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[land0sc21]

𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 02 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅1 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲 / 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲

𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤!

ִֶָ🪽་༘ popular fic: Max's New Wag

ִֶָ🪽་༘ latest off campus fic: Dimples and Kisses

ִֶָ🪽་༘ fave OP81 fic: Oscar piastri imagine

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"𝘿𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨" 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🥞 ⋆ ۪

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥! 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 .ᐟ.ᐟ

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: Dean distracts you from your work by showering you with kisses, showing off his dimples and leaving you utterly wrecked

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Soft dom! Dean, making out, swearing, praising, hickeys, mention of body parts, no explicit content, just implied.

a.n - fluff and more fluff! Reader calls Beau 'Bo' , short for Bo Peep. Don't ask why, it's an inside joke only they know about. Dean is a menace, But he's supportive and that's what matters.

The end of another semester was fast approaching. That meant having to present a well put together portfolio to your professor by the end of the month. Your inspiration for your work? Claude Monet. An artist that thrived on impressionism. Much like your own work.

But you knew it would be impossible to concentrate if Dean was around. Blaming it entirely on that eager mouth of his.

Despite handing in your portfolio to your professor by the following morning on time. Having to deal with Dean invading your personal space every few seconds was a pretty big hassle. The dark love marks on your neck that you had to cover up in class was proof of that.

Other than that, you were quite content with your work pace before his arrival.

You were thoughtful enough to leave out a drop cloth beneath your canvas easel. So as to not leave a mess in your boyfriend's room. Who so kindly let you use his space after you complained about your neighbours 'being noisy.'

Beau had already come by the Hockey house multiple times throughout the day to either annoy you or give you food from Malones. Handing you the paper bag before a thought comes to his mind. "Oh right — Dean texted me earlier. He just got off practice so he should be here soon."

A knowing smile tugs on your lips when you hear his name. "Thanks for letting me know Bo." You say, turning to your side to wave goodbye to Beau when he makes his leave. You snort at Beau's faintly distant, yet loud response near the stairs. "Stop calling me that !! "

Speaking of Dean. He had been held up at practice for almost the whole day. So you could imagine how relieved he was when it was finally over so that he could see you again. Ready to shower you with affection once he get's back to you.

Not forgetting to shoot a cheeky middle finger at Coach Jensen on his way to the changing rooms with a smirk on his face. Which then quickly contourts to pure fear as he stumbled in his step, when Jensen looks back at him with an annoyed stare. Already done with his antics.

"Dude. Are you trying to get us killed?" Logan whisper yells at the blonde man as he gently pushes him into the changing room. Dean mumbles something to himself that he thought was appropriate but true in his mindset. "He's still an asshole..."

It was just a little past 6pm when he made it back to the hockey house. With the others trailing in behind him, completely exhausted and ready to relax.

Rays of the sun filtered through the windows of his room. Bathing the whole area with a golden glow. Which was a perfectly picturesque view for Dean when he pokes his head in. With the masterpiece in the centre of it all being you.

He leans against the doorframe for a moment. Queitly admiring his girlfriend from afar. Who had been frowning at the canvas infront of her intently. Brows bunched and lips jutting out slightly since something seemed off about your piece. Or maybe you were just overthinking. Yeah — that could be it.

As usual, paint smudges were on your cheeks, and your forehead since you tend to carelessly wipe your sleeve across it. Several sketchbooks were piled up beside you along with your art supplies. Which you would argue to Dean as "orderly chaos."

He was already shirtless when he entered the house, considering how hot and sticky he had become. If anything, he could've easily taken a shower back at the gym. But he was too eager to come see you that he figured he'd do it later.

You don't bother to look up from your canvas when you hear footsteps approach you. Already knowing it was Dean. He wondered why you were standing rather than sitting down to paint, but hey — he's not the professional.

"I'm working." You warned sternly. But soft enough so Dean doesn't think you're being rude. "Didn't do anything..." Dean knew that so he raises his hands up with a small grin. "Yet."

