🫶🏾 “For always." -Cliff Kane, s4 Ep9 TWH 🫶🏾

Minors Do Not Interact | 20s this is my sideblog for: obx, f1, bridgerton

[causedascene81]

Kindle, 20's, she/they

fandoms: bridgerton, f1 (OP81 and LH44 mostly), the way home, adults on fx, may grant and henren enthusiast <3

18+ topics discussed, MDNI

proud supporter of RPF (KEEP IT IN RPF SPACES ONLY!!!!)

🧿🧿🧿

can't forget, won't regret what i did for love

Dividers from: @saradika-graphics

formerly : whatididforlove333

[oscunt]

Oscar Piastri on the High Performance Podcast

[christiangeistdorfer]

MICHÈLE MOUTON, 1981 || photo by JOHN GAZETAS

[robinfrinjs]

Charlie Martin and Emily Bishop won the McLaren Trophy Europe race earlier today in the AM Class. Martin now also leads the championship in the AM Class.

[shoctingstvrs]

[oscarpiastismissinghairline]

Collecting these like coins in mario cart

[wisteriagoesvroom]

mogmaxxing at spa i see

[hollanov-words]

Some random corner of the internet is being parasocial and calling Hollanov a PR marriage and a random person is like "my cousin's cousin's girlfriend used to clean their house in Ottawa. Definitely not a PR marriage. Apparently they go through a lot of couch cushions and bedframes."

[piassell]

pulse point - op81

​✦ pairing: oscar x fem!reader (established relationship)

​✦ warnings: pure smut!, cunnilingus, face sitting, throat riding (fem!oc grinding against oscar’s throat literally), 18+, MDNI, NSFW

​✦ wc: ~2k+

​✦ a/n: requested!✨️

He pulls you down firmly, and you let him. Your pussy presses against the front of his throat, slick and hot. The skin there is smooth and firm, pulsing slightly under you. You rock forward experimentally, the sensation is completely different—more pressure, the hard ridges of his Adam’s apple rubbing right against your clit.

“Fuck…” you moan loudly. It feels incredible.

Oscar’s hands stay on your hips, guiding you. “Grind,” he orders. “Use my throat. I want to feel you lose it on me.”

You’re lying on the bed, legs stretched out under the covers, phone in your hand as you mindlessly scroll through your feed. The blue light glows against your face while you try to force your eyes to get heavy. Sleep feels close, but not quite there yet. Oscar’s next to you, warm and solid, you figure he’s already drifting off.

But he has other plans.

His hand slides over first, fingers brushing your thigh under the blanket. You don’t look away from your screen, but your breath catches when he leans in closer. His lips find the side of your neck, soft at first, then firmer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin. He sucks lightly, tongue flicking out to taste you, and you feel the shiver run straight down your spine.

“Oscar…” you murmur, half-warning, half-moan.

He doesn’t stop. His mouth moves up to your jaw, nipping gently, then back down to that sensitive spot right below your ear. His other hand explores, sliding under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach before moving higher, cupping your breast and squeezing with just the right pressure. His thumb circles your nipple slowly, teasing it until it hardens under his touch.

You moan softly, hips shifting without meaning to. “I was trying to sleep…”

He chuckles against your neck, the vibration making you squirm. “You can sleep after,” he whispers, voice low and rough with want. “Need you right now.”

You laugh a little, trying to push his shoulder, but there’s no real force behind it. “You’re impossible.”

Oscar just grins, that cheeky Piastri smile, and keeps kissing you—deeper now, sucking harder on your neck like he’s marking you. His hand leaves your breast and trails down, fingers dipping into your waistband, stroking the skin just above your panties. You feel yourself getting wet already, body responding even as you pretend to fight it.

“Oscar, come on,” you say, laughing again as he tugs at your shirt. But he’s persistent, rolling half on top of you, pinning you gently with his weight. His erection presses against your thigh through his boxers, hard and insistent.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, kissing along your collarbone. “You. On my face. Grinding that pretty pussy on my tongue until you can’t think straight.”

Your cheeks heat up, but the words send a fresh rush of arousal through you. You bite your lip, phone forgotten somewhere in the sheets. “You’re really not letting me sleep, huh?”

“Nope.” He kisses you properly then, mouth claiming yours, tongue sliding in deep and slow. You moan into the kiss, hands finally coming up to grip his hair. He tastes like mint and pure hunger.

He pulls back just enough to yank your shirt off, then your panties, tossing them aside. You’re bare now, and he looks at you like he wants to devour you whole. “Come here,” he says, lying back fully. “Sit on my face.”

You hesitate for half a second, but the look in his eyes—dark, needy—wins you over. You crawl over him, knees on either side of his head, hovering just above his mouth. Oscar’s hands grab your hips immediately, pulling you down.

The first contact makes you gasp. His tongue is hot and flat against your folds, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, the sound vibrating right through you.

“Fuck, Oscar…” You brace your hands on the headboard, lowering yourself more. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue pushes inside you, fucking you with it, curling and thrusting while his nose rubs against your clit. You start grinding instinctively, hips rolling in small circles, chasing the friction.

He encourages you with his hands, gripping your ass and pulling you down harder. “That’s it,” he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled. “Ride my face, baby. Use me.”

You do. Your movements get bolder, grinding down with more pressure, feeling his tongue lap at every inch of you. Wet sounds fill the air—his mouth devouring you, your slick coating his lips and chin. He sucks on your clit, tongue flicking fast, then slow, then fast again, keeping you on edge. Your thighs start to tremble around his head.

“Oh god, yes… right there,” you pant, one hand dropping to grip his hair. You rock harder, practically smothering him, but he loves it. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding you in place as he eats you out like a man starved.

You’re getting close, that tight coil building in your belly, when Oscar suddenly shifts underneath you. His hands slide you backward, just a little. You feel his chin, then the smooth skin of his throat under your soaked pussy.

“Slide down,” he says, voice husky. “Ride my throat.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve been staring at his throat for days—watching it bob when he swallows, the way it moves when he talks, imagining exactly this. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Oscar…” you breathe, half embarrassed, half so turned on you can barely think.

“I know what you’ve been thinking,” he says, smirking up at you, lips shiny with your arousal. “Every time you looked at my neck. Do it. Ride it. Fuck my throat like you’ve been fantasizing about.”

He pulls you down firmly, and you let him. Your pussy presses against the front of his throat, slick and hot. The skin there is smooth and firm, pulsing slightly under you. You rock forward experimentally, and the sensation is completely different—more pressure, the hard ridges of his Adam’s apple rubbing right against your clit.

“Fuck…” you moan loudly. It feels incredible.

Oscar’s hands stay on your hips, guiding you. “Grind,” he orders. “Use my throat. I want to feel you lose it on me.”

You start slow, rolling your hips in long, deliberate strokes. Your clit drags along his throat with every movement, the friction intense and perfect. You can feel him swallow beneath you, the bob of his throat pushing up against your folds, and it makes you whimper.

He tilts his head back more, giving you better access. “Harder,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t. You plant your hands on his chest for leverage and start riding him properly. Your hips move faster, grinding down with purpose, sliding your wet pussy up and down the length of his throat. Every roll presses your clit against that prominent Adam’s apple, sending sparks through your whole body. You’re soaking him—your juices coating his neck, making everything slippery and messy.

Oscar groans, the sound vibrating directly into your core. “That’s my girl. Look at you… fucking my throat like you own it.”

You moan, head falling back as you pick up speed. Your movements become more intense, almost frantic. You slide forward until your clit hits the base of his throat, then drag back, feeling every inch. The pressure builds fast—harder than when he was using his tongue. It’s raw and dirty and exactly what you’ve secretly wanted.

“Oscar—fuck, it feels so good,” you gasp, riding him harder. Your ass bounces slightly with each thrust of your hips. You lean forward, changing the angle so your pussy grinds right over his larynx. The firm bulge rubs perfectly against your swollen clit, and you cry out.

He reaches up, one hand squeezing your breast, pinching your nipple while the other grips your thigh. “Keep going. Make yourself come all over my neck.”

You’re lost in it now. No more hesitation. You ride his throat with everything you have—long, deep grinds that make wet, obscene sounds. Your hips circle and thrust, sliding frantically. Sweat beads on your skin. Your thighs burn from the effort, but you don’t stop. The intensity is overwhelming, every nerve focused on that slick friction against his throat.

Oscar’s breathing is ragged underneath you, but he keeps encouraging you between groans. “Yeah, just like that. You’re soaking me, baby. Ride it harder—come on.”

You lean back a little, bracing on his stomach, and really let go. Your movements turn almost violent—grinding down with all your weight, sliding up and down his throat in rapid strokes. Your clit catches on every ridge, every swallow. The pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter.

“I’m—fuck, I’m so close,” you whimper.

“Do it,” he growls. “Flood my throat.”

That pushes you over. Your orgasm crashes through you hard. You cry out his name, hips jerking uncontrollably as you grind through it. Waves of pleasure rip through your body while you keep riding his throat, prolonging every pulse. Your pussy clenches and floods, making an even bigger mess on his neck and chest.

You keep moving through the aftershocks, slower now but still desperate, milking every last bit of sensation. Oscar’s hands stroke your thighs soothingly, but he’s clearly still hard and turned on.

When you finally slow, panting, he chuckles breathlessly. “Good girl. But we’re not done.”

He slides you forward again, back toward his mouth, but only for a moment—just enough for his tongue to clean you up with long, lazy licks that make you twitch. Then he pulls you back down to his throat.

“Again,” he says. “Ride it until you can’t anymore.”

You’re sensitive now, but the command makes you moan. You start grinding once more, slower this time, savoring the slick slide. Every movement is deliberate—feeling the way his throat moves under you when he speaks, when he swallows.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs.

“So fucking good,” you whisper. “Your throat… the way it presses right on my clit. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I know.” He smirks, voice a little hoarse from your weight and his own arousal. “I saw you staring. Knew you wanted to use it like this.”

You ride him steadily, hips rolling in deep figure-eights. The intensity builds again, slower but deeper this time. You focus on every detail—the heat of his skin, the slight stubble rasp, the way his Adam’s apple shifts and catches your most sensitive spot with every grind.

Oscar’s hands roam—squeezing your ass, spreading you wider so you can press down even more firmly. “Bounce on it a little,” he suggests.

You lift slightly and drop back down, letting your pussy slap wetly against his throat. The impact sends jolts through you. You do it again, and again, turning the ride into something more rhythmic and punishing. Up and down, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, your clit dragging hard.

“Shit, yes…” you moan, losing yourself in the rhythm. Your breasts bounce with the motion. Oscar watches you with pure lust, eyes dark.

You ride like that for what feels like forever—long, intense minutes of sliding, grinding, circling. Every variation feels new and overwhelming. When you lean forward, it hits different nerves. When you lean back, the pressure on your entrance makes you clench around nothing.

He keeps talking you through it, voice rough. “You’re so wet for my throat. Keep using me. Take what you need.”

Another orgasm builds, slower and more powerful. You chase it relentlessly, hips moving faster again, grinding with desperate little whimpers. Your thighs shake around his head.

“Come on, baby,” he urges. “Give it to me.”

You explode again, even harder than the first time. Your whole body locks up as pleasure tears through you. You grind down hard, smothering his throat with your pulsing pussy, riding out every wave until you’re gasping and trembling.

This time when you slow, Oscar gently guides you off. He pulls you down beside him, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and lips. His throat and chest are shiny with your cum.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he murmurs against your mouth, smiling. “We’re doing that again tomorrow.”

You laugh breathlessly, body buzzing. “Yeah… we are.”

He holds you close, hands still roaming lazily over your skin, already thinking about the next round. You’re wide awake now, and sleep is the last thing on your mind. Oscar always did have better ideas.

[lightsoutandawaywewrite]

Hello, again!

Could you write a oneshot where Oscar spoils reader? She works in a hectic work environment and has been stressed the past few weeks. So Oscar gives her a massage to relax and destress. He plans a whole relaxing weekend for her.

Thank you very much

A quiet corner

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader (y/n)

Warnings: none, pure fluff, comfort, tired reader, maybe exhaustion if you see it as a trigger

Summary: Exhausted after weeks of corporate stress, you return home to Oscar, who is determined to melt your tension away with a soothing massage and a perfectly planned, completely work-free weekend of pure relaxation.

Requested: Yes/ Anon

Word count: 4159

Author's note: I hope this sweet, caring Oscar gives you the cozy escape you need today. Love you guys.

Masterlist

The glow of the computer screen was starting to make your eyes burn, a dull ache blooming right behind your temples that had been your constant companion for the past three weeks. Around you, the office was a blur of motion, a chaotic symphony of ringing phones, tapping keyboards, and the low, urgent murmur of colleagues discussing deadlines that seemed entirely impossible to meet. Your desk was covered in printed spreadsheets, half empty cups of coffee that had long since gone cold, and sticky notes with scribbled reminders that you barely had the mental capacity to read anymore. It felt like you were drowning in a sea of corporate expectations, always swimming as fast as you could but never quite reaching the shore.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the dry friction of your eyelids against your pupils. The project you had been assigned to lead was a massive, high stakes undertaking, and it seemed that every single department was relying on you to make sure nothing fell through the cracks. For twenty-one days straight, you had been the first to arrive and the last to leave, your brain constantly running on a loop of to-do lists, budget calculations, and emergency meetings. You had forgotten what it felt like to have a quiet mind, forgotten what it was like to sit down without a laptop resting on your knees or a phone clutched in your hand.

A loud sigh escaped your lips, a sound that was quickly swallowed by the general din of the workspace. You stared at the email inbox on your screen, watching the unread message count tick upward with a sense of quiet dread. Every notification felt like a tiny electric shock to your nervous system, a constant reminder that you were falling behind, even though you were working yourself to the bone. Your shoulders were pulled up high, practically touching your ears in a protective, tense posture that you could not seem to shake off, no matter how many times you tried to consciously drop them.

“We need the final revisions on the quarterly budget by five, please,” your department head said, walking past your desk without even pausing to make eye contact. They dropped a thick folder onto your keyboard, nearly spilling the remains of your third espresso of the day.

You blinked, staring at the folder as if it were a physical weight pressing down on your chest. “I will get right on it,” you muttered, your voice sounding raspy and hollow, even to your own ears.

You pulled the folder toward you, your fingers stiff and aching from hours of typing. The numbers blurred together on the page, a confusing jumble of percentages and dollar signs that made your head spin. You forced yourself to focus, taking a deep, shaky breath, but there was a tight band around your ribs that made it impossible to fully expand your lungs. You felt incredibly small, incredibly tired, and desperately wished you could just disappear into the background, even if only for a single hour.

By the time the clock on the wall finally showed eight in the evening, the office had mostly emptied out, leaving only the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and the occasional cleaning cart rolling down the hallway. Your head was throbbing violently now, a sharp, pulsing pain that made every movement feel like a monumentally difficult task. You shut your laptop down, the quiet click of the lid feeling like a small victory, though you knew you would have to open it again tomorrow. You gathered your bag, checked your phone one last time, and saw a message from Oscar that had arrived an hour ago.

“Let me know when you are leaving, I can come pick you up,” the text read, simple and sweet, a tiny beacon of warmth in the middle of your exhausting day.

You typed out a quick reply, telling him you were heading to the train station now, not wanting to bother him with a drive when he had his own demanding schedule to keep up with. Oscar was a professional Formula One driver, his life was just as fast, just as high pressure, and yet he always seemed to find a way to offer you a sense of absolute stillness whenever you were near him. You walked out of the building, the cool evening air hitting your face and bringing a momentary sense of relief, though it did not do much to ease the heavy, leaden feeling in your limbs.

The train ride home was a blur of passing lights and tired faces, everyone looking just as drained as you felt. You kept your head pressed against the cold glass of the window, watching the city go by, your mind still spinning with thoughts of spreadsheets and unread emails. You felt a deep, bone wearinees that went far beyond just needing a good night of sleep, it was the kind of exhaustion that settled deep into your soul, making even the simplest decisions feel like mountains you were not equipped to climb.

When you finally reached the door of the apartment you shared with Oscar, your hands were shaking slightly as you fumbled with the keys. The lock clicked open, and you stepped inside, the familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and clean linen wrapping around you like a soft blanket. The apartment was quiet, the harsh overhead lights turned off in favor of the warm, amber glow of a few lamps scattered around the living room.

You dropped your bag onto the entryway table, the heavy thud of it signaling the official end of your workday, though your brain had not quite received the memo yet. You kicked off your shoes, your feet aching from the hours spent walking back and forth on the hard office floors.

“In here,” Oscar called out softly from the kitchen.

You walked down the hallway, your steps slow and dragging, and found him standing by the counter. He was wearing a comfortable gray hoodie and sweatpants, his dark curls slightly messy, looking completely relaxed and grounded. The moment his eyes landed on you, his expression softened, his gaze taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the tight set of your jaw, and the slight tremble in your hands.

He did not ask you how your day was, he did not ask you if you wanted to talk about it, he simply stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you gently against his chest.

The moment you felt his warmth, the solid, steady beat of his heart against your cheek, something inside you broke slightly. A soft, ragged sigh escaped you, and you let your head rest against his shoulder, your hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie as if you were a drowning person holding onto a liferaft. He held you tightly, one of his large, warm hands resting on the back of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

“I have got you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice deep and soothing, a comforting anchor in the middle of your personal storm. “You are home now. You do not have to think about any of it anymore tonight.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace, wishing you could just melt into him and leave all your worries behind. “I am so tired, Osc,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly with the sheer weight of your exhaustion.

“I know, darling,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head. “I can see it. You have been running on empty for weeks, and it stops right now. No more work, no more stress. This weekend is entirely about you.”

He slowly pulled back, keeping his hands resting gently on your waist, looking down at you with an expression of pure, unadulterated tenderness. He reached up, his thumb gently brushing against the dark shadow under your eye, his touch so light and careful that it made your chest ache with a sudden wave of emotion.

“Go take a warm shower,” he instructed gently, giving you a small, encouraging smile. “Put on your absolute favorite, most comfortable pajamas. I am going to set some things up in the bedroom, and then we are going to get rid of all that tension in your shoulders.”

You looked at him, feeling a tiny spark of hope pierce through the heavy fog in your brain. “You do not have to do that, you must be tired too,” you began, trying to be polite, even though the thought of a warm shower and his touch was the most appealing thing in the world right now.

Oscar shook his head, a playful but firm glint in his eyes. “I am not accepting any arguments tonight. I have had an easy week compared to you, and I hate seeing you this stressed. Go on, go get changed. I will handle everything else.”

You let out a tiny, genuine smile, the first one that had reached your eyes in days, and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

The shower was a sanctuary of steam and hot water, washing away the physical grime of the city and the office, though the mental fatigue still clung to you like a second skin. You let the hot water spray directly onto your tense neck and shoulders, trying to let the heat loosen the tight muscles, but the knots were deep and stubborn, resisting the simple remedy of hot water. You dried off slowly, pulling on an oversized, incredibly soft t-shirt and loose cotton trousers, your body feeling heavy and sluggish as you walked out of the bathroom.

When you stepped into the bedroom, you stopped in your tracks, a wave of warmth washing over you at the sight.

