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

You moved to the side and somehow, Oscar felt himself fitting naturally into the space behind you. He felt something shift inside him, a strange warmth settling in his chest. This was soft, quiet, almost painfully domestic. Yet it was real. You were here, cuddled up on his sofa, wrapped in his blanket, wearing his clothes, and laughing at something he’d said.

Neither of you said another word as you moved to lay together like you’d done it a million times before. He found his arm moving to wrap around you, pulling you in closer until your back was touching his chest. You lifted the blanket to cover him partly too. The movie rolled through its final scenes, and Oscar found himself paying even less attention now that you were literally touching him.

“You’re gonna stay there?” you whispered as the end credits rolled.

“Yeah, we’re watching the sequel.”

But neither of you moved to get the remote.

After a still moment, with a deep breath you moved to lay on your back. You glanced up at him, your gaze holding his for a long moment. Oscar didn’t dare look away, even if his confidence told him to do it. At least it was easier to look you in the eye than to take in the rest of you.

His heart picked up when you adjusted yourself, the blanket slipping from your shoulders and the maroon fabric of his shirt shifted slightly, revealing the outline of your body beneath. Your breasts moved gently, and he couldn’t help but notice the lack of anything underneath the soft cotton. His throat felt tight, and suddenly, every molecule of air around him seemed saturated with the scent of you.

Then, he realised that the scent of you was actually the scent of his laundry detergent and the soap he kept in his shower mixed with something that was uniquely you. And oh, how Oscar hated being a man. Was he really pathetic enough to pop a boner because you smelled good?

His body reacted before his brain could process it, betraying him in ways that were anything but subtle—warm and spreading, settling quickly. He shifted uncomfortably, moving his legs in a feeble attempt to hide the evidence of just how much you affected him.

“Oscar…” Your voice was soft, questioning.

He shook his head, looking anywhere but at you as he managed to respond. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, mortified. His face burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe this was happening—couldn’t believe he was that guy right now.

“You don’t have to apologise,” you whispered, and you still weren’t scared to look him in the eye. Oscar for once wished you were.

“Yes, I do. It kind of ruins the mood,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your expression softened and then you shifted to give him a bit of space. In the process, you nearly tipped off the edge of the sofa, and instinctively, Oscar reached out, his hand steadying you by your arm. The warmth of your skin under his touch sent a spark up through his palm, grounding him, but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt if he’d made you uncomfortable.

“Ugh… it’s just…you just smell good, and you’re wearing my shirt, and your skin is the softest thing ever, and I can’t think straight—” he stopped himself abruptly.

A laugh escaped your lips, soft but warm, and Oscar froze, unsure if he’d actually said all that aloud or if his brain had finally imploded.

“What are you doing?” you asked, tilting your head as you watched Oscar suddenly move away from you, sitting up in an awkward half-way position with the limited space he had behind you. It probably looked like he was about to bolt out of the flat out of sheer embarrassment.

“What am I doing?” He frowned. “I just—I don’t want you… I mean, you shouldn’t have to, y’know, feel it.”

At that, your smile deepened, and you moved your legs, spreading them just enough to make space for him to settle between them, throwing the blanket off the sofa.

“Oscar, can you… just calm down for a second?” you said gently, meeting his gaze with a reassuring look. “I’m not appalled by it, y’know? But you’re acting like I should be.”

His heartbeat thundered in his chest as he looked at you, processing your words. You didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. It was in this moment that Oscar also realised the position you were in, with him between your legs, fighting with his arm propped up to not fall flatly over your body. You weren’t scared to brush his sides by shutting your thighs just the slightest.

“You’re okay with this?” he felt the need to ask.

“I am.”

Oscar let his eyes linger for the first time, deciding for once to let the awkwardness melt away. And just like always, your eyes were on him, almost shamelessly scanning his broad shoulders and the way the fabric of his grey sweatpants stretched.

The shirt you’d borrowed had ridden up slightly, revealing your soft stomach and the hem of your underwear—a black cotton thong, the thin material peeking out. What was the frontal version of a whale-tail called? When the elastics sank into the soft parts of your hips and showed on either side above the waistband of your sweatpants.

Yeah, Oscar’s brain was definitely broken.

His mind spun, grasping for words, but all he managed was a shaky breath as he leaned in, like he couldn’t believe that he was seeing it, that he was this close. The air brushed against your skin. His mouth was as dry as a desert. You inhaled so sharply that he could hear it and see your stomach rising. He was eye level with your belly button and he decided upon… kissing it. Or right next to it, on the softest part of your stomach, the world narrowing down to just that patch of skin.

He looked up for reassurance, and you just smiled. A perfectly content smile where light sparkled in your eyes. Oscar’s hands found your waist as he kissed you again, his lips trailing gently across your stomach. Your skin was impossibly soft, practically melting into his hands.

Oscar’s next step was unplanned—like this entire thing—and maybe a bit silly, but when he was down there, kissing your stomach, he couldn’t help but want to venture higher up. So, like any other unreasonable person with hormones clouding their judgement, he stuck his head under your shirt, starting by kissing your ribs.

You let out something between a gasp and a giggle as your breathing picked up the higher up Oscar’s mouth wandered. Where your ribs connected in the middle of your chest, right where the skin was the thinnest, was where he started to gently suck and he earned his first moan. You could feel him start to smile as it escaped you.

When you looked down at him, all you could see was how his head stretched the fabric, and it was simply just humorous.

“I could just take my shirt off, y’know?” you teased, though you were out of breath.

”No,” he mumbled, lips brushing against your skin, an audible mwah leaving his mouth as he moved higher, planting a soft kiss in the valley between your breasts. “It’s warm under here.”

You let out a small laugh, your fingers resting on top of his head, the shirt still acting as a barrier as you felt his hair through it. “Wouldn’t have taken you for such a boob guy.”

Oscar closed his eyes as he felt your quiet laugher vibrate through your chest against his lips. Your breasts were practically lodged against his cheeks and he was definitely flushed red all over so it was actually convenient for him to be hidden under your shirt.

“Shut up,” was all he could manage to mutter.

He couldn’t hide anymore when he felt you pull the shirt up by the hem, first over his head and then swiftly over your own, it landing somewhere on the floor. Oscar was left laying there, chin resting against your sternum, feeling totally exposed as your eyes met his again. He didn’t dare to take in the sight of you shirtless, even though he was literally on top of your breasts.

And while he probably looked like a flustered mess, you looked totally unfazed.

“You motorboated me,” you exclaimed, laughter in your voice, “and you haven’t even kissed me on the mouth! Feels a bit backwards, don’t you think?”

Oscar chuckled, not having the time to think that he should be ashamed because of what you just insinuated. His hand moved to gently cup your cheek as he lifted himself to look at you.

“What I’m hearing is that you want to kiss me.”

He hated to sound cocky. He promised he really did. But with your jaw slacked and disbelief plastered on your face, he felt like he had said the right thing. You weren’t pushing him away, weren’t closing off the moment like he half-expected.

Instead, you were pulling him in.

If he thought your chest had been soft, your lips were like fucking velvet. It was like he was scared to touch you with how delicate you felt; with how softly you met his own lips. The initial connection was quick before he pulled away an inch or two to gather your reaction. With pure lust in your eyes, you were back to kissing him again before he had the chance to overthink what had just happened.

The kiss deepened slowly, a tender exploration of new territory, a silent acknowledgement that this—whatever this was—wasn’t just a one-off moment.

Oscar’s heart hammered in his chest as he shifted, his body now hovering over yours. His lips brushed against yours in a series of soft kisses. Then, before he knew it, your tongue was fighting his own. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, and he let himself be totally absorbed by you.

And oh my god, you were shirtless beneath him. He struggled with where to place his hands, feeling strange holding your face for too long but scared to grip your bare waist with his wandering hands. But when he felt you push up towards him—your nipples rubbing his shirt, the soft flesh of your breast squished against his chest—Oscar felt like he could indulge fully.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Oscar pulled away and asked, “Do you want this to go further?”

You nodded first, swallowing your breath, before verbally saying a low and desperate yes too.

He wasn’t sure if he answered anything coherent or just let out a loud huff when he leant back down to kiss you. As his hands travelled up your body, you could feel goosebumps form under his fingertips. He stoked the underside of your breasts, taking in the way you reacted, before fully cupping them in his palms.

You tipped your head back between the sofa cushions as his lips moved down your jaw and neck, littering you with open-mouthed kisses. He towered over you, his lower body fitting perfectly with how your legs spread for him.

Oscar smiled as he grazed his teeth against your nipple, hearing you gasp at how he purposely teased you. And while he hadn’t thought about it like that before, you were definitely right with calling him a boob guy. Because fuck, could he spend his time adoring and fondling your soft tits, malleable in his hands and stimulating on his tongue. The way they perked up and became more sensitive with his touch was about to make him delirious.

And the sounds you were making—the gentle breathy groans—were better than any sound he’d ever heard before, practically deafening to his ears by how much he was concentrating on it. God, was he glad to have not turned on the sequel because having sex to Phil Collins wasn’t really on any bucket list. Especially not with how overwhelming he found your noises.

He released your nipple with a smacking sound, gazing at the attacked skin of your chest and neck. It would leave bruises, which made him feel even more like a horny teenager.

“Can you take your shirt off?” Your voice felt airy and small.

While your hands had already crept under to rake down his back as you were kissing, Oscar hadn’t exactly thought about the imbalance. He’d do just about anything to make you comfortable, meaning that his t-shirt soon joined yours on the floor.

He was an athlete, yet he hadn’t personally ever thought he looked like one. He’d never been one of those guys to confidently parade around without a shirt on in summer or post pictures of himself flexing in the gym. He just couldn’t do it.

But your eyes on him, the way you nestled your lower lip between your teeth, and how your hands immediately reached out to touch him… yeah, that was maybe the closest thing he’d felt to confidence in a long time.

“Do you feel okay?”

He wasn’t sure how his own voice would sound when he spoke again—dry and muffled, distracted by a million different things.

“Mhm,” you sighed out. “You wanna take off the rest of my clothes or should I do it myself?”

Oscar gulped at your forwardness, but he guessed he already knew that you wanted to take this further. So did he, like insanely. With fumbling fingers, he untied the drawstring on your sweatpants and worked them down your hips, until you laid there in front of him in just your thong and fuzzy socks.

He had sat up to take off his shirt, but he now nestled down between your legs again. There was no way in hell that he would last long inside of you, so he would need to please you beforehand. A gentleman, after all.

Oscar felt like he was about to die at the thought of going down on you, his blushing cheeks almost hurting from how warm they were. His hair was messy, his lips were kissed raw, and his pupils had dilated until all you could see in his eyes was darkness.

“Y’know you don’t have to—” you tried to tell him.

“What if I really want to?” he questioned, almost rhetorically. You didn’t fight him on it.

He kissed down your stomach until he came to the hem of your panties, absentmindedly rubbing soft circles on your hips and then down your thighs. There, his thoughts were simply reduced to the need to have you, in whatever way you allowed him.

You were impatient, while Oscar took his time to enjoy you. He tortuously dragged his lips across your thighs; the faint pattern of your skin looked like thin, pale lines spreading like lightning strikes. Once he dared to touch you over the fabric and feel the wetness that had soaked through, he could hear your breath hitch.

Slowly, he hooked his fingers in the sides of your thong and dragged them down your legs, leaving them discarded on the floor with the other clothes. Fully naked, except the socks, but those were staying on, Oscar decided.

“Have I told you that you’re gorgeous yet?”

You were looking down at him with an expression akin to frustration—mouth slightly open and heavy breaths spilling out, almost scoffing at his cliché words. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as his own breaths hit your skin, blowing against your exposed heat. He pecked the stretched skin on your inner thigh to soothe you, stopping your writhing.

At a loss for what to do with your hands, they found their way down to his hair, weaving through his soft curls, tugging gently to get his attention.

“Osc…” you said with a simple breath.

That was really all Oscar needed—to hear you want him. That stupid little nickname was also something special. He hummed against you, feeling your reassurance as he kissed gently over your clit. And before you were able to complain for more, he latched his lips around it, suckling in a way that made your vision momentarily blank. His movements were tentative at first, unexperienced and lacking confidence.

“Oh, you’re so good,” you exhaled, praising him.

And there was something about the way you say it that just drove Oscar mad. It wasn’t that it felt good—it was that he was good. He got off on your reaction. It was as simple as that. It made him determined, building something with precise dramatics.

You felt his left hand grasp at the skin of your thigh, slowly inching upwards before he carefully sank a finger into you. Your hips twitched and you moan out loud as he played with you. He worked you open before adding another finger, his mouth never leaving your clit in the process. Even when your thighs fought to stay open, caging him between them, he didn’t falter. And every once in a while, when his eyes looked up to meet yours, you only felt yourself falling apart quicker.

His voice was low, the tone soft, when he mumbled something against your swollen cunt; something about how you tasted good. His free hand gently pressed down on your stomach to make you focus on the sensation—to feel his fingers ripping you apart from the inside out.

“God, fuckfuckfuck—” You were barely making sense of your own words as you bucked up against his mouth, completely buried over you, nose bumping your clit with his repeated motions.

Automatically, your hands grasped your breasts, fingers toying with your already sensitive nipples. Moving from your stomach, Oscar’s right hand was placed on your tits too, clasping his fingers over your own as he squeezed.

When you inevitably fell apart, he didn’t stop—not until you were a complete mess beneath him. Arching, white-hot, and expanding with intensity before his very eyes as he continued to softly lick. The way he was making out with your soaked core and babying your clit with the tip of his tongue would make one believe that this was a man who had never been shy or embarrassed over a single thing in his life.

And he wasn’t going to stop until you begged him.

With a pleasured and defeated “Oscar, please…” you were letting him know that he had done his job—that he had won you over in more ways than was necessary, that you were spent by him.

“I know,” he cooed, kissing your stomach. “I know.”

He moved to lay beside you, gently sliding his fingers out of you before tap, tap, tapping at your puffy clit, keeping his eyes steady at how you reacted. A slight hiss left your mouth before a hoarse laugher slipped out too. Your legs were still trembling from how intense your orgasm had been.

“You’re a mess,” you chuckled, raising a hand to brush his hair back then wiping his mouth with the back of your hand to clean him. “And a menace.”

“Well, so are you,” he smiled, kissing you on the mouth, neither of you caring about said mess.

You took a moment to breathe, and Oscar took a moment to think. While he couldn’t think straight, he could still come to the conclusion that this was such a good feeling—an overwhelmingly good feeling that he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe never before.

By now, his cock was painfully hard beneath his sweatpants, definitely having leaked pre-cum through his boxers. If it had been bad before, it was so many times worse now with you heaving next to him, naked and looking at him through your eyelashes. He was practically seeing stars, and you hadn’t even touched him where he ached the most.

It was almost unjustifiable the way he was feeling—someone should just tape a sign to his forehead that said practically a raging virgin and call it a day. He wasn’t one, just to clarify, but you made him feel like one.

Your hand trailed gently down his chest, your nails painted black like always. Oscar wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore. He wished he could react normally to your touch, but instead it was like his skin raised like a mountain range wherever your hand wandered, his eyes following your movements with a pitiful desperation.

And when your hand moved below the waistband of his sweatpants, resting gently over his boxers, and therefore his erection too, he wasn’t sure what exactly would happen to his body—something new, a biological error, or a supernatural phenomenon.

You were so close to him, pulling his trousers down in such a fashion that your legs almost clashed together while it happened. Then he was naked, and you turned quiet.

Abashedly, he tried to think about what he looked like from your perspective. He wondered if he was too thick or too thin, if he should’ve groomed better, or if his upper body was disproportionate to his legs, or if he smelled bad, if he was just plain weird, or—

“Holy shit,” you whispered.

“W-what?” Oscar stuttered.

While Oscar was busy analysing himself, you were gawking. Maybe people on TikTok would call it a ’sleeper-build’, but there was nothing subtle about it. His pale skin looked pretty in a flushed pink tone, easily scratching under your sharp nails. Broad shoulders, toned stomach, thick thighs. Your eyes couldn’t help but look lower and lower. The pure size of him sank in a second later.

“You’re… big,” you said like a matter of fact. “It’s been a while, so you’ll have to go slow.”

“W-what?” Oscar stuttered, again.

His eyes widened to the point where it strained them. Of all the things you could’ve said, that was probably the one he expected the least. He tried to read your face, waiting for more of an explanation.

With your brows furrowed, all you asked were, “You’re surprised that I haven’t had sex in a while?”

“No!” he hurried to say, not thinking about other implications his reaction could’ve had. He’d curse himself for eternity if you thought he meant to slut-shame you. “I’m surprised about the other… thing. No one’s ever said that before,” he gesticulated with his hand, unsure what to call the thing that had just happened.

You glanced up at his face to see that he was now sporting a smirk, letting you know that your words had gone completely to his ego. Motherfucker, was he pretty.

“I’m not sure I believe that,” you mumbled, kissing him again. Laying side to side next to each other on the sofa, both of your hands had grown eager to touch. It was waists and chests, up bare backs to tangle fingers in hair.

“I promise you that it’s the first time I hear that,” he mumbled back.

Your hand sneaked down between your bodies, and any cockiness that Oscar gained from his newfound ’big dick energy’ was washed away in seconds. A whimper. A fucking whimper was ripped from his throat as soon as your fingers were wrapped around him. He couldn’t stop himself. Your movements were slow and languid, spreading the beads of pre-cum around his tip with your thumb. Oscar closed his eyes as he tried to not fall apart instantly.

“How’s your pull-out game?” you asked between placing kisses on his neck and jaw. He had beautiful freckles and birthmarks all over his skin.

And, fuck, how Oscar couldn’t think when dirty words left your mouth.

“I—, Uhh… Not good?”

He let out a moan mid-sentence. He felt both pathetic and tortured as your delicate fingers kept stroking him up and down.

“I’m on birth control anyway.”

“I could go and get a condom,” he fought himself to say.

“Do you have one?” you questioned, and Oscar’s lack of an answer told you what you already knew. “I thought so.”

And while Oscar knew that he came across loser-like, he didn’t also need it to be so transparent to you. Even though he sort of liked the dynamic built between you. He had always liked that you were quick-witted and a little mean.

Oscar exhaled, concealing another moan with a breathy chuckle. “You need to stop making fun of me when I’m naked. It’s going to affect my self-esteem.”

“Can’t help it, you’re an easy target.” You quickly pecked his lips, a little laugher slipping out. “You’re also a very pretty target.”

He wasn’t used to being called pretty. His mum called him handsome. His instagram comments called him a polite cat. Pretty was entirely new territory. But he liked it, and impossibly, he blushed even harder.

“Are we really doing this?”

He just had to be sure, still in a bit of disbelief.

“Please,” you said. “Fuck me.”

Oscar propped himself on his elbow, placing it beside your head, caging you beneath him. He took himself in his hand, giving his cock a few slow stokes. He looked tortured, the tip pink and engorged as it curved up towards his stomach, a thatch of hair connecting to his faint happy trail.

The head of his cock sat heavy against your entrance as he aligned himself, and you felt yourself desperately clenching around nothing. His free hand rubbed circles on your hip comfortingly. He was hesitant, and maybe that was your fault for asking him to take it slow, but the last thing he wanted was to cause you pain. With an eager nod, you gave him the green light.

“God, you’re tight,” Oscar murmured, his voice breathless as he pushed forward.

“No,” you gasped, gripping his bicep for something to hold onto. “You are massive.”

A low, strained laugh escaped him. “You really wanna argue right now?”

No, you didn’t. Not when you felt him slide inside you completely.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, breathing heavily, unable to help the way you tightened around him. “F-fuck, you can move,” you told him, voice muffled against his neck.

Oscar inhaled sharply, softening to the touch by your reassurance, as he pulled his hips from yours before slowly moving back, tentatively creating a steady rhythm, stretching your around him.

It was intoxicating, and warm. While he knew that he liked you, he had never imagined it to feel like free falling. You still smelled like a mixture of him and yourself, and your soft skin was touching him in ways and places he couldn’t describe. It was gratifying that you were just as desperate as he was.

He lifted your leg up by gripping under your knee, thrusting at a deeper angle. The sounds of your bodies crashing together filled the room as your moments only got quicker and needier.

Looking down at you, he saw your eyes struggling to stay open and your jaw dropping loose with the whimpers and moans you were letting out. Your tits bounced in pace every time he came to the hilt inside you.

“Holy f-fuck, you feel good,” he stuttered right in your ear. “You feel like you were fucking made for me.”

He was being lewd and you giggled. God, you giggled—like Oscar didn’t have enough of a hard time keeping it together. You were teasing him, but it was gentle and honeyed, like a beautiful song to his ears.

He forcefully dug his fingers into the soft fat of your thigh, spilling out between his fingers, doing just about anything to ground himself, but it was impossible. Admittedly, Oscar had never felt this good before in his life.

His living room was ablaze with your movements—an incoherent mess between two bodies, all skin and bone, at each other’s disposal to use.

“Fuck…” Oscar moaned, grinding his cock into you. “I’m already so fucking close.”

“Me too,” you whined out, voice strangled. “Let it all go.”

Oscar buried his face in your neck to try and hide his desperation, moaning and biting down into the soft skin. He was moving frantically, feeling it all approaching rapidly.

With a soft cry, Oscar was cumming, stuttering and needy, groaning everything from your name to all the curse words he could think of. He twitched inside of you, coating your walls with his cum. You moved one of your hands to his cheek and you held his face, staring intensely into his eyes, as he rode out his high.

Damn you and your damn eye contact.

He continued to slowly thrust, doing whatever he could to get you off while being totally spent. The hand on your hip drifted to your pubic bone before delving between your folds, his pointer and ring finger running steady halos over your clit. Thankfully, you weren’t long after. He wasn’t sure he could take the embarrassment of not making you cum when it had been so easy for him. You arched your back as it hit you, throwing your head back in blind pleasure.

And then it all slowed. The moans disappeared, and all that was left were heavy breaths in an eerily quiet living room. He felt warm air hit his neck as he laid down and you cuddled up against him. Mindlessly, you ran your fingertips along his skin, soothing the marks your nails had left. He’d gone soft inside you, his release mixed with your own leaking out the sides.

“I’m gonna slide out, okay?”

“Mhm, slowly,” you whimpered as he did it, going from feeling full to achingly empty. A single tear ran down your cheek out of exhaustion and pleasure, and Oscar stopped to kiss it away, tasting the saline on his lips.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

You let out a deep breath, your body feeling heavy but sated. “I’m good,” you murmured, your cheek pressed against his chest. “Can feel you dripping down my thighs though.”

“We should probably clean up.”

He didn’t move, and neither did you. You were perfectly content with the mess if it meant that you would stay cradled in his arms. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, legs intertwining. His pec was soft against you, and you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I was going to let you wait annoyingly long before sleeping with you. I can’t believe I caved in so easily,” you said suddenly, your voice soft but teasing. The words hung in the air for a moment, light and playful, but you could feel the way his chest rumbled as he chuckled.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, hiding your face in his chest. “Yeah. Like, painfully long. Months, at least.”

“What changed?”

You hesitated for a moment, your face still pressed against him. But then you tilted your head slightly, sneaking a glance up at him through heavy lashes. “Can’t help the fact that I’m insanely attracted to you,” you admitted shyly.

Oscar took in your smile before embarrassment made you hide it into his chest again. You were so… soft, like he couldn’t actually believe it.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he exhaled, sinking down further into the sofa cushions. He ran a hand through his hair, trying and failing to contain the pleased grin that spread across his face.

You kissed his chest gently, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into a sense of peace. For a while, neither of you spoke, the comfortable silence stretching between you. You were glad this hadn’t turned awkward.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and soft. “Are you staying the night?”

You didn’t look up at him, sort of scared to say a right-out yes to his question.

“If you want me to.”

His arms tightened around you slightly, and you could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I’d love that.”

_______________________________

Oscar wasn’t sure how long he spent starring at himself in the bathroom mirror afterward. He moved through his routine on autopilot—brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth—only for his movements to slow as his reflection pulled him back in. His messy hair was still tousled. The love bites on his neck, faint but unmistakable, stood out against his pale skin. His fingertips grazed over the scratches on his shoulders, his cheeks warming as he recalled how they got there. He didn’t think he would ever stop blushing tonight.

When he finally mustered the courage to step back into his bedroom, he found you there: bare feet on the hardwood floor, wearing only his maroon t-shirt. You stood in front of his dresser, looking intensely at something placed on it.

The trophies.

You had fucked his brains out so good that he had forgotten about the intricate web of omissions and half-truths he had woven around you. And now, his lies were staring back at him, literally and metaphorically.

This was about to be awful.

“So, this is where you keep them?” Your voice was calm, deceptively so, as you turned to face him.

Oscar stood frozen in the doorway. He opened his mouth but no words left it, his body rigid as he grappled with the realisation: you already knew.

He hadn’t wanted to keep these things out in the open. Unlike some drivers whose homes were practically shrines to their achievements, Oscar preferred subtlety. Most of his trophies were tucked away, gathering dust in storage. But these— mostly medals and pictures from his childhood, tokens of his early racing days—remained on his dresser.

“I’ve known for a while,” you admitted, as if offering him a way out of the confession he hadn’t yet made. “Since I questioned you driving a McLaren to counselling.”

Oscar blinked, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with an awful, grinding clarity. It wasn’t like he had tried to be undercover or specifically careful about concealing his identity.

“I thought you just worked for McLaren at first,” you continued, gesturing vaguely to the trophies. “But then I googled your name and the brand… My brother used to be a big Hamilton fan, so I made the connection.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension drained out of him. “Why didn’t you say something?” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound defeated, but it did.

“Figured there was a reason as to why you didn’t tell me,” you shrugged, taking a seat on his bed. “I won’t force you to talk about things you don’t want to. We met in an unconventional way and I fully understand that you don’t want a stranger to know everything about you.”

“Don’t say that,” Oscar interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. He stepped further into the room, his hands flexing at his sides. “We’re not strangers, we know each other.”

You tilted your head, your expression softening as you studied him. His sudden reaction surprised even himself, but he couldn’t let the word “strangers” hang in the air between you. Oscar guessed he was more emotionally involved than he had let himself believe, but that he now couldn’t deny it. He sat down beside you, the bed shifting under his weight, and your eyes searched his for something—an explanation, perhaps

“I know you,” he argued. “I know that you only smoke after counselling since it stresses you out and you think that because you smoke Marlboro Silvers, it won’t affect you as badly. know that immediately after, you chew strawberry gum to get rid of the taste, because you don’t actually like it.”

He started at you intensely as he kept talking, finally not scared of your eye contact. But he could see that you were crumbling.

“You only drink rooibos tea because it’s naturally sweeter than black tea. You carry white lighters to appear fearless, but in reality it’s because you’re sad and you don’t care if something bad happens to you.”

“Oh, and you cry to Disney movies,” he lastly added, “because you are in fact not fearless. You’re scared shitless of the emotions you harbour inside and never tell anyone about. So, yeah, I know you. ”

You blinked, his words hanging in the air between. “That doesn’t sound like you know me,” you said after a long pause. “That sounds like you’ve observed me.”

“We also quite literally just had sex,” he reminded you, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “And I think we’re alike in that sense—that we don’t casually do that with random people.”

“Fair point,” you conceded, unable to suppress your own smile.

And there it was again—the strange, undeniable truth between you. There was truth in what you had shared with each other, always. Even if he had skipped the specifics, his feelings had never been false.

You exhaled loudly, your back hitting the mattress. It was like a balloon had popped, the tension in the taut latex having exploded into nothing. You were so tired. You always were.

Oscar knew not to push further. Not right now at least. He fell back on the mattress too, hiking further up to rest his head on his pillow. He lifted the covers to invite you underneath, cuddling you closer as your arms and legs were now slightly cold to the touch.