"I know. But you might be up to something." You retort. Finally glancing towards his direction, pointing at him accusatorially with your painbrush. "I don't trust you."

"Forgive a man just trying to admire his girl in peace!" Dean sasses back with a more softer smile. One that showed off his dimples. "Or is that wrong?"

You roll your eyes at his attempt of making you feel guilty. But it does bring a smile of your own to your face. You turn back to your piece, cheeks lightly dusted with pink. "No. You're right..."

Dean shakes his head in amusement before walking over to you. Standing right by your side before reaching for your hand and bringing it to his lips. Pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "I try to be."

His chin came to rest on your shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist. Bare chest pressing against your back. Relishing the feeling of your exposed stomach since he's already hiked up your shirt. Like he's entitled to do that. Then kisses your cheek before mumbling quietly. "Can I watch?"

You were too focused on adding more brushstrokes to your piece in deep concentration. So your response was rather simple, but also a gentle reminder. "Don't you need to take a shower first?."

"Oh right-"

With Dean gone to the bathroom. You had another 20 minutes to yourself in peace. This time however, you welcomed his presence when he wraps his arms around you yet again.

He didn't even bother getting dressed properly. Opting to go shirtless again paired with a light beige sweatpants.

This time he held you tighter, much like a bear hug. His wet hair hitting your face when he peppers your face with kisses. Making you laugh softly while trying to push him away lightly. "Dean-- babe! At least dry your hair first."

"Not unless you give me some attention too." Dean suggests to you with a small whine. Coercing you to look at him instead. And unfortunately. It was pretty damn hard to resist those big, puppy dog eyes. Causing you too look away abrubtly and your voice to waver. "I can't."

"Why not?" Dean asks, letting out an exhasperated sigh. Pressing another kiss to your cheek once more to convince you to reconsider.

"You know why."

Dean knew exactly why. Even so, he still stuck to you like a Koala needing emotional support. Which was partially true since he hadn't been performing as well as he should lately. Also because he loved how addictively good your scent was. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck much like a cat.

Dean soon pulls up a chair so that he could sit down and have an excuse to have you on his lap. And he was quiet and still for some time. Ocassionally asking about your day and whether or not you've finished yet.

That was until he absent mindlessly starts to kiss your jawline out of boredom. Making you stop midway through a brush stroke and swallow nervously. "Dean."

"Hm?" He hums with his eyes closed. Still continuing his actions like it meant nothing. Like it wasn't making you all hot and bothered by this one simple act of affection.

"You're distracting me." You press on while trying your best not to fold. Going back to your canvas to add in more details. You feel him smirk against your neck. Knowing exactly what effect he had on you. "Am I?"

You let out a tired sigh. Your free hand reaching back to brush through his unruly, slightly damp, golden locks. Seemingly giving up. "I thought you wanted to help."

Going back to the previous comment of him supposedly wanting to help you with 'moral support.' With Dean still rolling with it. "I am helping. "

You set your paint brush down, then turn to look at him with a raised brow. Dean swallows nervously but maintains his cool nonetheless when you spoke. "How is whatever you're doing helping?"

"I'm helping you distress aren't I?" Dean mumbles. Feigning his innocence by giving you his irresistably charming grin that showed off his dimples. Causing your breath to catch in your throat and your cheeks to grow warm. Honestly — there was no way you could argue with that.

That smile alone should be illegal. Because it may have caused your brain to dysfunction for a second.

And before you could answer, he leans in. This time going in for your lips. Gently cradling your face as he kissed you with a satisfied hum.

Short, sweet and completely unfair. Because you melt. Instantly. Eyes fluttering closed while you kiss back. Warmth blossoming in your chest and in the pit of your stomach.

It was only moments later into the kiss that you regain consciousness. Pulling away from his lips briefly in a dazed manner. Cheeks flushed, lids heavy and pupils dilated Then a breathy laugh escapes your lips. Because you knew this was Dean's plan all along. To get you distracted and have you to himself.