Oscar had completely transformed the room. The main lights were turned off, and the space was illuminated only by the soft, flickering light of several lavender scented candles he had placed on the dresser and nightstands. The gentle, herbal fragrance filled the air, instantly signaling to your brain that it was time to calm down. On the bed, he had laid out a large, plush towel, and on the bedside table sat a bottle of massage oil that he had warmed up by placing it in a bowl of hot water.

Oscar was sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking up at you with a calm, patient smile. “Come here,” he said softly, gesturing to the space in front of him.

You walked over to the bed, your heart swelling with appreciation for the sheer effort he had put into creating this peaceful environment for you. “Osc, this is amazing,” you whispered, looking around the candlelit room.

“You deserve so much more than this,” he replied, reaching out to take your hand and pulling you gently toward him. “Lie down on your stomach, make yourself comfortable. I am going to work on those shoulders.”

You crawled onto the bed, lying down on your stomach and resting your head on your arms, turning your face to the side so you could look at him. The mattress was soft beneath you, but your body was still holding itself rigidly, unable to fully relax even in this comfortable position.

Oscar shifted, straddling your thighs gently, his weight light and comfortable, not restricting you at all but providing a grounding presence that made you feel incredibly safe. He reached for the bottle of warm oil, pouring a small amount into his palms and rubbing his hands together to distribute the heat and the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile.

The moment his warm, oil slicked hands made contact with your bare shoulders, you let out a sharp, involuntary breath. His hands were large, strong, and incredibly steady, the product of his intense physical training, but his touch was unbelievably gentle as he began to spread the warm oil across your upper back and neck.

“Just breathe, darling,” Oscar murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble in the quiet room. “Let it all go. I am right here.”

He began with slow, sweeping strokes, his palms gliding from the base of your skull, down your neck, and out across the wide expanse of your shoulders. The contrast of his warm skin against yours, combined with the soothing, aromatic oil, felt like absolute heaven. You closed your eyes, letting your forehead rest on your hands, focusing entirely on the physical sensation of his touch.

As he worked, Oscar began to apply a bit more pressure, his thumbs finding the deep, stubborn knots that had formed along your shoulder blades over the past few weeks of hunching over your desk. When his thumb pressed into a particularly tight spot near your right shoulder blade, you winced slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

He immediately lightened the pressure, his touch softening. “Too hard?” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

“No,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the pillow. “It hurts, but a good kind of hurt. It is so tight there.”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Oscar said softly, his thumbs returning to the area but working in slow, circular motions, gradually coaxing the tight muscle fibers to loosen up. “You are like a walking brick wall, darling. How long have your shoulders been this tight?”

“Since forever,” you mumbled, the warmth of his hands and the rhythmic pressure starting to make your brain feel beautifully fuzzy and slow. “It just keeps building up. Every day there is more to do, and I just hold all the stress right there.”

“Well, we are going to get rid of all of it tonight,” he promised, his voice incredibly tender. He used the heels of his hands to apply steady, firm pressure down either side of your spine, his movements slow and deliberate, showing a deep patience that made you want to cry with gratitude. He did not rush, he did not treat this as a chore, he gave you his absolute, undivided attention, focusing entirely on helping you find relief.

You felt the tension slowly beginning to drain from your body, like water slipping through sand. With every stroke of his hands, the tight band around your chest seemed to loosen, allowing you to take deeper, fuller breaths than you had in weeks. The constant, buzzing anxiety that had been humming in your mind for twenty-one days began to quiet down, replaced by the soothing, repetitive motion of his massage.

Oscar moved his hands up to your neck, his fingers curling around the base of your skull, his thumbs kneading the small, incredibly tense muscles at the very top of your spine. It was a spot that always held so much of your tension, and as he worked his thumbs in slow, firm circles, you felt a wave of pure relief wash over you, the dull headache that had been plaguing you all afternoon finally beginning to recede.

“That is it, just let go,” Oscar whispered, noticing the way your body was finally sinking deeper into the mattress, the defensive rigidity of your posture finally melting away. He bent down, pressing a soft, warm kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment against your skin. “You have been taking care of everyone else, handling everything on your own. Let me take care of you now.”

A tear slipped from your eye, wet and warm against your hand, not from sadness, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief of being allowed to be vulnerable, of being allowed to drop the heavy shield you had been carrying for so long. Oscar noticed, of course, his thumbs gently wiping the tear away as he shifted to sit beside you, pulling you up gently so you could lean back against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you back against his warm torso, his chin resting on your shoulder. You let your head fall back against his chest, feeling completely safe, completely protected from the chaotic world outside the bedroom walls.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I did not realize how much I needed that. I felt like I was going to break.”

“You are not going to break,” Oscar said softly, his arms tightening around you in a comforting squeeze. “Because I am always going to be here to hold you together. But you cannot keep pushing yourself like this, darling. I hate seeing you this exhausted. It breaks my heart to see you coming home looking like you have been through a war.”

“I know,” you sighed, staring at the flickering candle flame on the nightstand. “It is just this project. It is so much pressure, and I feel like if I slack off even a little bit, everything will fall apart.”

“Well, you are not slacking off by taking care of yourself,” Oscar reasoned gently, his voice soft but firm. “And this weekend, you are not going to think about that project at all. I have already taken care of everything.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Oscar gave you a soft, slightly mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “I mean that I have planned an entire weekend of absolute nothingness for us. No alarms, no schedules, no work emails. I already talked to your best friend, and she agreed to keep an eye on your personal emergencies if any crop up, but your work phone is going to be turned completely off and put in a drawer until Monday morning.”

Your heart did a strange, fluttery flip. “Oscar, I cannot just turn my phone off, what if there is an emergency with the budget?”

“There won't be,” he said firmly, reach over to cup your cheek with his warm hand, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “And even if there is, it can wait until Monday. You are on the verge of complete burnout, and as your partner, it is my job to step in and stop you from running yourself into the ground. So, the phone goes off. We are staying right here, in this bubble, for the next two days.”

You stared at him, looking into his calm, steady hazel eyes, and felt the last remaining bits of your anxiety try to put up a fight, before quickly collapsing under the weight of his love and determination. The thought of turning off your phone, of not having to look at a single email for forty-eight hours, felt like the most luxurious, forbidden thing in the world.

“Are you serious?” you whispered.

“Dead serious,” Oscar smiled, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting like warm, comforting safety. “I have ordered your favorite food for dinner, it should be here in a few minutes. We are going to eat in bed, watch whatever movie you want, and then you are going to sleep for as long as your body needs. No alarms tomorrow. No plans. Just rest.”

A soft, watery laugh escaped your lips, and you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You are incredible, you know that? I do not know what I did to deserve you.”

“You do plenty,” Oscar murmured, his hands resting on your back, rubbing comforting circles over the newly relaxed muscles. “You support me through all my chaotic travel, all my stressful races. It is my turn to support you. Now, let us go get that food, and then we are officially starting our weekend of absolute relaxation.”

The next two days passed in a beautiful, slow motion blur, a stark and wonderful contrast to the frantic pace of the previous weeks.

On Saturday morning, you woke up naturally, without the harsh, jarring blare of your phone alarm. The bedroom was bathed in soft, natural morning light, the curtains gently swaying in the light breeze coming through the cracked window. For the first time in three weeks, your mind was quiet when you opened your eyes. There was no instant rush of panic, no racing thoughts about deadlines or meetings. There was only the quiet room, the soft sheets, and the warm, heavy weight of Oscar’s arm draped over your waist.

He was still asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful, his dark curls wild and messy against the white pillow. You stayed completely still for a long time, simply watching him breathe, feeling an immense sense of gratitude for his presence in your life. You reached out, very gently tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of your finger, not wanting to wake him but needing to touch him, to remind yourself that this peace was real.

Oscar stirred slightly, a soft, low groan escaping him as his eyes slowly blinked open. The moment he saw you looking at him, a warm, sleepy smile spread across his face, his arm tightening around your waist to pull you closer against him.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice deep and raspy from sleep, a sound that made a pleasant shiver run down your spine. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you whispered, resting your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. “So much better. My head doesn't hurt today.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Do not move. I am going to make breakfast.”

You tried to protest, telling him you could help, but he gently pushed you back onto the pillows with a firm, playful look. “What did I say about rules this weekend? No working, no chores. You stay right here and look pretty, I will handle the kitchen.”

You watched him walk out of the room, a happy, relaxed sigh escaping your lips as you pulled the warm duvet up to your chin. True to his word, Oscar returned twenty minutes later carrying a wooden tray loaded with fresh fruit, warm pastries, scrambled eggs, and two steaming mugs of coffee. He set the tray down between you on the bed, and you spent the next hour eating slowly, talking about nothing of importance, laughing at his terrible jokes, and simply enjoying each other’s company without any external distractions.

In the afternoon, Oscar prepared a warm, bubble-filled bath for you, complete with soft music playing in the background and a cold glass of water waiting on the edge of the tub. He left you alone to soak for an hour, allowing you to completely submerge yourself in the warmth, letting the last lingering traces of muscle soreness melt away.

When you finally got out, feeling completely relaxed and soft, you found him waiting in the living room with a pile of plush blankets and a selection of your favorite movies already queued up on the television. You spent the rest of the day cuddled up on the sofa, Oscar’s arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest as he gently stroked your arm.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt completely present in the moment. You were not worrying about tomorrow, you were not stressing about yesterday, you were simply existing in this quiet, beautiful space that Oscar had built for you.

By Sunday evening, as the sun began to set, casting warm golden light across the living room, you felt like a completely different person. The tight, heavy knot of anxiety that had been residing in your chest for weeks was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, profound sense of peace and emotional rejuvenation.

You were sitting on the sofa, Oscar behind you, his hands gently brushing through your clean, soft hair as you looked out the window at the quiet city below.

“Thank you for this, Oscar,” you said softly, turning your head slightly to look at him. “I do not think you realize how much I needed this. You completely saved me this weekend.”

Oscar stopped his brushing, leaning forward to press a gentle, warm kiss to your forehead, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders, which were now soft and completely relaxed under his touch.

“You do not have to thank me, darling,” he said, his voice filled with a deep, unwavering sincerity. “I love you. Seeing you happy and relaxed is the best thing in the world to me. Whenever the world gets too loud, just remember, we can always build our own quiet little corner right here. You are never doing this alone.”

You smiled, reaching up to cover his hands with yours, feeling incredibly loved, incredibly spoiled, and finally ready to face whatever the world had to throw at you, knowing that no matter how chaotic things became, you would always have this perfect, peaceful sanctuary to return to.

[belzyboops]

he doesn't really speak much, does he?

One without outline👀

[niki-phoria]

the life may leave my lungs / but my heart will stay with you

♫⋆｡♪₊˚ bring me the horizon - deathbeds

(gn reader / fluff / 1k words) attractive stuff he does :)

leaving his hand on your lower back to guide you

the paddock becomes a living creature on race weekends. the crowd swarms around you, little more than a series of flashing cameras and a blur of people calling your name from all sides. someone’s eyes are on you everywhere you look. you almost feel small before their prying gazes. your stomach churns at the thought of having to fight your way through the crowd, already stuck somewhere in your own head. 

beside you, oscar darts away from a reporter to close the distance between you. “stay close,” he murmurs. his hand slips to wrap around your waist like second nature. his hand settles against your hip, pulling you into his side until your shoulders brush with each step. oscar leans in so close that his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. 

you steal a quick glance at him before your eyes dart back to the mob of cameras surrounding you on all sides. it’s almost surreal to watch how they follow your every move, no doubt flickering every single second. “there’s so many people here,” you say quietly. 

“don’t worry.” the corners of his lips curl up into a small smile — one just reserved for you. oscar leans so close that his lips just barely brush against your temple. “i’ve got you.”

using his hand to block the counter when you bend down

you don’t notice it. neither does oscar — lando does. 

the mclaren hospitality unit has lost much of its liveliness, settling into a somewhat peaceful post-race haze. debriefs and press duties and meetings had stretched well into the night. the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, leaving only a few stars sparkling in the dark skies above. 

you’re only semi-conscious of lando’s voice from across the table. he’s talking about an overtake on the back straight, complete with big hand gestures and a larger-than-life animation to his movements. oscar nods along beside you, only occasionally adding his own commentary when lando pauses for breath. 

at some point you lean down, fingertips tugging at the laces of your shoes. your body contorts as you fold yourself in half in an attempt to readjust their feeling around your feet. lando’s story abruptly stops. the sentence instead collapses into a soft chuckle. 

you sit up, only slightly confused by the sudden change. lando grins fondly but you don’t miss the teasing glint in his eyes. “mate,” he says, pointing across the table at oscar. “you don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?” 

“doing what?” 

“you’re blocking the table’s edge with your hand,” lando explains. “you didn’t even break eye-contact when you moved.” 

oscar turns, glancing at his hand as if it doesn’t belong to him. his fingers are curled around the table, effectively blocking the corner’s sharp edges. his arm is outstretched towards your side.

you smile softly. oscar simply shrugs, though you don’t miss his bashful smile. “didn’t want you to hit your head,” he explains. “just in case.” 

you lean in, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. “thank you, osc.” you pretend not to notice the way the tips of his ears burn a deep shade of red or how he turns away from you, biting back a larger grin. 

“simp,” lando mutters. 

including you in conversations — even when they’re unrelated to you

sponsor events were always a drag. there were only so many pointless introductions you could exchange and glasses of overly expensive champagne you could drown your boredom in before you began to feel unsteady on your feet, just aching to go home. 

the ballroom is too cold and too humid for your liking. shivers raise along your bare skin as you offer yet another tight-lipped smile to a businessman you don’t recognize. you’ve been standing for too long, bouncing around between making idle small talk when oscar is pulled away and zoning out in the corner. 

the curtains are too long, dragging against the floor. the chandelier hasn’t been dusted in months. the waiters wander around you in circles, as if practicing a choreographed dance all of their own. you anxiously drum your fingers against your glass of champagne, willing the time to pass just a little bit faster. 

you almost startle when oscar returns to your side, sliding an arm around your waist like it’s second nature. an older man in a tailored suit follows him, effectively dragging your attention away from the furniture and misplaced decor. 

“this is my partner,” oscar introduces, gesturing to you briefly. you repeat the same pleasantries you have all night — shake his hand firmly, but not too tight, muster up the biggest smile you can, nod along as miscellaneous points, awkwardly chuckle when oscar does. 

you let their words flow in and out of your ears, little more than background noise. that is until oscar’s grip around your waist tightens ever so slightly, dragging you back into reality just quickly enough for you to register his words. “actually, my partner is interested in that as well,” oscar says with a soft smile. “right, babe?” 

making space for you in his life

“do you want anything from the store?” 

oscar glances up at you from his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks the question over. he shakes his head after a moment. he shuts his phone off with one click before setting it down on the table in front of him. “no, i don’t think so. what are you planning to get?”

“i ran out of shampoo,” you shrug. “and i need some other stuff, too.” 

oscar blinks at you. “check under the cabinet, on the right side. i got another bottle for you a while back.” 

his words make you stop in your tracks entirely. you pause, turning to face him with wide eyes. he looks younger in the mornings — more human. the wear of the day hasn’t yet taken its toll. his movements are slightly more sluggish than usual and his voice rasps at the ends. a t-shirt hangs off his broad shoulders. an old pair of sweatpants drag along the floor behind each step. 

it’s domestic. almost sickeningly so. you can feel butterflies swarm throughout your stomach. your heart beats wildly in your chest. heat flushes your face. you can’t help the way your lips curl into an almost unconscious smile, overwhelmed by the casual affection underlying his actions.

“really?” 

oscar simply shrugs. he leans in to steal a kiss like it’s the easiest thing in the world. his lips are soft when they meet your own. you find yourself chasing the feeling, even unconsciously. “didn’t want you to run out.” 

notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 if this is incoherent it's bc i only got four hours of sleep to watch spa live (congrats kimi!!) i'm obsessed with this picture he's so cute, inspo from this fic by @sof1rs :)

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlists here and here <3

[81-op]

Need more of whatever this is

[lislemons]

oscar “disobeying” team orders at spa….

[piassell]

heatwave - op81

​✦ ​pairing: oscar x fem!oc (bestfriends!)

​✦ warnings: 18+, MDNI, friends with benefits-ish, pure smut, explicit sexual content, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise

​✦ wc: ~10k+

a/n: requested!✨

​"Then talk to me," Oscar pleads softly, his thumbs continuing those maddening, slow circles against your hips, completely unaware of what he’s doing to you. "If it's not money, and you're not hurt... what do you need my help with?"

​"I'm..." You choke on the word, your face burning as the confession rips out of you in a breathless rush. "I'm horny, Oscar. I'm so turned on and I need help."

You lean against the kitchen counter, your bottom lip caught firmly between your teeth. From here, you have a perfect view of the living room, where Oscar is sprawled out on the couch, completely engrossed in whatever is playing on the TV.

​Normally, he’s just Oscar. Your fiercely protective, incredibly reliable best friend. But right now? Your calendar application isn't lying, you are dead-center in your ovulation window, and every single nerve ending in your body is screaming. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the casual way his t-shirt clings to his shoulders, and a sudden wave of heat washes over you. You swallow hard, your hand mindlessly sliding down from your stomach, resting just above the aching warmth pooling between your thighs.

​God, he looks so good. Or maybe you're just losing your mind. Either way, the urge to just walk over and slide onto his lap is becoming entirely overwhelming.

​Your breathing hitches, a soft gasp escaping your lips as a particularly sharp jolt of desire hits you.

​Right on cue, Oscar’s head turns.

​You instantly freeze, forcing your hand away from your hip and smoothing down your shirt in a terrible attempt to act completely normal. He blinks, holding your gaze for a second before his attention drifts back to the screen.

​You let out the breath you were holding. Your mind starts racing. What if I just ask him?

​You’re both single. He’s not seeing anyone, you’re not seeing anyone. Oscar has literally never said no to helping you out with anything in his life. But asking your best friend to help you clear out a sudden, hormonal wave of arousal? That’s crossing a line. Right? Still, as you watch him shift on the sofa, the desperation wins. Just this once, you promise yourself. He’d understand.

​Stepping out of the kitchen, your legs feel heavy, like you're walking through wet cement. You slowly make your way into the living room, stopping right at the edge of the sofa. Your body is practically vibrating with tension, your eyes darting anywhere,the coffee table, the TV, the rug, anywhere but his face. You bite your lip again, the question trapped in your throat.

​Oscar notices the shadow looming over him. He glances up, his expression softening into that easygoing look.

​"You good? Need something?" he asks, his voice low and casual.

​Your chest tightens. How do I even say this out loud? Yes, he’d help you move apartments, he'd pick you up at three in the morning if your car broke down, but this?

​When you don't answer, just standing there looking flushed and hesitant, Oscar sighs softly, a fond, amused sound. He pats his thighs twice. "Come here. Sit."

​It’s a completely normal routine for the two of you. You've straddled his lap to vent about a bad day, or just to cuddle while watching a movie, a hundred times before. He’s always been your safe space.

​You take a tentative step forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. You carefully sink down onto him, parting your knees to straddle his thighs, resting your hands on his broad shoulders.