He also came back to the realisation that you knew him too. That you knew why he went to the group meetings. That you knew what he did all those weekends he spent working. That the car crash he blamed himself for wasn’t exactly average.

“Did you see the crash?” he asked quietly after a moment, his voice murmuring between the sheets.

He felt you shake your head. “No, I haven’t seen a race since Hamilton last won the championship.”

“Right, because of your brother,” Oscar remembered. “Is he no longer a fan?”

“I don’t know if he is. Haven’t talked to him in over a year.”

Oscar nodded slowly, taking in the weight of your words. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tracing the edge of the covers. “Do you want me to see the crash?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “Not really.”

“My first impression of you racing probably shouldn’t be a crash anyway.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small, grateful smile, and he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. The weight of that topic seemed to drift away, and you found yourself sinking into the comfort of his embrace again, your head resting on his bare chest. He could feel your warmth tucked against his side, your breathing steady like a rhythm. You traced little patterns along his palm and fingers.

For a moment, it felt easy again. Soporific, even.

He could’ve easily fallen asleep, for once without thinking about nightmares. Oscar also didn’t want this to end, for the night to be over and for him to have to say goodbye to you in the morning. Not that he imagined it to be a dramatic goodbye, you’d see each other soon enough again, but still, he didn’t want to.

“You should come with me to a race,” he said softly, breaking the peaceful silence, looking at you almost succumbing to slumber.

“I can’t—” you began and Oscar could immediately sense your hesitation.

“I’d pay for everything. I just want to have you there,” he added quickly, tilting his head to gaze down at you. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t about showing off. He just needed you near him, in whatever way he could.

Your body tensed up against him. “I can’t leave the country Oscar.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. He frowned, confused. “I’m sure you can get time off from work,” he said, worrying that was the reason.

You turned your gaze away, your cheek no longer resting against him, and the absence of your touch sent a quiet ache through him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, and the pause that followed felt agonisingly long. The words felt stuck in your throat, your chest tightening.

“I mean—,” you paused, swallowing hard. “I’m not allowed to leave the country.”

The room fell silent, save for your faint whisper.

“I’m on probation.”

Oscar’s mind went blank. Probation. That was for criminal offences. You’d done something deserving of a court sentence. Silence stretched between you, and Oscar pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you more closely. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“So, I’m sorry for calling us strangers,” you said finally, “but you don’t know the half of what I’ve done.”

You sat up fully now, a cold weight settling in the bed. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice steady, watching as you untangled yourself from the sheets, kicking the comforter off your legs.

“I’m leaving.”

“No. You’re not.”

His voice was firm, almost commanding, as he reached out and grasped your arm before you could move further. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was resolute. He wasn’t going to let you walk away—not like this.

“You’re going to stay and tell me about this. I feel like you owe me that after what we just did.”

You froze, whole body going rigid, but Oscar didn’t let go.

“I need to know if I’m falling for a serial killer or not,” he added with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood, “because then I’ll seriously need to reconsider my life choices.”

Your heart ached at his attempt to make you laugh, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. The humour didn’t land, not fully, and the weight of what you were about to confess pressed down on you like a heavy stone.

You bit your lip, your voice trembling as you said, “I c-can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

Your body trembled beneath his touch and he loosed his grip, thumb rubbing soft circles on your arm.

“Because you’re a good person,” you whispered. “You’re going to find me repulsive and never want to see me again.”

Oscar could see it in your eyes—the battle raging within you, the fear that once the words left your lips, he would be gone. But he wasn’t going anywhere. You cared about seeing him again. That alone gave him something to hold on to.

“Unless you’ve actually murdered someone—I don’t think that’s possible.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing.

“I don’t think you get probation for murder. I promise no one got hurt physically.”

And even in this state, you still kept that sarcastic edge that he’d grown to adore.

“Okay,” Oscar said softly. “Then tell me.”

You sighed, your hands trembling as you ran your fingers through your hair. Your eyes squeezed shut, as though blocking out his gaze would somehow make it easier to speak.

“When I was 19 I got into a relationship with a guy who was a lot older than me,” you began, your voice uneven. “He had a very… destructive lifestyle that I became a part of. I let him use me.”

Oscar’s stomach twisted, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. He could see how much it was costing you to admit this, and the last thing he wanted was to make it harder for you.

You slowly opened your eyes, not to look at him, but to look at the ceiling, blinking to fight tears from running down your cheeks.

“The reason as to why I haven’t spoken to my brother in such a long time… ” Your voice broke, and you paused, taking a shaky breath. “…is because I committed fraud with his identity. I took out a loan using his name because I was desperate for money.”

Oscar couldn’t hide his shock, but he didn’t pull away. You were laying it all out, raw and exposed, and he wasn’t going to judge you. He couldn’t. He stayed rooted in place, his hand still on your arm, grounding you.

“When he found out, he turned me in. I confessed to doing it and agreed on accepting help which is the only reason I’m not currently in prison.”

“And the boyfriend?” Oscar managed to ask.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “He took the money and fled the country. Haven’t seen him since. But I paid my brother back. Every penny.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “What did you need the money for?”

Your lips trembled as you looked down at your hands. “Don’t make me say it. I feel like you already know.”

And he did. He’d known since he realised what those Sunday meetings were for.

“Are you clean now?”

“14 months,” you quickly said. “Ever since he turned me in. I have a badge on my keys if you—”

“I’m proud of you,” Oscar said, cutting you off gently.

Your breath hitched as he said it. It had surprised you. “See?” he whispered. “You didn’t scare me away.” Oscar gathered his courage to hold you in his embrace again, laying you gently down on the mattress, letting your body relax on top of his.

“Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “I’m in an industry where if you haven’t committed tax fraud, you’re probably the odd one out.”

You blinked in surprise, a startled laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. “What?”

Oscar chuckled, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. “I know drivers who’ve had people go to prison on their behalf because of embezzlement,” he said, clearly exaggerating, but the humour in his voice was infectious. “You’re practically a saint compared to some of them.”

“Fucking corrupt rich people,” you muttered.

“Well,” Oscar said, his hand moving down to hold yours, “the point is… you can’t scare me away.”

He heard you exhale loudly. He even felt it against his shirtless skin. Your arms tightened around him, clutching both yours and his chest. It was adding pressure to stop you from panicking.

And then you started crying. For real this time. It wasn’t you fighting the tears from falling or shyly getting watery eyes from Brother Bear. You were sobbing. He hadn’t thought he would ever see you cry.

Oscar’s heart broke a little as he watched you finally let go, your body shaking with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. He immediately pulled you closer into his arms, holding you close, his hand gently stroking your hair as you cried against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar whispered softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his skin, but he didn’t mind. You were essentially a stranger—even though he hated the word—crying in his arms, and he’d do anything in his power to never see you like this again. He had fallen for your softness, not the jagged edges you put up around yourself in protection. He’d accept you unconditionally if it meant you didn’t see him as something you needed to protect yourself from.

As your sobs quieted and your breathing got steady, you remained tucked against Oscar’s chest, resting over his heartbeat. You could feel his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. He almost thought you had fallen asleep.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a long silence, your voice hoarse from crying.

Oscar pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “For what?”

“For making me stay.”

_______________________________

A couple of weeks later, on a Tuesday at St. Anne’s Church, you did something you’d never expected yourself to do. You found yourself standing at the lectern in front of the room of strangers that you had spent the past year of your life with. And Oscar, but he had never really been a stranger.

It felt stupid at first, when you walked up there and said your name, the people in the room saying it back to you like a choir. Some clichés from movies really were true.

You started off by giving a brief background as to why you went to meetings. It was supposed to be a guilt-free environment, one where you wouldn’t be judged for anything. But opening up about betraying your own brother and getting probation because of it wasn’t guilt-free no matter how you twisted it.

“Some of you might recognise me from NA meetings as well, but the drugs were never my main issue. I mean, I was— or am an addict, that’s how they want you to say it in NA at least. There is really no denying that, but the real problem was how it made me treat the people around me.”

You didn’t like how your voice sounded in the echoing room, but it didn’t stop you from trying. You knew that the people listening had their own issues so present that yours wouldn’t bother them.

“I understand that my brother never wants to speak to me again,” you continued, your gaze falling to your hands, a cuticle bleeding from unconsciously picking at it. “I think I almost feel the same way. But then… I’ll go to Sainsbury’s and buy green apples, even though I hate them, but he loves them, and I used to buy them for him.”

It was true. You’d have vivid flashbacks about apples every time you saw them. You’d get them from the store as if you were moving on autopilot and hate yourself for it when you got home and unpacked the groceries. Your aunt would always question why you bought them but never ate them, and you couldn’t put that into words.

“I’ll have a mental breakdown over some stupid apples and realise that… we are connected in a way that can never be erased. That’s my fault, my guilt to carry—that I ruined it, that I get to argue with apples instead of arguing with him,” you said with an almost laugher.

You fixed your gaze on Oscar, whose eyes had never left yours for as long as you spoke. He held a tight smile, like understanding the humour in how trauma tended to materialise.

The facilitator asked you a question, like he normally did when he saw people trying to find the right words but struggling to get them into actual sentences. He asked you how time had changed the guilt you felt and if your probation still felt fair to you.

“It’s just so… fucked up that you can convince yourself that you’re evil and unfixable,” you answered, your voice growing steadier. “But it turns out you’re just young. And you’ll make mistakes because of it. I’m paying for those mistakes, but I can’t let them define me.”

You decided that you were done there. You could say more, and you could’ve said less, but you’d done it now. That was the important part. And even though you’d never admit it, it really did feel better to have said it out loud.

As you stepped down and walked back to your seat, a small wave of applause followed you. You felt Oscar’s hand slip into yours as you sat down, his fingers squeezing gently, a wordless assurance.

It took a bit longer for Oscar to finally walk up to the front of the room, a month or so. But he did it in the end. You understood that he felt like his problems weren’t like everybody else’s, because no normal person could really understand his job. And feeling guilt over a car crash where no one was hurt wasn’t easily explainable either.

Oscar’s movements were deliberate, almost stiff, as though he was trying to keep himself together with every step. He stood at the lectern, his hands gripping the edges tightly, and you could see the tension in his knuckles.

He talked about the crash in broad terms, but most of his focus was on Charles, and Oscar’s messed-up idea about how he had hurt Charles. When the facilitator asked him to base his guilt around something real, something factual, you saw the struggle in his expression.

“It’s just… guilt,” he said finally, his voice low. He paused, searching for the right words, but they didn’t come. “I’m not sure I can explain it or give it a likeness. Not everything feels like something else.”

Not everything felt like something else. Issues were allowed to be unique and entangled. It wasn’t about understanding them as much as it was about accepting them. You watched him closely, and you raised your arm to ask him a question, waiting for him to acknowledge you with a silent nod.

“If Charles felt like he never needed to forgive you because he knew all along that this was an accident and no one was actually hurt—why can’t you forgive yourself?”

Oscar’s gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly. He stood there for a long moment, the words sinking in.

He realised then and there that his main issue wasn’t the crash or the possibility of it happening again. It was that he blamed himself for hurting someone else—a hurt that granted hadn’t even happened, Charles was fine—but his mind hadn’t cared about that. He had the lives of others at risk with the turn of a wheel, and the crash had made him mentally unprepared for that risk. He guessed he knew now what to bring up the next time he met up with his therapist.

After that meeting, Oscar talked for a moment with the facilitator, before he walked out to find you standing by the big doorway into the actual church, looking down the isle to the altar. He stood quietly behind you, placing his arm around your waist. The quiet of the church was profound, almost unsettling. The rows of pews stretched out before you, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight.

“I don’t think I ever understood religion,” you said, whispering in the stillness. “Or God, for that matter. It’s too quiet. Too much about self-reflection and not enough about the old men in the Bible for me to grasp it.”

Oscar didn’t respond right away, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he followed your gaze to the altar.

“I see it as a last ditch effort for when you have no one else to talk to, but all you end up doing is talking to yourself,” he explained.

“Sounds a lot like self-reflection to me,” you huffed a little.

Maybe that was the thing people needed most—to get to know themselves. Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people. A truly evil person wouldn’t feel guilty for something bad they’ve done. You were both paralysed by guilt, but standing there with Oscar, it felt just a little less heavy.

“Oscar…” you began again, turning to meet his gaze. “Please don’t tell my secrets to anyone else.”

“We literally had to sign an NDA to join the group, babe.”

“You know what I mean,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh.

“I promise.”

When you left the church that evening, it was abnormally sunny. Early summer, colouring the nature around you green. You walked across the parking lot hand in hand, that silent show of affection a normal occurrence between you now.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, stopping by his car. “I got you something.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a lighter, its surface bright orange. He held it out to you, his expression almost shy. You blinked, caught off guard. You hadn’t expected anything like this, the small, unspoken care behind the gesture. No more conscious bad luck.

“It’s a myth, y’know?” you said, taking the lighter and looking at him softly. “Most of the 27 club died before Bic started making the white version.”

Did Oscar feel a little stupid for not thinking to google the superstition before buying you—granted, a very cheap gift—but also something so laced with thoughtfulness? Maybe. Did he also deeply want you to stop being reliant on nicotine to feel calm? Definitely. But that was too late to say right now when you already had the lighter in your hand and he was blushing from how exposed he felt.

“Well, I think orange suits you better anyway.”

_______________________________

Oscar had insisted, of course—gently but persistently—until you’d finally agreed to come to a race. Silverstone wasn’t out of the country, which meant it didn’t violate any of your probation rules. A technical loophole, but a loophole nonetheless. Your 18 months were nearly over, but Oscar hadn’t been able to wait.

Now, standing among the sea of spectators in the garage, the weight of his world began to settle. The sheer scale of it all was overwhelming. You couldn’t deny it was exhilarating, but it also made you feel small, like an intruder. It was fucking Silverstone, after all—on a Sunday afternoon just minutes before the lights would go out.

You glanced down at your phone, trying to distract yourself from the growing tension in your stomach. That’s when a message appeared.

Eli: “Are you at Silverstone?? I swear I just saw you on TV.”

Your breath caught in your throat and your fingers tightened around your phone. Eli. What happened to hello? What happened to how are you? You stared at the message for a long moment. Before you could even process how to respond, another message appeared.

Eli: “Are you with Piastri?? What the hell?”

A startled laugh escaped your lips, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You glanced around, as if half-expecting Eli to appear out of thin air. Of course, he wasn’t here. He’d gone once to Silverstone with your father when he was young, but nowadays it was cheaper to try and go to Hungary or another European race.

So, right now you knew exactly where your brother was—in the living room at your parents’ place because even though he’d moved out a long time ago, he still went home every Sunday to watch F1 because he leached off of their streaming services.

You took a deep breath and typed back.

You: “Yeah, I’m here with Oscar.”

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the send button. Then, with a rush of courage, you pressed it. The three dots indicating Eli was typing appeared, disappeared, and reappeared again.

Eli: “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re at an F1 race with a driver, and I have to find out on TV?”

He definitely didn’t mean to guilt-trip you—you knew that. It was his way of breaking through the awkwardness. In a way, you supposed it was better to feel guilty about not telling him about Oscar than about the bigger things. The real things.

Before you could reply, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Oscar in his race suit, his face flushed from the adrenaline of pre-race preparations. He looked out of breath, but his smile was unmistakable, the sight of you clearly easing some of the tension in his own chest.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My brother just texted me.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. You bit your lip, holding up your phone so he could see the messages. Oscar leant in, glancing at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“He recognised you on TV?”

“Apparently,” you said with a soft laugh. “He’s freaking out.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. “That has to be good, right? That he’s talking to you?”

“I hope so,” you whispered.

Before either of you could say more, someone called Oscar’s name from across the paddock. He sighed, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “I have to go. National anthem and all that.”

You nodded, your fingers reluctantly slipping from his grasp as he stepped back. “Good luck,” you called after him.

He grinned over his shoulder, his confidence infectious. “Thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

And while in the past you hadn’t minded your own bad luck and superstitions, you definitely didn’t want to spread that mindset to Oscar. You would start carrying wishbones, four-leaf clovers, and horseshoes if it meant that just a smidge of luck would be transferred to his life.

As he disappeared into the crowd, the nervous energy around you seemed to intensify. The minutes ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. Your phone buzzed again, pulling your attention back.

Eli: “I’ve missed you. We should talk whenever you can.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade. You read the message twice, three times, the words sinking in slowly. For so long, you’d been afraid that you’d lost him for good, that the damage you’d done was irreparable—that you were irreparable. But here he was, reaching out.

You: “I’ve missed you too. I’m back in town tomorrow.”

You hit send just as the formation lap started. You were not sure for how long you held your breath after that.

Oscar was good—so good—and as you watched him race, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. He was in his element, completely focused, completely in control. You were glad to not have seen the crash that still haunted him at times, because this proved that it was just a fluke, a temporary stumble rather than a career-defining event.

As the checkered flag waved, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing he had made it through safely. By the time the race was over, Oscar had finished in fourth place—a strong result considering weak qualifying. Most positions gained by anyone in the race. As the crowd erupted in cheers, you found yourself smiling, the tension in your chest finally easing.

Afterward, you found yourself standing in Oscar’s drivers room, waiting for him to return. Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to see another message from your brother.

Eli: “That was an insane race. Piastri is a beast. Proud of you for being there.”

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in months.

Moments later, Oscar appeared, his hair slightly damp from the helmet, his face flushed. He spotted you immediately, his eyes lighting up as he walked over, his smile wide despite exhaustion.

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“You were amazing,” you grinned, stepping closer to him. “How are you so calm? That was nerve-wracking as hell.”

“I’ve done this a couple of times before,” he teased. Oscar laughed, pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered into your ear.

You buried your face in his shoulder, holding him close, and felt the last remnants of tension melt away. “Me too.”

Pulling back slightly, he looked down at you, his smile soft. “You haven’t been sarcastic with me all day, y’know? Is there something wrong?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “I can always start—”

Before you could finish, he leant down and kissed you, cutting off your words. Smack dab on the mouth, messy and rushed. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright and his grin was infectious. You guessed you didn’t need to resort to sarcasm and snarky comments when you were happy. Simply happy.

I'd like to thank Strangers by Ethel Cain, Strangers by Sarah Klang, and Stranger by Blanks for all inspiring this fic. Apparently, I really like songs about being strangers.

╰ Join my taglist or check out my masterlist <3

Tags: @alexxavicry

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #nsfw #nsfw oneshot #fic rec

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back-on-my-bullsh · 3 months ago

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I didn’t reblog part 1 but EVERYONE GO READ IT RIGHT NEOW!!!

pairing: oscar piastri x fewtrell!reader, lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: the hangover isn’t the only thing Y/N’s recovering from

warnings: SMAU (no written parts), swearing, mature themes, alcohol consumption (blacking out + mentions of throwing up), use of y/n

previous part | masterlist | next part

a/n: i don't actually think max is balding, it's just a joke!!!

❤️ liked by landonorris, pietra.pilao and others

★・・・★・・・★

liked by ynfewtrell and others

ynfewtrell have to share my masterpiece here too. honestly I think it's beautiful. happy frontal lobe development year bia!!! 🩷 (taking cake requests in dms!)

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gigihart it was fun! until you blacked out at least 💕

ynfewtrell false accusations! rumours!

username the cake i'm dead 💀

biancaboucher thank u darling

ynfewtrell i love you!!!

biancaboucher TEQUILA!

username not her liking her own post 😭

maxfewtrell That art degree's finally getting put to use, huh?

username max roasting y/n as if she's not the graphic designer for quadrant lmao

★・・・★・・・★

taglist: @harrysdimple05 @milkysoop @charlesgirl16 @wosof1 @dullypully @illicitverstappen

please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

#formula 1 smau #formula 1 fiction #f1 smau #f1 fiction #luvstappen #it’s nice to have a friend #fic rec #oscar piastri #op81 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smau

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back-on-my-bullsh · 3 months ago

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he's such a fucking loser I love him so bad

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back-on-my-bullsh · 3 months ago

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Every fic you write is poetry I don’t understand how you send out banger after banger

En Pointe

Oscar Piastri x ballerina!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s surprised to find ballet and racing are more similar than he’d first expected. He’s even more surprised at how hard he falls for you. (but really, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised about either.)

5.5k words

Warnings: some mentions of alcohol, references to the chaos of the 2024 brazil gp

we have all the “breaking in pointe shoes” videos on my tiktok feed to thank for this, plus the number of times cars pirouetted in Brazil. enjoy!

Oscar’s always thought his job took a lot of sacrifice and hard work. He moved away from home at a young age to chase it. He’s spent countless hours in the gym, training his muscles to cope with the g-forces of driving a race car. He’s bruised ribs, bruised knuckles, put himself through hell and back just to fight for podiums and wins. It’s demanding.

Then he met you.

He remembers the first time he ever saw you. He’d been in Monaco for a weekend, scouting out an apartment to move into and trying to get a feel for the city. Charles had found out, had given him a list of things to see and tickets to a couple experiences, including the Monte Carlo ballet on Saturday night. And Oscar had never been a big ballet guy, or a dance guy in general, but Charles had insisted if there was one thing he had to do it was this. So he went. Dressed up nice and sat in a theater seat and found himself entranced.

It had been everyone on stage, but especially you. The way you moved so effortlessly, with so much grace. The way you held yourself with such elegance and confidence. You’d taken his breath away, left him wide eyed with wonder like he had been years ago attending his first F1 race in Australia.

And then he’d met you, in the lobby. You were standing there, still in costume, smiling at children and thanking everyone for coming. It wasn’t like him to go up and say anything, but he’d just felt so drawn to you.

“I’m sure you get this a lot,” he’d said, as you smiled softly at him, a large bouquet in your arms, “but you’re incredible.”

He can still remember the sound of your laugh. The weight of your hand on his wrist as you thanked him. And then-

“Charles told me you were coming,” you’d said. He’d swallowed, nodded. “And that you might be moving here.”

He’d nodded again. “It’s a beautiful place.”

You’d nodded in agreement. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He’d gone back to his hotel and dreamed of spinning ballerinas. The next morning, he woke up and contacted his management team, and asked them to lease the apartment he’d looked at the day before. The one with the view of the sea from the kitchen. He’d followed you on Instagram, too, and tried not to get his hopes up when he realized you were already following him.

And then it had been the F1 season, and a move to Monaco in the middle of it, and an afterparty after Charles’ first home win, full of champagne and happy smiles and a country so proud of him. And Charles, cutting through the crowd, eyes sparkling, with you in tow. Oscar had figured out the two of you were friends in the months since his ballet visit.

“Someone’s been looking for you,” Charles said in a singsongy tone.

It had all sort of bloomed from there. Now when Oscar is back in Monaco, he spends half his time in a dance studio, surrounded by mirrors and classical music and you. He still loves watching you, just like he did that very first night. He gets to see a side of you that most of the people in the audience never will- undone. In a plain leotard, sometimes a skirt, sometimes thick warmup pants that make him giggle, trying and trying over and over again to get something right. He sees the bruises and hears about the strained muscles and does what he can to help you with them. He loans you hoodies to wear during warm ups at rehearsals, and he cooks you meals to make sure you’re getting enough fuel for all the work you put yourself through. And he loves every second of it.

In return, you spend your breaks from rehearsals watching free practices and qualis and sometimes even races. He’s gotten pictures sent to him of you stretching with his onboard camera view on your tablet in front of you. The distance makes his heart ache sometimes, but when he gets to spend time with you it’s like nothing has changed. His favorite nights in Monaco are the ones with you perched on his kitchen counter, the harbor in the background.

The summer’s nearly over when he realizes he’s falling in love.

He can’t help it. You’re kind and beautiful and funny. He’s not sure anyone would blame him. It’s just… You’re the first friend he’s made here, the first connection to this new city. He doesn’t want to lose you. And he’s gone so often, he thinks it might make things so much worse. To tell you he loves you and then have to leave every weekend, to never be around. He hates the thought of It. Besides, he reminds himself, you’re a ballerina. Far too talented for someone like him.

So he shoves the feelings down, and tries his best to be a good friend and never let on that he feels anything more.

…..

You’re there for the race in Hungary- Hungary, of all places. You’re there to sympathize about his broken ribs and tease him about how exactly he broke them. You’re technically there with Charles, with Ferrari, but nobody seems to notice when you sneak into McLaren’s garage with a paddock pass Oscar managed to get for you. You look good in papaya, he thinks, though you’ve told him you think quite the opposite. He gets it. You’re used to pastels and soft fabrics. The McLaren sweatshirt you’re wearing is bold and bright. But it’s got Oscar’s number across the back, and that makes him smile more than anything else.

The race weekend is busy, as always. He doesn’t see you much until after the race, until you’re standing there outside the McLaren motorhome. He’s still in his race suit, soaked in sweat and champagne and god knows what else. He’s bone tired, his ribs hurt, and he’s starving. But you’re standing there, and it all just melts away. He wonders if telling you you’re his lucky charm would be terribly cliche.

“Hi, race winner,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his upper arm. “Feel different?”

He snorts. “Nah. Not really.”

You frown slightly, eyeing his face like you’re sizing him up. “Hm. You don’t look different, either.”

“No?” He asks, raising a brow at you, a smirk threatening to slip across his lips.

You shake your head. “Guess it’s because you’ve always been a winner in my book.”

He feels his cheeks go red, and then he bursts into laughter. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he says, between giggles.

You lean into him, your head bumping against his shoulder. “I meant it!”

The thing is, he thinks you really did. He holds those words in his heart while he pulls you in close for a hug, despite your complaining about the state of him, the champagne and sweat. He holds them even closer, later, while he eats McDonald’s and avoids looking at social media comments about gifted wins by getting beaten to a pulp in Monopoly by Alex. He ices his ribs on the plane and falls asleep still thinking about you.

…..

Summer break rolls around, and he gets three weeks to spend with you. Your rehearsals are starting to ramp up for the season, and he can tell it’s weighing on you. He thinks you understand him in a way nobody else can- the love and hate for your sport. The exhaustion mixed with the urge to do it all again the next day.

He sits on the couch with you, your head against his shoulder, ice packs resting on your ankles where they’re propped up on his coffee table. There’s a movie playing on the TV, one of your favorites, one you’d been appalled he’d never seen before. You’re in one of his hoodies, soft and warm and cozy.

“Casting starts next week,” you mention, offhand.

He nods. “Yeah. I saw the Instagram post.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you he checks your dance company’s page multiple times a day. He worries it would make him seem crazy. It’s just that when he’s away, he wants every glimpse of you he can get, even if it’s in the background of a rehearsal video. And it’s become such a habit that he does it even on the days where he gets to see you in person.

He clears his throat. “Are you anxious about it?”

You hum, rubbing your hand against the fabric of your sweatpants. “A bit, I think. I want a good part, you know? And I worry I haven’t been working hard enough.”

Oscar tilts his head to look at you.. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, you know.”

He means it. And he’s met people from all walks of life- fellow drivers, Moto GP riders, tennis players, engineers, basketball players, and everyone in between. But he’s never seen someone as dedicated as you. Never seen someone pull themselves apart at the seams the way you do, just to get a dance perfect. The way you criticize yourself makes him sad, sometimes. So he keeps telling you how good you are and hopes that someday it rings true for you, too.

“But maybe it’s not enough,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. “All you can give is your best. There’s nothing more you can do.”

You smile, nod, and settle in just a little closer. And he has this overwhelming urge to scoop you up, to press his lips to your forehead and tell you just how truly wonderful he thinks you are, how amazed he is. He wants to hold your face in his hands and kiss you, but he can’t.

When he says goodnight and goodbye later, it’s for a while- he’s headed off Zaandvoort. He doesn’t want to go. He knows once he gets there he’ll be excited again, ready to go, raring to be behind the wheel. But he asks you to text him when you’re home safely and finds himself wishing you were just staying at his place instead.