"Sorry Dean I love you —" You breathe heavily as you try to regulate your heart rate "But I have to finish this last piece."

"Alright fine. But. I'm staying where I am." Dean insisted. Although you were worried that his thighs might be getting sore from you sitting on them for so long.

10 minutes pass and your on your final brush strokes when you feel his hands began to wander again. Fumbling with the hem of your skirt while kissing your neck slow and with intent.

Then he has the gall to ask you a question in the midst of it all. As if he wasn't slowly making you become undone with his lips. Innocently whispering right beside your ear like the smug bastard that he was. "You almost done?"

Not so discreetly lifting your skirt to expose your thighs and your lace trimmed panties. Teasingly brushing over your clothed cunt. Making your breath hitch and bite back a moan. Despite being considerably aroused, blood thumping in your ears. You turn back to look at him with a look of annoyance. "What do you think?"

He peers down at you through his lashes with a much more lazy grin this time. One that screamed 'high on bliss.' "Maybe?"

Once you do finally finish your work. Dean wastes no time to lift you from his lap and carry you over to his bed. Your shirt being disposed of in the a flurry of frantic motions. Lips never leaving yours even as he lays you down on his bed. Caging you in his arms.

Your mind becoming a haze as his kisses become more hungry. Prying and prodding at the soft muscle with his tongue and teeth. Wanting to illicit more sweet sounds from your pretty mouth.

"Been waiting all day for this..." He murmers against your now wet, kiss swollen lips. His large, caloused hands memorising the curve of your body, ingraining it in his mind. Soaking in every noise you'd make while the bed sheets shuffled beneath you.

Trying to ground yourself as you held his face in your hands. Feeling quite riled up yourself. One being out of frustration, the other out of pure want. "We could've done this much earlier. If you didn't distract me with that stupid mouth of yours."

"Hm... yeah. I'll take the blame for that." He'd laugh softly and muttered a quick apology before you pull him back in again. Softly murmering against his lips that it was okay. His scent intoxicating as it floods your senses. Faint cologne and expensive shampoo, while he pushed you further into the pillow.

"You're so pretty babygirl. So, so pretty." he drawled, voice breaking slightly. The brash coldness of his ring makes you shiver in contrast to your burning skin when he touches you. Deepening the kiss further as he swipes his tongue past your lips to explore your honeyed cavern.

One hand working on the small bundle of nerves over your panties. Now considerably damp due to your arousal. Causing you to let out a muffled moan into the kiss and buck into his hand instinctively.

Dean drowned out the chaos going on downstairs. The sound of doors slamming shut. Logan and Beau bickering over a game — with Tucker trying to impose order but failing miserably. While Garrett was most likely studying in his room with Hannah.

Dean's mission however, was soley focused on making you feel pleasure on a euphoric level. Which he succeeds in doing every time.

"Fuck Dean --... feels so good." You manage to breathe out, while he left open mouthed kisses on your neck, collarbone and shoulder. Nibbling and sucking at the pliant, soft skin as he only hummed in response. Littering your skin with dark hickeys all over your body.

He did have to pull away for eventually for air, as did you. Breathing heavily as you take the chance to properly admire him. Hair more tousled, his slightly tanned skin flushed and had beads of sweat. While his pale blue eyes had darkened, seeing a storm brewing within them.

"Don't stop," you mumbled incoherantly. Words barely making it past your lips. After making you come undone by just his hand. You were incredibly worked up.

Too far gone to even think about anything else but him. And you wanted Dean to finish what he has started. Besides — it was his fault that you were so damn needy for him.

He dips his head down once more. Nose nudging against yours affectionately before diving back in to give you a gentle, loving kiss. Slow and grounding before leaving your lips again.

"Trust me Princess." He murmers. As the rough pads of his thumb swipes across your bottom lip. Smiling down at you. More gentle this time. In contrast to the sly glint in his eyes. Thinking of crude ways to utterly destroy you in bed.