​The exact moment your heat presses against his lap, the friction sends a jolt straight up your spine. You can't help it, a sharp, needy gasp slips past your lips.

​Oscar’s brows instantly furrow with concern. He completely ignores the TV now, his hand coming up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, his touch warm and grounded.

​"Hey," he murmurs, searching your face. "Are you okay?’

​"I-I'm fine," you stutter out, the lie tasting weak even to your own ears.

​Driven by pure instinct, you deliberately slide your hips upward, dragging yourself against him just once, desperate to feel his heat even closer.

The second his large, warm palms settle firmly onto your hips, a visible shiver runs through you. He always holds you like this when you sit on his lap, it’s his default setting, just a natural way to steady you, but right now, the heat of his hands through the fabric of your clothes feels like absolute gasoline on a fire. Your core throbbed, a needy ache blooming deep inside you. You feel completely insane.

​You are losing your mind, a tiny voice in your head whispers. Completely and utterly losing it.

​Oscar’s grip tightens just a fraction, pulling you a millimeter closer as he studies your flushed face. His dark eyes are intense, filled with that fierce, protective instinct he always gets whenever he thinks you're upset.

​"Baby, you look nervous," Oscar murmurs, his voice dropping into a lower, softer register. "What's wrong?"

​Hearing that pet name, a name he’s tossed around casually for years, instantly short-circuits your brain. Right now, you don't want casual. You want him to pull you against him, drag his lips down your neck, and absolutely ruin you while growling that name into your ear.

​You blink rapidly, your hands gripping his shoulders a little tighter just to keep yourself from unraveling completely. "N-nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm... I'm totally fine."

​Oscar’s eyebrows knit together. He clearly isn't buying it for a second. The tension radiating off your body is palpable, and he can feel the erratic thump of your pulse right through your chest.

​"Hey," he says gently, his thumbs tracing soothing circles against your hip bones. "There’s obviously something going on. You know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever it is, I'm here."

​You swallow hard, your throat incredibly dry. You look down at his chest, then back up to his eyes, your heart hammering so loudly you're convinced he can hear it. The honesty and pure devotion in his gaze give you a sudden, reckless burst of courage.

​"I..." You choke on the words for a second, shifting your weight just a tiny bit, which forces another silent gasp from your throat as you feel the hard weight of him beneath you. "I just... I need your help with something."

"Okay," Oscar says instantly, not a single shred of hesitation in his voice. He gives your hips another reassuring squeeze. "Tell me what it is, baby. Whatever you need."

​You bite your lip so hard you can taste the faint hint of copper. Your chest heaves as you stare at him, the words caught like a lump of ice in your throat.

​Jesus. What is he going to think if you actually say it? This is Oscar. Your rock. The guy who watches trashy reality TV with you, who knows exactly how you take your coffee, who has been your platonic safe haven for years. If you ask him for this, you can’t ever un-ask it. The boundary won't just be blurred, it’ll be completely torched.

​Oscar watches the internal war raging across your face. He can feel the way your fingers are practically digging into the fabric of his shirt. He misinterprets your frozen silence, his eyes widening slightly with sudden concern.

​"Are you in trouble?" he asks, his voice sharpening with protective urgency. "Do you need money? Did something happen with your landlord? Just tell me the amount, I can transfer it right now."

​You quickly shake your head, your throat too tight to speak.

​"No? Okay..." He shifts beneath you, and the movement slides his heat directly against your aching center, making your toes curl inside your socks. Oscar’s eyes narrow as he tracks the sudden flash of tension in your expression. "Are you sick? Are you feeling ill? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

​Again, you shake your head, a frantic little movement. "No, no, it's not... I'm not sick."

​"Then talk to me," Oscar pleads softly, his thumbs continuing those maddening, slow circles against your hips, completely unaware of what he’s doing to you. "If it's not money, and you're not hurt... what do you need my help with?"

"Please, baby," Oscar pleads softly, his voice dropping an octave, filled with genuine worry. He brings one hand up from your hip to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair to guide your gaze back to his. "You're killing me here. Just tell me what's wrong."

​The sheer devotion in his eyes, combined with the agonizing friction of sitting right on his lap while your body screams for him, finally pushes you over the edge. The filter snaps.

​"I'm..." You choke on the word, your face burning as the confession rips out of you in a breathless rush. "I'm horny, Oscar. I'm so turned on and I need help."

​The second the words leave your mouth, pure mortification hits you. Before you can even witness his reaction, you bury your burning face directly into the crook of his neck, hiding against his shoulder, your fingers gripping his t-shirt like a lifeline. Your breath hitches against his collarbone, hot and uneven.

​Beneath you, Oscar completely freezes. ​The comforting, rhythmic stroking of his hand on your neck stops instantly. His entire muscular frame goes rigid as stone. The silence in the living room suddenly feels deafening, filled with a shock so thick you can practically taste it.

​For a long moment, neither of you moves. You're pressed so tightly against him that you can feel the sudden, hard thump of his heart accelerating against your ribs.

​Slowly, his hands on your hips tighten, but not in the gentle, best-friend way they did before. His grip is firm, grounding.

​"Wait," Oscar's voice roughs up, a low, gravelly timbre that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He shifts slightly, his throat swallowing hard against your cheek. "...What did you just say?"

With your face still safely buried in the crook of his neck, the sudden shield of anonymity gives you a reckless surge of confidence. You can’t see the shock on his face, which means you can pretend the boundaries haven’t already shattered.

​Driven by the overwhelming, heavy ache between your thighs, you slowly shift your weight. You press down, deliberately grinding your hips in a slow, agonizing circle right against his lap.

​"I'm so, so horny, Oscar," you whimper into his skin, your voice dropping into a low, desperate confession. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt. "Please... you're the only one who can help me. I'm losing my mind."

​You brace yourself, fully expecting him to push you off, to laugh it off, or to gently tell you that you've crossed a line.

​But Oscar doesn't move to push you away. His hands stay locked on your hips.

​And then, right beneath your shifting weight, you feel it, a sudden, distinct twitch. A hard, thick heat blooming rapidly right against your most sensitive spot.

​The realization that he’s reacting to you, that you are doing that to him, sends a violent rush of adrenaline straight to your core. The hesitation completely evaporates. You grind down again, a little harder this time, letting out a soft, needy whine right against his collarbone.

​"Oscar, please," you beg, your voice trembling as your hips keep up the slow, agonizing friction. "Please help me."

Oscar doesn't say a word, his mind clearly still spinning, trying to process the sudden shift from platonic comfort to absolute, unfiltered desire. He's frozen under you, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

​Needing to see him, to feel him closer, you finally lift your head from his shoulder. You lean in until your forehead rests gently against his, your eyes fluttering shut as the sheer intensity of the contact overwhelms you. With the last bit of your restraint gone, you quicken the pace, grinding your hips faster, dragging your heat firmly against the growing hardness beneath his jeans.

​Oscar lets out a low, ragged growl from the back of his throat. His grip on your hips tightens instantly, his fingers digging into your skin with a sudden, possessive force that nearly makes you lose your breath. He isn't stopping you, he's holding you in place, anchoring you against him.

​"Oscar," you whisper, your voice trembling, breathless and desperate as you keep up the rhythm. "You don't have to do anything. Just... just let me do this. Please. Just let me grind against you like this."

Oscar’s eyes burn into you, his gaze dark and unblinking as he tracks every single shift of your expression. He watches your eyes flutter shut, hears the ragged, uneven gasps ripping from your throat, and feels the heat of your body radiating right through his clothes. Beneath you, his own length responds completely, growing explicitly hard and heavy under the relentless friction of your hips.

​The shock in his features melts into something raw and entirely unhinged.

​"Okay," Oscar finally whispers, his voice so low and gravelly it vibrates right through your chest. His grip on your hips locks you down against him. "Okay, baby. Move. Just like that. Don't stop."

​A wave of pure relief crashes over you, followed by a dizzying rush of confidence. "Thank you," you whimper against his lips, your voice thick with need.

​Now that you have his permission, all your hesitation burns away. You shift your weight, tilting your pelvis to angle your hips perfectly over his rock-hard length. The alignment is flawless, pressing your throbbing core directly against the rigid line of him with every slow, deliberate slide.

​"Fuck," you moan out, a breathless curse slipping past your lips as the agonizingly perfect pressure hits the exact spot you’re desperate for, your fingers digging deep into his shoulders.

You lift your head, straightening your posture as you ride the wave of friction, your chest heaving as you continue to rock your hips rhythmically against him. Arching your back slightly, you let out a shaky breath, your hands still desperately gripping his shoulders for leverage. He feels incredible,so incredibly big, thick, and unyielding beneath you, stretching the fabric of his jeans to the absolute limit. Every slow, heavy slide of your hips sends a direct shockwave of pleasure straight to your core.

​Your eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and dark with desire, as you look down at Oscar. He’s staring up at you, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered by the sight of you unravelling on top of him.

​Needing more, needing his actual skin on yours, you reach down and wrap your fingers around his wrist. "Oscar... please," you plead, your voice a breathless, needy whisper.

​Without waiting for him to recover from the sheer shock of it, you guide his large, warm hand upward, sliding it effortlessly underneath the hem of your shirt. You drag his palm up your ribcage until his long fingers cup the bare, sensitive skin of your breast.

​"Jesus Christ," Oscar mutters, a low, ragged oath ripping from his throat. His fingers instantly twitch, his palm flattening against your burning skin as he finally catches up to the rhythm of your hips.

You apply a firm pressure to the back of his hand, silently communicating exactly what you crave as you guide his long, capable fingers to tighten around your bare breast. "Yeah... just like that," you whimper, your voice fracturing as your hips maintain their relentless, grinding rhythm against his lap. "Squeeze it, Oscar... please. It’s okay. You can touch me. Anywhere you want."

​The permission seems to snap the last remaining thread of his self-control. Oscar let out a dark, ragged groan, his palm flattening fully against your soft, sensitive skin before his fingers dug in, squeezing and massaging your breast with a sudden, bruising possessiveness. The friction of his calloused thumb brushing rough over your hardened nipple, combined with the heavy, unyielding pressure of his erection prodding right against your aching center, completely short-circuited your brain.

​"Fuck, baby," Oscar growled, his head tilting back against the sofa cushions as his grip on you turned entirely feral. He wasn't just letting you move against him anymore, his free hand clamped onto your hip, guiding your tilting pelvis to crash down even harder against his length, meeting every single one of your desperate, needy slides with a sharp, upward twitch of his own.

The sudden burst of confidence makes your hands fly to the hem of your shirt. In one swift, fluid motion, you pull it over your head and toss it blindly onto the floor, leaving yourself completely bare and exposed to him from the waist up.

​Oscar’s eyes instantly widen, a sharp intake of breath hissing past his teeth. The raw, primal shock returns to his face, and for a split second, his gaze starts to flicker away toward the corner of the room, his deeply ingrained respect and best-friend instincts fighting a losing war against what's happening.

​"Look at me," you whisper, refusing to let him retreat.

​You reach down, wrapping your hands firmly around his jaw. Your fingers sink into his skin, forcing his head back up. The moment your eyes lock, his gaze drops, completely transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts rising and falling with your heavy breathing, your nipples tight and aching for his touch.

​"Don't look away, Oscar," you whimper, tilting your pelvis down to grind heavily against him again, extracting a low, gravelly grunt from his chest.

​Leaning down, you use your grip on his jaw to pull him closer, guiding his head directly toward the breast he was just massaging. You press the soft, full curve right against his lips, positioning your hardened peak right at his mouth.

​"Please, Oscar," you beg, your voice breaking as you arch your back. "Taste me."

Oscar looks up at you, the final trace of hesitation completely evaporating from his expression. His eyes are incredibly dark, heavy-lidded, and clouded with a raw, unadulterated lust you’ve never seen in him before. He stares at your aching peak for a fraction of a second before his mouth opens, and he finally pulls your breast inside.

​A deep, vibration-rich hum echoes from the back of his throat at the taste of your skin, his eyes shutting tight as he relishes the sensation.

​"Ah... Oscar," you moan out, your head thrashing back as the heat of his mouth envelops you.

​He wastes no time, swirling his warm, wet tongue flat over your hardened nipple, flicking and teasing the sensitive tip until your entire body goes taut. The intense rush of pleasure hits your brain like electricity. Driven by pure, frantic instinct, you tilt your pelvis forward, pressing your dripping heat as hard as you possibly can against the rigid length of his erection.

​Oscar groans into your skin, his large hand instantly clamping down onto your hip bone, his fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising grip, forcing you to move faster, sliding you rhythmically and heavily against him.

He lets out a low, rough growl against your skin before switching sides, bringing his wet, heated mouth over to your other breast to give it the exact same, devastating attention. He sucks you in deep, his tongue swirling and flicking against the sensitive peak with a hunger that makes your toes curl. Hearing the high-pitched, undone whimpers and broken moans ripping from your throat only seems to fuel his fire, motivating him to tease you even harder.

​"F-fuck, Oscar..." you gasp, your fingers knotting tightly into his hair, holding him close as your mind completely turns to mush.

​Suddenly, Oscar shifts his strategy. He wraps both of his thick, muscular arms securely around your bare waist, anchoring you completely to his torso. With a deep breath, he leans all the way back against the plush cushions of the couch, his powerful grip pulling you down flat against him.

​For a split second, the sudden change in position causes your hips to slide slightly away from his, breaking the perfect, friction-filled contact you’d been riding. A needy, frustrated whine escapes your lips at the sudden loss of pressure.

​But Oscar isn't letting you go unsatisfied. ​With your waist locked tightly in his arms, Oscar arches his back and powerfully lifts his own hips upward, driving his rock-hard length right back into the apex of your thighs. He doesn't wait for you to start moving again. Taking complete control, he begins rolling his hips in a heavy, ruthless upward grind, moving entirely on his own accord now. Every sharp, deliberate thrust of his pelvis sends a jolt of pure, blinding electricity straight to your core, explicitly focused on pleasuring his best friend until you can barely breathe.

Oscar keeps driving his hips upward, each heavy, rolling grind pushing his rigid length perfectly against your aching center. Your head thrashes back, a loud, uninhibited groan ripping from your chest as the friction pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

​Oscar doesn't take his eyes off you for a single second. He stares up at your undone, flushed face, watching your lips part and your chest heave. There’s a sudden, dark flash of pride in his eyes, his ego visibly feeding on the fact that he is the one making you make these sounds, that he can break your composure so completely.

​Inside your head, any remaining coherent thoughts completely disintegrate. The sheer shock of Oscar dominating you like this, taking absolute control of your body while you’re completely at his mercy, sends another violent wave of arousal straight to your core. Your eyes flutter open for a fraction of a second, tracking the sharp line of his jaw, his own mouth slightly open as his breathing roughs up, his hips ruthlessly working beneath yours. Jesus. How have you gone years just looking at him as your best friend? He is hot. Like, completely, mind-numbingly hot.

​Before you can even process the thought, Oscar shifts his rhythm.

​He stops the rolling circles and starts driving his hips in a sharp, demanding up-and-down motion, mimicking the exact, punishing rhythm of fucking you right through your clothes. The sudden, raw force of the impact shatters your balance.

​"Oh god, Oscar—!" you gasp out, your posture breaking.

​Needing to anchor yourself against the heavy, relentless friction, you drop your head forward, burying your face right back into his shoulder. Your hands fly off his chest, one slinging securely around the back of his neck while the other presses flat against the back of the couch, your fingers digging into the fabric just to keep yourself steady as he relentlessly rides you from below.

The heavy, unyielding friction of his jeans against your dripping center is almost too much to bear. The blunt, rhythmic force of him driving upward into you sends shockwaves of heat radiating all the way down to your toes, making your thighs tremble where they flank his hips. Every single thrust is precise, heavy, and completely unbothered by the barrier of your clothes, threatening to push you over the precipice you've been teetering on since you were standing alone in the kitchen.

​Oscar feels the sudden, tight clenching of your inner thighs, the way your entire body has gone completely rigid and reactive against his lap. He slows the brutal up-and-down pace just a fraction, shifting into a deeper, more agonizingly deliberate grind that presses his maximum width right against your sweetest spot.

​He leans his head back against the cushion, tilting his chin down so his dark, hooded eyes can lock onto yours. His breath hitches, hot and ragged, fanning across your flushed cheeks.

​"Baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a soft, gravelly register that vibrates right through your chest. He slides one hand up from your waist, his thick fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck, gently anchoring you so you can't look away from him. "Talk to me. You like how this feels? You like what I'm doing to you?"

You try to form a coherent sentence, to tell him that he is completely destroying you in the best way possible, but your throat is too dry, your mind too clouded by the thick haze of your ovulation.

​All you can do is stare down at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving as a desperate, needy whimper slips past your teeth. You nod your head frantically against his hand, your eyes pleading with him not to stop, your fingers digging so hard into the fabric of the couch that your knuckles turn stark white.

​A low, satisfied rumble echoes deep in Oscar's chest at your reaction. His grip on your neck tightens just enough to pull your face down closer to his, his thumb stroking your jawline as his hips start to pick up the pace again, harder and more demanding than before.

​"Good," he breathes out, his eyes darkening to a near-black as he watches your face unravel. "Because I'm not stopping until you get exactly what you came over here for."

The friction of your soaked underwear rubbing against his heavy denim becomes absolute torture. Driven by a primal, desperate hunger that completely consumes your mind, your hips lose all their hesitation, matching Oscar’s upward thrusts with a frantic, rhythmic rhythm of your own. Your moans grow louder, echoing in the quiet living room, completely uninhibited as your eyes flutter shut and your head falls back. Oscar groans beneath you, the slick, burning heat soaking through the fabric of your clothes making it blindingly obvious just how close you are to the edge. He can feel every twitch of your body, realizing you are absolutely starving for more.

​Suddenly, his large hand slides up from your neck, his fingers splaying across your jawline to firmly cup your face. With a sudden, decisive tug, he pulls you down, forcing you to look at him for a split second before he slams his mouth against yours.

​Your eyes fly wide open at the sudden, breathtaking impact of his lips.

​For the first few seconds, Oscar keeps it steady. He just presses his lips firmly against yours, holding his ground, waiting to see if you're going to lean into it or pull back from crossing this final, irreversible line.

​Inside your head, you are an absolute, chaotic mess. You’ve spent years looking at his mouth during casual conversations, sometimes thinking his lips looked a little pale, or a bit dry after a long race weekend. They’re a little dry right now, too, parched from the heavy, shallow breaths he’s been drawing while watching you ride his lap. But God, the texture, the heat, the sheer reality of Oscar kissing you is so intoxicating it makes your brain malfunction. The added intimacy sends a violent spike of intensity straight through your lower belly.

​Any remaining hesitation evaporates. Your eyelids flutter shut, heavy and weighted with desire, and your lips part with a soft, needy whimper.

​That tiny invitation is all Oscar needs. ​The moment your mouth opens, he lets out a low, rough growl against your lips. He tilts his head, slanting his mouth perfectly over yours, and begins to move his lips against yours with a deep, hungry pressure that completely steals the remaining air from your lungs.