…..

You call him while he’s at the hotel in the Netherlands. He picks up immediately, even though he’s eating dinner with Lando. He steps outside onto the balcony so he can listen to you. The city glitters in front of him, and he thinks of the boats in the harbor in Monaco, the way they light up the water.

“Hi,” he answers, heart skipping a beat in his chest.

“Hi,” you echo back. There’s a certain quality to your voice, a thickness, like you’ve been crying. “They posted the cast list. I haven’t opened it.”

His heart rate kicks up a notch. He knows what this means to you, how important it all is, how much you’ve been hoping for something good. How hard you’ve been working. He sits down in the patio chair on the balcony.

“Okay, that’s-“ he cuts himself off. “Whatever you got, you did your best, right? And that’s all that matters.”

You sniffle, and he can hear you tapping away at your keyboard in the background. “I just. Do you think you could stay on the line while i open the email?”

The feeling he gets is overwhelming. The fact that you trust him with this, that you want him here, as much as he can be. He covers his soft smile with his hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, pouring all his sincerity into it. “Whatever you need.”

“Okay. Okay,” you say, like you’re trying to hype yourself up. “Okay, opening it now.”

He holds his breath the whole time he’s waiting. He thinks you might be, too. And then there’s a soft sigh on the other end, and a choked off gasp. And then-

“Oh my god,” you say, teary and breathless. “I got the lead.”

Oscar’s felt pretty happy quite a few times this year. He remembers podiums and his win in Hungary and all the other successes in between. But the way his heart fills with joy in that moment is almost overwhelming. Because he knows how much it means to you, and how much you mean to him. His words almost get caught in his chest.

“You deserve it,” he says, hoping you can’t hear how choked up he is. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“Gonna have to work harder now,” you say. But he can hear the smile in your voice.

He sends you flowers to congratulate you the next morning. You send him a picture with them in your arms, a smile on your face. He wants to make it his lockscreen, but he thinks he’d get far too many questions if he did. Too much of a risk of someone seeing. But it means the world to him either way.

…..

When he swings by your apartment on a random day where he’s back in Monaco, he spots a new picture frame by the door. Inside, there’s a bunch of pressed flowers- daisies and forget me nots and a couple others he can’t name. But he recognizes them from the photo the florist sent when he got the bouquet sent to you.

You catch him looking, hands in his pockets. When you turn to him, you smile sheepishly.

“They meant a lot to me,” you tell him.

His heart thuds in his chest. “I’m glad.”

…..

He wins in Baku, barely holding off Charles. It’s a tough, well earned victory. It’s champagne and confetti on the podium, and Charles being impressed with the move he pulled, and so many hugs and celebratory slaps on his back. It’s the smile on his mother’s face after he gets out of the car, the joy he feels at how happy she is, too.

And yet, when he gets back to his hotel, he finds himself wishing you’d been there.

It’s like he thinks about you and summons you- his phone starts ringing where it’s laying on his chest. He picks up when he sees your contact, his heart speeding up again. There’s music playing in the background when he says hello, your laughter bubbling up over it. It’s the Australian national anthem, he realizes. He starts to laugh, too.

“I’m choreographing a dance to it,” you say decisively, with a smirk on your lips. “My new favorite song.”

“Shouldn’t you be cheering for Charles?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say, very seriously. “Don’t tell him. I’ll be excommunicated from Monaco.”

He laughs, again. He feels lighter, like the stress of the race had finally faded. It’s amazing, how you do that.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, and his heart swells. “Nobody more deserving.”

He lays back on the bed and lets your voice wash over him. “Thank you. It was a tough one.”

“It was fun to watch,” you tell him. “I had everyone else watching with me. I’ve converted half of them into Piastri fans.”

“Half the Monte Carlo ballet?” He teases. “That sounds like treason.“

“Again. Don’t tell Charles.”

“Thank you,” he says. “For watching.”

He means it about more than that, too. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for calling. Thank you for being you. He thinks, again, about telling you how he really feels. That after he got out of his car, he’d imagined finding you in the crowd and pulling you in for a celebratory kiss. But you’re in Monaco, doing what you love, and you’re not his girlfriend, anyway. He has to keep reminding himself.

“You should get some sleep,” you tell him.

He’s not sure what time it is in Monaco, but he laughs. “So should you.”

He talks to you for another hour, at least, and then falls asleep with the phone pressed to his ear. When he wakes up in the morning, he wonders if there’s any way out of these feelings. It sort of feels like something he’ll never get over.

…..

There are a variety of reasons Oscar is happy when the three week fall break finally comes, but more time with you is definitely one of them. You’re even busier with rehearsals than you were before, but you always find time for him.

You sit on the floor of his apartment, one leg stretched out over a bag of ice on your calf. You’re breaking in a new pair of pointe shoes- the process always entertains him. To watch you break something down and put it back together again with stitches and glue and tape. You talk him through each step like he’ll understand what you mean when you use your specific ballet terms.

He jokes about breaking in his race shoes, too, and adding elastic and ribbons to them. You laugh, and then you make him help cut the pieces of ribbon- he smiles at the silky glide of the fabric through his fingers, and tries not to wonder if your skin would be soft under his touch like this, too.

Over dinner at the kitchen counter, you tell him about rehearsals, about the parts you just can’t quite grasp and the ones you’ve gotten down pat.

“I think I’ll be okay by opening night,” you tell him. Then a smile slips across your face, your eyes wide and lit up. “Oh, speaking of- d’you want a ticket? I can get you a seat close to Charles.”

He lights up. “When is it again?”

You tell him the date as he pulls his phone out to check his schedule. If Charles can make it, he assumes he can, too, but it’s better to check just in case. He scrolls on his McLaren calendar and feels his heart plummet into his stomach.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

You tilt your head and frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I won’t be back.”

You frown deeper. “It’s a two week break.”

He swallows guiltily and nods. “They want us to stay to film some content. And then I have meetings at the MTC. And- I’m so sorry. I’d be there if I could, but we’re not flying back this way until after, and-“

You place your hand over his. There’s a soft smile on your lips that doesn’t match the sadness in your eyes. “It’s okay, Osc.”

His heart twists. “I’ll come the first chance I get, yeah?”

He knows it’s not the same. He’s heard you talk about opening night, about the electrifying feeling it gives you. He’d promised months ago that he’d come. And sure, it’s not his fault, but… he feels guilty all the same.

“Yeah,” you say. The happy tone of your voice feels forced. “I’ll be better at it by then, anyways.”

You change the subject. Oscar convinces you to stay over when it gets late and you’re still there. Neither of you really want to leave. He insists on sleeping on the couch so you can sleep in the bed- you’re the one who has class and rehearsal the next day, after all. He wakes up to a crick in his neck and the sound of you humming in the kitchen. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes and joins you, he’s happy to find you’ve made breakfast for both of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, quietly.

“Wanted to,” you say, with a shrug and a smile.

He drives you to the studio, and you invite him in to say hi and hang out for a bit. It’s early, still and people are trickling in, taking time to do individual warm ups before class. You test out your new pointe shoes, and he smiles when he sees the look on your face- they’re perfect, you tell him.

You give him a hug before class starts, when he has to leave. He’s headed home to pack, and then it’s off to Austin on a flight that afternoon. You say what you always say to him before a race weekend.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe, and be nice to Charles,” you say, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“But not too nice,” he echoes back.

You nod. He squeezes you tight, and lets himself have this for just one second. His face, pressed against the top of your head. Someone calls for class to start, and you lean up and give him the classic cheek kisses. Then you’re racing off to the studio.

He hopes you don’t catch the blush on his cheeks.

…..

In Austin, he unpacks a hoodie from his suitcase, pulls it over his head, and sighs when he realizes it smells like your perfume. He thinks you borrowed it while you were at his place, something to cuddle up on the couch in while you stretched your poor muscles. He shoves his hands in his pockets and finds a silky strip of ribbon waiting there. It must’ve been one of the scraps from when you’d had him help with your pointe shoes, one you had to trim because he’d cut them far too long. He smiles softly, and without really even thinking, he ties the ribbon around his wrist. A nice reminder of you to carry with him.

He has to remove it eventually, when he heads to the track, but then he shoves it in the pocket of his shorts, and leaves it looped up nicely in his driver room when he has to change for the race. He loops it back around his wrist for the flight to Mexico, and sees Lando eyeing it. Oscar stares back, as if daring him to say a word.

Charles sees it, though, and smirks, when they bump into him in the hotel lobby in Mexico City. “Pretty bracelet.”

Oscar pulls his sleeve over his hand and tries not to look sheepish. He knows his cheeks and ears are turning red. He’s not sure how he’ll explain this to you, if Charles tells you. What if you think it’s weird, or creepy, or-

“She called me yesterday,” Charles says. “She was wearing your hoodie.”

Suddenly, Oscar’s cheeks are turning red for a completely different reason, and he thinks maybe this time he’ll just let it happen.

He calls you from the hotel the next day, late in the afternoon. The time difference sucks, but you’re a night owl, anyways. You’ve got your phone propped up against the mirror in the dance studio, pushed far enough back that he can see you, and your swishy warm up pants he always teases you about, and- and it’s his hoodie you’re wearing, sleeves tucked over your hands, the hood pooling around your neck. He feels his ears go red again and hopes you can’t see in the dim lighting of his hotel room.

“You’re there late,” he comments.

In the background, the window behind you is inky blue. You sigh heavily, like the time is weighing you down. If he was there, he’d lift your shoulders back up himself. Try and take some of the weight off.

“There’s this one combination,” you say, rubbing your finger against the floor. “I just can’t quite get it.”

He hums. He knows the feeling, knows what it’s like to try and try again to hit all the apexes in a sequence of turns and feel like you’re never quite there.

“You need a break, though,” he reminds you. “Sleep and a fresh start would do you good.”

You twist your lips, though you nod in agreement. “I’ll go home soon. Promise.”

He ends up convincing you to walk home with him still on FaceTime- his way of making sure you do go home, and you make it safely. He likes to listen to your routine, anyways- the click of the lights turning on, the rattle of ice cubes in your glass, your soft footsteps on the creaky hardwood floors of your apartment. He can see in the way that your shoulders start to droop that you’re tired, so he lets you go, but not before he gets the same advice he always does.

“Good luck, have fun, be safe, and be nice to Charles,” you tell him.

He nods diligently. “But not too nice.”

…..

In Brazil, during the quali rain delay, Oscar gets cornered.

“You’re not going to opening night,” Charles says, standing with his arms crossed in the paddock.

Oscar ducks his head sheepishly, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I can’t. We don’t fly back until the day after.”

Charles frowns. “That is stupid.”

He’s not wrong. “Yeah. Not much I can do about it, mate. I’d be there if I could.” Oscar pauses. “Hold on. How’d you know I’m not going?”

Charles tilts his head. He’s studying Oscar. “She told me. She’s sad about it, you know.”

Charles is disappointed. Oscar’s got a lot of respect for the guy- he hates to disappoint him. He hates even more to think that he’s made you sad. He thinks of the pink ribbon that’s laying in his driver room, the way you’d laughed while you’d tried to teach him how to sew. He thinks of your costume fittings, the peeks of the fabric he got to see, how it’ll be far too long before he gets to watch you spin around on stage in them. How excited you’d looked at the idea of him being there for opening night. His chest aches.

“I do want to be there,” he tells Charles, hating the nearly whiny tone his voice takes on. “I just…”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “And she understands. But I thought you should know she really wants you there.”

Charles leaves, then, probably off to find Max or Pierre. Oscar’s left standing, wishing he could find a way to be in two places at once.

Formula One and ballet are oddly similar, in Oscar’s opinion. It’s all about balance and rhythm, about dancing on the knife’s edge. Nothing makes that more clear than a quali session in the rain. He pulls his boots on and pictures you, ribbon slipping through your fingers as you lace it around your calves. With each corner he takes on the track, he can see you leaping across the stage. He balances the wheel between his fingers and thinks of you, spinning on the very tips of your toes like it’s easy. There’s a strength, hidden under tights and tulle, that amazed him more than anything else. You make it look easy. He can’t always say the same for himself. He’s still getting the hang of the balance.

If he tells you that, you’ll tell him he’s crazy. That you’re safe on the stage while he careens around a track in a machine made of metal and carbon fiber and not much else. He remembers you complaining about a blister on your foot, and how he’d suggested padding and bandaids.

“Then I can’t feel the floor,” you’d told him.

He’d frowned, holding one of your shoes, tapping at the hard toe box at the end. “Can you feel the floor through all this?”

You’d smiled and nodded. “You’re telling me you can’t feel the track, even through all that?”

You’re right, he finds. He can feel it, on some tracks more than others. With this one, the thing he feels the most is the way it slips away from him. But he can feel it nonetheless. He tries to channel that into the race, but there’s far too much water in the way.

Sunday exhausts him. It’s enough to have to do quali and the race on the same day, let alone to have to be up so early to do so. He feels for the mechanics, of course, who are there even earlier. It’s not an ideal race- it’s more damage limitation, than anything, with the rain and the red flags and the penalty from his incident with Liam. He takes it on the chin as much as he can, but when they’re told they can head back to the hotel he’s quite relieved. He needs sleep, desperately.

Max invites him out to celebrate, but he politely declines. He runs into Charles leaving the track and ends up in a car with him. Charles makes him think of you, he always does.

“You going out with Max?” He asks.

Charles shakes his head and yawns. “Early flight home tomorrow,” he says. “So I can be there with plenty of time to make it to the ballet.”

At the mention of opening night, Oscar’s heart sinks. The exhaustion hits him even harder, and he slumps over in his seat, letting the sound of the rain on the car windows lull him.

…..

The stage lights are blindingly bright, but you manage to make it through the very first show. It’s not perfect- no performance ever really is- but it’s as close as it can be, really. It feels good, to have worked so hard to get there, to have worked even harder after getting the role, and to have it all pay off.

You don’t change out of your finale costume before you head out to the lobby. The kids who come of the shows always love to see the dresses and leotards and sparkly makeup. You greet them with smiles, despite your exhaustion, and do the same to your friends.

Your smile gets wider when you spot Charles, with some of his family in tow. You wave them over, trying to see everyone through the crowds. There’s someone next to him who you can’t quite make out, someone who Charles tugs along by their upper arm. Someone holding a giant bouquet, filled with daisies and forget-me-nots. Your heart skips a beat.

Charles is the one who rolls his eyes and shoves the bouquet towards you. You’re half laughing, half crying when you come face to face with Oscar. You pull him into a hug, one he returns with force, half crushing the flowers between the two of you. You don’t care. He means more than any bouquet ever could.

“You said you couldn’t make it!” You say, shock still rolling through you.

“They released us from some of our plans after the hell weekend in Brazil,” he says, the words melting into your skin where his lips are pressed to your temple. “So I hitched a ride.”

You grin at Charles over Oscar’s shoulder. He gives you a horrible wink in return, and mouths the word later before fading into the crowd.

“Oh my god, you must be so tired,” you say, leaning back to look at him.

He shrugs. “M’wide awake now. You were incredible.”

You laugh, one arm still looped around his neck. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it, every time.”

His hand falls to your hip, fingers brushing against the poofy tulle. You swear you can feel the warmth of him, even through all the layers. Maybe it’s just radiating off of him, off his smile and the blush on his cheeks and the fact that he’s here at all.

When you speak next, he opens his mouth and says something at the same time. The two of you pause, then dissolve into giggles again.

“You first,” you say.

He hums. “You sure you don’t want to go first?”

“You flew all the way here, I think you get the honors.”

He nods, smiles, and swallows. “Okay. Um. Any chance you’re not busy after this?”

There’s the cast dinner, but it’s not mandatory. And besides, you think after all the talking you’ve done about Oscar for the past few months, they’ll understand.

“I’m free,” you tell him.

“Prefect,” he says. “Call me when you’re ready, and we’ll go out to dinner.”

“Just you and me?” you ask, hopefully.

He nods. “Just you and me.”

You nod, the grin already breaking across your lips. “Sounds like a date.”

He laughs, muffling the sound into your forehead. “It sure does. I’d like that. If you want it to be.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, smiling bigger than you think you have all night. “I’d like that a lot.”

…..

You fall asleep on his shoulder before the dessert Oscar ordered can make it to the table. He doesn’t complain, though. He just asks for it to go instead, and pays the bill between his own yawns. He wakes you gently when he’s ready to go, and laughs at your sheepish smile, at the apology you mumble out, batting sleepy lashes at him. He can’t blame you for being exhausted.

Your hair is undone, makeup off, but he’s never found you more beautiful. More elegant. He half carries you out to the car and offers to take you home, but you yawn and shake your head. Then you lean over and kiss him, right on the lips, your arm around his neck again. He cups your face in his hands and soaks it all in while he kisses you back. Lets himself melt into the moment.

“I’m taking all the time I can get with you,” you tell him, when you pull away, your lips still brushing against his cheek. “Take me to your place, Mr. Piastri.”

He likes the sound of that. And when he falls asleep with you tucked against his chest, the soft glow of the Monaco harbor in view out of his bedroom window over your shoulder, he finds he likes the reality of it even more.

…

a/n: can’t decide if i love this or hate it, but at least i wrote something!!! thanks for reading!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej @the-navistar-carol @everyonesluvah @jsjcue @ggaslyp1 @si1ver06 @nicole01-23 @andruuu28 @coffeehurricanes

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #formula 1 fic #scuderiahoney #fic rec

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back-on-my-bullsh · 4 months ago

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Kinktober - Day 7

7th — face fucking, Carlos Sainz

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Anna Leclerc had always been known as "Charles' little sister" in the F1 world, though she was far more than that. She had her own interests and her own life, but that didn't stop people from associating her with the famous Ferrari driver. She didn’t mind much, but sometimes it got tiring, especially when the whispers around the paddock began to include her in conversations she never intended to be part of.

Then there was Carlos Sainz—Charles’ teammate and friend, the handsome Spaniard who always wore a charming smile. From the moment they met, Anna had felt something strange whenever Carlos was around. He was warm, friendly, and had that unmistakable charm, but recently, his glances lingered just a little too long, and there was an intensity behind those brown eyes that left her feeling off-kilter.

She tried to push it aside. After all, he was her brother’s co-worker, and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t get tangled up in the drama of the racing world. But as the days went by, it became harder to ignore the way Carlos’ eyes followed her in the garage or how his hand would brush hers when they passed each other. Something unspoken hung between them.

One afternoon, Anna found herself at the Ferrari motorhome, dropping by to visit Charles before qualifying. She knew most of the team well by now, and she easily blended into the background, offering support for her brother as he focused on the weekend ahead.

But as she was passing by Carlos’ driver’s room, something unusual caught her attention—a faint sound, like someone calling her name. She paused, her curiosity piqued. She recognized that voice, deep and husky, but the way it said her name sent a strange chill down her spine.

“Anna…”

Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned closer to the slightly ajar door. Carlos' voice was unmistakable. Her heart began to pound in her chest, confusion mixing with something else, something she didn't want to acknowledge.

She edged a little closer, peeking through the small gap in the door. What she saw nearly made her gasp aloud. Carlos was sitting on the small couch inside, his head tipped back, his eyes half-closed, and his shirt slightly unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of toned skin. But it wasn’t just his relaxed posture that caught her off guard—it was the way he was moaning her name softly, as if lost in some private fantasy.

“Anna…” he groaned again, his voice thick with desire.

Her name on his lips sent a jolt of electricity through her, a mix of shock and disbelief. She took a shaky step back, her mind racing. “Was he really thinking about her?”

Anna’s cheeks flushed as she struggled to process what she had just witnessed. Part of her wanted to storm in and confront him, to demand an explanation. But another part—the part that was far more dangerous—was intrigued. She couldn’t deny the flutter in her stomach, the way her pulse quickened at the thought of him thinking about her like that.

Her hands trembled as she stepped away from the door, trying to collect herself. “This couldn’t be happening.” Not with Carlos. Not with her brother’s teammate. It felt wrong, forbidden, but also undeniably thrilling.

She hurried away before Carlos could notice her, her mind spinning with questions. What did it mean? Had Carlos been harboring feelings for her all this time? And why hadn’t she noticed before?

Later that evening, as she sat quietly in her hotel room, Anna couldn’t shake the image of Carlos from her mind. She replayed the scene over and over, her body reacting in ways she didn’t want to admit. The more she thought about it, the more conflicted she felt.

“What should I do?” she wondered, biting her lip. She knew she couldn’t ignore it forever.

The next day at the paddock, Carlos approached her with his usual smile, but this time, Anna saw him differently. She caught the flicker of heat in his eyes when he greeted her, the way his voice softened when he said her name. And now, she knew the truth behind those glances—what he thought about when no one was watching.

Anna tried to act normal, but every time their eyes met, she felt her face heat up, the memory of his voice echoing in her mind. She wanted to confront him, but how could she bring it up without revealing that she had been eavesdropping?

Carlos, oblivious to her inner turmoil, continued to act friendly, though there was an unmistakable tension in the air between them. It was as if they were both tiptoeing around something unsaid, something that could ignite if given the chance.

As the weekend progressed, Anna found herself drawn to Carlos despite her best efforts to stay distant. His charm, his smile, the way he effortlessly made her feel at ease—it was becoming harder and harder to resist. And every time he looked at her, she couldn’t help but wonder: “What if?”

By the time the race day arrived, Anna knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the issue. She had to confront Carlos, to understand what was really going on between them. After the race, when most of the team was busy celebrating or unwinding, she found him alone in the motorhome, leaning against the wall, looking as tired as he was satisfied with the weekend’s results.

“Carlos,” she called softly as she approached him, her heart pounding in her chest.

He looked up, surprised but pleased to see her. “Anna. What’s up?”

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to start, but then she gathered her courage. “I heard you yesterday,” she blurted out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos frowned, clearly confused. “Heard me?”

“In your driver’s room,” she clarified, her cheeks flushing. “You… you were saying my name.”

It took a moment for realization to dawn on him, but when it did, his expression shifted from confusion to something darker, something more primal. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he straightened up, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Anna…” he began, his voice low and husky, much like it had been the day before. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“But I did,” she whispered, feeling her pulse quicken. “Carlos… what were you thinking about?”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes filled with a heat that made her knees weak. “You,” he admitted, his voice rough with desire. “I was thinking about you.”

Anna swallowed hard, the intensity of his confession hitting her like a wave. She had suspected it, but hearing him say it out loud made it all too real.

“What do we do now?” she asked, her voice shaky as she looked up at him.

Carlos reached out, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. “That depends,” he said softly. “ You wanna know what I was thinking, Mi Amor.”

And in that moment, with his touch sending shivers down her spine, Anna knew exactly what she wanted.

“ Yes, please tell me, Carlos.”

“Get on ya knees, Mi Vida.” Anna looks up at him with wide eyes. Carlos raises his brow, “I don’t like repeating myself. Knees, now.” She quickly drops to her knees, looking back at him. The innocence shining in her eyes causes Carlos to groan. He hurriedly unbuckles his slacks, unzipping them and then pulling out his erect cock. The gasp that she lets out makes him leak pre-cum. She watches as it drips out of his tip, unconsciously licking her lips. “Impatient already, baby?” he asks teasingly. Anna nods in response, making Carlos’s pride surge as he pulls his trousers and boxers down to his thighs. “Then be a good girl and open up for me,” he instructs as he takes a step closer to Anna, one hand stroking his cock while the other reaches out to stroke her cheek.

Carlos grins as Anna opens her mouth obediently and rests the tip of his cock on her bottom lip. “That’s it, such a good girl,” he praises, wrapping his hand around the back of her head. He uses his grip on her to guide the head of his cock into her mouth, moaning as her lips wrap around him.

“Fuck,” Carlos growls as his hand slowly pushes Anna’s head down, not stopping until her lips have met the base of his cock and he’s completely enveloped in her warm, wet mouth. “Taking me so fucking deep, aren’t you, princess? Just like I trained you to.”

Anna gags around Carlos’s cock as he starts to slowly bob her head up and down, letting the drool building up in her mouth spill out to drench his pubes before it drips down onto the floor beneath her. Her clit throbs as Carlos pulls her head nearly all the way off of his cock before forcefully pulling her back down, making her moan around him.

“Taking me so well,” Carlos praises as he starts to thrust his hips, using a hand to grip Anna’s chin to keep her in place. She gags every time he thrusts his cock down into her throat, making a shiver of pleasure run down his spine. “Perfect little hole for me to fuck, princess. Gonna make me cum down this fucking throat you’re so good.”

Anna loosens her jaw and lets Carlos fuck her throat at his own pace, looking up at him through hooded eyes. His cock is warm and heavy against her tongue and she can’t help but moan as he fucks her roughly. She can taste the precum on her tongue as he thrusts and swallows around him making Carlos groan loudly.

“Fuck, just like that my little cock slut,” Carlos moans, holding Anna’s head down against her cock so he can listen to her gag. He pulls back for a moment to let her breathe, watching a mixture of her saliva and his precrum drip from her lips onto his cock, before he starts fucking her face again. “God, look at you, you messy little slut. You just love having my cock shoved down your throat, don’t you princess?”

Humming around him as best she can, Anna feels her eyes roll to the back of her head as his cock hits the back of her throat again. She can tell Carlos is close to cumming by the way his grip tightens on her chin and the little grunts coming from his mouth so she lets her body relax, letting him use her any way he wants.

“Just like that, fuck.” Carlos’s hips start to lose their rhythm as his orgasm approaches and he keeps Anna’s head pressed against his stomach for a few moments longer each time he thrusts. His cock twitches each time she gags around him, just driving him closer and closer to his release.

“Gonna be a good girl and swallow all my cum for me, aren’t you, princess?” he asks, his tone mocking. “My desperate little slut, always on her knees for me. Gonna feel my cock in your throat for days.”

With a few more thrusts of his hips, Carlos pulls Anna off so just the head of his cock is still in her, his cock twitching as his cum fills her mouth. He pumps his hips shallowly as he comes down from his orgasm, maintaining eye contact with Anna as she swallows everything in her mouth.

As he finally pulls his cock from between her lips a trail of saliva connects the head to her lips, making them both let out a breathy moan. Anna makes sure to look Carlos deep in the eyes as she leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of his cock.