He was here to take care of you. To show you how much you meant to him. His loyal girlfriend. His lucky charm. "I don't plan to."

[land0sc21]

Guys I'm taking requests for the Off Campus characters so please send them in! For now I'm writing for Dean, Garrett and Beau.

[land0sc21]

'𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝘼 𝙁𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 ' ‎ ۶ৎ

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥! 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 .ᐟ.ᐟ

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: Dean knew you weren't just another fling that he could simply forget about. A well earned nudge from John Logan was proof of that.

Also — Who knew the best way to solve his issues was for you to come undone beneath his touch?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Making out, swearing, dirty talk, praising, hickeys, explicit sexual content

a/n: I'm still watching the show so the characters may seem a little ooc. Dean has a literal crisis, Reader majors in art + stays at the hockey house after a flooding issue in her dorm room. This lokey sucks and I'm tempted to delete it but I tried my best :<

More of this pair in this fic above!

You weren't sure how you got in this predicament. One moment you were downstairs enjoying the party. The next you're beneath Dean, whimpering and cheeks damp from tears of pleasure. Sheets rustling while he pounded into you in a relentless manner. His large, veiny hands greedily keeping you in place.

"Dean..." His name spilling from your kiss swollen lips with a restrained sound. Breath hitching in your throat as you mumbled incoherantly. "S-slow down...!"

Although your voice was like a sweet melody to his ears. He silences you with another kiss. Insatiable for your taste on his tongue. Breaking the kiss briefly to whisper hoarsely against your lips. "Just let me fuck you babygirl. "

Fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your bare hips as your satin dress had been hiked up completely. The wings that were part of your outfit for the party, crumpled. He made you keep them on the whole half an hour into the session. Dean claimed he found it a turn on.

The air was thick with a mix of your arousal and of his strong cologne. As he continues to kiss you, all tongue and teeth. Sloppy and messy due to one too many drinks from the party. Perhaps from the drink challenge he had with Beau.

"Fucking Logan." He'd growl against your reddened lips. Abusing the soft muscle, before prodding past your lips. Thumbing over your hardened nipples while he does so.

Causing you to moan louder and your stomach to flip as he pushes into you further. Skin slapping against skin in as he gathered your slick. Defining every thrust, the filthy sounds filling the room as he does so. "He can't fucking make you cum like I can."

Breathing heavily as his golden chain swings above you in sync with his rugged thrusts. Honestly, you were so dumbed out that you couldn't respond.

Instead, your fingers tugged at Dean's soft, golden blonde locks. As you both kissed eachother breathlessly. With Dean whispering praises at how good you were to him. Your hips arch upwards out of instinct when you lift off the bed to press against him more. A tug of a smirk plays on his lips at your reaction. So pliant, so needy. Just for him.

Your only response resorting to short, breathy moans while Dean engulfs every delectable noise that you made.

"Fuck princess —" He murmers into the kiss. Your face being held in his large hands, rough and insanely warm. But clammy. Angling your head to get a better angle. While he slowly starts to lose himself in pure bliss. "Mmph. You're so good f' me. So fucking good."

Dean's kisses never failed to leave you wanting more. They felt hot, feverish and like always, very driven. Much like how he was on the ice rink.

Overstimulated and sweaty, he tugs off the top half of his Maverick uniform. Right — he hadn't taken it off yet. He was too focused on making you feel good than to think about himself. Which was a first for him.

After 6 months of not seeing you after you departed for your art trip abroad in England. He was determined to prove you now that he was commited. He didn't have to say it. Because you already knew. You always knew.

And the dark hickeys littered on the inside of your thighs, stomach, chest and neck proved it. Much like a messy painted canvas.

Which makes you wonder. Why did he get mad in the first place?

Dean, like usual, was splayed out on the couch. Shirtless with an empty beer bottle in hand, arm dangling off the edge carelessly. And a random puck bunny who he forgot the name of in his arms. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, with sweat clinging to his skin. His mind starting to drift due to the buzz from the alcohol.