Oscar’s hips suddenly grind to a halt beneath you, freezing in place just as you’re riding the highest wave of tension. A frustrated whimper catches in the back of your throat, but before you can even complain, his grip on your waist tightens into a iron clad hold. Without resuming his own movements, he uses the heavy pressure of his palms to guide your pelvis, silently commanding you to keep up the pace on your own while he completely loses himself in the kiss.

​Oscar’s mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him. You’re his best friend. You grew up together. Even though you’re the exact same age, he’s always been the mature one, the grounded one, fiercely protective of you to the point where he sometimes felt more like a protective older brother than anything else. But God, looking down at you today? Seeing you flushed, trembling, and practically melting on his lap? How was he supposed to resist that? How could he possibly say no when you looked so incredibly needy, so utterly desperate for him, literally begging for his help?

​The thought vanishes the second he swipes his warm, wet tongue across the seam of your lips, a silent, dominant demand for entry.

​You don't hesitate for a fraction of a second, sliding your tongue against his, granting him complete access. Oscar lets out a low, ragged groan into your mouth as he pushes inside, his tongue tangling with yours in a deep, possessive stroke that makes you moan straight into his lips.

​With Oscar focusing entirely on devouring your mouth, you take full control of the rhythm below. You lift yourself slightly, your thighs trembling as you drive your soaked center back down against his rigid length, sliding heavily over him in a fast, agonizingly perfect grind.

​Needing that sensory overload to match the friction, you break one hand away from his shoulder. You slide your palm down the thick muscle of his bicep, grabbing his wrist and guiding his large hand right back up to your bare breast.

His fingers instantly curl around the soft, full curve, squeezing and massaging the sensitive flesh. He pinches and rolls your hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and before you can even gasp at the pleasure, his other hand abandons your hip, flying up to cup your other breast. He treats them both to the exact, punishing attention you’re starving for, manipulating your nipples while your hips relentlessly ride his lap, blurring every single line left between you.

Oscar breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, his lips dragging roughly against yours as his chest heaves. His hands are still full of your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your highly sensitive nipples, but his breathing has turned completely erratic.

​"Take them off," Oscar growls into your mouth, his voice raw, deep, and completely unrecognizable.

​Your mind is a total blur of hormonal fog and blinding pleasure. You keep grinding your hips against him, your head tilting back as you try to catch your breath. "What...?" you whimper, completely confused, your eyes fluttering open to see him staring at you intensely "Take what off?"

​Oscar's hands slide down from your chest, wrapping firmly around your waist to halt your movements mid-grind. The sudden loss of friction makes you let out a needy, frustrated whine, but he ignores it, his dark eyes locking onto yours with absolute authority.

​"Your panties," he commands, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight down to your core. "Take them off. Completely. If you want my help so badly, I need you bare on me."

A soft gasp escapes your lips, the sheer weight of his command hitting you. But underneath the fleeting shock, a massive spike of raw excitement floods your chest. This was completely uncharted territory. You had spent the last twenty minutes pacing the kitchen, biting your lip raw, absolutely terrified that asking for his help would ruin everything. You expected him to be hesitant, maybe a little awkward, but Oscar never fails to surprise you. Seeing him completely take charge, his dark eyes demanding compliance, turns you on to a point of no return.

​Playing into the sudden shift in power, you lower your eyes and pretend to act shy. You slowly push yourself up from his lap, your knees trembling slightly as your feet hit the floorboards. Oscar’s unblinking, heavy-lidded gaze follows your every move as you slide your hands down your waist, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your underwear. You step out of them slowly, tossing them onto the floor right next to your discarded shirt.

​But before you can even think about your next move, Oscar shifts on the couch. His hands fly to his own belt and zipper. With practiced, efficient movements, he undoes his jeans and pushes his underwear down just enough to completely free his hard length.

​Your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat. You’ve never seen him like this. He is incredibly big, thick, and fiercely hard, the skin down there heavily veined and glistening slightly at the tip. You immediately catch your bottom lip between your teeth again, your core pulsing with a violent, throbbing ache at the mere sight of him.

​Seeing the look of pure, wide-eyed awe on your face, Oscar assumes you’re panicking, thinking he’s about to cross the ultimate line and take you right there on the couch.

​His expression softens just a fraction, the fierce protectiveness returning to his eyes. He reaches out, wrapping a warm hand around your wrist and pulling you back toward him softly, anchoring you between his thighs.

​"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he guides you to straddle his lap once more. "Relax, baby."

​You look up, your chest heaving as you rest your bare thighs over his.

​"I'm not going to put it inside you," he promises gently, his thumbs tracing the sides of your waist to calm your racing pulse. He tilts his pelvis slightly, letting the hot, rigid head of his length brush right against your ultra-sensitive, soaking wet folds. You let out a broken whine at the contact. Oscar’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. "I just want you to slide yourself all over it. No barriers. I just really need to feel you."

Fuck. He actually thinks you're scared. He thinks you're frozen because you're intimidated or worried about crossing the ultimate line, but in reality, your brain is just completely fried because you had absolutely no idea your best friend was packing that much.

​Not wanting to make it awkward or let him think for even a second that you want to back out, you quickly swallow down the lump in your throat. You look up into his dark, waiting eyes, your voice a breathless whisper. "I want that too. I want to feel you."

Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his broad shoulders for support. You look down, your heart hammering against your ribs as you carefully guide yourself over him. You part your wet, swollen folds, aligning your dripping heat perfectly with the smooth, burning-hot head of his length.

​Slowly, deliberately, you sink your weight back down.

​The moment your bare, ultra-sensitive skin slides flat against his naked hardness, a simultaneous, ragged groan rips from both of your chests. It's an absolute sensory overload, skin-on-skin, zero barriers, just pure, slick friction.

​"F-fuck," Oscar growls, his entire body jerking upward beneath you.

​Before you can even catch your breath, his hand flies to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling roughly in your hair as he pulls you down into another bruising, desperate kiss. He devours your mouth, his tongue sliding inside to claim yours, completely matching the sudden, frantic energy consuming the room. At the same time, his other hand finds your bare breast, his large palm instantly squeezing and massaging the heavy slope, his thumb ruthlessly flicking your hardened nipple.

​Inside your head, you are completely spinning out of control. Jesus Christ. The sheer, unadulterated pleasure of just sliding against his bare skin is enough to make your vision blur. He feels so incredibly good like this, so warm, so thick, and so perfectly hard against your most sensitive spot.

​As you start to rock your hips forward and backward, dragging your wetness along the entire length of him, a dangerous, dizzying thought suddenly flashes through your hormone-addled brain.

​If he feels this mind-numbingly incredible just riding against the outside... God, what would it feel like if he was literally inside you?

You throw all caution to the wind, your hips moving in a fast, frantic rhythm that leaves you completely breathless. Every downward slide presses your bare, slick folds as hard as possible against his rigid length. Your head thrashes back, your spine arching elegantly as a loud, undone moan echoes through the living room.

​Oscar responds to the shift instantly. His hands grip your waist to steady you against the sudden force, and he leans his head forward, burying his face in your chest to capture one of your bare breasts with his mouth. He sucks you in deep, his tongue swirling fiercely around your tight nipple, matching the desperate, bruising pace of your hips.

​It feels too good. Way too good. The friction is a white-hot blur of pleasure, and the sheer desperation of your ovulation makes you crave even more. You want to go faster, to push harder, completely drunk on the sensation of his bare skin against yours.

​"Oscar… fuck, you feel so good," you whimper out, your fingers digging into his hair, forcing his head tighter against your chest. "Please, Oscar... right there. Don't stop."

​Hearing your undone praise, a dark, ragged growl rumbles against your skin. Oscar breaks away from your breast, his head lifting as he stares up at your completely ruined expression. His face is flushed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles are jumping, and his eyes are completely black with lust.

​He shifts underneath you, his powerful thighs locking yours in place, and he starts talking you through it in a low, commanding whisper.

​"I won't," Oscar rasps, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as his hands drive your hips down into a heavier, deeper grind. "Go faster. Ride me just like that. Give me everything."

"Please, Oscar... please," you sob out, the words fracturing into desperate, high-pitched whimpers as you abandon all restraint. You throw your weight into the rhythm, your thighs shaking from the sheer exertion as you ride him faster and faster. The slick, frictionless heat between your bare bodies has reached a fever pitch. With every frantic, downward slide of your pelvis, the burning-hot, slippery tip of his length repeatedly misaligns from your folds and glances directly against your wide-open, aching entrance.

​Every single time it hitches against that tight, weeping threshold, a violent shockwave of pure electricity triggers a contraction deep inside your belly. You arch your back until your spine is completely rigid, your head thrown back as a loud, wrecked groan rips from your throat. You are utterly consumed by the sensation, starving for the friction, practically grinding yourself raw against him just to chase that elusive, white-hot peak.

​The sight of you completely unravelling, bare and begging on top of him, finally snaps whatever filters Oscar had left. The quiet, polite best friend is entirely gone, replaced by someone intensely possessive and dark.

​"Look at you," Oscar rasps, his voice dropping into a filthy, gravelly timber that makes your core pulse violently. He doesn't take his eyes off your flushed face, his gaze heavy and unblinking as his large hands clamp onto your hip bones, ruthlessly anchoring you down against his lap. "Look how fucking desperate you are for your best friend. Look at you begging me for it."

​A needy, embarrassed whimper escapes your lips, but you can't stop your hips from moving, your wetness smearing all over his rigid shaft.

​"You're such a good girl, coming over here just to get ruined on my couch," he growls, a dark, arrogant smirk twitching at the corner of his lips as he listens to you cry out his name. He shifts his hips just a fraction, driving his pelvis up to meet your downward descent with a blunt, punishing force that knocks the wind right out of you. "Open your eyes and look at me. Tell me how much you need it. Tell me what a needy little mess you're being right now."

​"Oscar, please—I'm losing it, I'm losing it," you scream softly, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your eyes fluttering open just enough to see the sheer, dominant satisfaction bleeding through his features.

​"I know you are, baby," he murmurs, his tone an intoxicating mix of praise and filth as his fingers dig into your skin, driving your trembling hips into an even faster, more merciless rhythm. "You're taking it so well. Just a pathetic, dripping little mess for me, aren't you? Keep going. Ride it out until you come for me."

Oscar’s grip on your hips turns completely punishing, his large hands sinking into your flesh with a bruising intensity that leaves zero room for escape. He clamps down, using his raw strength to pull you down against him even harder, forcing your pelvis to smash into his with a blunt, rhythmic force that shatters whatever remains of your composure. You are completely at his mercy, caught in a white-hot vortex of friction and dirty talk, your body moving on pure, frantic instinct.

​You grind and grind on him, your thighs shaking violently, the slick wetness of your ovulation making the contact dangerously slippery. The rhythm becomes too fast, too chaotic, and on one desperate, heavy downward descent, your alignment shifts completely. The blunt, burning-hot tip of his length doesn't just slide against your folds anymore, it finds the exact, weeping center of your entrance and, with the sheer momentum of your weight, punches straight through the tight threshold.

​His hard length completely enters you in one swift, unyielding stretch.

​"Ah! Oh my god—fuck!" you scream out, a loud, wrecked groan ripping from the absolute depth of your chest, echoing sharply against the quiet walls of the living room.

“Fuck… me, man.” ​Oscar lets out a violent, guttural curse of his own, his entire upper body jerking off the couch cushions as his spine goes completely rigid.

​Your frantic movements instantly grind to a dead halt. You freeze, your breath completely catching in your throat as your hands claw desperately at his broad shoulders for balance. You gasp for air, your chest heaving in rapid, shallow pants, your mind completely short-circuiting from the sheer magnitude of the sensation. The sudden, total fullness is staggering. You can feel every single vein, the thick, pulsing heat of him stretching you open to your absolute limit, filling you so completely that it feels like your entire lower belly is on fire.

​Panic and pleasure war in your head, the realization of what you’ve just done crashing down on you. Tears of pure sensory overload prick at the corners of your eyes. You look down at him, your voice trembling and broken. "Oscar... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

​But Oscar isn't listening. He is already far too consumed, driven entirely by a primal, dominant urge that has been building since you first sat on his lap. His face is completely flushed, his jaw locked so tight the cords in his neck are straining, and his eyes are completely black with unadulterated lust.

​Instead of letting you back off or slide away, his hands lock like vices onto your waist. He lets out a low, growling pant, tilting his pelvis upward with a powerful, deliberate heave of his thighs, ruthlessly pushing his remaining length even deeper inside you until he is buried to the absolute root.

A high-pitched, completely undone moan tears from your throat, the sound vibrating with the sheer intensity of the stretch. The feeling of him buried completely inside you, his thick, pulsing heat filling every single inch of your aching center, sends a violent tremor through your thighs. You are entirely pinned by his weight and his size, unable to move, unable to think, your fingers clawing desperately into the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself grounded.

​Oscar lets out a long, ragged exhale against your neck, his hands remaining locked on your waist to steady your trembling frame. "It's fine... baby, it's fine," he rasps, his voice deep, strained, and entirely unraveled. He hitches his hips up just a fraction of a millimeter, trying to acclimate to the staggering warmth of your inner walls, before letting out a sharp, breathless curse. "Fuck, you're so tight. You're squeezing the life out of me."

​Hearing him say it out loud, hearing the raw, gritty evidence of how much you affect him, sends a sudden, involuntary spike of arousal to your core. Your internal muscles react instantly, clenching around his thick shaft in a series of tight, desperate pulses.

​Oscar’s entire upper body goes rigid beneath you. He lets out another harsh, guttural curse, his eyes shutting tight as his brow furrows in a mask of pure, concentrated endurance. The sheer force of your wet contraction almost pushes him completely over the edge right then and there. His knuckles turn white where they hold your hips, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles jump violently beneath his skin. He stays perfectly still for a long, agonizing moment, just breathing through the overwhelming pressure, waiting for the initial wave of friction to settle.

​Slowly, his eyes flutter open, dark, heavily hooded, and swimming with a deep, protective tenderness that cuts right through the thick haze of lust. He looks up at your flushed, tear-stained face, taking in your ragged breathing and the way your chest heaves against the open air.

​He slides one hand up from your waist, his large, warm palm cupping your jawline with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the raw power of his lower body. He strokes his thumb over your trembling lower lip, his voice dropping into a soft, hesitant whisper.

​"Hey," he murmurs, his dark eyes searching yours, checking in on his best friend despite the absolute torture of staying still inside you. "Talk to me, baby. Are you okay? Do you still want to continue?"

You nod your head frantically, the motion desperate as you lean down closer to his face, your tears of sheer pleasure wetting his cheek.

​"Yes... yes, Oscar, please don't stop," you whimper, your voice cracking with the unbearable tension coiling in your lower belly. The tight, pulsing contractions of your core are making it impossible to think straight. "I need your help even more now. I'm so close, Oscar. Seriously, you stopping right now is actual torture. Please."

​Hearing your breathless, frantic reassurance, the tense lines on Oscar’s face suddenly break. A low, breathless, and incredibly relieved laugh bubbles up from his chest, his shoulders relaxing just enough to let out a long, shuddering exhale. He is clearly thrilled that he hasn't broken you, and even more thrilled that you're demanding he keep going.

​"You're going to be the absolute death of me, you know that?" he rasps, his fingers digging back into your hips, his thumbs stroking the crest of your bones.

​But you are completely past the point of casual banter. The raw fullness of him stretched inside you is driving you insane, and the finish line is right there, dangling just out of reach. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder as you ask for his help one last time, completely abandoning any remaining shred of modesty.

​"Oscar, please," you beg against his skin, your voice dropping into a dirty, desperate whine that completely shatters his composure. "Help me. Just fuck my brains out and make me come. I need it so bad."

​The raw, uninhibited demand acts like a match to gasoline. His eyes go instantly dark, a feral, dominant heat taking over his expression as his grip on your waist tightens until it’s almost bruising.

​"Fucking gladly," he growls into your ear.

​Without giving you another second to prepare, Oscar arches his back and drives his hips upward with a sudden, devastating force, beginning a relentless, punishing rhythm from below that threatens to completely break you apart.

His fingers dig so deeply into your hip bones that your skin instantly flushes red under the pressure, anchoring you securely against his lap so you can't escape the sudden, terrifying depth of his thrusts.

​With a low, guttural grunt that ripples right through his broad chest, Oscar arches his back and drives upward. He doesn't just push, he slams his pelvis against yours with a blunt, merciless force that sends him buried to the absolute root.

​"Ah! Oscar—!"

​The word is completely knocked out of you, dissolving into a high-pitched, wrecked scream that bounces off the walls of his quiet living room. The impact is staggering. Your eyes fly wide open, your vision blurring. He is so thick, so impossibly hard, and the friction of his bare skin stretching you open from the inside out is almost too much to process.

​Before you can even catch your breath or blink away the tears gathering in your eyes, Oscar pulls you down by the waist and drives upward again. And again.

​He locks into a relentless, punishing rhythm, using his sheer lower-body strength to dictate the pace from below. Because you are straddling him, every single upward heave of his thighs forces him deeper into your tight, weeping channel, hitting your g-spot with an accuracy that makes your entire body go rigid. The slick, burning heat of your ovulation acts as the perfect lubricant, allowing him to slide in and out of you with a heavy, wet rhythm that echoes obscenely between your bodies.

​"You wanted it," Oscar rasps against your ear, his voice a dark, gritty growl that sends shivers straight down your spine. His breathing is completely shot, coming in ragged, shallow pants as he pumps ruthlessly into you. "You asked for this, baby. Look at you taking all of me."

You are a chaotic, desperate mess. You claw at his shoulders, your fingernails digging through the fabric of his shirt into his muscles just to stay upright as he relentlessly rides you. Your head thrashes back against the cushion, your spine arching elegantly as you give into the raw power of his movements. Every time he hits the deepest point of your entrance, your inner walls clench frantically around him in tight, involuntary spasms, desperately trying to hold onto the immense fullness.

​"F-fuck, Oscar... I can't... it's too much," you sob out, your voice cracking as the white-hot tension in your lower belly winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

​Hearing you unravel, hearing the sheer desperation in your voice, only seems to fuel Oscar’s dominance. He lets out a rough, ragged curse into the crook of your neck, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles jump. He shifts his grip from your hips, sliding his large hands up your torso to cup your bare breasts, squeezing them roughly as his pelvis continues to hammer into yours without a single second of hesitation.

​"Don't you dare close your eyes," he commands, his voice dropping into a filthy, breathless whisper that leaves you entirely undone. He tilts his head up, his dark, hooded eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that burns. "Look at me while I do this to you, baby. Tell me you're coming for me."

​You look down at him through a heavy haze of tears and lust, your lips parted as you gasp for air. Seeing his flushed face, his sweat-sheened forehead, and the absolute, possessive hunger in his eyes makes your core pulse violently. The finish line is right there, hovering on the horizon, and you are completely powerless against it.

​"I am... Oscar, I am—!" you scream softly, your voice breaking as your entire body begins to tremble at the absolute precipice of release.

The moment the admission leaves your lips, Oscar’s internal restraint completely snaps. Knowing he has you right on the absolute edge, feeling the tight, violent contractions of your walls starting to rhythmically squeeze his length, pushes him past his own point of no return.