Taglist: @formula1-motogpfan @iamafootballfanmiasanmia @arian-directioner @annimausi @mythicalmaven @lucycowr @hamilton-mount @Chuxk-leclerk @landosgirl @Kikiaaaay @iluvvmeeee @stars4me @starz4me1 @fxrmuladaydreams @Ashleyo1611 @ln-fours @cloud-55 @neo-stay @mysteriesincorporated @nzygftoji @dinodumbass @qxeenjen @lilmacabe @9fi @sya-skies @toriiez @jud-3 @ryl-xoxo @fandomz-queenie @gracie23x @kr1sblog @b-law @F1fan24 @taylorsdoratheafr @missevrythingg @salma @cherrypopsicle @toasterpiastri @uhhvictoria @01rrdbull @aracelys-stuff @horseymchorse3 @lou-ghoul @unknownmystery22 @thisbitxhs-blog @toxicdreamer296 @maxivstappen @si1ver06 @mendes-bae @bestgirlie @mbioooo0000 @depressedgiftedburnout @lieslostinsilence @chaoticversion @kaydesssssssss @maryelizaart @milkyymelanine @bisrae @carlando4 @mystichandspruneshark @sweetwh0re @larastark3107 @fiveyjustin @moonchildlec @bicrazybabe @maximumflaps @sainzwife @i--sa @liviav @nitonan-blog @moodymoony71 @horrible-decision @verstappenluv111 @Meyla123X @bea-stilinksi24 @Hayley125 @imjustme-n @elizamoe133 @bernelflo @evie-likes-stuff @anne1444444 @celtis--vr @rockytheluver @orlafitz1664 @aliceespector @ricciadosredbull @novelant @briannamh07 @oliveswiftly @hotlapshottakes @sinners-98-world @ramenblutte @fallenlunar @little-nando14 @fore45fore @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @eroselless @strabunny @sydneyhlove @jkdaddy01 @multi-fandom5 @f1-hoff @kittylolly4 @reguluscrystals @uhhvictoria @arian-directioner @forza-dolce @dukeofjjune @vimayxo @ilove-tswizzle @peachapat119

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #nsfw #nsfw oneshot

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back-on-my-bullsh · 4 months ago

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Jesus Fucking Christ you need to warn a guy. What if I died

#lando norris #my eye is twitching #god he’s so beautiful #eat my pussy like that I beg

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back-on-my-bullsh · 4 months ago

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Hot hot hot hot 🥵

[ WRAPPED AROUND MY FINGER — FT. LANDO NORRIS ]

before you read: fem!reader. pure smut. lots of making out. enemies to lovers. grinding. pet names. swearing. dirty talk. riding. suggestive behaviour. rough fucking. unprotected sex. p in v. orgasm denial. lando is an asshole. banter and teasing.

you pause just outside the press room, the murmurs inside growing quieter as they catch wind of your approach. the soft clinking of your heels on the tiled floor is enough to make most of the reporters sit up straighter, some even gulp nervously.

they know better than to cross you. after all, one wrong move and they’d find themselves on the receiving end of your cutting remarks, a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. nobody in this room, save for a select few, has the audacity to test you.

your fitted blazer, pink and perfectly tailored, hugs your form with sheer elegance, paired with a sleek pencil skirt that stops just above the knee. you look like a princess, royalty among commoners.

crossing you is considered social suicide in this paddock. your ego, well-deserved and unapologetic, has earned you that power. you get what you want, and you get it without question.

but it’s more than just appearances. you own this room before you even step inside. the press know it, the drivers know it, and most importantly, you know it. they’re all basically scared of you.

there’s one exception, of course. one person in this entire room who doesn’t cower in your presence. lando norris. sitting at the centre of the couch with that boyish grin of his, he’s the one person who dares to go toe-to-toe with you. you’ve clashed before, and you’ll clash again today, no doubt.

you stride confidently to your seat, the sharp click of your heels shattering the silence completely. you don’t rush. there’s simply no need to.

as you approach the front, the drivers seated on the couch are more than aware of your presence. max glances your way, charles shifts slightly in his chair, but lando simply lets his eyes linger on your figure as you move past the rows of journalists.

but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. you’re above his childish games.

you reach your chair and set yourself down gracefully, crossing one leg over the other and adjusting the cuff of your blazer. the soft rustle of your skirt as you settle into your seat is the only sound in the room for a while.

lando doesn’t seem to fear you the way others do, but that’s only because he’s as reckless in interviews as he is on track. he has made a career out of getting under your skin, and while most days, you’re far too proper to let it show, there are times, like today, when he pushes just the right buttons.

lando’s race win has come with controversy. his move in singapore was hasty, dangerous even, putting several drivers at risk. but he doesn’t care. you’re here to make sure he does care.

you lean back slightly in your chair, scanning the room as the press conference begins. the first question is thrown to lando—something soft, something harmless. but you are not here for harmless. you’re here for blood.

when it’s finally your turn, you lean forward ever so slightly. “lando, after that reckless move in singapore, do you honestly think you can just brush off the consequences?”

“it was just a racing incident. you know how it goes,” he tries to downplay the gravity of the situation.

“a racing incident?” you quirk a brow. “your move nearly took out several drivers. that’s not just a simple mistake, but also a serious risk. how do you justify that?”

his cocky little facade falters for a moment, the smirk on his lips barely holding on as you can almost see the gears turning in his brain.

“i made the move because i knew i could. it’s racing. sometimes, you have to take risks if you want to win.”

before you can retaliate, another brave reporter finally works up the nerve to interrupt. “lando, congratulations on the win. but there’s been some concern regarding your move on the final lap. several drivers, including carlos sainz, expressed that it was misguided. do you think, looking back, that he was right? or perhaps, do you think it needed to happen in order to secure first place.”

“you don’t win races by playing it safe. it was a calculated move, and i wouldn’t have made it if i didn’t believe i could pull it off. sure, it was aggressive, but i did what needed to be done.” he says, not breaking eye contact with the reporter. “if anyone thinks it was too reckless, that’s their opinion. but i’m here to win, not to please everyone.”

“objection,” you say flatly, your finger tapping rhythmically against your notepad.

the moderator, clearly caught off guard, stammers awkwardly. “uh, this isn’t a courtroom, ma’am.”

“dangerous,” you cut him off, not sparing him a glance. your focus is solely on lando. “your little stunt was not hardcore racing. anybody reasonable enough can agree with that, and understand that it was nothing but dangerous.”

“oh, so you’re the one who decides what’s dangerous now?” he says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips.

“someone has to, apparently,” you bite back. “since you seem to think throwing the entire grid into chaos is just another day at the office.”

“i don’t need a lecture from you about what’s safe or not.”

you struggle to keep your eyes from rolling all the way to the back of your head at his words. “i didn’t realise ‘racing move’ was code for ‘reckless and idiotic.’ thanks for clarifying.”

the moderator clears his throat awkwardly, trying to regain some sort of control but it has become clear as day that the press conference room is already in shambles. “let’s move on to the next question, please—”

“i wasn’t finished,” you interject.

lando lets out a comically loud sigh, earning a few snickers from around the room. “alright, what else do you have for us?”

“selfish,” you cock your head to the side with a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “you might think a big ego is necessary to thrive in this sport, but how many first-place trophies does it take to justify this kind of behaviour?”

lando’s jaw clenches so tightly it almost looks like it might lock into place, “nobody wins by being all buddy-buddy, and you of all people should know that. maybe if you spent more time on track and less time being a self-righteous critic, you’d understand.”

“or,” you counter smoothly, twirling your pen in between your dainty fingers, “maybe if you took your head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d learn what accountability looks like.”

the room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. lando's blood boils beneath the surface, and the oppressive singapore humidity does nothing to alleviate the flush spreading across his cheeks.

he can’t think straight. every thought in that rattled brain of his is a chaotic mess, twisted and tangled like a ball of yarn. the intense pressure to respond is crushing him. he wants to humiliate you, to turn the tables and reclaim his authority in front of the reporters, to show everyone that he wouldn’t be a victim of your sharp tongue.

“and by the way, in your post-race interview, you said, ‘i race for myself, not for anyone else.’ so it seems you’ve already made your stance clear.”

his hand hovers over the microphone, fingers drumming anxiously against it before he finally picks it up.

“i meant what i said,” he mutters, voice a touch lower, almost strained. the usual confidence that dripped from every word can no longer be recognised. “i race for myself because that’s how you win. that’s what this is about, right? winning. no one else is gonna do that for you.”

he takes a brief, shaky breath. his eyes flicker to the reporters, as if silently begging for an escape. but the silence in the room remains thick, practically eating him up.

“i don’t need anyone’s approval to win,” he adds, though his voice wavers slightly as he grips the microphone a little too tight. “like i said, you’d know that if you were out there.”

his gaze flickers back to you, but the usual smugness isn’t there anymore. it's replaced by something softer, almost like a crack in his armour, as though he’s not sure if he believes his own words anymore.

you lean forward just slightly, a sly smile pulling at your lips, as if you’ve been waiting for this. "if i were out there?" you repeat, your voice dripping with amusement, eyes locked on his, unwavering. “lando, i might not be behind the wheel, but don’t think for a second that makes me any less aware of what’s at stake. what separates us is that i understand the difference between racing for yourself and racing selfishly. those lines blur for you, don't they?”

he looks too funny when you’re stressing him out, as sick as it sounds. you just wanna push and paw at his buttons until he just can’t take it anymore, until he can’t find the strength in him to pick the microphone up again.

“let’s move on,” the moderator urges, trying to steer the conversation away.

you shrug your shoulders with a proud smile, sinking back into your chair as lando mirrors your movements, though his actions are laced with a slight hesitation.

it’s as if he has undergone a complete transformation in just a matter of minutes. the cocky, mouthy lando norris you’re used to, a driver who thrives on banter and being a total dickhead, has been replaced by a shy and toned down version of himself.

the room is quick to empty once the moderator calls time, the final questions being nothing more than background noise. max and charles are among the first to rise, eager to slip away before anything else can spark off between you and lando.

max nudges charles as they head for the door, the two of them disappearing from the room without so much as a backward glance, not wanting to drown in the tension-filled air any longer.

the journalists follow suit, packing up their notebooks and murmuring amongst themselves about what they’ve just witnessed.

you remain seated for a moment, watching the shuffle of reporters around you as they show themselves out, and only then do you rise from your chair, brushing off your outfit as though the tension that just filled the room was nothing more than an inconvenience. lando, however, doesn’t move right away.

he still sits on that couch, gritting his teeth and fingers holding onto the edge of the seat for dear life. the press is gone now, no one left to witness whatever is running through his mind. no more cameras, no more microphones, and certainly, no more of you.

the room grows eerily quiet as the door shuts behind the last few journalists. you make your way to the door, strutting down the isle calmly as if you didn’t just pick him apart in front of an audience.

“hey!” he’s up now, having finally pushed himself off the couch.

you stop at the sound of his voice but don’t immediately turn. the seconds tick by, and when you finally glance back at him, there’s no emotion on your face—just a bored expression, like you couldn’t care less about what he has to say.

“what the fuck was that, huh?”

“what was what? my attempt at a productive discussion? you should try it sometime,” your tone is laced with sarcasm, the words rolling off your tongue like honey.

lando grits his teeth as he steps closer with his fists curling at his sides. “no, seriously. don’t pull that shit on me.” he laughs bitterly, but it’s lacking any humour. “all you’ve ever done is make me out to be the villain in every fucking scenario. you just love bitching about me, and no matter what i say or do, you twist it around so that i’m the asshole.”

your voice is low now, despite it only being you two in the room. “oh, sweetheart, i don’t need to twist anything. you’re doing a pretty good job of making yourself look like an asshole all on your own.”

lando’s mid-rant when you’ve already lost interest. with a dramatic sigh, you stretch out your hand and pretend to inspect your nails. his words blur into the background.

“really?” he huffs. “you’re so fuckin’ childish.”

your eyes flick lazily up to his. “oh, i’m sorry,” you drawl. “were you saying something important? i must’ve missed it.”

“you think you’re so above it all, don’t you?”

you suppose that you can be catty sometimes, and that you don’t hold your tongue, but that’s just part of the job. you’re here to ask the questions that others won’t dare to, and you can't help it that some people need to learn to respect the woman with the microphone. that doesn’t mean you think you’re above it all, it just means everyone else is a few steps below.

“no, i’m just not interested in sinking to your level.” you sneer, crossing your arms. “you need to learn some humility, norris.”

“i’m not here for a lesson in humility.”

“oh, but it looks like you need one, don’t you?” you reply. “after all, humility goes hand in hand with accountability, and judging by your performance tonight, you’re lacking in both of those areas.”

red. all he can see is red.

“you are always so fucking difficult.”

“oh, you poor thing.” with a feigned pout, you step closer and give his cheek a little pat. “does the big, bad racer need a hug?”

lando now looks like he’s on the verge of exploding, fists clenched so tight you can almost hear his knuckles crack. his nostrils flare slightly with every breath and his face is flushed a dangerous shade of red.

you lift your eyebrows impatiently. “anything else i should know about before i go write some mean headlines about you?”

“go ahead, i can’t wait to read it,” he spits through clenched teeth.

“yeah? well, i can’t wait to write it.”

without another word, you spin on your heel and make a beeline for the door, your patience wearing dangerously thin. you refuse to waste a second more in a room with the snotty, obnoxious lando norris.

the notepad and pen are snugly tucked under your arm, though you can already feel the simmering anger fuelling the words you plan to scrawl across tonight’s article. every small step toward the door is another creative insult, another witty phrase aimed at taking him down a notch.

as your hand reaches the door handle, you expect it to twist easily beneath your fingers, offering the sweet escape you crave from the smug presence behind you. but it doesn’t move. confused, you try again, this time applying more pressure. your grip tightens on the handle as you twist but the door refuses to budge.

panic builds in the pit of your stomach, but before you can dwell on it, your ears pick up on a faint snicker behind you.

you force yourself to ignore him, too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence anymore. instead, you shift your focus back to the door, your brow furrowing as you try one more time, now with much more desperation.

“fuck!” you bang your fists on the door, the hollow thud echoing through the empty room. your voice is hoarse from shouting, pleading for literally anyone to hear, but the little feud that boiled over in this room had given everyone else enough time to either rush home or disappear into their motorhomes. now, it’s just you and lando—completely helpless and trapped together.

the more the situation sinks in, the more it gnaws at you that there’s simply no chance of getting out of here anytime soon. the idea of being stuck with him makes your skin crawl.

“does the big, bad journalist need a hug?”

oh, he must have a death wish.

“you know what i really need, lando norris?” you snap, grabbing the collar of his papaya shirt and yanking him down to your level. “the one thing i need is for you to shut that big mouth of yours.”

“easy there, tiger,” he says, completely unfazed. “just giving you a little taste of your own medicine. i know, it really sucks, huh?”

and he smirks. he actually smirks.

your grip tightens on his collar as you pull him even closer. “wipe that stupid fucking smirk,” you growl, your lips dangerously close to his, “off your stupid fucking face.”

lando’s eyes flicker to your lips for a split second. “looks like i won’t get to read that little article you’ve been planning on writing about me now. what a shame.”

you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm the rage that’s bubbling up. a deep exhale escapes you as your control slips further and further from your grasp. he is undeniably, without question, the most infuriating person you’ve ever come across.

“this is all your fault!” you shout, jabbing a finger hard into his chest and meeting the firm muscle beneath the papaya fabric.

“care to elaborate? i mean, that is your job after all.”

“you sulked on the couch like a child, dragged me into your mess when i should’ve left with the press!”

“ah, but you didn’t,” he shakes his head. “you could have left me there, walked right out that door, but you didn’t. you stayed and kept flinging insults, just to get the last word in.”

“is there a point to this?”

“the point is,” he exhales. “you’re obsessed with me.”

you blink. once. twice. the words leave you speechless for a moment, and for the first time tonight, you’re rendered completely still. obsessed with him? the sheer absurdity of his accusation nearly makes you laugh. the arrogance is so over-the-top, so far from reality that it might as well be classed as a fairytale.

your mouth opens, then closes like a stupid goldfish. the response you so desperately want to give him is caught somewhere in your throat, tangled up in disbelief and frustration.

lando stands tall over you, eyes boring into your soul. the attention he is giving you makes you feel all flushed and weak in the knees, and you absolutely hate how your body is responding to him. it is almost as if he is allowing you to toy with him, as if he finds it amusing. then it clicks.

he’s making you angry on purpose.

before you can fully process the thought, lando’s hands move swiftly to your wrists. he presses you firmly against the wall, pinning your arms on either sides of your head. you glance up at him, frowning at the sudden change in position.

your eyes dart across his face, taking in all of his features. still trapping your delicate hands in just one of his, his other reaches to grab your chin.

“guess pinning me down is the only way you think you’ll come out on top, huh?” you spit out, squirming in his hold. it feels nearly impossible to break free as his hands anchor you firmly in place.

you don’t know what possessed you to say it, the words slipping out before you could even consider the consequences. but as the shock flickers across his face, you find yourself relishing the moment.

“you know,” lando’s thumb brushes over your chin teasingly. “you’re kinda hot when you’re angry.”

the anger that had surged through you only moments ago fizzles away in an instant, dissolving under the weight of something far more intense. every filthy comment you could’ve thrown back at him dies on your tongue and all that remains is the undeniable truth: you want him. god, you want him, and deep down, you know you can’t keep fighting it.

without a second thought, you close the gap between you, smashing your lips against his in a move so bold it surprises even you.

he doesn’t hesitate either. his lips press back against yours with a hunger that quite literally takes your breath away. it is as if both of you had been waiting far too long for this.

his hands, once firmly holding your wrists, now slide down to grip your thighs.

you part just enough to gasp for air between kisses, but it’s never enough—neither of you can bring yourselves to stop, the tension that’s built up over years finally exploding into something uncontrollable.

“fuck,” he groans against your lips, “i knew someone could tame you.”

“lan— lando,” you stutter out between frantic kisses, desperate to feel him again, “don’t be such a dick.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to let his eyes linger on your lips—plump and bruised from the intensity of his kisses. his gaze darkens with satisfaction as he drinks in the sight of what he’s done to you, and his lips curl into that damn smirk again.

before you can protest, his mouth is on your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you and savour the sweetness.

your body arches instinctively, fingers desperately tangling into his hair as he works his way down. you can feel the impatience radiating off him, the way his hands tremble slightly as they explore every curve of your body. it’s as if he’s memorising you, tracing the lines of your form, and god, it’s making you dizzy.

“hold on, baby,” he growls into your skin, lifting you as if you weigh nothing at all. he carries you to the infamous sofa, laying you down gently before his lips find yours again.

“it’s about time i fuck that bratty attitude outta you, hm?”

normally, those words would have you fuming, pushing him away in disgust. but tonight, with the way he’s looking at you—hungry and desperate—you don’t even think about protesting. instead, you pull him closer with a smirk of your own as you bite back a laugh.

because if this is how he plans to break you, you’ll let the boy try.

in a split second, lando has carefully stripped himself of his clothes, and so have you, though his eagerness nearly cost you a button on your white blouse. he knows you'd kill him if he messed with your designer piece, but he couldn’t help himself.

his hands are hot against your skin, and his eyes flicker between yours, mischief and arrogance gleaming in the green.

lando brushes his soft lips over your jawline, nibbling at the delicate skin as he shifts you, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his slim waist.

he taps the head of his cock against your entrance, and his lips curl into a smile when your slick coats him almost immediately and embarrassingly quick. the idea of stuffing you full tonight has more blood rushing to his dick.

lando can hardly breathe as he finally drags his tip along your most sensitive spot—once, twice. he’s dying to fill you, to feel your walls tighten around him.

your hands find their way to his biceps, pulling him closer so he can bury his face into your neck.

“fucking hell,” he groans, voice drooling into one of a much higher pitch. he practically knocks the air from your lungs while warming the spongiest parts of your pussy, rolling his hips faster into your cunt and watching with satisfaction as you slowly transform into his little fucktoy.

your head lolls back as your core tightens, squeals and cries blending with every squelch, squelch, squelch echoing from your aching cunt.

he can’t resist taunting you, his natural instinct surfacing. “cat finally got your tongue?”

“i’m just admiring the fact that you finally found something you’re good at.” your words are cut off with a gasp with the next heavy, slow roll of his hips into you and you can feel the way his huge body stutters at your words before he pulls back to give you a look. your words are cut short by a sharp gasp as he thrusts deeper, cock twitching at your words and you catch the flicker of frustration in his eyes.

“hilarious,” he says flatly, driving into you with even more intensity and barely pulling out between thrusts. he wants to sure you feel every vein, every throb of his cock inside you.

if only he were this good on the track, but that cheeky thought fades when his cock kisses that perfect spot again.

with no sign of resistance from you, it’s clear you’re enjoying this—a little too much. your smirk deepens into a wicked smile, lips glistening with a glossy coat of lip gloss.

“come on, baby,” he taunts, “scream my name.”

“fuck off, norris,” you stammer, but the moan that follows betrays you.

“close enough.”

you shoot him a dangerous glare — one that could easily be mistaken with a fuck me harder instead of shut the fuck up, asshole.

your pussy sloppily clenches around him, as if trying to pull him in more with every thrust, and the lewd, dirty sounds of your bodies meeting only add to the filthiness of the moment. his size is perfect, filling you completely, and the sensation of being utterly consumed by him is overwhelming, but yet you crave more, your body aching for the pleasure he so expertly delivers.

“this doesn’t change anything,” you manage through your panting, “you’re still a snob.”

lando only uses that as motivation to fuck you even harder, his nails digging into your hips and pulling you impossibly close.

“what was that?” he huffs, as if he isn’t driving his thick cock deep into you while you speak—the very reason your legs have turned to mere jelly. “can’t hear you over all that moaning.” he rolls his eyes at you.

lando genuinely believes that you owe him and he’s convinced that it’s far more than what you’re currently giving him. yet, in your eyes, you don’t owe him a thing, not even an apology for your ‘totally professional’ behaviour during the press conference.

the desperation to take control kicks in as you claw at his biceps, summoning every ounce of strength to flip the script. at first, lando appears confused, caught off guard by your sudden wriggling, but he submits nonetheless.

you manage to force him down onto the sofa, now straddling him, a position of dominance that feels most satisfying to you.

you grab a fistful of lando’s hair, crashing your lips onto his in a desperate attempt to muffle the impossibly loud moans threatening to spill out.

the boy is on cloud nine as he strengthens the hold on your hips to fuck up into you. his gaze is stuck between your bodies, captivated by the sight of your cunt greedily sucking him.

the ache in your lower region is driving you mad, a moan slipping from your throat and echoing off the walls as your hips buck against his girthy cock once more.

your thighs begin to strain from the exertion, muscles burning from doing nearly all the work, but you embrace the challenge. you have every intention of taking charge, just as you always do.

he’s clearly enjoying himself, flashing you a mean grin as your back arches violently when he forces you to ride him harder.

lando can barely feel his lower half anymore, his knees shaking uncontrollably as a downright pornographic expression spreads across his smug face.

you have never seen him this undone, completely at your mercy, and you can’t help but wonder if he’d want to try this again sometime. though a sly part of you hopes he won’t turn the tables on you later, punishing you for the little stunt you’re pulling.

you chase that orgasm like it’s the only thing your life depends on, gasping and moaning without a hint of shame while trying to tune out the look on lando’s face as he watches you bounce on him.

you throw your head back and scream when he rolls his erection into you expertly, your cunt throbbing uncomfortably with the desire to cum.

“lando, too much!” you babble mindlessly, detaching your hands from his hair and moving them down to the material of the couch, gripping it tightly. lando lets out an almost relieved sigh at that, his poor head is pulsing. “cumming— i’m cumming!”

“you are? really?” he teases, his voice condescending.

and right before you cum onto lando’s pretty dick, he hoists you off his dick with his big hands, forcing you to not reach your orgasm.

“mmf.. no! no, no, no!” you whine, suddenly realising what he’s doing, frustration bubbling up as you throw a small tantrum. lando’s reclaiming his dominance, forcing you to submit to his control once again, his large, almost intimidating frame looming over you as he prepares to take charge with powerful, relentless thrusts.

“hmm?” lando raises a brow, “did you really think i was gonna let you take over?”

your lips part to let out an offended gasp, but instead of asking him for a better explanation, you simply peer up at him with wet lashes and a frown— he looks like your cunt has just sent him directly to heaven.

lando does what he thinks is the best way to handle the situation, immediately shutting his drenched dick back into your core. your mouth goes dry from the sudden intrusion as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a low laugh escaping him.

a delicious roll of his hips sends your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust, while your legs wrap instinctively around his waist once again. his leaking tip pushes against your sweetest spot and beads of sweat glisten on his chiseled chest, such a heavenly sight. it feels absolutely divine to be tossed back and forth against the couch, completely impaled by his thick cock even though you are so angry that you love it.

you furiously gush all over his length and he tosses his head to the side, his ears burning due to the chain reaction of his groin receiving way too much overflowing pleasure.

it’s as if the realisation that he’s completely in control now is what pushes him over the edge, his cock twitching as hot, thick ropes of cum fill your abused cunt, painting your insides white while the word mine repeats over and over in his fucked-out head.

mine, mine, mine—the word echoes endlessly in his head, even as he fucks into you, riding out his high.

he looks between your legs and examines how puffy and irritated your pussy has gotten. he did that, he was responsible.

lando’s hips buck into you a little uncoordinated now, stuttering through each thrust as you cum hard all over his cock until a filthy ring of white cream coats his dripping length. a needy, breathless whimper escapes his throat as he moans into your neck, feeling his own release rush to all the right places.

“oh, you fucking angel.” his hips jerk up as his eyes clam shut, moaning as he milks himself into you. lando cums so much, the warmth pooling in your belly before he can feel his whole body go numb.

skin slaps against skin and a combination of your arousals leaves a terrible, dirty mess smeared between your legs, spilling down your inner thighs.

finally, he slumps against you, panting as he tries to catch his breath, sweaty and tired but never unsatisfied.

“you are actually crazy,” he quietly admits, “is it bad that i love it?”

“no judgement here,” you giggle, smiling like he’s hung the moon and stars for you.

“that’s a first.” he smirks, wrapping his sticky body around you tighter.

he was undeniably, without question, the most frustrating person you’ve ever come across. now, you have no idea what to think of him. how could you even begin to describe lando norris?

there’s a jiggle at the doorknob, followed by a slurred string of curses. you both scramble, but you’re much quicker, shoving lando off you and onto the floor with a thud, earning you an exaggerated middle finger.

“oh my god! um, pass me my shirt,” you hiss, frantically pointing to your white blouse, crumpled on the floor alongside lando’s papaya shirt and black jeans.

you barely manage to get dressed in time before the door swings open, revealing a stunned cleaner.

“hi there, uh, martin!” your eyes dart to his name badge as you nervously blurt out, “just forgot my lucky pen.. can’t go anywhere without it.” you let out a forced laugh and thrust the pen in his direction.

you hurriedly bolt out of the room, with lando close behind, throwing out a laughably bad excuse to the cleaner that almost makes you cringe. once you’re out of earshot, he jogs up next to you with a smirk.

“so,” he grins, “same time next race?”

“shut it, you little pervert,” you brush back his hair, forcing him to stumble a few steps back.

denying yourself off this much amusement was no longer an option— because you enjoy this, just as much as he does.

and so, when the cleaner eventually finds your lace, hot pink bra draped over the white sofa, complete with scratch marks imbedded in the material, you’re almost certain there’ll be headlines tomorrow. this time, you both will definitely be the talk of the paddock.

but tonight, for lando norris of all people, you’re willing to let your reputation be tarnished—just a smidge.

#lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris one shot #nsfw #nsfw oneshot

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back-on-my-bullsh · 4 months ago

Text

Hands on my neck [LH]

author's note: i'm sorry if this is shit, i'm having so much doubts about this one 🥴 anyway, hope y'all enjoy this! mwah

warnings: MINORS, DON'T INTERACT‼ dom Lewis, slightly aggressive, sir kink, major pain kink, a whole lot of choking with no mercy at all, creampie, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), some praising and dirty talk. Let me know if I'm missing something!

wc: 5603 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

• masterlist

Singapore, here you are again. It’s another weekend of supporting your husband in one of his races, something that you love to do.

Lewis had to leave your shared hotel room earlier to go to a meeting with his team, so you had more time to get ready. The heat and the humidity in the air made you choose a simple dress to wear for today, you think you look cute in it - it hugs your figure perfectly and will help you deal with the warmth creeping through your body already.

Your husband was still stuck in the meeting while you were wandering around the track, enjoying the silence that lingers in the space now, knowing how chaotic things will be tomorrow when practice starts. Your eyes focus in every little detail as you walk along every garage, greeting some people that you know already, waiting for time to pass by so you can meet Lewis again.

You’re almost going back to the Mercedes’ garages, when someone from Red Bull’s team comes to talk to you. You don’t really know the man in front of you, but you don’t want to be rude, especially since he is just talking to you about the race and the teams, nothing else.

After talking for a few minutes, he lets you know that his name is Josh, he’s a bit younger than you and he has been working for Red Bull for only a few months now. “I’ve seen you around a couple of times already” - he notes, shooting a smile in your direction. “It’s impossible not to notice your presence, but it’s always very pleasant to see you here” - the boy adds.