​His pace turns frantic, losing all its rhythm and turning into something pure, desperate, and dominant. His hips hammer up into yours with a bruising, unyielding speed, burying himself as deep as humanly possible with every single strike. The heavy, wet sound of your bodies slamming together fills the quiet living room, a relentless rhythm matching the chaos in your chest.

​"That's it, baby... come for me," Oscar groans out, his voice a completely broken, gravelly rasp against your skin. His fingers dig so hard into your waist that he’s practically lifting you off the cushions just to drive himself higher inside you. "Let it go. Give it all to me."

​The sheer force of his final, punishing thrusts is the exact catalyst you need. Your vision goes entirely white. A loud, fractured scream rips from your throat as your orgasm tears through you, a violent, blinding explosion of pure pleasure that causes your inner walls to lock down on him in a vice-like grip, clamping around his thick shaft in wave after wave of intense, crushing spasms.

​Feeling you completely unravel, the tight, milking pressure of your climax instantly triggers his own.

​Oscar lets out a deep, guttural roar, a raw, primal sound that shakes right through his broad chest. His eyes shut tight, his features twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated ecstasy as his body goes entirely rigid beneath you. His hands clamp onto your hips with an iron grip, locking you flat against his pelvis as he throws his hips upward one last time, driving himself to the absolute hilt.

​He shudders violently beneath you, his thighs trembling as he releases his entire climax deep inside you, the intense, pulsing heat of his release flooding your core and sending a secondary, lingering wave of electricity straight to your clenching muscles.

​For several long, breathless moments, the world completely stops.

​Oscar remains arched upward, his chest heaving in heavy, ragged gasps as he rides out the aftershocks of the most intense release of his life. Your head slumps forward onto his shoulder, your forehead resting against his damp skin as you both pant heavily into the quiet room, completely spent, thoroughly ruined, and entirely bound by the line you had just permanently crossed.

​Slowly, the frantic, iron-clad grip Oscar had on your waist begins to loosen. His large, calloused hand relaxes, sliding up from your hip bone to trace a slow, soothing path up the bare skin of your back.

​His palm is warm, a comforting contrast to the raw, dominant energy he was channeling just moments ago. He begins to rub your back in wide, heavy circles, his thumb gently smoothing over the tense muscles of your spine, silently helping your racing heart slow down as he tries to catch his own breath. Every deep, shuddering exhale he takes rumbles directly against your chest, his chest heaving under you in steady, grounding waves.

​"You're okay.," Oscar murmurs, his voice incredibly deep, rough, and entirely spent. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his lips warm against your hair. "Just breathe, baby."

​You let out a soft, shaky breath against his neck, your fingers still weakly clutching the fabric of his shirt. The sudden, tender shift back to the Oscar you know, the protective, gentle best friend, makes your chest tighten with an entirely different kind of intensity. You shift your weight slightly, a tiny, involuntary twitch of your core reminding you both that he is still buried deep inside you.

​Oscar lets out a low, breathless groan at the sensation, his hand pausing on your upper back as his grip tightens just a fraction, a warning and a promise all at once.

Your thighs are trembling so violently that they feel entirely like jelly, the muscles completely spent from the sheer exertion of holding yourself up.

​"Oscar..." you whisper against his neck, your voice tiny and completely raw. "My legs... they feel so numb. I don't think I can move."

​A low, understanding rumble vibrates through his chest. "I got you," he murmurs.

​He maneuvers you with such gentleness, shifting his own body until he is hovering directly over you, slowly lowering your back onto the soft cushions of the couch. Your legs naturally drape over the outside of his thighs, and the change in angle forces him even deeper into your core, making your eyes flutter shut as another needy whimper escapes your lips. He rests his weight on his forearms, framing your head, his dark eyes looking down at you with a mixture of intense satisfaction and protective warmth.

​Keeping his lower body perfectly still to avoid overstimulating you, Oscar stretches one long arm out toward the edge of the coffee table, his fingers hooking around the box of tissues.

​You blink up at him through the haze of your afterglow, your chest still heaving as you watch him pull a handful of them free. "What are you doing?" you ask, your voice breathless and confused.

​Oscar lets out a low, gritty chuckle, his eyes darkening slightly as he looks down at the exact point where your bodies are still seamlessly joined.

​"We're both going to make an absolute mess on my couch if I pull out right now without a plan, baby," he rasps, a faint, boyish smirk touching his lips despite how thoroughly he just ruined you. He folds the tissues in one hand, bringing his other arm back to support himself as he looks down at you. "You're completely dripping, and I came inside you. I'm trying to save my cushions."

A fierce, hot blush instantly rushes up your neck, flooding your cheeks with a brilliant crimson that you can’t possibly hide. The sheer, unvarnished honesty of his words catches you completely off guard, cutting right through the lingering, blissful fog of your orgasm. You’ve known Oscar for a lifetime, you’ve shared secrets, milestones, and countless mundane moments, but hearing him speak so casually and explicitly about your body’s raw response to him makes you feel embarrassed.

​"Oscar, shut up," you whimper, your voice cracking as you reflexively try to turn your face away, burying your burning cheek into the soft fabric of the couch cushion. You lift a trembling hand, weakly pressing your palm against his broad shoulder as if you could actually push his heavy, muscular frame away from you. "Don't say it like that."

​Oscar lets out a low, deeply amused rumble that vibrates directly against your bare breasts, the sound rich and incredibly warm. He doesn't let you hide. He deliberately shifts his weight, pressing his lower body just a fraction of a millimeter deeper into your slick warmth, a subtle movement that extracts a tiny, helpless gasp from your throat and reminds you exactly how thoroughly he fills you.

​"Why shouldn't I say it?" he rasps softly, his tone dropping into a teasing but intensely possessive whisper. He brings his free hand up, his long, warm fingers gently cupping your jawline to turn your face back toward him, forcing you to meet his heavy-lidded, dark gaze. There isn't a single shred of judgment in his eyes, only an immense, arrogant satisfaction that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. "It’s the truth, baby. Look at me. You were a beautiful, soaking-wet mess for me the second you sat on my lap, and you know it."

​You swallow hard, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief second under the sheer intensity of his stare. The contrast between his gentle touch on your face and the thick, rigid reality of him still buried inside your weeping core is almost too much to handle. Your internal muscles give a tiny, involuntary twitch, clenching around his thick shaft in a lingering aftershock, and Oscar’s breath catches sharply in his throat, his jaw tightening as he suppresses a groan.

​"See?" he murmurs, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle over your flushed cheekbone as his breathing hitches. "You're still doing it. Still squeezing me. There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about when you take me this well."

"You are so annoying," you mutter, rolling your eyes playfully even as your face burns a brighter shade of red.

​Oscar just lets out a low, breathless laugh, the rich sound vibrating warm against your skin. "Yeah, yeah. Tell me that again when you're not shaking underneath me."

​With his folded tissues held ready, he braces himself and begins to pull out. He moves slowly, deliberately, giving your body a chance to adjust to the sudden loss of fullness. A soft, high-pitched whimper slips past your lips at the sensation of him leaving you, your inner walls giving one last, futile twitch as his thick length slides completely free. The second he clears your entrance, a warm, slick rush of your combined fluids begins to drip out of you. Oscar is right there, expertly catching the mess with the tissues before a single drop can hit his couch cushions.

​You lay back against the pillows, your chest still heaving as you watch him through heavy lids. Oscar tosses the soiled tissues into a small trash bin by the desk, then immediately reaches back out to the coffee table, pulling a fresh handful from the box.

​Instead of cleaning himself first, he shifts back between your thighs. With complete gentleness, he uses his large, warm hands to carefully part your trembling legs a bit wider. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans over you, using the clean tissues to carefully and meticulously wipe away the slick, wet warmth tracing the insides of your thighs and your swollen folds.

​Watching him take care of you with such focused, unbothered devotion makes a lump form in your throat. "Thanks, Oscar," you whisper shyly, your fingers nervously clutching the edge of a throw pillow. "You know... for helping me."

​Oscar pauses. He shifts his weight onto one forearm, hovering over you as his dark, hooded eyes slowly lift to lock onto yours. He stares at you for a long, unblinking moment, as if he’s memorizing every single flush on your skin, every ragged breath you take.

​"Always, baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight down to your core.

​Another massive wave of heat floods your cheeks, and you have to avert your eyes because the sheer weight of his gaze is overwhelming. The way he is looking at you right now, with a fierce, consuming possessiveness and a terrifyingly deep tenderness, doesn't feel like the Oscar you've known your entire life. It doesn't feel like your childhood best friend, and it certainly doesn't feel like a protective big brother.

​It feels entirely like a man who has just permanently claimed the woman he loves, and there is absolutely no going back.

—

[fallinlovelove]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!

I love your stories!

I have a request.

The reader is friends with Hattie — not childhood best friends or anything like that, but maybe someone she met during school or university. The reader studies psychology and has been dating a guy she met at university for a few years. However, things don’t end well when he cheats on her and claims she was too busy with university and that he “needed more attention.”

Oscar spends his summer break in Australia. Recently single, for some reason. He’s at home with his family when suddenly someone (the reader) walks into the house crying, saying she really needs to talk to Hattie. The problem is — his sister isn’t home. And that’s where it starts.

A romance begins when Oscar finds himself comforting a girl who’s just been cheated on, while he’s also dealing with his own heartbreak.

I know, I know.

BUT THIS HAS BEEN LIVING IN MY HEAD FOR SO LONG!

Thank you so much!!P.S.: AGAIN — I LOVE YOUR STORIES 🤍

More than a Summer Love

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader Summary: After her boyfriend cheats and blames her busy university life, the reader ends up at Hattie’s family home in Australia looking for comfort — only to find Oscar there instead. Recently single, Oscar wasn’t expecting company, especially not someone who challenges him from the start. What begins as an awkward meeting quickly turns into playful teasing, easy conversations, and a connection that feels natural and surprisingly strong. Over a slow summer, comfort turns into chemistry, and friendship quietly shifts into something neither of them planned — but neither wants to ignore. Warnings: make-out session, cuss words, cheater ex-boyfriend, angst if you squint, fluff. Word count: 15k a/n: Thank you so much for this request. I love writing it. I hope I meet your expectations!!! Your feedback is important to me. Let me know what you think in the comments. My first language isn't English, so if you see any mistakes, i'm sorry and tell me so i can correct them. Also, if I should add another warning, please let me know. I really appreciate any feedback you can give.

Masterlist

You catch your ex-boyfriend red-handed. 

The luck you have. 

You had a key to his department and tried to surprise him, but you were the one surprised. He was on the couch with some other girl, and you froze in place, your hand gripping the handle so hard that your knuckles were white. 

You shut the door in their faces as your boyfriend was shouting your name and the girl was trying to find her clothes. It was a disaster; every aspect of your life was a disaster, your family was far away from Australia, you didn't have your boyfriend anymore, and the only “close ”friend you still had came to mind. 

Without thinking twice, you drove towards Hattie's house. You needed to see her. You were gripping the wheel so hard that you could feel your palms grow sweaty, tear-blurring your vision as you tried to contain them. You didn't want to crash, but they were unstoppable; they were flooding like a river in a storm. Your emotions were too much for you. 

After a long drive, you were outside Hattie's house. You could see someone at the window. The shadow was in the kitchen. You exhaled a shaky breath as you turned off the engine. You almost ran directly to the entry, nearly tripping as a sob broke through your throat. 

What you saw was finally catching in your brain: Cayden kissing her, fucking her on his couch as you just froze in place and didn't say a thing. Your boyfriend of three years was with another girl, and you couldn't understand why. Why you? Why did he do that?

You could feel your heart breaking in your chest as you knock three times at the door, almost hyperventilating at the situation. You couldn't breathe between the sobs breaking your throat; they were barely audible, but they still felt like a punch in the gut. 

“Who is…?” A male voice asked, and you just looked up to see a pretty guy standing there, eyebrows furrowed. His brown eyes were watching you suspiciously as you wiped tears from your cheeks, trying so hard to control them to keep some type of dignity in front of the stranger.

“Is… Hattie home?” You asked, with a dry throat and in a whisper, as the man in front of you looked uncomfortable; you couldn’t blame him. If a random girl were crying her eyes out, you'd be the same. “I… need to talk to her… urgently.”

“No, she’s not here,” he said in a cautious voice, and you just felt more hopeless about the situation, if that's even possible. Suddenly, you could see the resemblance between him and Hattie. He must be her brother, always travelling for his job. You felt more embarrassed by your condition. 

“Oh, I… thanks…” You mumbled, taking a step back, without trying to control your tears anymore. You turned your back, trying to stop trembling so you could make it to your car, when he reached for your shoulder. The tears broke free again in your eyes. 

“You're a friend of hers?” He asked quietly, and you just nodded, without finding the strength to turn towards him. You were a mess. You were pretty sure that your mascara was smeared all over your face, and you still couldn't see clearly. “Are you okay?”

“No…” Your voice broke before you could stop them as he pulled you into the house, seeing if someone else was outside. When he saw no one, he closed the door as you were crying, standing there, so defeated. 

“Hey… she’s gonna be back soon,...” he explained with a calm demeanor. You could see that he was barefoot, wearing shorts, and a white T-shirt. He looked confused at you as you started mumbling about what happened. 

“I'm such a fucking idiot,” You mumble more to yourself as you cross your arms above your chest. Tears were dripping onto the floor as he touched your arm again, his big hand a steady comfort as you looked at him. He looked awkward in your state, but you could feel the uneasiness radiating through him. 

“Don't say that, I'm sure that whatever happens… um…It's gonna be fine.” The man didn't know what else to say to make you feel better, to stop your crying and sobbing uncontrollably. 

“I'm… how I didn't see that coming, really. He lost interest in me, and then I walked through the door and saw him with another girl.” You stutter your words out like they were venom, the kind of venom that, if you didn’t take it out of your system, you'd die right there because of it. 

Your tears ricocheted off the floor aggressively; your emotions were so overwhelming that you felt the sadness in your eyes, in the form of tears. Your anger is on your head, making you see everything red and blurred, and finally, the disappointment that wasn’t letting you breathe calmly, or at least take a fresh breath in your lungs. 

“No way…what an asshole,” he said as he pulled you into an awkward hug. You wanted to chuckle at how weird he was with social interactions, but he was trying to comfort you until his sister came back. That was enough for you. He was kind enough not let you go and be alone in this state.  

“He was having sex with her and I… god… I stood there like an idiot.” You whispered with your head on his chest and soaking his shirt, and he let you. 

You were in much pain; you didn't even care about it. You grabbed his shirt in your fists, trying to stop the rushing emotions overwhelming you. You wanted to cry your eyes out and punch something at the same damn time. 

“Let it out…just let it out.” He started to rub your back with his large hand as you completely lost any control left in you. 

You weep, your tears ending in Hattie's brother's shirt as he held you like you were a fragile doll, about to fall apart, and he didn’t want that to happen. You were sure your cries were awful, and you sniffed your nose to try to stop the tears painting your cheeks. 

You felt your heart breaking piece by piece; it was horrible, the worst thing you'll ever experience in your life: Heartbreak, but the ugly one, the one that you know could have ended differently. 

He cheated on you like you were no one, like he didn't care about you. You'll prefer for him to break this tell you he wasn't comfortable with the relationship anymore, but he decided that you'll never know he was another girl, god. Cayden was wrong, you caught him, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself and the oppression you were feeling in your chest. 

“I'm a fool.” You said, biting a whine of heartbreak on your throat. His hands were comforting you on your back, letting you say whatever you wanted to. He was listening attentively as he squeezed you once, reassuring and… comforting in an awkward way. 

“The fool is him…” He whispered as your hand was trembling on his chest. He started walking towards the couch with you in his arms, without letting you go, and you felt your heart break again at the small but meaningful gesture. 

“He… we were fine…  I thought that we were fine… three years..” You said with uneven breath as he sat clumsily, as you were pulled at his side. His hands soothing your back, you hide your wrecked face on his chest. He sighed lightly, his eyes watching attentively as you trembled and your voice broke with each word you said. “I wasted three years because of him.”

You felt yourself stop to breathe, and before you could panic, he noticed immediately, before you even knew. He took your hands in his.

“Name five things you can see.” He said, against your ear as the world was closing before your eyes, You tried to think, but you couldn't, not until he repeated, with a commanding voice, “Name five things you can see.”

“Um.. you… myself… the couch…. I-I…the table,... the television.” Your eyes wandered through the living room, trying so hard to do what he was asking, but it was too difficult. His hands were a comfort over yours. 

“Four things you can touch.” He asked, with the same commanding tone but softer, like he already knew you were listening to him. You release a shaky breath as you try to take a deep breath.

“Your hands, my… myself… the couch…you.” You were saying the first things that came to your mind as you felt him nod, and you caught a glimpse of a tiny smile on his lips. 

“Three things you can hear.” He keeps going, and suddenly you realize what he was doing, he was grounding you, because you were about to have a panic attack, you’ve never had one, not until now. 

Now that you knew what you were feeling, it became easier to breathe and to try to keep calm. Luckily, you knew what he was doing. You're studying Psychology, but sometimes it's harder to put into practice the things you see when you're feeling like this. 

“Your voice, my heavy breath, and… the dishwasher.” He squeezes your hand once over yours as you inhale sharply at the feeling, suddenly aware of the physical contact. Grounding you even more.

“Two things you can smell.” His soft voice was a balm to your brain, trying to appease your emotions; at least put them at bay so you could retake control. You needed to retake control over yourself. 

“Mint and my misery.” You joked without thinking about what you were doing, and you felt a chuckle break through him, his chest moving as he tried to suppress it. 

“One thing you can taste or enjoy,” he said, as you looked into his brown eyes and felt calmer than before. He knew what to do in his situation; you could tell. 

“My agony,” you finally said in a whisper as he shook his head, finding hilarious the way you were a completely different person when you were calm, breathing openly, with satiny cheeks and mascara on your face. “How do you know what to do?”

“I have three sisters who tend to panic a lot. So… you're welcome,” he said, analyzing your face as you felt how the emotional overload was dragging you towards tiredness, how his brown eyes were reflecting curiosity. 

“I'm so embarrassed…” You started to say, as you sat straight on the couch, you couldn't make eye contact with him, feeling self-conscious about how you looked and the first impression he just had of you. 

“Hey, you had a valid crash out.” He reassured you as he just relaxed into the couch, as you just sat there, weirded out about the situation, and let a dry chuckle come out.

“It's so normal to be sobbing on a stranger's chest because my boyfriend cheated on me and I just figured it out?” You said it with deadpan sarcasm, making him laugh, and you felt the tension in your heart ease a little. 

His head tilted back at the couch, and he smirked. In that moment, you saw he had bunny teeth, which was freaking adorable, but your mind wandered to the similarities with Hattie's face. They had the same nose and features; they looked alike but, at the same time, opposite, just by the demeanor of her brother, calm and polite, while Hattie was more… energetic.   

“I'm Oscar, Hattie's brother.” He presented so sure of himself, and without any rush in the world, as you were about to say your name, when the door opened abruptly. Both of your eyes immediately focused on who was arriving. 

“I'm back…” Hattie's voice echoed inside the house as you looked directly at Oscar's shirt, which was ruined by your sobbing. “What the hell happened?”

Hattie left all the groceries at the entry, her eyes downcast. She was taking time to meet your gaze. You finally smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes as she sat with her back to his brother, between you two. 

“Did you do something to her?” She asked with suspicion as Oscar stood up from the couch to run away from this. He looked uncomfortable again, and you didn’t blame him a bit for it. 

“No, you two need to talk and well… see you around.” He gave you a closed-mouth smile as he disappeared, the air suddenly feeling heavy in the Piastri’s house as you just tried to take control of your emotions. 

His brown eyes imprint themselves on your mind. 

“Cayden cheated on me.” You mustered as you saw the ceiling, trying to stop crying over an idiot like him. Hattie gasped at the confession as she hugged you tightly, letting you tell her everything about it. 

You had the worst luck in the world, that's for sure. The luck you had should be studied by some astral expert or someone like that because you couldn't believe it. 

Her warm arms were a steady presence, as if your thoughts weren't seeing him with that random girl at his apartment. You chewed your cheeks as you exhaled, feeling lighter but at the same time feeling a heaviness in your chest you've never felt before. 

“I caught him red-handed. I opened the door to his apartment, and he was with a random girl on his couch, and I froze. I ran away.” You whispered, feeling like a coward for not staying, and shouted at him or something like that, but you needed time to process the situation and everything you just seen. Think about your relationship with him.  

“No way, I’ve never liked the guy, but what a prick, really.” She said to you, as you just exhaled the tension from your body, that you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to ease the feeling of betrayal. 

You met Cayden at a party between faculties. He was studying engineering, and you were in psychology, and you decided that he was interesting enough and wanted to try a relationship with him. Truth to be told, you did it because you felt lonely, without many friends, and, well, it was your first semester away. You figured out this past month that maybe nothing was working, but the feeling of betrayal was stronger than the thought that passed through your mind for two months. Break up with him. 

He wasn’t that charming, actually, but you fell into a routine, and you were comfortable with it. You loved him, and it hurt you that it ended this way. It could've been resolved with one talk: that you weren't in synch anymore. Now, you were sure that you two never were. 

“Yes, I don't know how to feel. I've been isolated in college. I already considered a lot of possibilities, but I really thought that, for the sake of our relationship, he would break up with me if he wasn’t comfortable.” You mumbled at full speed as Hattie had her eyebrows furrowed, and in her eyes was a fire, rage. 

“Well, he's an idiot, you knew that.” She said, with a dead-serious look, and you just nodded. You always knew he was like that, but you didn’t want to see it. “Come here.”

Hattie hugged you, and you didn’t know how much time you'd spent there without knowing that Oscar was in the shadows, eavesdropping; he didn't know why he wanted to hear your conversation, but he stayed there, listening. 

Hattie called you to spend time with her at her house; you knew why, she didn't want you to fall into depression during the summer break. It's been a week since you left your department, grieving your mediocre relationship. 

You needed some alone time to sort out your things. You knew deep down that it was a matter of time; the stuff with Cayden wouldn’t work out. You gave yourself a week to get over the hurt and denial.  

The only thing that was anchoring you was having your degree in hand in one more year. That's the only thing that actually was working in your life, because you made it work, your brain was always in your degree, to finally have the diploma, and your parents telling you you made it, you just graduated from psychology. 

When she called, you knew that seven days of your own misery and feeling bad for yourself were enough. You force yourself to get up and get ready, at least to look presentable, and more if you were about to cross paths with her brother, who had already looked at you at your lowest and not-so-good self. 

God, you were embarrassed, but that's just how life was; you needed to sugarcoat it. 

That's how you ended up with a box of cookies in front of Hattie's house, waiting for someone to open the door. You were nervous, why? Your brain didn’t even know it, but you were. 

You passed a hand over your hair, looking at the other colorful houses as you heard the door crack open. You straightened yourself immediately and saw Oscar standing there with a tiny smirk on his lips and a curious glint in those peculiar brown eyes. 

“I swear to god that this time I'm not gonna cry, well. I hope…” You blurted out quickly with your eyes wide. He took a second to process your words, and he chuckled; one of his hands went directly to his messy hair unconsciously. You blink at him with tension in your body. 

“I wasn't gonna bring it up.” He said calmly, as you felt nervousness breathing down your neck, you searched his eyes for a hint of a lie, but there wasn’t one. You chewed your lip as you extended your hands towards him with the box of cookies. 

“Well, I needed to get it out of my system. This is for you and, well, your parents.” You whispered as you peeked on your tiptoes over his shoulder to see Hattie watching you two, with a smile on her lips. 

“You're blackmailing me to keep quiet with cookies?” he asked you, raising an eyebrow as you just watched him with your mouth agape. Was Oscar making a joke with you? 

What you recall Hattie telling you about him a long time ago is that he is the serious type of man, the kind of guy who is always collected in his own calm way, with his life under control—Polish and polite. You've never heard any of his sisters comment on how funny he is or how unique his sense of humor was. 

“Yes, stop making me feel mortified because of literally your first impression of me was sobbing and making your white t-shirt a disaster.” You rambled as you grabbed a firmer hold of your bag. For a moment, you just forgot about anything that wasn’t Oscar, and you knew his brown eyes were paying you too much attention. That only makes you ramble more. 

“You recall every detail, don't you?” He said, leaning on the doorway, his large finger around the box of cookies, as you swallowed hard.

The conversation was nothing like you imagined having with him. You imagined short words and a 'don't worry,' but he's saying blackmailing, or that he notices you have a good memory, even though you were wrecked that day and almost couldn't see through the tears. 

“Well, technically yes, but…” He cut you off as he just took a step inside, making space for you to enter as you were about to continue justifying yourself. You felt how your cheeks were starting to flush, and you hated yourself for that, God's sake; it was Hattie's brother, and your boyfriend just cheated on you. 

“Don't worry, I'll not comment on anything about what happened. It's our secret.” He said before you could start talking again. You pressed your lips on a thin line as you tried so hard not to say anything else. 

You walked past him, almost running towards Hattie, who was giggling at the strange situation. She knew why you went, running and tripping over your own feet. You'll only make yourself more embarrassed by adding something else to the conversation. 

“You're red.” She whispered in your ear as you sat on the couch, and you smacked her arm playfully. 

“I'm embarrassed; it was your fault. You weren't here, and I think I looked so bad he took pity on me.” You mumbled as you took your shoes off your feet and put them on the table. You accused her with your eyes as she gave you an apologetic smile. 

“I know, at least he showed sympathy for you.” Hattie passed a hand over her short hair as you just snorted, trying to stop the rushing and insatiable thoughts of how miserable you felt a week before. 

“Well, thanks God, if he didn't, then I don't know what I'd have done.” You confessed to watching as Oscar took a seat on a small sofa, his back to the window. 

He looked small in the house, like he outgrown his version of it. You recognize him from photos, most of them of childhood, seeing the young boy with a tight smile on his lips on frames all over the house. The reality was the opposite, the matruirty involved him in every pore of his body. 

And the photos of him in Formula 1 didn’t do him any justice at all. The photos Hattie had shown you weren’t that interesting. Or maybe you search for him in your hibernation week. Maybe there were open tabs in your computer browser. Maybe. 

“How is college going?” Hattie asked, passing series and movies on Netflix. You shrugged, feeling the stress on your body, even two weeks into summer break. 

“Stressful, nothing I can't handle, you know.” You felt Oscar's gaze on you, and you ignored him the best you could as you saw Mae taking a seat in the dining room. She smiled at you politely but didn't say anything. 

“What are you studying?” Oscar's voice took over the stance as you finally looked at him; curiosity gleamed in his eyes as you exhaled heavily.

“Psyhcology. One year more and I’m free of this jail.” You whispered more to yourself as Hattie laughed at your way of expressing yourself about college. Oscar nodded, like he understood, even though he didn't go to university. 

“Well, I hope you like your career at least, if not, it's gonna be a hell of a life.” Mae gasped at the table, looking in surprise at Oscar's words, as Hattie was totally shocked. The three girls looked at him with mouths agape, astonished by his words. He shrugged, and his expression was full of confusion. “What?”

“Nothing.” Both sisters answered at the same time, Mae looking at the computer again as Hattie put a movie on instantly. 

“I assure you that I like my career. What I don't like is college professors breathing down my neck like I'm some kindergarten girl who doesn't know what she’s doing.” You said angrily at the memories, and he chuckled again as you laughed at the way Hattie was looking at her brother. 

It was going to be a long summer, a busy summer, and you were glad for it. To keep you busy and have some fun, it's been a long time since you let yourself laugh this hard. 

One month has passed of the summer break, and you really needed to thank the Piastri’s for letting you spend so much time with them. Almost every day you were at their house, they took you as one of their own children. 

The girls loved talking to you, even shy Mae. You always listened attentively to them, commented when needed, and filled silences when Mae asked you for help with her eyes or when Edie was done talking. 

You could read the room. For a reason, you studied psychology, and you loved it so much that you really put a lot of effort into your career.  

Oscar was… another situation. It was the closest Pisatri’s family member you had, aside from Hattie. He always spent time with you two, and he even brought his childhood friends. He saw movies, listened, and commented when he thought he needed to express something. He joins you two at the mall, at the cinema, almost everywhere. At first, it was weird because, in all the years you've known Hattie, he's never done that. You didnt even know him. 

Soon it became a routine you grew fond of; sometimes he was busy with job calls, or, in the worst scenarios, he had to stay behind at home dealing with problems, but most of the time he was everywhere near you. You were comfortable with it, and Hattie seemed not to care that her brother was with you two. 

So that's how you ended up on a bikini, with the sun at its highest point, and a towel underneath you. With Oscar's friends, and well, Hattie’s also. 

The beach wasn't as busy as it usually was in summer, so you had complete peace to relax. You chewed your bottom lip as you watched the waves break onto the shore, the different shades of blue glowing beneath the sunlight. 

“Girl, you look dissociated,” Hattie said, taking a seat beside you as you watched how all the people you were spending the summer with were playing volleyball, laughing, and enjoying the vacation. 

“I'm not, I'm just… resting,” you muttered, trying so hard not to look at Oscar. He was shirtless, and well, you had eyes, he looked even greater without one, his broad shoulders, that strong back…

“You're seeing my brother.” She said, half-joking, half-serious. You snorted, trying so hard not to blush as you put your sunglasses over your eyes and tilted your head towards Hattie. The lie already burning in your tongue. 

“I'm not, he's in front of me, what do you want me to see?” You defended yourself. Part of it was genuine, but you were seeing him attentively. How his arms flexed when he hit the ball, how his expression was focused on his game. 

You shook your head, trying to look the other way, but it was impossible for you. 

“I'm not judging you. Look, if you and he started something…” She teased as you struggle yourself more on the towel, as you bite a laugh at the insinuations of her brother and you. 

“Stop right there… my boyfriend cheated on me a month ago. I think I'm fine.” You mumbled, but Hattie heard your low conviction on it. You actually thought about Oscar a lot, more than you wanted to admit. 

“Yes… But I won't be mad. Enjoy your youth and that you're not with that asshole.” She joked as you touched some sand. You chuckled at how it turned down. She hated Cayden so much, and you just figured it out. 

“Girl, come on, it's your fucking brother. You really want that drama in your life?” You asked as you closed your eyes and exhaled heavily, feeling the sun burning your skin. You didn’t listen to Hattie's response, as a shadow suddenly covered the sun. 

“What drama?” Oscar asked as you open your eyes wide and choke on your own saliva. Hattie was laughing hysterically by your side. 

“None of your business, Piastri, plus you're hiding the sun from me,” you said playfully as you saw how he was turning towards you. His messy hair had sand and a few droplets of saltwater. His brown eyes looked at you expectantly as he took a seat on the other side of you, while some of his friends said their goodbyes.

“See you around you two.” Someone told you, and you waved at them, completely oblivious of the way Oscar was seeing you.  

“If you don't want anyone to hear, you shouldn't be talking about it in a public space.” He teased, grabbing a fresh water bottle and taking a sip. Your eyes, hidden behind your sunglasses, went directly to his thick neck, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the water. 

Suddenly, you felt flushed and looked away, trying to occupy your hands with the book you abandoned a long time ago by your side. Hattie was faking looking at her phone; she abandoned you in this conversation. 

“Well, you shouldn't be that curious.” You whispered as he lay beside you, eyes closed and a tiny smile on his lips. His stomach contracted at the sensation of the ocean breeze. You were self-conscious from one moment to another. 

“I'm going to search for some food. I’ll be back,” Hattie said, rushing as she disappeared towards the restaurants on the other side of the block. She didn’t even give time to go with her or to ask her to grab something for you. 

“She was done with you, I can tell.” He teased, as you just tried to concentrate on your book. But your eyes went directly to the ocean, and you confirmed you had the worst luck in the world. 

“Fuck, why me?” You asked as you lay down, trying to hide your face in the book. You wanted to dig a hole in the sand and disappear through it. This wasn’t happening to you. Not today, not when you were having fun. 

“What…?” Oscar started to ask as another shadow obstructed the perfect sun. You wanted to groan, but you restricted yourself. 

“Y/n… is that really you?” A male voice asked as you lowered your book and smiled falsely. You tried to seem surprised at the man in front of you as you straightened yourself on the towel. 

“Miles?” You said as you felt your voice strain. He gave you a bright smile as he pulled you by the arm, and you gasped at the sudden movement. He stood you up. 

“I'm so happy to see you, really. It's been about three months since I saw you. I want to talk about some things,” he commented, looking at Oscar, who had a slight frown on his eyebrows, making him look colder than he really was. 

His brown eyes were fixed on Miles; he was paying close attention to the interaction, which made you aware of every word you could and needed to say. You saw on your peripheral vision that he was leaning on his forearm, making his biceps flex and his stomach too. 

“Well, here I am. I don't know what you want to talk about.” You said harshly, which was not intended. In that moment, Miles looked at you with some pity in his eyes. He didn’t know how much you hated Cayden or his best friend. 

“Look, Cayden is an idiot, and he didn't know what he was…” You stopped him, taking a step towards him, making him move quickly, to get out of your way. You were done with their bullshit. 

“Yes, like you. You truly deserve each other's company. He knew what he was doing, and I'm over it. I don't want to know more about him or his friends.” You cut him off as Miles looked utterly surprised by your decision. You were about to sit down, and he retook your arm.  

Usually, you were the quiet one, the one on the margins of everything, but not anymore. You didn't want to hear the poor excuse that he was going to make so that you could go back together with his best friend. You were done with that unnecessary relationship. 

“Mate, she doesn't want to talk to you,” Oscar said dryly as he was about to stand up in your defense, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

“I don't know who you are, but this is between her…” Oscar stood at his full height as Miles took a step back, letting your arm free as Oscar put himself between you and the idiot. 

“You don't need to know. She’s over this conversation. Go away.” The coldness in his voice was enough for Miles to almost trip over his own feet as he literally ran away. You sighed as you sat down, and your pulse spiked. What an awful event. 

Cayden never did that, no one. Nobody has defended you like that. Not even from politeness, but Oscar looked annoyed at the way Miles decided to approach you, and well, the topic that was the cheater of your ex-boyfriend.

“I'm not even surprised, they are the same. They’re like awful, evil twins. Like the girls from that terror movie.” You tried to joke as Oscar sat beside you, then, before you could say anything else, you could see he was still tense. “Oscar, everything is alright.”

“No, I don't know where he got the guts to come here. How did he think it was a great idea to…?” he looked actually angry, his brown eyes were seeing all over the beach as he passed a hand over his hair, some sand coming off. 

“Oscar, it's fine. I'm fine, really.” Your voice was lower than you intended, but that made him look at you. He searched in your eyes for indecision, but you were only bored by the situation. “I'm done with his friends and him. Don't let them ruin this…resting day. ”

He exhaled heavily, his eyes never leaving the back of Miles; he was moving to another part of the beach. Thank god. Oscar's shoulders were tight, and his breathing shallow. You could see his jaw completely clenched. 

“I…” He was about to say something when you lay down on the towel and looked at him with softness in your eyes. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked quietly as Oscar tried to relax. He also lay down as he saw your soul with those big brown eyes. You were trying to distract him and change the subject. 

“You already asked me a question. Tell me.” He informed with a teasing smile on his lips, showing his bunny teeth. You just rolled your eyes with a tiny grin on your own, trying so hard not to blush. 

You were curious about his life; you wanted to know more about him. It's like he already knows you like the palm of his hand, and well, you only know the basic things about him because Hattie had to tell you. In this moment, you weren't so grateful to be a yapper and he a listener. 

“I… well…you know me better than I know you. I'm curious about your life. You never talk about anything personal, like your job or anything like that.“ You blurted out hurriedly before you could cower away. His eyes widen in amusement; he didn’t expect this, but his body shows he was nervous about it. His hands started to fidget with the hem of his shorts as his eyes went to the blue sky. 

“I think you know what my job is.” He joked in a low voice, as if it were a secret and not many fans had stopped him to take a photo. You snoted, trying not to roll your eyes but failing.  

“I mean, yes, but… the things I know are from Hattie. I don't even know why you are here on summer break. In my years of friendship with Hattie, I've never seen you.” You stated a matter of fact; it was true. Curiosity was killing you; you wanted to know a lot about him, but you were too shy to ask, and, well, asking Hattie would make you look like a stalker. 

You've known Hattie since high school, more than five years, and you'll never see him. Not once. The curiosity about why you've never seen him settled in your brain. 

He still, like he was afraid of saying something that would hurt him, or maybe turned sour the day. You chewed your lip as his head turned slowly towards you. His jaw tightened, muscles jumping on it, and you thought you struck a private topic. 

“It's none of my business. We can talk about…” You tried to change the topic again, and he gave you a slight smile for your efforts not to push him. He didn't need to share something he didn’t want to. 

“I'm never here during summer break because I used to spend it with my girlfriend.” The bomb was thrown, and you tried so hard to suppress the fact that he had a girlfriend. He used to spend this time of year with his girlfriend, which is why you haven't met him before. 

You felt heat creeping onto your cheeks, and you weren't sure if it was from the sun or from him talking to you about something personal; you could tell by the way his eyes softened, and his voice was almost quiet. 

“Oh…” That's all you could say; your brain is going a thousand miles per hour trying to catch up on this information about him. Hattie never said anything about a girlfriend; it only made you more confused. 

You suppressed the feeling of disappointment, and before another thought could bring your mind. He laughed dryly. 

“We broke at the beginning of the year. I'm still figuring out what went wrong,” he mumbled, like being vulnerable was hard for him, like you needed to steal the word from his mouth. You could see hurt in his brown eyes as you counted the moles on his face. 

“I'm so sorry, Oscar.” You mustered; it didn't feel right the way his voice almost turned completely flat at the mention of it. You didn't ask him anything more, but he was opening up; you could tell by the way he opened and closed his mouth, trying to keep telling you. He was making an effort. 

“I think it was time, I'm okay with it, but you suddenly don't forget a relationship of more than six years.” Your jaw went completely slack as you heard six fucking years, your mouth agape; you didnt expect him to have a girlfriend for that long. It's a lot, and you felt that the three years with Cayden were hell and more of a half-life. 