You chuckle at his innocence, letting him know why he will continue to see you around - explaining your relationship with Lewis. The boy acts goofy, and manages to steal some laughs from you, making it seem like time is flying now.

Lewis is finally free from his meeting, already feeling annoyed and tired, done with dealing with problems for today. The only thing he wants now is to see you, to go back to your shared hotel room and to have a calm dinner, followed by a chill night by your side so he can forget about work for a couple of hours.

The man sighs once he steps outside, pulling his braids out of his face as he strolls around the paddock, looking for you. He is about to dial your number, when he hears your laugh echoing through the garages. His feet follow the sound and his eyebrows furrow once you come into sight - not just you, but also your new friend, who you seem to find very funny.

Lewis is not in the mood for this, he really isn’t. He just wanted to get some rest, he wanted to cuddle you until you would both fall asleep, but the view in front of him is making his blood boil already. The stupid boy keeps touching you, his hand caressing your arm, your shoulder, and the fact that you are wearing a tight dress that shows all your curves, on full display for him, doesn’t sit right with Lewis, feeling the possessiveness emanating from his body now.

“There you are” - your husband says as he reaches you. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere” - his voice shows no emotion at all, but your body notices the way he immediately wraps his arm around you, his grip tightening around your waist, while he looks you deep in the eyes.

“Oh, I was walking around and when I was going back to your garage, Josh interrupted my walk and came to talk to me” - you say, letting a giggle loose out of your mouth, feeling how tense the environment around you got as soon as Lewis showed up.

Josh stretches out his hand to greet the driver, but Lewis just side-eyes him for a second, before looking at you again. “I’m glad you had fun, but it’s time for us to go” - he says, irony lacing his voice while he keeps a stern tone.

You glance at your husband, knowing damn well what he’s doing now. You try to say goodbye to the boy that spoke with you for almost an hour, but Lewis just starts walking away, his grip on you never loosening.

“Why do you always have to act like this?” - you ask with annoyance, genuinely just trying to reason with him.

“Shut up, I’m already pissed enough” - that’s all he says through gritted teeth, before both of you get in the car, heading back to the hotel.

Silence fills the car, except for two or three times when Lewis made small talk with the driver - but never acknowledged you. He is lying back in his seat, with his left elbow resting in the window sill, his knuckles covering his mouth - trying to hide the anger splattered on his face.

You try to get closer to him, but his right arm is resting between his legs, while his fingers tap on the seat impatiently. He doesn’t even look at you, afraid that he might lose it right here if his eyes land on your body, if his skin touches yours. He can’t wait to get to the hotel, so he can get rid of all the frustration flowing through his body now.

Once you’re back in your room, Lewis closes the door behind him, his eyes darkening immediately as your gazes meet one another. He walks to you, hands starting to roam your body as you feel magnetized to him, drawing him impossibly close to you, making it impossible for him to resist you.

Your mouth searches for his, devouring each other just as both of you were desperate to. Your arms snake around his neck, one of your hands gently securing itself to the back of his head, lightly pulling on his braids as he bites down your bottom lip, making you hiss.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” - he says through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening their grip on your hips, traveling down to your ass, where he lands a hard slap.

“Thinking you can get away with flirting with dumb boys in front of me? Huh?” - he says in a raspy tone, his body guiding yours until the back of your knees hits the bed. His mouth is glued to your neck, marking his territory right away as he sucks on your sweet spot while his body towers over yours, lying you down on the mattress.

Feeling his mouth on your burning skin is enough to make you whimper, silently begging him to touch you, to give you more as your fingers roam his back, his chest, everywhere you can get your hands on.

“Stop acting dumb, baby girl. You fucking pissed me off, letting that stupid kid get close to you, making you laugh like he’s sooo funny” - he stops kissing your body as he gets up.

Lewis quickly pulls his shirt off his body, and your eyes can’t help but wander through his skin, and he notices how you bite your lip as he caresses his growing bulge.

His facial expression is serious and stern, almost as if you could see smoke coming out of his nostrils. He grabs your ankles, pulling your body to the edge of the bed like it’s nothing.

You remain silent, analyzing the best way to play this game with him.

“Wearing this fucking dress that suits you so fucking well, fuck-” - he is the one biting his own lip now as he unveils one of your boobs harshly, messing with the fabric of your dress until his hands are on your thighs, on their way to pull down your underwear.

You know he is going to make you moan and whimper for him the entire night, but you are not going to give in so easily. With a devilish smirk playing on your lips, you finally speak up.

“You know, I was actually really enjoying talking to him” - you say slowly, declaring every word while you look Lewis dead in the eyes.

In a second, his hand is wrapping around your neck, while his face is just centimeters away from yours. “Oh, is that right?” - he asks you, a playful tone leaving his mouth as he watches your reaction very attentively.

You nod, challenging him. “Josh is actually a cutie. At least he gave me company while you were away” - you touch the wound: the fact that he is away so much, the fact that you spend way too much time alone, missing him, having to take care of yourself alone, touching yourself to nothing when he’s on the other side of the globe.

The grip on your necks tightens, but you’re not afraid. If he wants to play this game, he will have to tame you until you’re writhing under him, losing your senses, on the verge of passing out from all the pleasure he endures on you - and Lewis knows it.

“Are you sure that you wanna go there?” - he asks and you shrug, acting like you don’t even care, as if having sex with him was not really that special. And the way you act so careless, as if he is insignificant, makes him even more angry.

Lewis grabs your panties and throws your body back into the middle of the bed, positioning you as he pleases, like you are made of rags and stitches. Soon, your hands are being held above your head, while Lewis is using your own set of panties to tie them to the bed headboard.

“I gave you a chance to back down, baby girl. You want to act stupid, like your new cute friend? I’ll make you go dumb until you don’t even remember your own name” - you know this is more than a threat, you know he will make you forget about Josh, your attitude, and even who you are.

Lewis gets up from the bed once again, taking his pants off now before walking to the door, locking it and throwing the key in a corner somewhere.

“You have no idea what you’ve just woken up, good luck escaping me now, baby girl” - he ironically says before meeting your body again.

He towers over you, biting your earlobe and the path down your neck while his fingers carefully start touching your pussy, smirking to himself as he feels how turned on you are by now.

“You’re so wet already and I haven’t even touched you. Are you that needy for me?” - his ego inflates while he continues to collect your wetness in his middle finger, using it to caress your pussy lips.

You try your hardest to suppress a moan, wanting to push him to the edge. “I was actually thinking that maybe Josh could join us, one day” - you give him a wink, seeing how infuriated he looks now. His hand leaves your cunt immediately, and his left one wraps around your neck again.

“Shut the fuck up. I am not dealing with your bullshit anymore tonight. You want to be a brat? I’ll treat you like one” - he argues back, choking you harder now, while his right hand flies to land a slap on your warm pussy, making you yelp in response.

You and Lewis know each other like the back of your hands. He knows you enjoy this too much - the choking, the slaps, the pain. So, he knows it doesn’t feel like a punishment to you, but he still does it, so he can see the reactions that your body shows, the ones you can’t control and that drive him wild. The way your skin turns red, how your breathing gets shallow, how you can’t keep the moans from leaving your lips, even if you try.

You daydream about having him all to yourself, about misbehaving so he can get a little bit more rough with you, taming you the way you like. The feeling of choking under his touch, squirming while he pushes himself inside of you, the way he slaps your skin until it’s painted red, making you scream out in pleasure.

One, two, three, four, five slaps land on your pussy, and that’s the only sound that’s audible in the room, while you and Lewis are looking each other dead in the eyes, fighting a silent battle, the intensity between you two can be felt in the air.

The sting between your legs is unbearable now, feeling like your pussy is on fire from all the slapping, feeling it throbbing and hurting as Lewis’ action comes to a stop.

“I really wasn’t going to do all this, princess. But you’re such a fucking brat” - he tells you as if he feels sorry for what he’s about to do to you.

His fingers enter you without a warning, working on your pussy fast and hard, stretching you out, getting you ready for him. Lewis gets on his knees, so his hand can work from a different angle, making you groan and bite your lip as the tip of his fingers reach your g-spot.

You try your best to hold your moans, not wanting to give into him, standing your ground with your stubborn attitude. But now, the new position makes him lean his entire weight on his other hand, that’s still tightly wrapped around your neck, feeling how it’s getting hard to breathe, how you will absolutely have lots of marks to hide tomorrow morning.

You open your legs wider for him, and he gets the hint. The thing is, you woke the most dominant side of Lewis, and he isn’t stopping now, nor anytime soon.

Lewis can’t deny that having you splattered in front of him, acting so submissive just for his eyes, drives him insane as well. He is the only one that can get the best out of you, knowing how to work your body, how to maximize your pleasure until you’re seeing stars. And you will always be his, he is the only one that can see you like this - fragile, vulnerable, hot and wet, actually dripping at the sight of him, your husband.

He removes his fingers from inside of you, feeling how drenched they are with your juices now, leaving you empty - and you can’t help but whine a little bit, so he can see how needy you are for him.

“You should have thought about that before” - he whispers in your ear, as he harshly turns your body around, so you’re lying in your stomach now.

“Ass in the air” - is all he says before you’re complying with his orders.

“Yes, Sir” - you reply, looking at him from the corner of your eye, giving him a sly smile. You know the fun is about to start.

Lewis just chuckles at your state. “You’re ridiculous” - he notes, as he takes off his own underwear now. His dick is painfully hard, and he hisses as he touches himself for a few moments.

You can’t see much from this position, but you don’t need to. You know his body by heart, you know damn well what type of sight you would have if you could see him in his plenitude right now. And the thought of it still makes you salivate, ready to take all of it.

“Wreck me, Sir. I deserve it” - you beg, your voice sounding as soft as satin, while you stretch your back so you can perk up your ass a little more for him.

Your words, mixed with the way his hand is traveling through his hard shaft are enough to make him see stars now, so he enters you without a warning. He sees how you immediately bury your head on the pillow, groaning and gasping at the way his size stretches you out.

He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, as he starts thrusting deep into you, picking up his pace quickly so he can actually punish you now.

Your screams are muffled by the pillow as Lewis’ hand slaps your ass while his dick roams inside of you. “You’ve gone really quiet now, what’s wrong baby? You don’t think Josh could fuck you like this, do you?” - he cockily tells you now, as he licks a stripe along your spine, until his mouth reaches your neck.

He plants some open mouth kisses to your back, his teeth grazing your skin as you moan loud, feeling him so incredibly deep inside of you due to the way his body is positioned.

He doesn’t slow down, and the way he rails your clamping cunt, makes the most filthy sounds echo in the room.

“Sir, please- please, I can’t take it all at once, I-” - you stutter, your mind struggling to create a phrase that makes sense now. “You’re too big” - you whine, hoping Lewis will have some mercy and slow down his pace.

But he doesn’t. “You can always use your safeword if you need it, baby. Or, you can be a good girl and take it like you deserve it” - he replies, way too drunk off your body, the moment, the atmosphere around you two suffocating him now, the same way his dick feels strangled inside your tight cunt.

You choose not to use the safe word, using all the strength left inside of your body to take it, to allow him to destroy you just like you asked. Your hands are gripping the hem of the sheets now, almost ripping the panties apart so you can free yourself at this point.

Lewis is drowning himself in your juices, loving how incredibly wet you are for him - the control he has over you drives him insane. He could break you and you would still thank him for it. His hand wraps around your hair, pulling your head up.

“Look at me, Y/N. Look at how well you’re taking me, all of me” - he bites his lip as your eyes meet, hearing your moans sounding like he just went straight to heaven.

“You know why, baby?” - he gently caresses your hair, before pushing you back on the mattress, grabbing your neck from behind and forcing you to muffle your screams with a pillow again.

“Because you belong to me, your husband” - he emphasizes the words, as his hands hold you even tighter now, marking his fingertips on your hips.

Your makeup is all smudged by now, some tears escaping from your eyes as pleasure and pain meet, feeling incredibly worn out by the way he keeps drilling inside of you, like his life depends on it.

Lewis is close, so close. He can feel it, and he brings you closer and closer, until your bodies are almost becoming one. He doesn’t think he has ever grabbed you this hard, he doesn’t remember a time where he was so desperate to chase his orgasm, not caring about you cumming first. You don’t deserve it, he should leave you stuttering and begging, actually acting dumb because you’re so desperate for a release.

The feeling is too much to bear, and he’s almost there. One of his hands leaves your hip to travel until your boob, smacking it before pinching your nipple, getting off of inflicting pain on your body tonight. You contort and scream out of pleasure, loving the pain and the way it heightens the pleasure you feel.

You too are desperate to cum, to finally feel the bubble in your stomach burst, and there’s nothing you want more than Lewis’ hand to reach your clit, to stroke it and to make you convulse under his touch.

But he hits his high first - just like he wanted, pulling your hips closer to him as he moans loud, emptying himself inside of you while he is holding you in place, so your pussy can milk it all off his cock.

His hand goes to his hair while he takes deep breaths to help and calm down his state. After a second, his dick finally gets out of your cunt, loving the sight of his cum dripping out of you.

You whine from the emptiness you feel now, and from feeling so horny, so desperate to have your own orgasm now.

Your sounds don’t go unnoticed, and Lewis uses the tip of his - still hard, dick to collect the bits of his seed that are leaving your hole.

“I know baby, I know” - he coos, feeling much softer now that he finally got his own release.

He uses his tip to spread his cum all over your pussy lips, applying some pressure on your clit on purpose.

“I’m sorry for being so rough”, he continues his actions, like he is using the tip of his cock to paint your body. “But you know you were begging for it” - he smirks to himself while you moan at the way his cock massages your cunt now.

“You were so good, though, baby girl. You took me so well, like you always do. But I’m especially proud of you tonight” - you could almost cum on the spot from the way he’s praising you, mixed with the way his dick is still caressing your clit nonstop.

You get lost in the feeling, focusing on every little thing that he gives you, hoping that you can have your own release by now.

“I think you may even deserve an award for tonight” - he says, while his dick leaves your pussy, but his hands travel through your back, caressing your skin gently, removing the hair from your face while you watch him from the corner of your eye. His finger gently wipes the remains of makeup that are stuck below your eye, touching your cheek fondly - earning a smile from you.

“You will always be my good girl, won’t you?” - he questions, you nod your head immediately.

“I will, Sir” - Lewis kisses your shoulder before returning to his position.

His stamina is crazy, he could fuck you all night, in all positions, rail you like you seriously deserve to be punished. But now, he just wants to focus on you. His dick slips inside of you once more easily - he goes slower now, and you moan quietly at the feeling of being full of him again.

He pushes his cum that was still lingering inside of you, threatening to spill out, back inside - fucking his juice inside of you, but taking his time with it now.

Lewis starts thrusting at a steady pace - the way he knows you love being fucked, and your moans grow louder. Your wrists are already marked from pulling on the fabric of your panties so hard, and you just wish that Lewis would free you, so you could touch him, feel him, hold on to him while he fucks you the way you like.

It’s like he can hear your thoughts: he doesn’t free your wrists, but he turns your body around so you're lying on your back now, facing him while he hugs your figure, filling you up again and hitting your sweet spot with every movement he makes. His face hides on the crook of your neck, licking and biting your sensitive spots, adding new sensations to your pleasure.

“Sir, please-” - you moan, pulling on the fucking panties again, wishing the fabric would just rip apart now. “You fuck me so good, Sir” - your words fuel his mind and body, it’s like electricity running through his veins.

“You have no idea how good you feel wrapping around my dick like this, darlin. You look like a fucking goddess when your body is at my mercy, when I get to feel how warm and wet you are on the inside, just for me, you’re all mine. And you’re so good at being mine, gorgeous” - he kisses your lips, your tongues start a fight as his hand lifts your leg so he can reach where you need him the most.

He keeps burying himself inside of you, loving the way you moan and groan into his mouth while his tongue explores yours. But he knows you’re anxious and worked up - you’re craving more, you need more. So his hand snakes in between your bodies until it reaches your clit, finally taking care of you and helping you chase your orgasm.

You are sure that you won’t last much more now that his fingers are drawing figures on your pearl - the feeling of it, mixed with the pleasure of being stuffed with your husband’s dick is making you see stars already, letting uncontrollable moans and erotic sounds leave your mouth while Lewis kisses every inch of skin that he can find, watching how your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“You need me here, don’t you baby? You love it when I hit this spot, right?” - he says in a teasing manner, slowing down his thrusts each time he reaches your g-spot, maximizing your pleasure. You can only moan and nod your head in response, almost on the verge of tears as you beg your body to reach your climax now.

And when his fingers pick up their pace, alongside his movements inside of your cunt, you finally feel the bubble starting to form on your stomach - a feeling that you were eager to meet again.

Your breathing grows erratic as you feel your body getting ready to hit your orgasm.

“You got this baby, you can let go. Just breathe, I know my girl got this, you’re almost there, baby girl” - Lewis encourages you, but he can’t help but mess with you a little bit more.

His fingers start slowing down, almost threatening to stop. You grow nervous, begging him not to stop, you need this so much, you need to cum, he can’t take it away from you again.

But this isn’t new to you. When he has you exactly where he wants, he makes you go dumb on his cock, feeling like you’re on top of the world, but not feeling free until he allows you to hit your orgasm. The hesitation of that moment in your chest makes you realize that you will never find peace as long as he is not making you cum around him.

“Say that you’re mine, my love. Come on, say it. Say that you’re mine and I’ll make you cum” - he sounds like the devil in your ear now, your eyes are closed so you can’t even see the smirk playing on his lips now, while he is still thrusting deep inside of your pulsing cunt.

In the same second, you look at him, nodding your head. “I’m all yours, Sir. Please, I’m yours, forever. Please, Sir” - you beg, but it doesn’t do it for him.

“Cut the ‘Sir’. I’m Lewis, your husband” - he looks you in the eyes before he drags his lips along your features, biting your ear lobe gently as he unties your wrists.

“I’m all yours, Lewis. Baby, I belong to you and only you” - you confess, and your mind goes blank as you feel Lewis’ fingers bullying your clit now, picking up the pace of his thrusts as well so you can reach your high.

“Good girl” - he whispers in your ear before he feels your pussy constricting around his cock, signaling that you are about to cum.

“Let go, baby girl. I’m right here, cum for me” - he encourages you and you let out the most erotic moan that your body can create when you finally feel the bubble in your stomach bursting. You hold yourself to Lewis as he helps you ride out your high, your nails digging into the skin of his bicep whilst he is slowing down his thrusts, kissing your features lovingly at the same time.

“I love you so much” - he says as he admires your features. The sweat on your face, the ruined makeup still makes you look as ethereal as you always do in his eyes, loving to see the way you look after a good night of sex with him.

“I love you more” - you reply, kissing his lips in a promise of love while he removes his dick from inside of you, and you can’t help but notice that he is still hard, he hasn’t cum again.

“You didn’t-” - he knows. And he doesn’t want you to feel guilty about it.

“It’s fine, my love. Don’t worry about it. You were the priority now” - he kisses your temple, as he gets ready to lay by your side.

But you want to help him, you want to make him feel good, so you look at him while you are getting up from your spot on the bed. You move to the edge of his side of the bed, gently pulling him by the hand so he can sit up. He knows what you want, you don’t have to voice it - and he also knows that there’s no point in trying to talk you out of it.

He sighs quietly before sitting on the edge of the bed, watching how you quickly get on your knees for him. But before you can get to action, he stops you with a hand on your cheek.

“You know you don’t have to do this, baby” - he reminds you with a soft voice.

“I want to” - you are determined, and so you notice how he gently throws his head back at the feeling of your hand wrapping around your dick, gently tightening your grip on it.

Both of you are tired at this point, you don’t want to tease him, you don’t want to wear him out even more. So you just let a string of spit drop from your mouth until it reaches the tip of his cock, making Lewis hiss at the feeling.

Your hand keeps stroking his length gently as you lick a strip along it, until your lips reach for his swollen tip. Your tongue playfully swipes across it, making Lewis huff and groan quietly - you know he’s impatient and desperate to cum.

After a few seconds, you take him in your mouth, looking up at him, watching how Lewis moans lowly, his hand immediately reaching for your head, encouraging you to take more of his dick as you start bobbing your head up and down at a steady pace.

His cock is drenched in your saliva as you try to reach more and more of his length with each movement you make, and the sounds erupting from his lips are like music to your ears.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last long, baby. I need you so much, fuck, taking all of my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are” - his eyes are closed, his head is thrown back as he focuses on the sensations that your mouth provides him, while you suck on his dick like you were starved for it.

Your hand reaches to play with his balls, massaging them, while your mouth never stops devouring his member - making Lewis moan louder now, and you notice how his muscles are starting to tense, how his breathing is getting shallow.

“Don’t stop now, baby, please- please, I’m almost there” - he begs you as his hand holds your head in place now, as he thrusts up to meet your movements, trying his hardest to hit his climax.

He face fucks you while your hand is still massaging his balls, grabbing them firmly, making him choke on his breathing. The sight is truly beautiful, looking straight out of a porn movie, the scene that would make all the girls wet. And how lucky you are that he is yours, all yours.

After a few moments, Lewis finally breathes out as he releases inside your mouth, grunting at the feeling of your lips sucking him dry. He ends up sighing contently as he feels his body relaxing. He finally looks down at you, giving you a grin, his thumb caressing your cheek before wiping a drop of his milk that’s dripping down your chin.

You two kiss as soon as you lay beside Lewis, him wrapping his arms around you now. The kiss is heated, passionate, your tongues battling for dominance once again.

“I taste good on you” - he tells you, before starting another lazy makeout session.

You giggle like a teen, covering your bodies with the sheets now - feeling self aware after everything you two just did.

Lewis looks at you with a smile, but his mind drifts off to the things you said earlier.

“Don’t you dare talk about bringing other people to our bed ever again” - he lets you know, while holding you closer to him possessively.

“I was just kidding, you dork” - you laugh at his serious facial expression.

“Yeah, yeah. Be a brat again and next time it will be worse” - your husband warns you, even though he is very well aware of how badly you like it when it gets rough, when he gets dominant and possessive, when pain and pleasure meet.

It’s the best secret you two keep, even with all the marks you leave on each other’s bodies after every wild night like this one. And you are hooked on him, to the point where you wouldn’t even mind wasting your whole life to have more moments with his dominant side.

You could never explain with words how much you enjoy messing with him, since it always ends with nights filled with mind numbing sex - but you know that Lewis gets it, because these are his favorite kind of nights, as well.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton #formula one smut #nsfw #nsfw oneshot

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back-on-my-bullsh · 4 months ago

Text

Cuties!!! I can’t handle them

tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter, all pics from pinterest

warnings: daddy issues, poor father-daughter relationship, NSFW chapter (mainly just making out :))) )

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 6: If you’re going to tease, be ready to follow through.

The air between them seems to go completely still and her heart races at a million kilometres an hour. His words echo in her mind, replaying like a song she can't get out of her head. She’s frozen for a split second, staring into those eyes that she’s come to adore until an uncontrollable smile spreads across her face.

Her lips part, and she lets out a breathless laugh. "Yes," she whispers. It feels so right to say it, so natural. Yet, part of it still feels completely unreal and unbelievable, because in what reality is she ever dating her father’s protege? “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend." She wants to say those five words over and over until they feel numb on her tongue, until it’s cemented in her mind.

Oscar’s knuckles brush against her cheek, his fingers tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ask you that.” He laughs softly, dipping down just enough to kiss her, his lips slipping perfectly against hers. His lips get sticky with her lip gloss when he pulls away, sugary pink and glossy.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you to ask.” She giggles, reaching her thumb to his bottom lip to smear the gloss more evenly across his lips. She kisses him again, transferring more onto his lips. She bites her lips, her cheeks burning painfully red.

Oscar grins, wrinkling his nose up, “I’ve had a strong feeling,” He teases, his hands holding her face, his thumbs rubbing her red cheeks. “God, you’re pretty.” He exhales slowly, their foreheads resting against eachother’s. It’s so sickly sweet, it’s so cliche, it’s so annoyingly lovey-dovey–and it’s more than she could ever ask for.

It’s the best thing in the world–being with Oscar is the best thing in the world.

Eventually, they pull back just enough to look at each other, their faces still close, smiles matching. “So,” she says, her voice light and slightly teasing, “does this mean I can tell people you’re my boyfriend?”

Oscar grins as hard as possible, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Definitely,” he nods, “You can tell anyone you want.”

She holds her index finger up, wagging it slightly, “Everyone except my father.”

Oscar nods, this over dramatic seriousness over his features, “Everyone except your dad,” He echoes, pulling her face gently in for another kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She sighs into his mouth, relaxing against him. She would do this forever if she could, truly.

After a while, making out in the bright and window covered living room starts feeling really awkward, so they decide to move up to her room to continue. She tries to offer to carry Oscar’s backpack upstairs for him, but he refuses, insisting on carrying it and his suitcase up by himself, claiming it’s good for activating his arms by carrying heavy masses.

Sure, Oscar, it’s definitely not just as a way to flex how strong you are.

She doesn’t complain though, there’s something very hot about watching his muscles bulge as he picks up his suitcase one-handed and how the veins of his forearm pop out.

He goes up the stairs first and she follows close behind, trying not to stare too obviously at his muscles, straining against his sports shirt, the fabric too tight almost everywhere. She’s completely failing, obviously, how could her eyes not be glued to her genuinely perfect, greek god boyfriend.

Oscar’s like a drug, so fucking addicting and intoxicating. His quiet confidence, the way he looks at her like she’s the only person in the world that matters, how funny and perfect and amazing and handsome he is. And now, the fact that he’s hers—her boyfriend—only makes it harder to keep it together.

Once they reach her room, she closes the door softly behind them. Oscar sets down his suitcase with a small thud and straightens up, turning to look at her. His eyes sweep over her like he’s memorizing every detail. He’s very observant, wide eyed and curious of just about everything.

“Your room’s nice,” he says, glancing around, taking everything in. Music posters on the walls, fashion magazines stacked haphazardly on her desk, makeup pallets piled up on her desk, jewellery overflowing off a homemade ceramic platter, empty cans of redbull tossed into a turned over plastic flower bucket that she uses as a bin.

It’s hectic and kind of messy, but it’s a perfect representation of everything that she loves. Now she just needs some Oscar-centred decorations. “You’ve been in here,” She states, leaning against her door, slightly awkwardly. Of course, being with Oscar is just about everything she could’ve dreamed of, but it’s the being alone in her room that creates a new layer of nervousness. She bites her lip, unsure whether to sit on the bed or invite him to.

“I know.” He nods, his gaze swooping over to her, “Just didn’t really get to admire it last time.” He shrugs slightly. After a few seconds of properly looking at her, Oscar seems to sense her anxiety, because he steps closer and takes her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey,” he says softly, pulling her into his arms, arms around her waist. “You don’t need to be nervous around me.”

She exhales a shaky breath, her forehead resting against his chest as he holds her. "I’m not nervous," she mumbles, trying to sound confident. It’s a lie, she knows he can tell she’s freaking out of her mind.

“Liar,” he teases, kissing the top of her head. She rolls her eyes, pushing her hands against his stomach to guide him backwards to her bed. He lets go of her, sitting down on the bed as his heels hit the foot frame. She stands in between his knees, looking down at him.

He looks up at her with a lopsided grin, his hands resting on her hips on instinct. It feels good, normal, as if they’ve always belonged there. She can’t help but feel a little light-headed from how easily he disarms her. Oscar leans back slightly, his hands trailing down her hips to her thighs, giving them a light squeeze. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says, smirking up at her.

She narrows her eyes at him, her heart still racing. “Am not.” Oscar’s hands feel like fire on her legs. God, she’d do unspeakable things to be his steering wheel for a day just to have his big hands gripping her.

Oh. Yeah, she’s whipped.

“Are too,” he shoots back, pulling her closer by her legs until she’s forced to either topple over or straddle his lap. She chooses the latter, settling herself down on his thighs, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. It’s slightly awkward due to her poor choice of bottoms being a denim skirt, but when the fabric is pushed up far enough, it’s fine.

He grins wide, all dorky and giddy that the move he pulled actually worked and didn’t end with her falling flat on the floor. She smiles too, relaxing slightly in his lap. “I knew you wanted to sit here,” Oscar teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You didn’t have to pretend to be annoyed just for me to initiate this.

She raises an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, though her pulse is still pounding in her ears. “Oh, so you think you’re clever, huh?” she quips, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers brushing the neckline of his shirt. “You just got lucky.” His hands slip up her back, resting just below her shoulder blades, his hands rubbing lazy circles into her back.

“Whatever, whatever,” Oscar grins, looking up at her as she’s just ever so slightly taller sitting on his lap, his back hunched from his poor posture. “I guess I am lucky. I got the girl, that’s all that matters.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, but the truth is, she's just as giddy as he is. Her heart pounds so hard and fast, it feels like it’s about to explode and the hair on her legs is standing straight up, her arms covered in goosebumps. “Well” she says softly, leaning in closer, her lips hovering just inches from his, "the girl thinks she’s pretty lucky too to have you." She closes the gap between them, her lips brushing against his in a featherlight kiss before pulling back ever so slightly, teasing him.

Oscar’s bottom lip juts out slightly in a pout as she stops the kiss, his eyebrows twisted upwards slightly. He tilts his head, angling for another, which she barely meets, going for a peck when he clearly wants more. His hands move over to her hips, pulling her flush against him.

He doesn’t say a word, but she caves anyways. "Fine," she whispers, her breath mingling with his as she leans in again, this time kissing him deeper. His lips move in sync with hers, slow and casual, like they have all the time in the world. One of his hands sliding to cup the back of her neck, keeping her impossibly close.

Her hands tangle in his hair, tugging on it slightly. It’s all very experimental, testing out what Oscar likes. Based on the low groan he makes, it’s a hit. She shifts around in his lap, the denim hem of her skirt forced higher up on her thighs. She may as well just be in her underwear at this point, it would be far more comfortable. “Osc?” She mumbles, breaking the kiss slightly.

Oscar’s pupils are huge as he looks up at her, his lips shiny with spit and gloss, red from kissing. “Yeah?” His voice is so broken, breathy and hot. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t even want to ask, just wants to dive back in and keep kissing him. “Can we stop for a moment? I wanna change my skirt.” Oscar’s eyes dart down to where her skirt leaves little to the imagination of her legs, then back up to her eyes.

“Yeah,” He nods, his voice hardly audible. She clambers off his lap as his hands drop to his sides, fingers bunching up into the fleece blanket tossed onto her bed. “Do you want me to close my eyes?” He asks as she opens her shorts drawer, grabbing out a pair of plain black sports shorts.

She looks at Oscar, the tops of his cheeks dusted in a pale pink blush and his broad chest raising and dropping quick. “You’re my boyfriend, you’re allowed to see me without pants on,” She giggles, undoing the button of her skirt. “Unless you feel uncomfortable, then of course, close your eyes.”

Oscar does not close his eyes.

He tries not too be too bug-eyed and to not stare super intensely as she slides the skirt down her legs, stepping out of it before tossing it towards the pile of other discarded clothes from earlier in the day, but, like she said, they’re dating, these are the type of states they see each other in.

"See?" she teases, slipping into the shorts with ease. "Nothing scandalous. Just a quick wardrobe change."

Oscar grimaces, a tortured expression on his features. "Right. Totally casual." His voice is a bit hoarse, like he's barely holding it together. His knuckles are pale from how tight his fists are clenched, gripping the blanket tight.

She steps back over to him, standing just in front of his his knees again. "You okay there, Osc?" He rolls his eyes, nudging her thighs apart with one of his knees, his hands going to the backs of her thighs again. This time, she helps him out, meeting him halfway in straddling him.

Oscar nods, his confidence creeping back in. “Yeah,” He smirks, fidgeting with the hem of her new shorts. “Happy now.” He looks directly at her lips, staring at them, hard. "So... pick up where we left off?”

She hardly has to think about it, just pushes her lips into his and lets instinct take the wheel from there. She runs her hands along his arms, up to his shoulders, squeezing the hard muscle. Oscar giggles into her mouth at the feeling, ‘quit tickling me!’ he grins, so she looses up, focused more on his biceps instead.

No complaints about that.

Oscar groans into her mouth, one of his hands resting low on her back, bordering on just being straight up on her ass. She can’t help but grin, it feels really good. She pulls back for just a second, catching her breath. "You know," she murmurs, her voice breathless, "I think I’m starting to like this whole 'you being my boyfriend' thing."

Oscar laughs, his hands still caressing her back. "Oh, you’re just starting to like it now?" He asks, mocking offense. “I’m so very glad.”

She hums softly, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Mhmm. Yet, I reckon I’ll like it more once you take me out on a proper date."

“Deal.” Oscar nods, kissing along his jaw, taking a few more seconds than usual every once in a while to suckle on her skin, bordering on long enough for hickeys to form, but he always stops before they ever bloom. “I’m all yours, give me a day and we’ll do it.”

“Tomorrow.” She grins, her hand cupping his cheek, guiding his mouth to hers. “Café for breakfast. Pick me up at 9, don’t be late.”

Oscar chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t dare.”

y/n.priv (private account)

liked by bsf/priv, osc.priv, and 3 others

y/n.priv quite the battle to get him to wear the clogs but we got there in the end :)

bsf/n i still cant believe this is how i find out this is official ://

-> y/n.priv IM SORRRYYYY

-> osc.priv uh oh

-> bsf/n butt out of the convo, koala man

last chapter, next chapter

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales, @ellen3101, @nxlx96, @notantou, @cloud-55, @wisestarfishbouquet,

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #anyone but webber #fic rec #fernandopiastri28

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back-on-my-bullsh · 5 months ago

Text

Screaming , crying, throwing up, etc.

No but for real this was so cute it made me nauseous.

Also!!! That bit about the moon looking for the stars in his eyes was poetry

champagne coast // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 19k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: friends to lovers, summer!lando, clueless reader and lando, pining, fluff, and a little angst

summary: when lando and you spend summer break together you don't expect italy to eventually hold such a special place in your heart... or lando and you go on vacation and everyone keeps thinking you're a couple.

playlist for the fic: spotify | apple music

masterlist

─── ༺❀༻ ───

It was the Monday before the Belgium Grand Prix when Lando asked – what are you doing for summer break?

The sun had started to set over the coast, its golden reflection rippling across the water and onto the balcony of Lando’s Monaco apartment. The same balcony that the two of you currently resided on, choosing to share the wicker couch instead of one of you sitting in one of the empty chairs.

You were sat sideways on the couch with your legs crossed, your view consisting more of Lando than the picturesque sunset over the sea. A cheap bottle of pink moscato, which was your favorite, was sitting on the table where Lando had his feet propped up.

He’d always complain about how sweet it was, but then drink more of it than you. In all reality, he’d actually grown to love it because of you, but he’d never tell you that. He’d only been able to find it at one place in Monaco, so when he knew you were coming to visit he always made sure to have a couple bottles on hand and maybe a bottle for himself when he was missing you.

Your eyes met his as you processed his question. This right now was your summer vacation. He surely knew that, right? “Summer break? I don’t have a summer break like you do, Lando.” It was true, you had barely managed to get this week off from work to be able to go to Belgium, let alone have a month off. “I figured me being here for a couple days then going to Belgium would be my vacation.”

A disapproving sigh escapes past his lips as he speaks. “That is not a vacation.”

“Well it sure as hell beats being stuck at an office in London.”

He downed the remainder of the wine in his glass and fully turned his body towards you. His arm resting across the back of the couch, his fingers nearly touching you. “I think you should come with me on vacation.”

You stifle a groan by taking a drink of your wine. “Lando, you know I don’t do Ibiza. It's not my kind of place, especially this time of year.” It was a beautiful place no doubt, but the big party scene was not your favorite. And the couple times you had gone with Lando and your shared friend group it was so chaotic and you had a hangover that lasted for what seemed like a week. So no– Ibiza and you weren’t the best of friends.

“Who said anything about Ibiza?” He’s got a smirk toying at the corners of his lips, you can tell by the way his upper lip twitches slightly. Not that you stare at his lips that much to be able to notice that kind of thing.

“Lando Norris not going to Ibiza during his summer break? Should I alert the press? Did you hit your head? Are you running a fever?” You lean forward to check his temperature, but he playfully swatted away your hand with a giggle before you could get close enough. “Have you broken the news to Fewt-”

That smirk had fully developed across his face as he cut you off. “Who said anything about Max?”

Now you really thought that he’d bumped his head or was slightly tipsy already. You cocked an eyebrow at him in question. “Where are you going then? Especially without Max?”

Lando leaned back, the wicker creaking beneath him, but his eyes were still trained on you. Golden hour had made them even more blue, resembling the crystal blue water that was just a short walk away. “I’m going wherever you want to go.”

“Lando.”

“Y/N.” He’s the one to cock an eyebrow now.

“I can’t go with you.”

His smirk had turned into a pout and he knew how to work those big blue eyes, especially on you. “Why not? Wherever you want to go– we will go. Not many people get that opportunity Y/N.”

You go to take another drink and realize your glass is empty, but before you can reach for the bottle Lando’s already got it in his hands, reaching over slightly to pour you another glass. “Who all is going then if Max isn’t going?”

He sets the bottle back down on the table, hesitating for a moment before speaking. You two are close, probably the closest friend he has compared to Max, but he worries that you won’t be up for what he’s about to suggest. “It would just be me and you.”

You feel your cheeks get hot at his proposal, but you shake it off, blaming it on the wine.

As much as the idea of Lando and you going on a trip together sounds amazing, you just don’t think you can make it work. You live a normal life and being able to just go on lavish trips at the drop of a hat is not something you get to experience, no matter how much Lando wants you to or you would like to.

“I would love to Lan, but I don't think I could get the time off again.” Your finger nervously circles the rim of the wine glass as you contemplate even bringing your other reason up. Mainly because you know what his answer will be, but against your better judgment you take another swig of the wine as liquid courage before telling him the embarrassing truth. “I also just can’t afford it.”

And without skipping a beat he blurts out. “I’ll pay.” You’re immediately shaking your head no, but before you can verbally deny his offer he’s speaking again “Seriously Y/N. I will pay. It’s not a big deal.”

Except him paying your way for this trip is a big deal. Just how it’s a big deal everytime you come and visit him in Monaco and he insists that you don’t spend a dime while you’re here. It’s bad enough that you stay at his place, let alone have him pay for your dinner every night. Or how he is always offering to fly you out to races on your free weekends. Or insisting that the random gifts he gives you don’t cost that much, like you can’t read the designer labels on the boxes or labels.

It makes you feel bad that you can’t offer the same back to him. The constant worry that he might think you are using him for his money makes your stomach hurt because it’s the last thing you’d ever do. He’s one of the most giving and kindest people you know and to be able to call him your best friend is something you treasure. And you truly hope he knows how much you appreciate everything he does for you, but how could he not when you tell him every chance you get.

“Lando, really I cannot let you pay for me to go on vacation. It’s one thing to let me crash at your apartment and for you to get me passes to races, which I appreciate more than you will ever know. But I draw the line at a whole vacation. I don’t want to seem like a freeloader who is using you, that’s honestly the la-”

“Oh my god will you just let me spoil you!” Lando had enough of your endless rambling. Your need to always try and decline his gifts or offerings until he convinces you that you are worthy of them drives him crazy. To Lando there isn’t a person on Earth who deserves everything and more than you. And the fact that he can afford to give you anything you’d ever want tickles him pink. Hell if it was possible, he’d buy you the whole damn universe, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

“I hate that you think– that I would think you’re using me. Never in a million years would I think that. You mean a lot to me Y/N, truly. You’re one the most important people in my life and you deserve everything and more that I give you. If I thought you were using me, I would not be asking you to go on vacation with me, believe me. I love having you around and with us not seeing each other like we used to, I figured a trip with just the two of us would be nice.”

He pauses for a moment as he scoots a little closer to you on the couch, your legs touching as the glow from the sun envelopes around you two. “Now please don’t try and worm your way out of this trip. I’ve missed you so much and if you don’t end up going I think you’re just gonna have to move in with me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, but try not to let his heartfelt words get to your head. “How would I even get the time off work again? Tell them ‘Oh my famous F1 driver best friend wants to take me on a trip. Can I please have some more time off?’ I don’t think that would work.”

“Well I think it would work. Especially if you add in that I’m super hot.”

The giggles that come from you lets you know that you’ve drank your fair share of wine for the evening. “Oh I don’t think they would ever tell me no If I added that in.”

“If they do say no then just quit and I’ll get you a job somehow with McLaren or Quadrant or something. I just really want to go on this trip with you.”

You aren’t sure if it's the wine in your system or the fact that you want nothing more right now than to spend a week with Lando in some beautiful country, without a care in the world. But you ignore every responsible and logical part of you and tell him what he wants to hear.

“Alright. So where are we going then?”

His eyes light up and the smile that spreads across his face is comparable to that first win smile. “That’s all up to you baby.”

Both of your hearts skip a beat at the term of endearment that came from him. His because he can’t believe he let it slip and yours because you can’t believe he called you that so easily. But you both ignore it and you focus on the one place you’d had on your mind since he mentioned taking a trip.

“Italy?” You suggest with a hopeful smile on your face.

He fills up his glass with the last of the fruit juice like wine and holds it up towards you, your glasses clinking together in a toast. “Italy it is then.”

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Six days later an email notification pops up on your phone as you’re sitting in McLaren’s hospitality, talking with Lando’s Mom. You glance at who it’s from, not wanting to be rude and get on your phone mid conversation, but when you see your boss’s contact you can’t help but open it. “I’m sorry, it’s from work.” Cisca waved you off, the conversation had only consisted of why they couldn’t stock better snacks in hospitality, and she knew if work was emailing you on a Sunday it had to be important.

You had emailed them Monday night requesting the time off and when they hadn’t responded by Friday you figured they were denying it. Or firing you for requesting more time off while currently being on a vacation. So to be getting this email on a Sunday had you worried, but as your eyes scanned the email you couldn’t hold back the excitement. By some higher power unbestowed to you, they had granted you the time off.

“Never seen someone so excited over an email from work.” Cisca teased.

“Yeah. Honestly thought I was getting fired, but they approved my time off for the Italy trip Lando and I are taking.” You leaned back in the chair, relief finally washing over you.

“Just the two of you?” Cisca had her suspicions about her son’s feelings towards you and your feelings towards him. She’d secretly hoped the two of you would end up together the first time she met you years ago. She honestly thought you were his girlfriend that day and was surprised when he introduced you as his friend. Then she thought maybe he was hiding your relationship because she had never known her son to bring around a female friend like he had you.

You had attended family dinners, a couple holidays, races, and so many other things that just didn’t seem normal to bring a friend to. They had become so accustomed to you being around that when he finally said that he was bringing home his girlfriend for everyone to meet and you didn’t walk through the door— everyone was a little shell shocked. The relationship didn’t last long and she had her theories as to why. To Cisca there was just no way the two of you didn’t have feelings for eachother, she could see it plain as day, and it drove her crazy that the two of you didn’t see it.

“Yeah. At first I thought he was asking me to go to Ibiza again with everyone and you know me, it’s not my thing. But then he said we could go anywhere I wanted and that it was just me and him, so I chose Italy.” You gathered your things, eager to tell Lando the good news before race time. “You raised a good man, Cisca. I couldn’t ask for a better person in my life than him.”

There’s a smile on her face as she watches you talk about Lando, how your smile never falters and how that twinkle in your eye seems to get brighter the more you talk about him. “Thank you honey. You had better go tell him, hadn’t you?”

“I’ll be back!”

Thankfully Lando’s not that hard to find, he’s in the garage looking over some data on the monitors with Will when you spot him. You stand back out of the way, waiting until he’s done, but as soon as he turns to walk away you’re racing towards him. Your arms flinging around him from behind and you can feel him tense under you, but when he hears your laughter his muscles relax.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Lando asks as he turns around to face you, his hands lingering on your hips.

“Hmmm. It may have something to do with work approving my time off.”

That same smile from the other night finds its way onto his face and he’s pulling you into his arms, the two of you swaying back and forth as he nuzzles his head into your neck. “I knew they would approve it, it was meant to be.” His voice tickles your neck as he speaks causing a giggle to escape past your lips.

“Can’t believe we get to spend a week together in Italy.” You state as he releases you from his grip.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, still not sure that he wouldn’t rather be going to Ibiza with his friends.”You’re sure you’re not gonna miss Ibiza?”

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt as he speaks– his blue eyes boring into yours. “I’d miss you more if I went.” And there isn’t a single ounce of doubt in his words. If he ended up going to Ibiza without you, he’d be at a club wondering what you were doing. Eventually downing one too many shots to try and numb that annoying ache in his chest that forms when you aren’t around. The one that even with you around this week, he had felt occasionally at the idea of you not being able to go to Italy.

The idea of him spending his summer break back in England had crossed his mind a couple times, especially if that meant he got to spend time with you. Luckily though fate was on his side today and he wouldn’t have to deal with that ache for the foreseeable future.

You can feel the slight blush on your cheeks as you process what Lando had said to you and you pray he doesn’t notice it. Just him simply saying he’d miss you if he went to Ibiza should not have you blushing, but here recently it seemed like that was all he could do was make you blush.

A familiar Australian accent hits your ears and around the corner comes Oscar, his hand clamping down on Lando’s shoulder as he comes up behind him. “Y/N. Haven’t seen you in awhile.” His bunny teeth showing as he flashes you a smile.

Your mouth barely opens to speak before Lando’s speaking for you. “I know. She’s been too busy working back in London to come see her favorite person.”

“I’m really such a horrible friend. I’m so sorry Oscar, I really should make more time to see you. In fact, how’s Australia this time of year? I think I might come visit you.” The playful smirk on your face and Oscar’s laugh does nothing to tell Lando that you’re just joking and like a little kid he’s got his arms crossed across his chest with a slight pout on his face.

“Um. I think I’m your favorite person Y/N. Plus you can’t even go to Australia because we are going to Italy.”

Oscar and you can’t help but laugh at Lando’s dramatics, but Oscar wants to tease Lando even further. He knows how his older teammate feels about you, even if Lando won’t give the idea any time of day when Oscar brings it up. Lando had confided in Oscar about his idea to take you on a trip, but Oscar didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. “Italy? Who’s all going? Maybe Lily and I could tag along?”

Lando’s eyes widen at Oscar’s suggestion, mainly because he knows you’d jump at any opportunity to spend time with Lily and this trip was meant to be just for the two of you. “It’s just gonna be me and Y/N…” He trials off, trying to figure out how to nicely tell Oscar that he can’t come.

“There's a month between Singapore and Austin. We should all plan something for then.” You chime in. As much as you would love to spend time with Oscar and Lily, you really want to have this trip just be Lando and you.

Lando’s surprised at you turning down Oscar’s suggestion, but smiles and nods towards Oscar, agreeing with your idea. “Yeah that sounds like a good idea.” Oscar states, a small smirk on his face as he eyes the two of you, fully knowing that you’ll come back from Italy together. And if you don’t Oscar thinks he may have to knock some sense into his teammate.

The driver’s parade was set to start soon, so you tell Oscar you’ll see him around and give Lando a hug, knowing you won’t see him again until after the race. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Be safe and good luck.”

Lando’s grip on you lingers, not wanting to fully let you go just yet, but when they get the final warning that it’s time to go he reluctantly frees you. A small frown on his face as he heads towards the track and you go back to hospitality.

The two McLaren drivers stood side by side on the flatbed of the moving truck, smiles on their faces as they waved at the fans in the grandstands. “Never seen two friends like you and Y/N go on a trip together– alone.” Oscar’s voice is low, there’s an interview going on to his left, but he’s loud enough that Lando can hear him.

Lando keeps looking straight forward as he speaks. “Don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I think you fully know what I mean.”

Max, who was on the other side of Lando, had been eavesdropping the whole time, and couldn’t help but put his two cents in. “If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about. I just want to say, do us all a favor and finally tell her how you feel.”

Lando shook his head at the two drivers. You two were just very close best friends, there wasn’t anything he needed to admit to you. It was just a trip that two best friends were going on and there was nothing more to it– right?

─── ༺❀༻ ───

A week and a half later your plane touches down in Naples and even though the flight from London is only around three hours you want nothing more than to just get to the hotel and relax.

The Uber ride from the airport to the hotel thankfully doesn’t take long and you have no issue with sitting down in the lobby of the hotel with all the luggage while Lando checks you two in. You do notice that it’s taking quite a long time for Lando to check in and as you glance up from your phone towards the reception desk you see him talking with the worker and showing her something on his phone. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head he turns on his heel back towards you.

“Everything alright?” You ask.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and grabs his suitcase. “I booked us a two bedroom suite and they told me that all they have available is a one bedroom. Even though I showed them the booking on my phone, someone is already in it. So, I’ll just take the couch and you can have the bed.”

This place was fancy, and Lando had undoubtedly paid a pretty penny for the two nights that you were staying here. You would have thought they would have comped the room or something for their mistake. But by the displeased look on his face it didn’t seem they offered him anything but a sorry for the inconvenience.

Even with the hotel screwing up the room, the one you end up with is amazing and as you enter the room your jaw drops slightly at it. You set your bags down and explore the room further, taking in all the beautiful artwork on the walls and the natural light streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. You enter a door to your left and it’s the bedroom, which is even better than the main room, mainly because of the huge balcony that overlooks the sea.

There’s a gentle breeze in the air as you lean against the railing, taking in the view and the hustle and bustle from the surrounding area.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Lando’s voice makes you jump, you were so lost in your own little world you didn’t even hear him come out onto the balcony. You nod your head in agreement as he slots himself beside you, mimicking your actions of leaning on the railing. “And it’s not even the best part of our trip.”

“You know you didn’t have to get such a nice room, we are only in Naples for two days.” As much as you try not to feel guilty about him paying for all of this, you do.

“And what did I say a couple weeks ago?”

A groan emits from you as you remember his words to you in Monaco. “You said to let you spoil me.”

“Exactly. I just want you to enjoy yourself and stop worrying about how much everything costs. We are here to relax and have fun, which means figuring out what we want to do tonight.”

You ponder your endless options and all you really want to do is sit on this balcony and enjoy the view, but your stomach growling tells you maybe dinner would be a good idea first. “We are in Italy– how about getting some pizza and then just come back here and relax?” Lando agrees and while you’re freshening up he looks up good pizza places within walking distance.

You two are just about ready to leave when there's a knock on the door, followed by room service!

A confused look is shared between you two, but when Lando looks through the peephole there stands a worker with a room service cart. He opens the door and is greeted with a smile from the employee.

“From the hotel as an apology about the room.” The employee hands Lando an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne nestled in it. “Have a nice rest of your stay.”

Lando looks back at you with an amused look on his face as the guy quickly leaves, the wheels of the cart squeaking as he hurries down the hall. “Well, we have something to drink on the balcony later.” Lando states as he sets the bucket down on the coffee table.

“Champagne and pizza? No thanks.” You see there’s a card attached to the bottle and as you open the envelope and read the words written, your cheeks turn scarlet.

“What does it say?” Lando questions, moving to stand behind you so he can read it too. His eyes scan the letter and he soon finds himself in the same state as you. He clears his throat as he steps back, suddenly feeling too close to you at the moment.

to the happy couple,

we are so deeply sorry about the mix up with rooms and we hope you can accept our apologies. we’ve sent a bottle of the finest champagne that you can get in naples and have comped any room service you may order during your stay. as always if you need anything please don’t hesitate to call the front desk and once again we sincerely apologize for our mistake. we hope you enjoy your stay here and the city of naples.

The letter isn’t spoken about, actually what you two were addressed as isn’t spoken about, but you both agree that their actions were nice. The walk to the pizza place is quiet, the both of you occasionally pointing out things that you think are interesting or pretty, but both of your minds are preoccupied with being mistaken for a couple. Anyone else would have laughed it off, but clearly not the two of you.

By the time you’re back at the hotel and sat on the balcony with the pizza and champagne your conversation had returned to normal. You teasing Lando about not even drinking the glass he had poured for himself and him complaining about you insisting that you get a pizza that has peppers on it.

“You know what would make this evening even better?” The pizza is long gone and the two of you are sat admiring the painting in the sky left behind from the sun.

“Some pink moscato?” There’s a grin on his face as he says it. If there’s one thing he knows you love, it’s a glass of pink moscato on a balcony with a view.

You try to hide the smile on your face as you glance over at him, but he’s caught you. “You know me too well Norris.”

“Should’ve told that employee that we wanted a ten dollar bottle of wine instead of that champagne.” Lando jokes.

“Thought you didn’t like it? That it was too sweet?”

He shuffles slightly in his seat, fully knowing that you’d caught on to his facade. “I may have grown to love it.” He admits quietly.

You’d known for a while, but hearing him say it was much more satisfying. “Yeah. Kinda figured it out last year when you started drinking more of it than me.”

Nighttime draws near and once you start yawning, so does Lando, and after the fourth round of yawning Lando states that it’s time for bed. The subject the two of you hadn’t discussed any further than what was said in the lobby earlier. The guilt started to eat at you as you brushed your teeth, he’d invited you and is paying for everything and he doesn’t even get to sleep in a bed? What kind of friend were you?

Lando was making the couch up as you walked out of the bathroom and for this being a luxury hotel that couch looked stiff and seemed to be more for show than actual comfort. He already had a bad back and it looked like sleeping on that couch was going to have him trying to find a chiropractor tomorrow instead of sightseeing. “Lan. You take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He doesn’t even look back at you, still occupied with trying to make the couch somewhat comfortable. “No. I’ll be fine. You take the bed.”

“Lando.”

“Y/N.”

“Lando, look at me.” You knew he wasn’t going to budge with the whole couch thing, so you thought of the next best thing. The two of you sharing the bed. It was plenty big and truly it shouldn’t be that big of a deal if you two shared it. You were grown adults and bestfriends, no one should have to sleep on the couch.

His focus tears away from the couch and over to you, who’s already in bed and under the covers. “Look at how big this bed is.” Your body extends over to the other side trying to show him just how big the bed is. “Just sleep in the bed with me, there is plenty of room.”

Your offer takes him by surprise and he stills for a moment, he’d love nothing more than to climb into that bed right now, but a part of his brain is telling him not to. And he’s about ready to tell you no once again until he makes eye contact with you. Those damn eyes of yours could be used in interrogation rooms across the world, one look into them and he’s crumbling like a poorly built sandcastle. The gentle pat on the empty side of the bed is what flattens the sandcastle and he’s mumbling out an okay before sliding under the sheets next to you.

The two of you don’t know what to do for a moment, both still and flat on your backs under the sheets, like if you moved an inch the gremlin under the bed was going to get you. But eventually Lando turns on his side, mumbling out a goodnight as he pulls the comforter closer to him. You take his actions as a sign for you to roll over too and you figured that falling asleep wouldn’t be an issue after all the yawning earlier, but you were wrong. You tried counting sheep, tried laying on your back, tried anything you could think of to fall asleep and nothing worked. It wasn’t like there was a major time difference between here and London, it was literally only an hour, so unfortunately jet lag could not be to blame.

Lando hadn’t moved the whole time and you figured he fell asleep as soon as he turned over, but you were bored and going a little crazy because even though you were tired, you couldn’t fall asleep. “Lando.” You whispered, but got no response. “Lando. Are you awake?” You whisper a little louder this time, but still no response. So with a defeated sigh you roll back over and shut your eyes, praying that this time you can go to sleep. But within a matter of seconds you feel the bed shift and Lando’s voice echoing through the room.