“You certainly don't…” You said, trying so hard not to chuckle at the nervousness you were feeling, his eyes reflecting acceptance, but he was right, you don't forget the good time from one month to another. It was hard, and for the way he was expressing himself, you were sure they ended up on good terms. That just made it more difficult. 

“You are suspicious.” He commented as you passed a hand over your face, taking off your sunglasses, and you chuckled at the way he noticed. He always notices everything. 

“I'm not, but six years is… a lot of time.” You confirmed, it was shocking the amount of time, he must have been eighteen when they started dating, a high school sweetheart. What a beautiful thing. Your eyes went towards the sun; you didn't mind if it left you blind, but you couldn't meet Oscar's eyes. 

“Yes, it was a mutual decision. We were going on different paths and… we can say we fell into a routine.” He explained as he grabbed your arm and pulled you almost flush against him that you were about to protest, but before you could say so, he reached for his cap and put it on your head, blocking the sun from your eyes. 

The gesture made you feel heat all over your body. 

“I understand the sentiment.” You chose to say that because you didn’t know what to say to him. He looked calm about the topic, but you could tell it still hurts him a little to talk about it. That kind of feeling will never go away; maybe it'll diminish, but that's all.

“Sure you do,” he teases as you gasp, feeling how he put the cold bottle of water against your skin—trying to ease the tension of the serious conversation.  

“Shut up, my choices of partner were not the best.” You said, feeling the blush on your cheeks as he laughed hard, showing his teeth, and his chest moved in sync with the beautiful sound. 

“Good thing we're over them.” He made sure to confirm it, to search for your eyes for confirmation that you were alright, that you weren't that hurt about what happened with Cayden, and you searched his brown eyes for confirmation that he was okay with not having her in his life anymore. 

You both were content with both situations. 

“Yes, us against the world,” you joked as he passed a hand over your shoulders, squeezing you with tenderness and a bit of a playful gesture. 

You talk about everything and nothing about, favourite things and more, after more than three hours, Hattie returned with a cheeky smile on her face. Knowing damn well what shes done. 

You were in the park near your apartment, waiting for Hattie to pick you up to go out to a mall or just chill out, but she was late, as always. 

You were messaging Oscar, telling him how his sister was annoyingly late. He joked about it as you saw a car parked in front of you in your peripheral vision. You didn't pay too much attention until he shouted your name like a prayer. 

“Y/n, we need to talk,” Cayden said, in front of you, his blue eyes piercing yours as you took a step back with your bag in hand, your knuckles white at how hard you were gripping the strap. 

“No, we don't.” You started to walk away while you felt trembling in your whole body—the summer break ends in one more month. Two months without seeing him and actually thinking about him, and the mediocre boy he was. 

“Oh yes, we're gonna talk,” He looked so out of his mind as you tried to step back.  He was angry, but he wanted to calm himself before he talked again. “Look, I'm sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen…”

“Me catching you with her… That wasn’t supposed to happen?” you asked as you felt heat in your neck and cheeks, as your stomach twisted at his words. You were angry, raging at how he was handling the situation. 

“That's not what I meant, but God, Y/n, you weren't paying me any attention. You're so full of yourself and your career that you didn't care about me and my necessities anymore.” Your jaw went slack as he blurted out the words with venom; one of your hands was in a tight fist as the other was killing the strap of the poor bag. 

“Excuse me, are you blaming me that you’re a cheater?” You asked incredulously during the conversation. He passed both hands over his dark hair, trying to restrain himself, but you knew him too well. He was about say something that would make you angrier. 

“Maybe, you only cared about you and that stupid psychology degree. I needed to search for someone who could pay attention to me.” He spat with ferocity in his voice. You shoved him with both of your hands as he was about to take a step towards your personal space.

“You're not gonna blame me for this shit. This relationship was long gone before you cheated on me, and you can't blame it on my degree,” you sighed, gritting your teeth as you tried so hard to compose yourself. Where the hell was Hattie to save the day?

“Yes, I'm gonna. She was more willing to give me her time, effort, and attention.” That was a low blow, and both of you know it. Your breath was a mess as you tried to suppress tears of rage. You were gonna break out in fury; he would think it really affected you when he actually did you a favor by getting himself out of your life.

“If attention was all you needed, you could’ve used your words instead of someone else.” You knew you were going to start being harsh, but you were done with him, always blaming you for the wrongs in the relationship. What he did was unjustifiable and cruel. 

“It was a mistake,” he suddenly claimed, as you were about to slap him in the face, but you knew better; you controlled yourself and your emotions the best you could as he reached for your hand, and you stepped back. “Please leave him, I'm gonna change, try to…”

“What are you talking about?” You said confusion struck you, you crossed your arms above your chest, done with his acts and the way he was trying to change the course of the discussion. 

“You're dating a guy, Miles told me. I'm better than him. I can make you feel better.” He pleaded, his eyes glassy, but you knew it was fake; everything was fake. The things he just said to you demonstrated that he only wanted you back to prove a point, and you weren't going to give it to him, ever. 

“I'm not. What are you talking about? Even if I was, it's none of your business, Cayden. Leave me alone, this is over. “ You declared taking more steps back, trying to get yourself out of the situation. 

You heard a car parking roughly by the side of the block, and you almost gasped at the surprise of seeing Oscar, the calm Oscar, getting out of it with decisive and determined steps towards you, as Cayden was oblivious to it. He grabbed your arm, and you tried to move towards Oscar. 

“Get your hands off her, man. Don't you dare touch her.” He said coldly, his jaw tense, his broad shoulders were stiff under his black shirt. It chilled your bones the way his voice was completely different from the way he always talks to you. 

His brown eyes were desperate and angry. He was fuming, his cheeks flushed, as you tried not to look at him with awe. 

“There's no way…” Cayden mumbled, amusement in his eyes, as he took a few steps back, leaving your arm free as Oscar towered over him for a few centimeters. Obviously, Cayden recognizes him. As an engineering student in Australia, everyone knew who Oscar Piastri was. 

“You don't get to be near her.” He was about to intimidate Cayden more by getting closer to him, but he didn't have to; your ex-boyfriend was already escaping. Coward. 

Oscar passed his arm around your shoulders, blocking Cayden from your peripheral vision, and without another look, he opened the door of the car and got you inside it. You were trembling from head to toe from excitement and, well, happiness. He literally saved you from more fighting. He came for you. Why? 

You saw Cayden's lips move, forming Oscar's name; the realization of who Miles had seen at the beach with you hit him. You couldn't stop yourself from rolling the car window down, hearing Oscar's voice, “What are you doing?” like an echo in your head.

“You’re not a fucking dog that needs constant attention. You’re an adult. Act like one.” You shouted, making Cayden turn completely red with anger. He was about to shout something else, but in that moment Oscar rolled the window up. 

“God, Y/n, you're really… unpredictable,” Oscar mustered, not scandalized, but somehow, his voice said it with awe, taking a deep breath as he drove quickly through your street. 

“He's a fucking idiot, really, I'm so done with him…” You were about to start to blurt out all your thoughts when Oscar's hand found your hand over your thigh, and he squeezed it, making you stop your words abruptly.  

“Hey, calm down, try to breathe,” He asked you with worry in his eyes, as you looked at yourself in the rearview mirror.

You almost gasped; your hair was out of place, your cheeks completely flushed with anger and rage. Your eyes were wide and wild, with a mischievous glint and a promise of living hell. Your lips were pressed to a thin line, reflecting the way your thoughts rushed in your mouth, but you couldn't articulate them louder.  

“I'm calm.” You must have crossed your arms above your chest, trying so hard not take the anger with Oscar. He didn't deserve it; it wasn’t his fault your ex is an idiot. 

“If you want to think that it's okay, just… breathe,” he said, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary as he drove at a decent speed. You listen to him even tho you didn't want to because he was right, you needed to breathe, to get some air in your lungs before you collapsed. 

The ride to his house was silent, thick, and uncomfortable, a silence that was killing you slowly. You could feel the tension and anger lingering throughout the car. You didn’t dare look at Oscar as your thoughts kept rushing through your head, even though his hand was still holding yours. There's only one thing that was imprinted in your head that Cayden said. 

You only cared about you and that stupid psychology degree.

“I'm sorry I got carried away.” You whispered as he turned the engine off, but he didn't pull the keys. He was listening to you as you exhaled, the weight of a thousand bricks on your shoulders. “I'm sorry you saw a version of me that I tend to control pretty well. It's just he angers me, his words and his excuses, and I… needed to defend myself.”

You were sincere; you didn’t want Oscar seeing you so out of control, especially shouting awful things to your ex because you weren’t the one who started the fight, and you still got carried away. 

You were about to speak when he squeezed your hand again, and your breath caught in your throat at the grounded gesture. 

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked with sincerity in his voice. He didn't understand why you were apologizing, and you didn't either, if you were being honest with yourself and the situation. 

“Because…It embarrassed me that I lost control, that you saw me like that, and well… I tend to let things slide so they don't take my energy away, but today I was done keeping quiet, and more because of him. And because I almost took all of it on you.” You confessed your deepest secret, the words were burying themself on your tongue. 

You don't consider yourself defenseless, but you tend to prefer peace over a fight. This was a fight you needed to have; you needed to win this, no matter how out of control you were. The moment you realized you had spoken with Cayden, you felt free of him and the thought that sometimes haunted you. 

“There's something more, isn’t it? There's another thing on your mind, I can tell,” He said softly, accepting the words you just said to him as he turned to you, his back to the window and the road. You swallowed hard. 

“That he is right about one thing.” You mumbled with insecurity and hurt, your heart aching that maybe the relationship was going to hell before you've even realized it. “That maybe I've been selfish.”

“What? I don't think…” You stopped him with a look, and he nodded, resisting the urge to say anything until you were done sharing with him this. 

“I…I've been focusing on my degree more than I want to admit. I've been seeing him less. I spent most of the time with myself, my thoughts, and studying my brains out. Maybe I was too full of myself.” Your voice lowers itself in each passing word. Your hand starts to tremble with the thought of it. 

“But, it's a good reason for him to cheat on you?” He simply asked, with his so characteristic calm voice, as you laughed dryly—so analytical with all the situations, even this one, as you shook your head negatively. 

“No, it's not, but maybe I understand…” You couldn't continue because his brown eyes made you stop immediately; they were gleaming with disagreement over the things you were about to say. 

“He could tell you how he was feeling, reach for you, you know that. Talk to you, that doesn't justify what he did.” His voice was an octave lower as his thumb started to rub circles on your knuckles. 

Your breath hitched at the sensation of his large hand over your small one. His pale skin, a slight tan from being too much on the beach, caught your attention, looking everywhere but his intense eyes. 

“I know, but I'm just… accepting. I also made mistakes in the relationship. I'm aware of them.” You whispered as you pressed your hand, pressing your palm to his. 

You could see his arms tense up for a second, then relax. You finally got the courage to see him again, as he suddenly let out a chuckle he had been holding the moment your eyes met. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, clueless about what was happening. What was on his mind? 

“Sorry, that's a good thing, but I can't get over the way you called him, literally a dog.” He burst into laughter as you saw him totally mesmerized by his bunny teeth, the moles, the freckles on his face, his straight nose, and those eyes that were crinkled at his side because he was smiling so widely and openly. 

Your heart missed a beat, and in that moment, you knew you were screwed. Oscar Piastri became an essential support in your life without realizing it.  You were feeling things for him, and you were excited but afraid of it. 

“Shut up, Piastri, I was mad, I wasn't having second thoughts about what I was saying.” You smacked his shoulder with your free hand as he pulled you by your intertwined hands so you could be closer. 

Your faces were inches apart as you saw how his breath was uneven, like yours, and how his brown eyes were looking at your lips with… want on them. You chewed your lower lip, unconsciously, as he was smirking like he was about to get what he desired most. 

“You looked cute being angry. And even being mad, you have the cleverest response,” he whispered as he leaned in more over the seat. 

Suddenly, someone started knocking on the window, on Oscar's side, as you jumped and hit your head on the hood, groaning in pain. But you began to laugh so hard that Oscar followed you. 

You really felt at ease with him; you could be yourself with him without being judged, and that’s what actually counts in life—feeling seen.  

“So… who convinced you to come to the club?” Hattie asked you on the terrace, where you two went to get some air, far from the dancing bodies and smoke. 

You chewed your lip as you passed your sweaty hands over your too-short dress. She knew who, but she wanted you to say out loud, accept things you didn’t want to admit, at least not tonight. It's supposed to be fun, but Hattie had other plans on her mind.

“You know who.” You whispered, your hand on the cold metal railing in front of you, as you saw some buildings surrounding you two. 

“I know, I want you to accept that you only came because Oscar was in the mood to come.” She passed a hand over her hair, and you just couldn't meet her eyes. She was right, you didn't even like clubs; you preferred to be at your apartment, binging some old TV show or a book, every time, but having to socialize with so many strangers.  

“Yes, I came because of him,” you mumbled, and your friend only laughed at you, and your cheeks blushed at the confession. 

One month left until the summer break is over, and you still haven't tried to make a move towards Oscar. The only time you were about to kiss him was in his car, and your dearest friend interrupted before anything could happen. 

Since then, you become closer to him. He opened up about the stress he lives with in Formula 1, how much he loves it, and even about his ex-girlfriend, who you could say was sweet for the way Oscar expressed himself about her. 

The connection lingered; the tension didn't diminish a bit. Every time your breath caught when his fingers brushed yours while walking, the way his eyes always searched yours for confirmation that you were okay, his expression, less reserved around you and more open, his teasing jokes that made you blush each time. 

You were head over heels for him, truly, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You never felt this way with anyone else, and it was strange territory for your feelings. 

All his sisters already figured it out on their own. Mae said it reflects in your eyes and how you see him. Edie, for the way you joked differently with him than anyone else, and well, Hattie knew when you were in love. She knows you too well for your own good. 

Even Nicole had her suspicions about you; you could see it in her eyes. How happy she turned when you and Oscar showed up together. 

Everybody knew, but Oscar was oblivious to it, or he just didn’t feel the same. 

This thought had you full of nervousness and anxiety, which were clawing into your brain because you didn't want another guy to break your heart; you hadn't been reciprocated before, and it's awful. Worst experience ever. 

“Y/n, are you really accepting it?” Hattie whispered, incredulous. She didn’t believe it; her eyes were wide open, a broad smile on her lips at your statement.

“Maybe, see you around.” You ran away from the terrace, straight to the mass of bodies, looking for some familiar face, but you didnt find anyone.

You were about to give up when a familiar hand touched your lower back. You jumped at the sudden sensation, and Oscar laughed directly in your ear. He had to bend down so you could hear him over the loud house music. 

“It's me,” he simply said, his voice with a mischievous tone, as you just rolled your eyes, even if he could see them. 

“You scared me. I was about to punch you in the face.” You tilted your head against his chest so he could hear the words coming out of your mouth. His perfect jawline was inches away from your lips; you felt them starting to dry at the thought of him and how you wanted to kiss each part of his jaw.  

“You couldn't do it. I have fast reflexes. I would have stopped you before your fist came into view.” He declared with a grin that you could see even in your dreams, his eyes were fixed on yours as you turned towards him. 

The people dancing made you closer to him, chest against chest as Oscar's hand tightened on your back, making the proximity more intimate. You put a hand over his chest, pushing him back a little, as a teasing smirk was on your lips.  

“Of course, you have Formula 1 driver. But you wouldn't have seen it coming.” You answered as someone elbowed you, and you furrowed your eyebrows in pain. People at the club were totally savage, but you were focused on the man in front of you. 

“Are you so sure of it, Y/N?” God, the way he said your name, all the control you had was starting to drift away. Your other hand grabbed his bicep, and you could feel the muscles tensing under his shirt. 

“No, but I could try.” Your voice was above a whisper as you could feel the locks of his brown hair on the side of your face. He smells like chocolate and trouble, you loved it. 

“I'd like to see.” It was a challenge, you knew it, and he knew what he was doing with the situation. You separate both of your hands from his body, taking a step back, trying to look bored, but the grin on your lips gave it away. 

“I'm going to search for…” Before you could finish the sentence, you aimed with your fist towards his face. Your hand couldn't even make it to half the way as he envelopes his large fingers around your fist. Your breath caught in your throat as he raised both of his eyebrows and had an arrogant look on his face.

Arrogance suits him too well, even if he's the least arrogant person in the world. 

“Told you so. What scares me the most is that you actually made a fist and aimed at my face.” He teased, bending towards your ear as you felt your cheeks burning with desire and restrained feelings. Your heart was throbbing in your chest as your stomach was full of butterflies.

“I knew you would stop it,” you simply said, swallowing hard, seeing his eyes light up with desire and want. You saw a muscle in his jaw tick, his lips parted slightly, showing part of his bunny teeth, and you started to adore them, finding yourself seeing them each time a smile was plastered on his handsome face. 

“What are we doing?” He asked you, as his other hand was between your shoulder blades, you could feel him everywhere; he was involving you in his scent, in his attention, in the most delicious way. 

You knew that he wasn't talking about the silly teasing you've been doing for months. He was seeing your soul, and you felt he was reading you, like an open book. His eyes darted towards your lips as you tried to seem calm, but the truth was, you were about to cross the thin line you had drawn. 

You knew the moment you connected your lips with his in a kiss that you couldn't take it back; it would turn your feelings, emotions, and the situation into something real, tangible, and once done, irreversible. Good or bad, that's something you don't know. 

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide as you felt how his hands tightened around your back, his finger touching your exposed skin between your shoulder blades. His skin was hot against your cold one, your breath hitched, and of course, he noticed it. 

Any doubt you had about whether Oscar wanted you was erased from your mind in the unique way he saw you. It's like the rest of the world didn't exist around you; the people at the club were disappearing into you, reminding you of your focus on Oscar, his charming face, his calm personality, and his skillful teasing. 

Confidence hit you like a drug on your system—quickly and desperately. 

“You tell me, Piastri, because for me it looks like you want something.” You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but the way his eyes sparkled under the club's lights and his smirk widened told you it was the right thing to say. 

“You're gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled as his hand moved towards the nape of my neck. He tilted your head more, his lips inches from yours. 

You wet your lips as your eyes meet his brown ones. That was his undoing; you knew it the moment he crashed his lips onto yours, with sweetness and desperation intertwined.  

You gasped at the sensation, one of your hands resting against his throbbing heart and the other one traveling from his biceps onto his jawline, your fingers trembling at the way his lips felt over yours. You felt electrified from the inside out. 

Oscar's hand on your lower back pulled you closer, making goosebumps break out on your skin at the possessiveness of the gesture. Your knees wanted to give out as you deepened the kiss, tilting your head more against his, your neck hurting, but you didn’t care at all, not when you wanted this for so long, and the feeling of desire was burning in your veins, an untamable fire. 

You parted your lips as Oscar's tongue slipped through them, making you gasp against his mouth as your eyes were closed, feeling each sensation, each tremble of his body against yours, the way his hands tightened around you in the most endearing way. 

Your body curves into Oscar’s, making him hum in the middle of the kiss, and you feel his smile on his lips as you pull a strand of his tousled hair, making him groan into your mouth. You needed more. You wanted more, even if fireworks were inside, you wanted them explode more.