“I’m awake.”

You roll back over— the two of you now facing each other. “Why didn’t you answer me a minute ago?”

“I was trying to go to sleep myself.”

“Oh sorry. I’ll go out to the other room and watch some TV or something.” You barely move an inch before Lando’s got his fingers wrapped around your forearm, gently pulling you back towards him.

“No, don't leave.”

You can feel your heartbeat quickening as you realize just how close the two of you are. The glow from the moon cascades through the balcony doors allowing you to make out the moles on his face and those pretty long eyelashes of his that make his already breathtaking eyes seem even more beautiful. Sometimes you think he has stars in his eyes from the way that they sparkle. And as the two of you lay here right now, you realize the only reason that the moonlight is flooding into the room is because she’s looking for her lost stars that have found a home in Lando’s eyes.

“You got any ideas on how to fall asleep? I’ve tried just about everything in the book.” For some reason you're whispering and you wonder if it’s from how close you are to Lando’s face or how suddenly nervous you are to be this close to Lando.

He’s silent for a moment, the logical and sane part of him screaming at him to not even suggest what he’s been thinking about ever since climbing under these sheets. The mere idea of it being the thing that had prevented him from being fast asleep by now. But he’s got you at literal fingertips length and he thinks there may not be another opportunity like this again. So– he acts with his heart and not his brain.

“Come here.” He’s moved onto his back with his arm outstretched towards you.

“Huh?” You know exactly what he’s insinuating, but you can’t actually believe that he is.

“You wanted an idea on how to fall asleep and this is my idea. I’ll get you to fall asleep in no time.

“You think us cuddling is gonna get me to fall asleep?” You definitely hadn’t wondered what it would be like to be wrapped up in Lando’s arms before. How it would feel to have his fingertips trance mindless patterns across your skin or have your head on his chest. He was your best friend, which meant those thoughts had never crossed your mind– right?

He shrugs, trying to hide the nervousness in his demeanor, the mere thought of you denying him right now was enough to have him on the next flight back to Monaco in the morning. He should have never put himself in this situation, but god as soon as he climbed into this bed all he wanted to do was have you wrapped up in his arms.

It had consumed his brain, and then consumed it even more because why was he having this desire to have such a tender moment with his best friend? Though his brain stops spiraling when he feels the bed shift and you’re suddenly tucking yourself into his side, arm slung over his torso, and your head laying on his chest. The same chest that his heart is about ready to beat out of and he prays you can’t hear how hard it’s working.

But as you both get settled and Lando’s heartbeat finally mellows out he realizes just how right this feels, like the two of you were matching puzzle pieces. Any other girl he had cuddled with before now seemed to feel wrong because as far as he was concerned, nothing felt better than this. It felt natural and easy and he found himself drawing absent minded patterns on your side where your shirt had bunched up.

He’d spend the rest of his life here in this moment with you if he could. And when he hears your slight snores something short circuits in his brain and he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your head mumbling out goodnight before he’s out like a light too. The moonlight blanketing over the two of you, who right now look more like lovers than best friends.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

The next morning you’re already up and ready for the day by the time Lando wakes up and he tries to hide the disappointment of not waking up next to you, already missing the feeling of having you so close. A feeling though nice, he knew it was one that he probably shouldn’t be feeling. He asks you if you slept well while he’s getting ready and you tell him yes, not going into very much detail, for your own sake and his.

The day is full of sightseeing and lots of walking, which is something that Lando likes to complain about. You visit Pompeii and a handful of other places for you and Lando to nerd out about and truly be tourists. You eat amazing food that Lando says his trainer will hate him for, but he justifies it with the excuse of being on vacation. Hundreds of pictures were taken, your phones already begging for more storage and it was only the first day of the trip. Lando even went as far as bringing an actual camera, stating that lando.jpg would be revived soon.

But in between the sightseeing, eating, and everything else– both of your brains immediately go back to the sleeping arrangements from last night. You both can’t stop thinking about it, but no one brings it up, almost like it’s something you should be ashamed of. No one wants to admit how right it felt to be in eachothers arms last night or how both of you probably had the best sleep of your lives.

You didn’t want to admit that when you woke up this morning to Lando spooning you, your stomach was doing flips over the realization that you had moved in the middle of the night and he had found his way back to you. So many thoughts and emotions running through your brains, yet you both think it’s better to just act like it's not a big deal.

Night falls once again and Lando crawls into bed next to you. You’re both absolutely spent after the eventful day you’ve had and Lando worries that you won’t need him to fall asleep, but his worries soon dissipate because you’re tucking yourself into his side as soon as he’s gotten himself comfortable. You’re like a moth to a flame– the consequences of these actions never even enter your mind as slowly feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

And when morning comes you don’t run away when you feel Lando’s arms around you, even with the butterflies making an appearance again. You enjoy your moment alone, the sun shining in through the windows, the sound of the city already alive, and the way Lando looks as he sleeps. It's truly a beautiful morning.

He wakes up not too long after you and there’s a funny feeling in his chest when he realizes that he’s gotten to wake up with you still in his arms. That you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It all just feels so natural and right, that once again no words are spoken about this very non-platonic thing that is happening between you two.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

“We’ve got a little bit a drive ahead of us today.” Lando states as he comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Water droplets are scattered across his tan skin, his damp curls falling slightly onto his forehead. You’re trying not to stare, but good lord how could anyone not.

“It’s only like an hour.” You're still sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard as you now watch him rummage through his suitcase.

He holds up a shirt and shorts, silently asking for your opinion. You give him a nod of approval and he heads back to the bathroom to get dressed, but he leaves the door slightly cracked so he can still talk to you. “Yeah it was an hour. I’ve canceled the driver and made some new plans for today.”

“New plans?” You raise your voice slightly so he can hear you.

“It’s a surprise.” He peeks his head around the slightly open door— a mischievous smile painted across his face, before disappearing behind it once more. “So you had better start getting ready.” He commands as the door fully opens, revealing a fully dressed Lando.

A few short moments later a domestic scene plays out in the bathroom mirror. The double sinks both occupied, various hair products, makeup, and other random items are scattered across the counter. You’re watching Lando through the mirror as he tries to wrangle the mop of curls on his head, but everytime you look away he’s watching you brush your teeth or do your skincare. And the occasional times your eyes do meet in the mirror you’re both like little kids, eyes immediately darting away with smiles on your faces and little giggles echoing through the bathroom.

“You gonna tell me what the surprise is?” Patience had never been your strong suit and thus knowing about surprises was like a form of torture to you.

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise now would it?” He’s still screwing with his hair, but he’s looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh come on, just tell me. Pretty pretty please?” You’ve come up behind him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you flash your best puppy dog eyes at him through the mirror. And for a split second Lando almost cracks– those puppy dog eyes working on him better than you would have ever thought.

“The faster we pack everything up, the faster you get the surprise.” He’s shocked his words come out smoothly, his brain still foggy from your pretty eyes and close contact.

Ten minutes later you’re walking out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, where Lando tells you to wait while he goes outside for a moment. You assume the surprise is outside and so you try to peek and see what’s out there, but he’s coming back in before you can get a good look.

“Alright let’s go.”

You don’t see anything that you would consider surprise worthy as you walk out the doors, but then Lando leads you towards the cars parked outside the hotel and stops in front of a vintage yellow Ferrari. Your eyes dart back and forth between Lando and the car, unsure if he was just stopping to admire it or if you were going to be riding in it. He answers your unasked question by opening the passenger side door, motioning for you to get in.

“Is this the surprise? Where did you even get this car from?” Your eyes widening over the car itself and the fact that he’d gone through the trouble of even finding the car.

“It’s part of the surprise-” He’s got a smirk on his face as he speaks “and I have my connections.” He motions once again for you to get into the car and this time you don’t oblige. The leather seat soft under your legs as you sit down, the car was surely close to 60 years old, yet still looked brand new.

Lando puts the luggage in the trunk while you're examining all of the car’s little quirks and details while you wait.

“Ok, you ready?” Lando asks as he gets in the driver's seat.

“Gonna tell me the other part of the surprise?”

He sighs, he wanted you to figure it out on your own, but you were so persistent sometimes. “You know how you’ve always talked about wanting to drive along the coast of Italy?” You nod, a smile already forming on your face as you realize what he’s planned for you. “Well, instead of just taking the straight shot over, we’re gonna take the long way all along the Amalfi coast. And I figured it was only fitting that we do it in a Ferrari, considering we are in Italy after all.”

You can’t wipe the smile off your face as you stare at Lando from the passenger seat. Sometimes you wondered if he was even listening to you when you spoke, but then he pulls stuff like this and you know that he’s always listening– remembering things that you care about or like. “God, I don’t deserve you.”

Thankfully the car is still parked because you’re pulling Lando into a bone crushing hug, your cheek smushed up against the side of his head, a giggle emitting from him as he tries to hug you back.

“When you told me your work approved the time off, I knew for sure that this was one thing that I wanted to make happen. That same night I was online trying to find a car to rent for the day, but then I saw this one for sale…” His words trail off and your jaw drops at the realization, but in all reality you know it’s a very Lando thing to do.

“And now we’re sitting in your newest baby?”

He’s got a sheepish look on his face as he speaks. “As soon as I saw it I knew it was the perfect car for this. Plus it’s the ultimate vacation souvenir!”

“You’re crazy.” He actually couldn’t be more perfect.

“Yeah, but you love me.” He teases as he starts the engine.

“Unfortunately.”

─── ༺❀༻ ───

The long winding road along the coast provided scenery that was beyond your wildest dreams. It was serene and picturesque– like something straight out of a movie. The bright blue water on one side of the road and the white stone mountains on the other. The various tunnels that somehow had even more breathtaking views on the other side of them. The handful of towns that you had to drive through, each of them more charming than the last, you only wished you had enough time to stay a week in all of them.

As simple as this was, you would have been more than content with this trip if you went home tomorrow, not that you wanted to, it was just that sometimes the simple things in life meant more than anything lavish to you. You weren’t hard to please, all you needed was Lando singing along to some song on the radio, beautiful scenery, and the wind blowing in your hair for you to be the happiest girl in the world right now.

The whole trip your attention was divided between the coastal beauty and the beauty in the driver's seat. You couldn’t help but glance over ever so often at Lando, especially when you’d hear him start to sing along to a song. He just looked so ethereal sitting next to you, one hand on the steering wheel– the other resting between you two.

There was a moment where you felt the sudden urge to reach out and intertwine your fingers with his, a moment of insanity you’d thought. It surely had nothing to do with how sunkissed he looked from only being in the sun one day, or how the wind had made his curls the perfect amount of messy, or how you’d catch him looking over at you with a smile on his face.

If only you knew that Lando had been fighting the urge to reach out and grab your hand too. He’d never seen you so ecstatic over something as simple as going for a drive, but he’d drive this car till he ran out of road or gas, whichever came first, just to see that smile of yours. The way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight and how you giggled at his singing was just an added bonus, but all of them made his chest feel funny. He’d been around the world more times than he could count, seen so many breathtaking places, but right now none of those places compared to the beauty that was sitting next to him in this car.

You’re in your own little world so much that you don’t even realize you’ve made it to your destination until Lando’s putting the car in park in front of a very luxurious looking villa. “We’ve arrived.” Lando states in a sing-song voice.

“Is this when you tell me Max and everyone else are actually coming too?” You question, flabbergasted over the size of the house. And you can tell what he’s thinking just by his facial expression. “Lando this place is huge just for the two of us.”

He rolls his eyes before getting out of the car to get luggage. “It’s actually a lot smaller than you think.”

When you step foot into the two story villa it immediately has that Mediterranean coast charm with intricate tile floors, artwork that adorns the walls, and windows with the most gorgeous views– needles to say you’re in love.

Then you take in just how big the place is with it’s one too many bedrooms and bathrooms and various other rooms that you probably won’t even use. Lando’s words echo in your head as you explore the house some more, and there’s nothing small about this place at all. “You’re such a liar Lan.” Your words are playful as you walk through one of the many french doors in the house that leads out to the back.

“Lie? I would nev-”

“Oh my god!” He’s cut off by you realizing that the backyard of this villa is nothing shy of paradise. A massive pergola covered part of the back of the house with vibrant bougainvillea lining the top and hanging down the sides. Various other flowers and plants are scattered strategically around the area. Under the pergola there's an outdoor kitchen and a large glass dining table, clearly meant to host a group of people, not two. Further out there’s a pool with sunbeds lined down one side of it– a poolside bar on the other.

All of these things are great, but the real show stopper is the view that this place has. From the front of the house you can’t really tell just how close you are to the water, but from out back it’s a completely different view. There’s a separate sitting area slightly further out from the pool. It’s got a little pergola of its own with couches and chairs and one of those fancy rock fire pits and that is where you get the best view.

It’s like something out of a nature documentary– it’s so perfect that it almost seems fake. The sea is so close that you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and it’s just endless bright blue water for days. You thought the view in Naples was pretty, but this was breathtaking.

“Knew you’d love this place.” Lando states as he comes up beside you, acting like he hadn’t been lingering behind you the whole time, admiring the view (you) from afar.

It was true though, Lando knew as soon as he saw this place online that it was the one. It didn’t matter that he paid an astronomical amount for it or that the house was way too big for just the two of you. All it took was for him to see the view to know you’d be the happiest girl in the world here.

He could picture you two sitting out here in the evening, watching the sun set over the coast, undoubtedly with a bottle of pink moscato. You’d end up drinking one too many glasses and your cheeks would get red and you’d get the giggles.

As Lando stood here– eyes never leaving the beautiful scene in front of him. He can’t help but feel that funny feeling in his chest over how radiant and happy you look. And he thinks that if this house was for sale he’d buy it in a heartbeat, if that meant he got to see you like this all the time.

A smile finds its way onto your face as you glance over at the guy you call your best friend. “You weren’t lying when you said you were gonna spoil me, huh?” You gently nudge him with your elbow, your smile growing even bigger at his response.

“Only the best for my favorite person.” His smile is equally as big as you lean your head on his shoulder and in that moment he thinks that maybe the reserve driver could just finish out the season and he could just stay here with you.

That night as you both head to your rooms there’s an obvious tension in the air. You’re both slowly making your ascent up the stairs and lingering in the hall, trying to milk every last second until you inevitably have to go into your separate rooms.

After so long though, you’re the first to cave as your hand reaches for the doorknob. Your door creaks open and you’re mumbling out goodnight lan, i’ll see you in the morning before entering the room. Although you don’t close the door behind you and Lando takes that as an invitation to linger in your doorway. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know he’s there, you can feel his presence, and subconsciously you’ve left that door open for him.

“Goodnight Y/N.” You’ve got your back turned to him as you're digging through your suitcase for pajamas, but you can hear the slight grin he has on his face as he speaks.

The sight of Lando as you turn around has butterflies erupting in your stomach and it makes you feel weird to be feeling those things about your best friend. He’s leaned up against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and that grin that you’d sensed him having was still on his face as he looked at you. Your eyes scanned over him, focusing on little details like his hair still being wind tousled and how the tops of his cheeks were slightly burnt from the car ride today.

And for someone who claimed to not need a ton of sleep– he looked so sleepy as the two of you locked eyes. Those big blue eyes slowly blinking and drooping ever so slightly as his head now too rested against the door frame. He still donned the hoodie that you teased him about putting on earlier after his claims of it being chilly once the sun set, only adding to the sleepy look he had going on right now.

Someone had never looked so cozy and you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight. You will tell him goodnight again and he’ll close the door behind him before shuffling over to his room. Your mind will be preoccupied with him as you get ready for bed, the image of him in your doorway forever burned into your mind as you brush your teeth. As you crawl into bed you won’t think about how cold the sheets feel or how you want to be cuddled up to your best friend. You won’t think about how it’s been two hours that you’ve laid here and sleep has yet to greet you. And you certainly won’t think about how you’d be fast asleep right now if Lando was beside you.

But unfortunately you do think about all those things and you’ve exhausted every resource to try and distract you from it. It was different at the hotel when there was only one bed, but now with multiple bedrooms to choose from there was no reason for the two of you to sleep in the same bed. Lines were already blurring between you two without either of you knowing it and if you chose to go seek solace with Lando then those lines would blur even more.

But you didn’t know that your actions would eventually have consequences and seconds later you’re throwing the covers off of you with only one destination in mind– Lando’s room. The journey though, is short lived because as soon as you open your door you’re met with a wide eyed Lando, his fist frozen in the air like he was getting ready to knock on your door.

The frozen fist moves to rubbing the back of his neck as he speaks to you. “Sorry, was coming to see if you were still awake.”

“I was coming to see if you were up too.” He’s still got that hoodie on from earlier, but you noticed he’d changed out his shorts for boxers. His hair was even more messy and you’d wondered if he had even fallen asleep yet. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Lando shrugs. “Not really– kept tossing and turning.” He acts like the reason he can’t go to sleep isn’t right in front of him as he rests his head on the familiar door frame.

“Yeah I can tell by your hair.” You tease. He just gives you a half assed smile and when he doesn’t tease you back that’s when you realize just how tired he is. “You want to watch some TV or something? ”

He shakes his head no. The only thing he wants to do is go to sleep, but how can he when you’re not next to him? It was embarrassing to admit that only after two nights of sharing the same bed that he couldn’t sleep on his own, but here he was. His big bed felt too empty and he realized that even if he slept in a twin sized bed it would still feel empty without you next to him.

Not to mention he’d found comfort in you being his personal heater at night. It was no secret that Lando ran cold, often seen sporting a jacket during race weekends while his teammate was in shorts. So with his personal heater gone, he’d resorted to wearing a hoodie to bed, which didn’t come close to holding a candle to you.

When he finally worked up the courage to get up and go to your room he was pleasantly surprised to find you up too and facing the same problem as him. A little sliver of him hoping that it was the exact same problem and that you couldn’t sleep without him.

For a split second you caught his eyes looking past you and towards your bed. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious, but if was actually hinting at what you thought he was hinting at, then you weren’t going to pass up on the opportunity. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had come to your door and that you both had trouble sleeping in separate beds. So, you act on impulse and tell him come on just sleep in here tonight and like a little kid who’s gotten scared of the thunder at night he’s crawling into your bed in an instant.

It’s like you two are magnets– immediately finding your way to each other under the sheets and it doesn’t take long for the both of you to finally fall asleep. And some time in the middle of the night Lando had shed his hoodie, no longer needing it with you pressed against him. When you two wake in the morning with the sun streaming through the windows and sleepy smiles plastered on your faces, there’s an unspoken agreement that even with the plethora of beds in this house, you two would be sleeping in the same one every night.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Lando and you were best friends, nothing more. Nevermind the sharing a bed every night or the longing glances or the sometimes suggestive thoughts you had about him. So maybe your friendship wasn’t practical or normal, but there was nothing romantic going on between you two. It was something you had drilled into your head for some time now. You’d try to ignore the way your heart would speed up when you’d catch him looking at you or the way he always has to have physical contact with you. And any other crazy thoughts that you’d speculated about had always been pushed aside rather quickly. He was your best friend after all and once again nothing more.

Though over the course of the week you’d found yourself having a hard time in pushing aside those non platonic thoughts about Lando. There were instances you two had found yourselves in that you just couldn’t ignore.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

“What’s the plan for today?” You ask as the two of you are sitting outside the cutest little restaurant, enjoying brunch.

Lando finishes the last little bit of his eggs before answering you. “Well nothing that involves you getting behind a motor vehicle with the way you’ve been downing those bellinis.” You roll your eyes at his dramatics. Yes, you’d had your fair share of bellinis, but they were so damn good and there really wasn’t that much alcohol in them for it to be an issue. “How about we just see where the day takes us?”

“Well I already had the idea of renting jet skis in my head, but I guess we’ll do what you suggested.” You joke.

Now Lando’s the one to roll his eyes at you as he flags down the waiter for the check. He doesn’t even look at it when it’s brought over, he just hands his card over like it’s nothing. It’s something that you still aren’t used to him doing even after knowing him for so long and you’re sure he’s gotten ripped off more times than he could imagine.

He quickly signs for it once the waiter comes back and with his card back in his wallet you’re free to go. Except when you stand up all those bellinis hit you and you’re a little unsteady on your feet, something that Lando clocks immediately. You aren’t drunk, just buzzed, but Lando isn’t going to let you live this down. “You wanted to rent jet skis huh?” He teases as he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you.

“Think we still could to be honest.” You’re confident in your ability to walk on your own, but Lando insists on keeping his hold on you.

“Well I don’t want to waste a day at the hospital, so let’s just look around at the shops.”

You’d passed them on your way to brunch and Lando had promised you’d come back to them. They were cute little stores, each one specializing in certain things. You took your time in each one, feeling the silky material of some of the dresses, admiring the leather detailing on the handbags, and gawking at the dazzling jewelry in the displays. Everything was quite luxurious and your eyes couldn’t help but linger on a certain bag and bracelet, but the price tags were all you had to see to know they weren’t coming home with you.

Lando had been watching you the whole time, fully prepared to be your bag boy and was ready to pull out his wallet whenever he’d see you pick something up. But much to his disappointment, all you did was look and after going through all the stores you left empty handed. “You didn’t see anything you wanted?” Lando asks as you continue down the street.

You simply shrug your shoulders at him. “Nothing that I couldn’t live without.” He doesn’t press the matter anymore, fully knowing that he’d be coming back sometime this week to get you that bag and bracelet that you kept circling back to.

The streets are charming and bright. It’s a place that you can’t help but feel alive in, especially as the summer sun beats down on you, but the light breeze coming in off the sea makes it bearable. Your buzz was long gone, but Lando still insisted that you link your arm with his as you stroll down the streets– just in case. You don’t oblige to his request, enjoying the feeling of holding onto his solid bicep as the sound of him slightly humming the song that was playing at brunch fills your ears.

A sense of peacefulness washes over you and it’s at this moment that you don’t feel like you’re on the arm of the famous Formula 1 driver Lando Norris. He doesn’t have a million cameras on him or people flocking to him for an autograph. It’s just you and your best friend Lando– the boy who was gagging when you teased the idea of ordering fish at dinner last night or who you laid in bed with this morning, watching dumb Tiktoks until you were both in tears laughing. It was nice for once, to just have Lando.

You’re just about ready to circle back to the villa when you hear a woman shouting in Italian from down the street. You’re not anywhere near fluent, but you recognize some basic words and what you’ve heard has you pulling Lando towards the voice.

Fior! Bei Fiori!

At the end of the street there stood the lady, who had a cart of the most vibrant fresh flowers. When she spotted the two of you approaching, a smile painted itself across her face. “I think your pretty girl deserves some flowers, don’t you?”

The corners of your mouth turn upwards and a smile is painted across your face. You can feel your cheeks getting warm at her statement, at the implication that you were Lando’s, but it’s his response that makes them comparable to the roses found on the cart.

Lando feels his chest get tight over the lady assuming the two of you were together. It’s nothing new, for people to assume that he’s with a girl just because he’s seen with one. Though for some reason when someone says it about you, it gets a reaction out of him. He’s grinning as he looks at you and then back to the sweet old lady. “You’re right, my pretty girl does deserve some flowers.”

The butterflies that erupted in your stomach at his words were embarrassing and not the appropriate reaction to be having over your best friend, but his comment wasn’t very platonic either. You’re blushing and grinning, probably very easily comparable to a school girl at the moment. He’s got a smug look on his face as he hands you of course the biggest bouquet the lady had. It’s truly a beautiful bouquet and it smells divine, it had anything you could have gotten at the shops beaten by a mile.

As you head back towards the villa you can’t wipe the smile off your face and you can’t stop thinking about my pretty girl. The words shamelessly repeating over and over again in your head. “So you think I’m pretty huh?” You tease.

Now Lando’s the one to blush and he hopes you just think it’s just from the heat and sun as you look at him. “Of course I do. I’d have to be blind to not think so.” He’s sincere with his words, he truly thinks you’re one of the most breathtaking women he’s ever met– intellectually and physically.

You lean your head on his arm, the same one you’ve still wrapped yourself around. “You sure know how to swoon 'em.”

“You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And for the first time, for both of you, it feels weird and almost stings to hear the word best friend said out loud. Because deep down you know you’re way more than that.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Although you weren’t that much of a party girl you didn’t mind going out every once in a while. So when Lando suggested going out to one of the bars tonight it didn’t seem like a bad idea. You’d done your fair share of relaxing and to you that meant a night out deserved to be had.

With a final spritz of your perfume you’re ready to go and as you looked in the mirror one last time you couldn’t help but think damn, I look good. You found Lando waiting for you in the foyer, his head lifting up from his phone at the sound of your heels clicking down the stairs. “Might want to close your mouth before you attract flies Lan.” He hadn’t even realized he was in that much of a trance until you said something, he could feel his cheeks getting warm at getting caught.

You hook your arm with his as he leads you out the front door. “Sorry, you just look unreal tonight.”

“Well you don’t look too bad yourself.” He’d chosen his tried and true white button up, leaving the first few buttons undone, which revealed even more of his gorgeous tanned skin. How someone could make something as simple as a white button up shirt look so good was beyond you, but it was clearly something he was skilled at.

The bar you end up at is relatively small and you realize it must be the most popular one with how packed it is. It’s on the coast and there’s a gorgeous outdoor area that you are immediately drawn to, mainly because there’s slightly less people out here. It’s still a good time though and the people are somehow even more rowdy out here and you wonder if it’s the fresh air.

You’ve danced, drank, laughed, talked, everything you could think of on a night out. It's been nice, especially doing it all with Lando, who somehow through the course of the night has undone more buttons on his shirt and you think he might as well just undo them all. It’s clearly getting late from how the crowd is slowly starting to thin out, but you two are still having a ball, and you figure you’ll stay till they kick you out.

Lando’s gone inside to get you both another drink, which he easily could have gotten from the bartender out here, but he claimed that the guy didn’t know what he was doing. While you wait you venture off to a far corner of the patio that’s somewhat empty. There’s a couple people sitting in chairs sharing a cigarette, but other than that you’re alone. Even in the dark the view is amazing and as you lean on the railing a nice breeze comes in off the water. It’s relaxing and nice, especially when you’re that sticky kind of sweaty and a little more drunk than you realize.

“Absolutely beautiful.” You jump at the unfamiliar, yet familiar voice. It had been a minute since you’d heard another British accent besides Lando’s. When you turn around to put a face to the voice you aren’t expecting to see such a gorgeous man standing there. He’s really the whole package– stunning blue eyes, pretty smile, fluffy light brown hair, nice facial hair.

“Uh- yeah it is.” You assumed he was talking about the view.

“Can I join you?”

He’s cute and you wouldn’t mind some company, so you tell him yes.

“Where’d your boyfriend run off to?” He asks as he nurses his Corona.

“He’s not my boyfriend, but I’m not wrong in assuming you know who he is, right?” This guy is in his twenties and British, if he didn’t know who Lando was then he had to be living under a rock.

He takes a swig of his beer before responding. “I know who he is.”

You scoff, there was a big possibility that he was using you to get to meet Lando, it was something you’d dealt with many times before. Guys showing interest in you only in hopes of becoming Lando’s friend or even worse girls who would befriend you only to try and get with Lando. You weren’t some step on the ladder that led to Lando, you were your own person with feelings and a life, who deserved to have people like you for you, not who you knew.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the fact that you’re done being led on by people, but either way you confront the guy about it. “Are you using me to get to him?”

You hear him laugh a little and it lights a fire in you, but his words extinguish it before it gets out of control. “I was brave enough to come over here and willingly flirt with you before I even knew if he was your boyfriend or not. If I was trying to use you to get to him, I don’t think that would be a good plan. Which now that I know you’re not his girlfriend, kinda makes me think he’s an idiot. How could he have a girl like you in his life and not be madly in love with you?”

Your brain is fuzzy as you’re trying to process what he’s said. “Sorry wait- you were flirting with me?”

He’s got a cheeky grin on his face and he lets out a chuckle at your cluelessness. “When I said ‘absolutely beautiful’ I wasn’t talking about the view.”

“Oh.” You’d thought it was kind of weird for him to just randomly say that about the view, but for it to be aimed towards you was the last thing you had thought of. “Well, flirt all you want then.”

Not only did this place have one bartender that was incompetent, it seemed like all of them were. Lando had waited for what seemed like ages for a beer and a vodka cranberry. It wasn’t even that busy at the bar for it to be taking so long and at one point he contemplated just going behind the bar and doing it himself. By the time he finally got them he was surprised you hadn’t come looking for him, but when he made his way out onto the patio he saw exactly why you hadn’t.

Over in the corner Lando sees you doubled over laughing with some guy as he watches from afar. His grip on the glasses gets tighter as he sees you place your hand on the guy's arm. The tightness in his chest increases the longer he stands here and watches. It bothers him more than he cares to admit– to see you with some random guy. To hear that laugh of yours and him not being the source of it is driving him crazy. But what really sends him over the edge is when the guy tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and without a second thought he’s storming over there.

Lando tries to play it cool as he approaches and he’s glad he’s got these drinks to use as an excuse. Your mid conversation when Lando interrupts, but he doesn’t care one bit. “Here’s your drink.” He says as he pushes the slightly watered down glass towards you.

“Oh thanks Lan.” You flash him a smile, but his face is emotionless and the fun light hearted atmosphere has suddenly turned awkward. For some reason you feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. “Um, Lando this is-” You remember at that moment that you hadn’t even asked the guy his name, which to you makes this even more awkward.

“Harry.”

“Right. Lando, this is Harry.” You motion between the two men. “Harry, this is Lando.”

Harry extends a hand out to Lando and they very awkwardly shake hands. “Nice to meet you mate.”

Lando only nods his head at him before turning his focus back to you. “I think we should get going, they are gonna close soon.”

You think he’s joking, considering he’d waited all that time to get these drinks, and now he suddenly wants to leave. “I just got my drink, can we at least stay until I finish it?” It also feels rude to just abruptly leave in the middle of the conversation that you were enjoying with Harry. But Lando doesn’t know how to hide his emotions very well and by the look on his face you know he’s being serious.

“Well you can stay, but I’m leaving.” He knows he shouldn’t leave you alone with some guy you just met, but god he doesn’t think he can stand here and watch you flirt with him anymore than he already has. So, without hearing your response he starts making his way towards the exit.

A regretful look washes across your face as you look at Harry. “That was so rude of him, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s up with him, he never acts like that.” You take a big swig of your drink, fully knowing dealing with Lando is gonna be a pain. “It was really nice talking to you, but I better go hunt him down.”

He shrugs, clearly not as upset over this whole situation as Lando or you are. “No biggie, I’m sure we’ll see each other around. It’s a small place.” You bid him goodbye, but you don’t get very far before he’s hollering. “Can I at least get your Instagram?” Which has you coming back and quickly exchanging usernames before you're off again to find Lando.

You run into him in the bar and it looks like he was coming back out towards the patio. A look of relief washes over him when he sees you and he’s leading you away from the loud music and out the front exit before either of you can say anything. Only once the bass of the music is a faint sound in the distance does Lando speak up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with that guy. I was coming back in when you found me.”

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but you were kinda rude to him for no reason.”

Guess you were diving in head first with this.

Lando stops walking and turns to face you, a confused look on his face. “I wasn’t being rude.”

“Yes you were. We were having a conversation and you just butted in and demanded we leave. Not to mention you wouldn’t even speak to him. He was nice, you would have liked him if you gave him the time of day.”

“You barely know the guy, you talked to him for what ten-fifteen minutes? I just didn’t have a good feeling about him.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his dumb excuse. He shook the guy's hand and didn’t get a good feeling about him? Bullshit. “Well if you didn’t have a good feeling about him then why’d you leave me with him?” He’d started to walk again, but stopped dead in his tracks at your words, spinning on his heel to face you once again.

“I already told you I regretted leaving you. I just had to get out of there for a second.”

“Why?” You were being adamant, your arms crossed across your chest as you waited for his answer.

He knew exactly why, but he couldn’t tell you that, he hadn’t even fully accepted it himself. “I don’t know Y/N.”

You’re getting frustrated with him and these damn heels that you chose to wear are not making your mood any better. “There’s a reason for everything, Lando. How would you like it if I acted like you did tonight with a girl you were talking to? You’d be livid.”

He completely ignores your accusation and turns the conversation in another direction. It had been itching at him to know if you were just being nice or if you were actually interested in the guy, so he plucked up the courage to ask. “So you were flirting with him?”

The look on your face is one of pure confusion, but your tone is nothing but shitty. “I’m not sure how you jumped to that conclusion from what I said or why it’s really any of your concern, but yeah it was just some harmless flirting. I’m sorry for having a little fun!” You were thankful that it was late enough for the street to be relatively empty, the last thing that needed to happen was pictures or a video getting out of you two arguing. You were sure there were already rumors about you two being on vacation together, you could only imagine how this would be misconstrued.

Hearing that his best friend was potentially interested in someone else had his head spinning and he could no longer blame his reactions on the alcohol. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, ignore the way his heart raced when he looked at you. Or how he loved hearing that old lady call you his girl the other day.

It had been building up– festering almost this whole week and maybe subconsciously he wanted to go on this trip with you to see if there was some truth to what everyone had teased him about. He just didn’t think it would actually be true. Or that at two in the morning on a dimly lit street in Italy, during an argument, he would finally accept that he was in love with you.

But even with him realizing he’s in love with you, that doesn’t stop him from being an absolute idiot. “He was probably just using you to get to me.” Lando immediately regrets what he said as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He knows that's a sore subject for you and the look of hurt on your face makes his stomach churn.

“Now you’re just being mean.” You’re sure it’s a mixture of things that are contributing to the salty tears welling up in your eyes at the moment, but it’s Lando’s comment that actually makes them fall. You’re storming off before he can say anything, wishing you would have just stayed at the bar with Harry.

Lando knows he’s an idiot, but he also knows he’s the one who lit the match, which means he’s gotta be the one to put it out. “Y/N come on. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said that.” He catches up with you rather quickly, your heels slowing you down.

“Just leave me be Lando.”

“Y/N. Stop walking for just a minute.” He’s grabbing at your arm, trying to halt your movement.

You stop and face him and for what it’s worth he does look sorry, but that doesn’t change how you feel. “What? You want to poke fun at me some more?”

“No I-”

“You know I was just having a little harmless fun with that guy, like you said I talked to him for what? Fifteen minutes? Nothing was going to come out of it. But is it really that far-fetched of an idea for a guy to actually be interested in me just for me? Am I that undesirable and unlovable for it to seem like a reality? Or was he like everyone else who’s used me and threw me away as soon as they got their five minutes of the almighty Lando Norris experience?”

The tears that slide down your cheeks are a mixture of anger and embarrassment and maybe you were being a little dramatic. Perhaps the multiple drinks you’d consumed weren’t helping either, but when the person you care about the most says something like that, something you’d confided in him about, it hurts.

Lando feels his heart break to hear you talk about yourself like that. All he wants to do is to scream out that you’re not undesirable or unlovable. He’s wanted you and loved you for some time now, the moment it started he’s not sure, but he knows it didn’t happen overnight. It’s always been there– he was just too blind to see it.

He’s not entirely sure on how to make this right, he knows he was an ass, but he also knows he can’t take back what’s been said. The worst part is that he knows exactly how you feel and somehow he still thought that was a good thing to throw in your face– all because he was jealous. He could deal with people trying to use him, he’d developed a sixth sense for them and never let it get too far, but you were too kind. Your big heart and trusting of others had gotten you burned one too many times and it hurt Lando even more to know that all that had happened because of him.

“I should have never said that to you. I know first hand how it feels to have people use me and the only reason you’ve had to deal with that is because of me. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your sniffles fill the night air as you try to calm yourself down. While people used you to get to Lando, at least they didn’t want to be your friend to leech off your fame. Use you for your money and generosity, expecting paddock passes and some lavish lifestyle. People saw Lando as an object rather than a person more times than not. While your feelings were valid and Lando was still an ass for saying that, you realized to be in his shoes was worse. So, you wipe away your tears and accept his apology indirectly. “Think we’ve only got each other at this point.”

His voice is soft as he approaches you, his hand reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. “Don’t think I need anyone else but you.”

The tender moment has you turning to putty in his hands– the argument pushed to the back of your mind. His hand moves to cup your face and his tumb brushes gently across your cheek. You feel like time has frozen in this moment and for a split second you swear he looks at your lips, like he’s going to kiss you. The fact that this is your best friend is no concern to you at the moment. Then the moment between you two is ruined just as fast as it began, the sound of a very loud and drunk group of people leaving the bar up the street brings you both back to reality.

You back away from each other slowly, like you weren’t sure exactly what had just almost happened. You’d already resorted to blaming it on both of your emotions still running wild and the alcohol still coursing through your veins. The group of people are getting closer, their obnoxious singing getting louder as each second passes. They might not even know who Lando is, but you aren’t in the mood to wait around and find out, the last thing you want to deal with right now is drunk fans. “We’ve had too much to drink, my head and feet hurt. Let’s go home.” You grumble as you begin the trek home once again, your feet aching more and more with each step.

Lando stops for a moment and kicks off his shoes, he couldn’t let you walk in pain the whole way home. Especially after the pain he had caused moments ago. “Here put these on, your feet are killing you.” He hands you the white sneakers before squatting down in front of you to help you get your heels off.

Your feet already thank you as you slip on the oversized shoes that clomp on the stone street. And like a magnet you find yourself wrapping your arm around his as you walk down the street. You’re sure you two are a sight–you in shoes that are way too big and Lando only in socks as he holds your heels for you.

“You know you’re still an ass.” You tell him as you lean your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You know you aren’t unloveable.” He hopes you know he’s being sincere, your words still replaying in his mind as you walk.

“I know.”

By the time you make it back to the villa you’re both exhausted. The alcohol, the argument, that moment between you two, the walk home– you were sure tomorrow morning would be a rough one. There aren’t many words spoken as you get ready for bed and as you slide under the covers next to Lando you can’t shake something from your mind from tonight, and it wasn’t the argument.

It was the fact that during the whole time you were chatting with Harry, you couldn’t help but compare him to Lando. There wasn’t the same sparkle in his eye like Lando, his smile wasn’t the same, his laugh. It seemed like everything that you noticed about this guy came second best to Lando. Sure you were having fun and he was nice, but not once had the thought of Lando slipped your mind. And even right now, with Lando next to you, you’re still somehow thinking about him.

It didn’t take long for Lando to fall asleep and you were on the verge of it when your phone went off on the nightstand. Usually, you would just ignore it, but something in you told you to see what it was.

harryinsta is now following you

You then see that he had sent you a DM and you’re expecting it to be about meeting up some time, which you were going to politely decline, but it’s quite the opposite.

harryintsa: i must have been mistaken earlier. lando's not an idiot.

yourinsta: huh?

harryinsta: he’s in love with you lol

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as you read the message over and over again. Lando wasn’t in love with you, was he? Sure you’d heard it from just about everyone in your life that you two were in love with each other, but you always thought it was silly. You guys were just best friends is what you would always say, but to hear it come from a literal stranger was different.

You couldn’t lie that you hadn’t recently had your moments of perhaps thinking that he did, though you’d always talk yourself out of the idea. Although, if he was in love with you that may explain his behavior tonight. Or maybe it was just the alcohol like you’d originally thought. Then the tender moment you two shared entered your mind and suddenly the gears in your head are working overtime.

You locked your phone and sat it back down on the nightstand. Just from a simple DM you’d gone from being dead tired to now being wide awake– staring at the ceiling. You’re not sure how much time had passed as you laid there over analyzing every interaction with Lando. You were struggling enough trying to figure out the things you had recently felt about Lando, let alone the possibility that he was in love with you. All you knew for sure was that things weren’t the same between you two, you’d felt a shift when you were with him in Monaco before the Belgium GP. It had only amplified during this trip and you had a feeling that by the end of it things would be different.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

Two days later you’re sunbathing on a comfy lounger on the beach, while Lando’s out in the water doing god knows what. You’d given up on watching him a while ago, deciding instead to be productive and try to catch up to Lando’s tan level. Which, after laying here for some time now, it seemed impossible. That boy could be in the sun for a day and have a glowing tan– you not so much.

Moments later you think a cloud has passed in front of the sun, but when you feel cool water droplets on your hot skin you peek open one eye to find a wet and grinning Lando standing over you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You greet him back as you sit up, your smile matching his. “Did you have fun out there?”

“I had a lot of fun and the water felt amazing. You should have got in.”

“I will later.” You notice he’s got one of his hands behind his back like he’s hiding something. “Lan, what have you got?” He tries to play dumb for a moment, trying to wind you up, but he eventually caves and pulls a plastic pail from behind his back. “Please don’t tell me you stole that from a kid.” Your half joking and half being serious, because where the hell did he get that from?

“I did not steal it from a kid– I borrowed it.” The smile on his face never falls as he continues to speak. “They had a bunch of them. I don't think they’ll miss it. Plus I needed something to put your present in.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, curiosity written all over your face. “My present?”

He’s smiling so hard as he sits down at the end of the lounger that you think this must be the best present in the world. Seconds later the pail is turned upside down and out falls the prettiest seashells. Your heart swells when you realize all that time he had spent out in the water he was looking for shells– for you. There’s a light pink one that catches your eye and Lando notices when you reach for it.

“Knew you’d like that one.”

Of course he knew that, sometimes you think he knows you better than you know yourself. “Can’t believe you spent all that time finding them.”

He shrugs like it’s an everyday thing. “I knew it would make you happy, which meant I enjoyed doing it. Really only took me so long because I wanted them all to be perfect for you.”

The sun beating down on you feels cold with how hard you’re blushing. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

Lando starts to get shy when you get sappy, like he hadn’t just said the sweetest thing a second ago. He’s smiling, but focuses on carefully putting the shells back into the pail. “You’re my favorite person too.”

A while later you decide to open up the umbrella between the two loungers. You had chosen to give up on the tanning lifestyle and instead dive into a new book. While Lando was fast asleep on the lounger next to you, apparently all that hunting for shells had worn him out.

You’d noticed out of the corner of your eye awhile ago that a little boy kept glancing over in your direction, specifically at Lando. You knew he had to have been a fan or he was the kid Lando stole the pail from. The nervous glances back and forth tell you that thankfully he’s a fan and you think it’s the cutest thing. You’re in the middle of considering waking Lando up so the boy could come over when you hear a groan that is undoubtedly Lando awaking from his slumber.

“What are you looking at?” He asks as he rubs his eyes.

You nod your head in the direction of the boy who’s just seen that Lando is awake and is practically bouncing with glee. “Think you may have a fan.”

A big grin spreads across Lando’s face as he sees the little boy. Lando loved meeting all his fans, but meeting the kids was his favorite. He thinks a big part of the reason he always makes sure to find time for the younger fans was because he was that kid once. Before he was ever F1 driver Lando Norris, he was just a kid who finally got the chance to meet their idol and he knows that picture or an autograph means the world to them

Lando motions for the boy to come over and he’s instantly tugging on his Mom’s shirt to get her to come with him. She gives you guys a questioning look and when Lando motions again they both come over.

The little boy’s Italian accent is the cutest thing ever as he greets you two and you can tell just how much it means to him to be talking to Lando.

“What’s your name?” Lando asks as he signs a beach towel of all things.

“Luca and I’m seven!”

“Seven is a great age. You know I started karting when I was seven!”

Luca’s eyes get as wide as saucers as he glances back at his Mom, who is already shutting down any talk of Luca karting. “I told you possibly next year. You’re still my little baby. I don't want you getting hurt!”

Lando gives the Mom an apologetic look. “How about a picture?” Which easily takes Luca’s attention away from karting, as he’s already at Lando’s side with a big smile on his face before his Mom has her phone out.

They take a couple pictures and high fives are exchanged throughout their interaction. The whole thing is very sweet and you can’t help but look on in adoration, fully knowing that Lando would make a great Father one day.

You see that Luca keeps looking over at you and then back to Lando, but you don’t pay that much mind to it. You figured he was just nervous or something, but what comes out of his mouth next takes you by surprise.

“Your girlfriend is very pretty.”

You feel your heart skip a beat and you glance over at Lando to see what his reaction is. You prepare yourself for the worst, but in true Lando fashion he’s all smiles. In fact he’s sporting that full face smile of his and it makes you feel funny.

“Thank you buddy, I think so too.” He looks over at you with nothing but love in his eyes and you’re immediately looking away like some shy school girl.

Thankfully, the Mom comes to your aid and quickly changes the subject. “Ok Luca, you’ve bothered them enough. We should get back to our spot. Thank them for their time.”

His cute little voice mutters out grazie as he gives you a small wave goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, Luca.” Lando bids him farewell and you both wave back at the little boy.

As soon as they’re gone you’re immediately shoving your face back into your book, you don’t even want to talk about what had just happened. It was nothing really to be so worked up over, it was just a little kid who saw two people together and assumed they were together. It happens all the time. But it is a big deal when you find yourself liking being referred to as Lando’s girlfriend. It doesn’t help when neither of you deny it and correct the person. Lando likes to play into it and you love it too much to say anything.

Ever since getting that DM the other night your mind had been in a whirlwind over how Lando felt about you and how you felt about him. Hell you can’t even look at him right now, you’re so in your head that you’ve been staring at the same page for the last five minutes. You just wished the book you were reading could tell you how to come to terms with the fact that you’re in love with your best friend.

It was something you’d realized the other night while you were awake overthinking everything. Those feelings had always been there, but you had just pushed them aside, ignoring every little butterfly or rapid heartbeat. When they actually turned into romantic feelings you have no clue because as far as you knew, you and Lando had always been like this.

You two just dove in head first into the co-dependent friendship that was more like a relationship lifestyle. All those times you’d gone to his parents house for family dinners and holidays, both of you attached at the hip. How he wanted to ask you to move to Monaco with him and then almost didn’t even move because he said he’d miss you too much. The group vacations that always ended up with you two going off and doing your own thing. The texts from him every Wednesday before a race asking if he needed to get you a paddock pass and a flight. This trip in particular– sleeping in the same bed when you don’t have to, the cuddling, the getting mistaken for a couple three times so far, the fact that it was just you two alone on the trip.

It was all there the whole time and you wondered how you could have been so blind to not realize it sooner. You were in love with him. You loved his pretty eyes and curls and the way his real laugh only seemed to come out around you. You loved his big heart and his caring nature and sometimes you thought he was too nice to be a Formula 1 driver.

You loved everything about him and truth be told it made your stomach hurt from how much you loved him. You wanted to actually be his and be able to kiss those pink lips that you sometimes found yourself staring at. When people said you were his girlfriend you wanted it to actually be true and not have it be Lando just playing along. You were so down bad that you prayed that Harry was right and that Lando was actually in love with you too.

While you were freaking out, so was Lando. When you immediately went back to reading your book and not speaking a word, he figured he had weirded you out by basically implying that you were his girlfriend. He just figured it was easier to go along with what the kid thought than explain that you weren’t his girlfriend, but god does he wish you were. He didn’t know what to say to try and test the waters because he knew whatever he would say would come out awkward and he didn’t want to make things worse. So, once again it’s not talked about and you two pretend that it didn’t happen when you finally speak again.

─── ༺❀༻ ───

It’s the last day of the trip and you’re dreading going back to reality and away from this little slice of heaven. The only thing you have to look forward to is the supposed fancy dinner that Lando had planned for tonight, which was what you were currently getting ready for. Music plays through your phone and you softly sing along as you do your makeup. When you look up after digging in your makeup bag you spot Lando in the mirror, leaning against the door frame behind you. Your eyes lower and you see that he’s holding two gift bags.

"Those better be for your Mom.” You state as you put the finishing touches on your makeup.

“I think we both know they aren’t.” He sees you roll your eyes in the mirror and it only makes him want to spoil you more. “It’s our last day, I think you deserve a parting gift.”

You turn to face him as he makes his way over to you. “I haven’t gotten you a single thing this whole time. It makes me feel bad.”

Lando only shakes his head at you. “You being here with me is the best gift you could have ever gotten me. I truly don’t need anything else.” He hands you the bags. “Now open them please.”

A small smile finds its way onto your face as you take the bags from him. You decide to open the bigger bag first and once you pull out the tissue paper you know exactly what it is. It’s still in its dust bag, but you see the branding and your jaw is dropping before you even see the actual thing. “You did not get me this bag Lando!” You exclaim as you remove the dust bag and see that it’s the same bag you were eyeing at the store the other day.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Saw you eyeing it and knew I had to get it for you and before you say anything else open the other present.”

You set the handbag down and grab the smaller gift trying to figure out what else he could have possibly gotten you. When you open it and see the bracelet you were also looking at the other day you’re at a loss for words. “Lando Norris!” You could slap him, hug him, kiss him, and yell at him all at once. He’d dropped probably close to six grand on these two gifts and your head is spinning at the thought of it.

“Don’t even say anything about the price. I know you’re thinking it, but I wouldn’t have bought you them if I couldn’t afford it. I wanted you to have them, you deserve nice things.” You deserved a lot more than a handbag and a bracelet, but what he thought you deserved money couldn’t buy.

You know there's no use in fighting him on it, but you still feel bad that he just spends all this money on you. He takes the bracelet from the box and fastens it around your wrist, the diamonds glittering in the light as you move it around. It’s truly stunning and the handbag will go great with your outfit tonight. As soon as you two make eye contact again you��re pulling him into a bone crushing hug and you two stay like that for probably longer than necessary. “Thank you a million times Lan. I love them both so much.”

It’s time to leave for dinner shortly after that and when you arrive at the restaurant the host guides you back to a secluded corner. It’s a very romantic ambiance and you can’t help but feel like you’re on a date, which wouldn’t be a horrible thing. Moments later a waiter comes over with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “It’s on the house– for the special couple.”

There it is again and it seems like with each time it happens it makes your heart race even more. Lando shifts in his seat and you focus on the rising bubbles in the glasses as the waiter pours the champagne. Lando tells him thank you and your attention moves to the menu.

“What are you thinking about getting?” You ask, ignoring the obvious.

“Probably the steak.” He grabs the flute of champagne and takes a drink. “What was that? The fourth time now?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you’re surprised he’s decided to talk about it. “Yeah it was.” You set the menu down and grab the other flute. “Think I’ll get the steak too.”

Dinner actually turns out to be an amazing time. The food is decadent and Lando and you have good conversations that don’t revolve around you two being mistaken for a couple or being in love with each other. When the waiter brings the bill you’re quite sad because that just means this trip is that much closer to being over.

You take your time heading back to the villa, trying to savor every last moment you’ve got here. The sun was low in the sky by the time you get back and you tell Lando just how you want to spend your final evening in Italy. You hurry and change into comfier clothes and take off all your makeup before heading to the spot with the best view out back. Lando makes his way out there not too long after you, but he’s got one more surprise for you.

“Don’t think the evening or this trip would be complete without this now would it?” He pulls a bottle of pink moscato from behind his back along with two wine glasses.

He knew you too well, but it was something you loved dearly about him. “You’re a man after my heart Norris.”

He hands you a glass as he sits down next to you, the sun just beginning to set on the horizon. “I try.”

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a while and the only sound to be heard is from the waves below. It feels like paradise sitting here with this amazing view and the guy you love next to you. It’s probably boring to the majority of people, but this was everything you could ask for and more and the perfect way to end this amazing trip. You lean in closer to Lando, your head resting on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. A content sigh escapes past your lips as his thumb starts to draw mindless circles on your arm.

“Thank you again for everything. This trip was amazing and I’m glad we got to go together– just you and me.”

“I’m glad too. It was probably the best summer break trip I’ve had. Don’t think Ibiza will be seeing me for a while.”

You’re not even looking at him, but you can sense the smile on his face and you can’t help but laugh at his lie. “Yeah, and I don’t like pink moscato.”

“Alright so Ibiza will inevitably see me, but not as much as Italy.” He pauses for a moment, glancing down at you still resting on his shoulder, his heart swelling just by looking at you. “I think this may be our place now, just for the two of us.” His voice is soft when he says it, like he’s not sure if he wanted to say it outloud.

You lift your head up and are met with his piercing blue eyes staring back at you. He looked radiant as golden hour cascades over him and it’s like you’re in a trance as you look at him. You take in every last bit of him, all the little details about him that you’ve memorized over the years. The slight stubble on his face from not shaving for a couple days, the little moles, his long and somehow always curled eyelashes, those pink lips of his. He’s everything you could have ever dreamed of and more. You’ve had him at fingertip length for so long now and all you want to do is reach out for him, take what you want and never let go.

Lando feels his breath catch in his throat as you two make eye contact. You’d never looked more beautiful than in this moment and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take without you actually being his. You were the love of his life, his best friend, and everything he’s ever wanted. It may have taken him a long time to realize it, but he’s never felt like this about anyone before. You know each other like the back of your hands and it only makes sense that you’d be the one for him.

And it’s in this moment that it clicks for you two that it’s now or never. You’re never going to have a perfect moment like this again. It feels right, like the universe wants this moment to happen and if you let it go to waste you may never get the chance again. Lando takes his free hand and gently cups your face, his thumb ever so softly rubbing across your cheek. You’re practically putty in his hands and you feel like your heart is gonna beat out of your chest. You want to scream out to him that you love him, that you want to be his, but you can barely get your brain to communicate with your mouth.

“Lan-”

That’s all you can get out before Lando’s leaning in and his lips are on yours. He tastes like the sugary sweet wine and his lips are soft as they move in sync with yours. Kissing him is even better than you’d imagined and as your hand reaches up to his neck you deepen the kiss. It feels like you two had kissed a thousand times before and as he pulls away you’re already left wanting more.

Your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathless and a little light headed from that singular kiss. When you both actually internalize what’s just happened you’re both grinning, that then turns into laughing and it’s like music to both of your ears to hear each other laugh.

“I think that was a long time coming.” You state as you finally lean back onto the couch.

Lando reaches out for your hand, intertwining his with yours. “When did you realize?”

“That night when we got into that argument, which looking back now, you were totally jealous.”

“I was not jealous!” He tries to be serious, but the knowing look on your face has him cracking. “Ok I was jealous.”

“When did you realize?” You question.

“That same night. I couldn’t understand why you flirting with that guy bothered me so much. Well I guess now we know.”

“Yeah cause you’re in loooveee with me.” You’re laughing as you speak, but he shuts you up with another kiss and leaves you pouting when he pulls away.

“Only kissed you twice and you’re already pouting when I pull away? I think you’re in loooveee with me.”

You lean back in, capturing his lips in yet another kiss and you’re like teenagers who’ve gotten into their first relationship.

Lando sighs when you stop kissing him, he can’t believe he could have had this sooner if he would have just opened his eyes. “You think you could get another week off from work?”

You’d do anything to get another week in a paradise with him, but you know it’s not possible. “Hmm, why don’t you just spend a week in London with me?”

“Well you haven’t even told them that you now have a famous F1 driver boyfriend. Who if they didn’t know already is very needy and needs to see his girlfriend.” He teases.

“Well you forgot to add that you’re my hot and famous F1 driver boyfriend.” You counter back.

You’re both grinning like fools at each other and as you curl up into his side and take in the last sunset you’ll see in the place that now holds such a special place in both of your hearts, you’re glad you let him convince you to come on this trip.

As the sun finally sets over the water you actually say those three little words.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #fic rec

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