Your shoulder relaxed at his reverent touch, and your whole body, tensed with stress from the last few years, eased into his hands, as if he knew what you needed. His hand on your lower back tried to bring you closer, but it wasn’t close enough as you giggled against his lips, and in that moment, he bit your lower lip teasingly. Your nails dug into Oscar's bicep as you felt a knot building in your stomach. 

Your mind grew fuzzy with the overwhelming sensation of how full your chest felt, like having Oscar with you was everything you needed. Your heart beat faster, like it wants to break through your chest and straight to Oscar's hands, on a silver platter. 

Oscar rests his forehead against yours as you wait a few seconds to open your eyes, breathing heavily from the intense moment. His eyes were already on you, with so much want and adoration, you felt your knees buckle in the middle of the dance floor. A shy smile crossed his lips, his swollen and red lips, waiting for you—your reaction to what you wanted to do. 

“Oscar…” You whispered, your cheeks flushed, sure they looked like cherries. You passed both of your hands behind his neck as he pressed a soft kiss onto the tip of your nose, the contrast of the passionate kiss you just had.   

In that moment, his lips pressed against yours once again as his big, strong arms picked you up. You gasped, trying to separate from him and the nervousness of your short dress. But Oscar, who had a hand on your butt, was preventing the dress from slipping up. You felt his muscles tense as you laughed between kisses, and his eyes shone brightly as you played with his hair. 

Suddenly, your back was against a wall as one of his hands slides up to your thigh, and the other one was helping his body pin you up to the wall. You groaned at the sensation of his hot fingertips over your sensitive skin. 

You crashed your lips into his with more desperation than before, parting your lips again into a messy kiss that was making you both breathless. The control was thrown outside the window as you grabbed his locks hard and he whimpered in your mouth, making you feel every friction of his body against yours.

Each movement of your lips spilled the emotions you both had buried since the first time you saw each other; it's like everything overflowed tonight, in the secret glances, the brush of your hands, the innocent bumping of knees, and then the teasing from each other. 

His lips were insistently pulling you in again; he's kissing you hard, with lust and desire that's been inside of him for too long, more time than you ever imagined. No hesitation as the way his tongue moved against your mouth, your lips. The heat of the moment was intense as your body trembled when his fingertips traveled along the side of your thigh, then up, towards your inner thigh. 

Your breath hitched, and you realized what you were doing and that you never had this kind of make-out session with someone in a big public space like a club. This was new, and you didn’t dislike it a bit.

You both turned into something feral and unstoppable the moment your mouths exploded against each other. 

“Oscar… here no…” You whispered, almost whimpered against those addictive lips, feeling the tension of his fingers, restraining himself from touching you where you wanted him most. 

He breaks the kiss, and he nods, being respectful of your limits, even though you just wanted to undress him right there. You didn’t want him to stop; you wanted him to keep going until both of your lustful souls were satiated.  But the intimacy of being able to speak up, being listened to, and the other person stopping because they respect you is better than anything else you could do with him. 

“You’re right,... Do you want to go?” He asked, question in his eyes as you swallowed hard at the meaning of it. 

He noticed your nervousness as he let you down on the floor, a hand around your waist to stabilize you. Before he said anything else, he grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it down—your heartache in your chest at the intimate, tender gesture. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to answer him because it scared you how quickly this thing between you two could escalate. Before any other rushing thoughts devoured your mind, he spoke with a soft voice. 

“We can go grab something to eat, maybe McDonald's. “ You nodded as he hesitantly took your hand between his and intertwined your fingers. A smug smirk on his face as he pulled you to the exit, he didn’t want you for sex, you could tell immediately as you felt drunk at the sensation of being wanted in all parts of the experience, of being loved entirely.  

You were a goner. You wanted him more than you'll ever admit.

You were in love. 

The drive to the McDonald's was in complete silence; your hands were trembling, your whole body, to be more specific, and you didn’t know if it was nerves or because the wind was freezing. Oscar passed you a McLaren hoodie he always left in his car. 

You feel Oscar's lips over yours still, the way they taste, the feeling of his hands roaming your body, making you feel everything all at once, his brown eyes drunk in you. The way his lips quirk up with shyness, his chest beating too fast against the palm of your hand, those moles and freckles framing his pretty face. 

You didn't notice the way silence filled the car, not when Oscar ordered your usual and didn't let you pay, not when he sat next to you and not across, like he always does; you didn't even notice it the moment you started to eat in complete silence. 

Anticipation lingered in the air, expectation on both of you. Engolfing you.

“Y/n… Do you regret it?” He asked you with a calm voice, the voice he used when he was unsure of what he was asking or when he didn’t know if he wanted the answer. 

You stop sippin' the vanilla milkshake because you couldn't meet his eyes, because the truth is you didnt regret it, not at all. But you were too analytical and, at the same time, heartened for your own good.

You were afraid of the conversation that was going to take place, the feelings that were about to pour out on the table, and the awkwardness of it, the beautiful, intense awkwardness of confessing, and the doubt of how each other was going to handle it in their hearts. 

The reality of his job and your career hits you like an imaginary slap.

He travels a lot and you… You're to focus on your degree, and it'll be complicated. 

You were thinking Oscar was your future when you weren't sure whether he saw it as just a summer love, even if you wanted him in your life forever. 

You needed to embrace the hurt of the conversation that followed and be brave. 

“I don't regret it.” Your voice, tinged with total sincerity, as you see the cars passing on the road next to you. You could feel Oscar shifting in his seat; he was nervous. You’ve never seen him like this. You swallowed hard as you tried to speak up…

“Did I do something you don't like…?” He asked, his voice tainted with restricted pain. He didn't want to be vulnerable, not with you being so distant when a few hours ago, you were in his arms, kissing him, as your life depended on it. 

“Oscar, no, everything is fine. I… It's just… my thoughts are too loud.” You're explaining, moving your hands, trying to explain to him that it wasn’t him who was keeping you quiet. He exhaled a shaky breath, and you could notice him relaxing a bit. 

“May I know why?” You wanted to cry at how soft his voice was, asking you to give him a piece of your mind so he could understand what's going on. Without thinking twice, with a trembling hand, you took his, the one on the table, and squeezed it once. 

“I'm in love with you, I think I fell for you the day you started to count me on escapes to the beach, or maybe it was the day you almost made me trip over my own feet, or maybe when you made me feel lighter than I’ve ever been in years. I don't know when it happened, but here I am telling you I'm in love with you.” You blurted, trying not to be too fast because you wouldn't take the vulnerability of repeating it. 

You two ended in silence, the moment your tears were about to roll, you met his eyes, and the air caught in your lungs as a trembling smile broke across your face.  He was assessing your words; you could almost see the gears moving in his brain, but his eyes were glassy, gleaming with hope and love. 

“That's why you're so quiet?” You looked at him with confusion in your expression as his lips gave you a shy grin. He didn’t know what to do with the confession.  

You burst into laughter as Oscar's finger intertwined with yours, taking your hand on his lap as you spilled laughter tears over your eyes and his stupid orange hoodie that caught too much attention. 

“You're really the man, Oscar. I just confessed my love for you, and that's the first thing you say after that?” You asked, as your voice was teasing a little bit, because you knew he wasn’t rejecting you. 

After all, he did feel something, but out of nerves and anxiety, he couldn't speak up or say anything else. You could see it in his eyes, the way his leg hadn't stopped moving the moment he started the conversation, and how he passed a trembling hand through his dirty blond brown hair. 

“Y/n…” He mumbled with panic in his eyes, both of his hands were holding yours, like you were about to disappear in front of his eyes. When you pushed yourself closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, he didn’t finish his sentence. 

“I'm joking, I know I'm the yapper, and you're the listener.” You whispered timidly at the way Oscar’s eyes were seeing your soul as it sang to him. “It's not only that… but the fact that I don't want to get hurt…”

“You're not getting hurt, because I fell in love with the moment you did that bad joke about your agony, the day you cried on me. I couldn’t hurt you, not now, not in a million years.” He rambled, but he did let the words slip through his lips, and you felt your cheeks burning with the adoration in his voice.“God, since I lay my eyes on you, you had me on my knees if you just asked me. I'm in love with you; you made me want to try to love hard. That's how you affected me. I want to love you so fucking hard and loud. ”

His words settle in your chest, warmth and so full in love that you think if you speak, it might break the tender moment. You wanted to hold it forever in your chest, the way his voice was softer and full of emotion, making you spill some happy tears. At least you know he feels the same way. 

You felt seen, like you always do when Oscar is around, but the feeling was more intense. 

Your eyes soften as you hold eye contact with him; his cheeks and the tip of his ears were pink from emotion and maybe from the vulnerability of the moment, but his eyes were full; they were bright as the million stars that were on the dark sky, and the smile he was giving you made you melt into your seat. Those bunny teeth you were fixated on.  

You rested your head against his shoulder, tilting it enough to see his face and how his jawline was ticking with tension, and how his Adam's apple bobbed. He was still nervous about it; there were more things unspoken.  

“What are we gonna do?” Your voice above the whisper, with uncertainty about what to do or how to manage it, because reality is cruel; sometimes, love isn't enough to keep a person together. He exhaled as he was already thinking about something. 

“Be together… love each other unconditionally. That's what I want to do.” His voice was steady as one of his arms passed over your shoulders, keeping you closer as he started to play with your hair, a tick of his you were already used to. 

That didn't answer the doubt in your head; his Formula 1 break was going to end in one month, and you were about to start the last year of your degree. One month would be easy to be together, but not seeing him more than half the year, trying to put your schedule right, was going to be hard, so fucking hard that you feel your chest start to ache, sensing heartbreak even if you tried not to. 

“But, like a summer love, and I don't think I could take it…” You were interrupted mid-sentence when he tilted your head further, his fingertips on your chin as his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes reflective, utterly confused at your words. 

It looks like it upsets him that you think you're gonna be only a summer love, someone to be with for a while, not a lifetime. You felt it in your bones, the way he really meant to be together, to be something formal and not a game. This was something more than a fling.  

“I don't want it to be a summer love; I want it to be more.“ He clarified as his thumb pressed itself on your lower lip in a caring way, as you felt it tremble as more tears wanted to resurface. You were such a crier when you got emotional, good or bad feelings, you always ended up crying. 

“I…” You were speechless at how determined he was; he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid of showing it to you, what he was offering. Your hand shook against his as he squeezed it three times and eased the lump in your throat. 

“If you wanted it to be like that… I understand… really, but I'll always want you for more than a one-time thing or summer love. Because you deserved more, and because I want to be the one to give it to you.” Not in a fucking moment, you thought Oscar could be this romantic and heart-wrenching in the best way possible. He had your heart with him, and he didn't even know it. 

“I'm scared that it wouldn't work out… I know I'm going too much into the future, but… you're gonna stay for one more month, and then what? ” He didn't let you finish your rushing thought as you bit your tongue to let him speak up, as a broad smile was on his lips. 

“That's why I already bought you an airplane tickets to come with me to some of the races.” He whispered in your ear as you jumped into his arms, surprised. Your jaw dropped as you didn’t see teasing in his eyes. He was being serious. 

“You're joking, there's no chance. I have exams… my last…,” he pressed a finger to your lips to stop you from panicking at his impulsive decision. He chuckled, how scared and out of place you looked.  

“Y/n, everything is settled. You always speak about your degree, and you mention the exam season as the time when you had the most stress. I left you some weeks before it so you could study here. I spoke with your university to find out exactly when they were. I have everything in place for you to get that degree and, at the same time, to have you join me in some races. At least for the rest of this season.” He explained to you, as you felt the warmth in your chest, how your breath was shaky and how your brain was in shock at this immense gesture he was making. He also wanted you to be in his future; it wasn’t just a momentary thing. 

“I must confess, Hattie helped me to do all of this. Also, I'll come when races are off by at least two weeks and when I can.  If you don't want to do it or you think it's too much, I'll accept it, and this doesn’t mean we need to go fast... ” You didn’t let him finish as you cupped his face with both of your hands and kissed him tenderly and with adoration and awe seeping into both of you, he relaxed in your hands as he followed the sweetest kiss you've ever had. 

You pulled away with an excited smile. You were buzzing completely as he laughed at the way your eyes slightly widened at the thought of having an actual future together, because for some reason, you both agreed silently that it was going to work, you wanted to work, so you were going to try hard to make it happen. 

“You're insane, but I love you like that,” You mustered as both of your hands were on your back. He tried to bring you closer to him as you giggled, feeling tickling on your sides.  

“Only for you, literally this is all yours.” He exclaimed, with a warm smile and content in his eyes, as you smiled at him and playfully smacked him. You checked as his eyes went to the hoodie, and the way in swallowed you whole. 

“How would you say Oscar Piastri is such a romantic?” You whispered against his ear, kissing it lightly as he sighed, relaxed, and both of you were content with teasing and the newfound dynamic. 

“Nobody… but for you always.” He said, tickling you completely as you burst laughing, catching attention from a few other tables that were in the middle of the night. 

You were the happiest girl in the world. 

1 year later

You were breathing heavily, sweat coating your skin as you shuffled on the covers, nerves creeping in your body as you felt a warm arm above your waist. Oscar's arm. He was sleeping, his hair tousled on the side of the pillow, his expression softer as he moved slightly, tightening his grip on you. 

Your eyes opened as you felt a knot in your stomach. You knew Oscar was hiding something, he was too suspicious. You could feel the anxiety radiating from him, but when you mentioned that something was wrong, he ignored it and tried to fake that everything was alright. 

But you catch the tremble in his hands, the tension on his jaw, the unease in those brown eyes you adore so much. But his eyes were coated with excitement you couldn’t quite understand, and hope in those stunning pupils.  

Three days in his apartment in Monaco, and you feel like you're home, but something wasn’t in place, anticipation killing you as you moved slowly and got out of bed. Getting out of his room, you put yourself on his balcony, seeing the stunning city with your own eyes. 

You and Oscar were incredible together; the plan he made for you to see each other whenever you could was working, even though you weren't so hopeful it would, but it did. Some discussions later, serious talks about the future, some mention of fears and insecurities, and here you were. 

It wasn’t easy, but Oscar showed you that if you really love someone, no matter the distance, you make it work. 

God, he made it work; he put a lot of effort into the relationship, just as you do. It was the long flights, the ruthlessness of the weekends, the late phone calls that tired you, but everything settled the moment you were in his arms; all the effort was worth it if you ended up tangled in the sheets with the man you loved most—the man who sees you and understands you like nobody ever could. 

You let yourself relax, seeing the night, the stars, and the moon, as you heard barefoot steps on the floor, and as you turned, you saw Oscar leaning against the entry to the balcony, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He had a hoodie on and one hand in the pocket. 

“Couldn't sleep?” He asked you in his raspy, sleepy voice, which made you crazy, as you smiled tightly and nodded as you turned yourself towards the beaming city. Not in a million years could you dream of being in Monaco with the best man you could've ever asked for.  

He took some steps towards you and with his free hand, he passed it over your stomach, his chin at the top of your head as you inhaled his chocolate scent, making you relax a little as his arm tensed up. 

“I don't know why I'm nervous.” You confess into the night sky as you feel how his fingertips expand all over your stomach until your rib cage, your breath stutters at the sensations. After a year of being together, you still felt the desire, the love growing even more, if that's possible.

“Because you perceive how others feel and you connect with them and.. well…I'm nervous. ” He whispered like a secret in your ear as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You furrowed your eyebrow, wanted to turn yourself, but he didn't let you; he was pushing you against the railing. 

“Why?” You asked above a whisper as you took his hand over your stomach and intertwined your fingers, you felt how your chest tightened as expectation was growing in you. 

“I’m terrified but...” He simply said, his voice shaken a little. He took some steps back as you turned to him. Your body trembled as you saw his expression, felt your world turn on its axis, and felt a knot in your stomach, along with the adoration in his eyes. 

“Oscar…” you said his name more softly than you intended as he took your hand and took something out of his hoodie pocket. He put a metal cold object in your hand as your eyes were searching for answers in his brown eyes. 

“I want you to stay with me here… forever.” He asked tentatively as he took his hand off yours, and you saw a key, a copy key of his apartment. You gasped as you clung to it, as if your life depended on it. “I want to wake up next to you and go to bed at night with you by my side. I don't want a life where we only visit each other. I want a life where we're living together. Would you move in with me?”

Your eyes locked on his as he was assessing your reaction, your breath caught in your throat as tears were about to spill over your cheeks. You were speechless, not a single word forming in your mouth, in dread of messing up this beautiful, bigger step that Oscar was asking you to take, with him, together. 

“Well, you know I can't move a lot because of my job, I thought that maybe you wanted to move in here, but if you don't…” You stopped him mid-sentence as you jumped into his arms, as he grabbed you by your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin in a grounding way. 

“Oscar, yes. I'm moving with you.” You blurted out a happy giggle as you cupped his face and kissed him, like this was the end of the world and the only thing worth being with was him. 

“You can work here, you know? Or don't, you know, I wouldn't have any problem with that. God, you make me the happiest man alive.” He whispered against your lips as he started to ramble plans he wants to do with you, as your heart was beating so fast you thought it would go running away. 

Tears were spilling down your cheeks, stinging his hoodie as you cried, because he knew you too well, and the fact that you knew something was going on with him in these last three days demonstrated the rare connection you two hold. 

“Let's see what happens.” You simply said, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, your arms around his neck, holding him tight with a lot of love that you wanted to cry again. 

“I wanted to ask you at the end of the week, guess you're too intuitive. The moment I felt you get off the bed, I knew you already were suspicious about something.” He mumbled as he took you inside the apartment, and you chuckled because he was so right about it. He was restless.

“I know you too well, Piastri, you wouldn't stop moving.” You joked as his grip on your thighs tightened, you saw his apartment well, now you're home with him, the life you’re gonna build up. 

“And I know you enough that if I waited one more day, you were gonna ask me what's wrong again, and I couldn't take it.” He answered you as he brought you to the bed and hugged you tightly, your legs intertwined, feeling full and content. 

“I love you, Oscar, so much. Who would say that your first impression of me would lead to this?” You mumbled, feeling the excitement and fatigue pull you into the realm of dreams. 

“Hattie knew, she was the only one who thought it was gonna grow into this.” He whispered in your ear as his arms wrapped around your waist, and the other one around your thigh. In a comfortable way, as you smiled against his chest, feeling lovesick by him. “I love you, Y/n.”

You drifted off to sleep and dreamt of a happy life with Oscar. No matter the complications ahead for you two, you were gonna get over them just to be together. 

Because your love was bigger than anything else.

My requests are open!

Taglists: @ooopssssu, @sainz0fthetimes, @sofiechen13, @fufycse-blog, @col4p1nt0, @abunchofbutterflies, @moonlight52moonlight, @frantic-babbling, @deaddumblbumble, @nini-little-universe, @ashie-lazzy, @jennibahng, @artyyjia, @ilovvesleepp, @certifiedmoa, @lauvender-bolter, @esposadomd, @pharmasennapuff, @ardentsnowfall, @a-beaverhausen, @ayeree1, @mysteriousduckprincess

If you want to be in the taglist, put it in the masterlist section. If you want to be removed from it, please let me know also there.

Masterlist

[oscunt]

Oscar Piastri on the High Performance Podcast