Thinking back to distant memories. Not about the time he spent with the boys in the hockey house. No — But of you.

Dean had a crush on you for a while now. A long time actually. A year and a half be exact. Unusual for a guy with a fuck boy reputation.

Since you were Beau's cousin, he'd see you often at family events or small gatherings with friends. And what started as casual conversations, gradually became something more.

He admires your paint stained fingertips whenever you finished an art piece and showed off your portfolio to him. Bright eyed and relieved whenever Dean complimented your work.

He also loves how you're so observant and kind, yet impossible to impress with Dean's charm. Albeit being a lie. You were actually quite smitten by him but you were good at hiding it from him.

Unlike most girls he's met. You carried yourself with a quiet maturity. Meaning, Dean could rely on you for advice. Or emotional support after a bad hockey match. Feeling safe in your arms whenever you comforted him in rare cases where he felt vulnerable.

Then there was last year. Days spent in the Maxwell's summer home for the holidays. Was a memorable summer that he'd never forget. Beau was there too ofcourse. Protective over you as always, even if your mentality was much more mature than his own.

A summer fling. That's all it was. That's all you were meant to be. Yet Dean was finding it ridiculously hard to keep you off his mind. He was obssesed really. Obsessed with your scent, your smile, your sweet voice whenever he had you writhing beneath him.

Bare, with your legs entangled with his under the fresh bedding in a dazed manner. Whispering sweet yet incredibly dirty nothings into your ear in the morning after a night of intamacy.

But most of all, he missed you.

"Can you guys maybe not makeout on the counter during breakfast." Beau would say with a look of disgust. Walking by the couple in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in hand. Mouth full as he spoke as he pointed at them with his spoon. "It's fucking gross."

You scramble away from the blonde man with flushed cheeks and messy hair. Dean, however, tried to go in for another kiss without a care in the world. Even with Beau's judging stare burning into his skull from behind.

"Sorry Beau - " you apologise with a shy grin, breathing heavily. Placing a hand infront of Dean's mouth to stop him from kissing you. Only for him to press a cheeky kiss into your palms. Making you laugh softly. Still, you tried to the insatiable man at a distance. "You heard him Dean. No kissing on the counter."

"Bummer. Beau could've been our audience." Dean mused. Reaching forward to tuck hair behind your air with a smug grin. The suggestive comment causing Beau to choke on his cereal. "DUDE! Nuh uh. Don't drag me into this!"

"I agree with Beau on that one." You chimed in. Getting ready to hop off the counter to make breakfast. Dean helped you in the process since last night's antics made it hard for you to walk. You hold onto his shoulders for support before pressing a small kiss to his cheek with an appreciative smile. "Thanks Deanie."

"Thanks Deanie ~" Beau mimicks you in an overexaggerated childish way. Breaking up the otherwise cute moment. When Dean sets you back down on your feet. His hand slides around your waist, tucking you into his side. He had a sense of pride with you wearing his jersey. It fit you like a glove, like it was meant to be yours.

"Ah -" He spots an empty beer can in the corner of his eye. Snatching it quickly then chucked it towards the brunette. Hitting him directly on the head which even caught Dean by surprise. "Oops. Must've slipped from my hands."

"Oh. So you wanna play it that way huh?" Beau sasses back. Setting aside his cereal bowl with a clatter. He then ran towards the cooler to grab a full can of beer, shaking it up violently. Looking straight at the pair with a smirk and playful glint in his eyes.

"Oh fuck no -!" Dean's mutters, eyes widening in fear before turning to you to lift you off your feet. You let out a surprised sound as he makes a beeline towards the backdoor. Beau chases after the couple as he opens the beer can with a click.

Dean almost trips over the wooden stairs that led to the beach down below. Feeling the warm sand beneath his bare feet with Beau not too far behind. Not even bothering to close the door despite being told off about it multiple times.

Dean turned a corner sharply. Kicking up sand when he does so as he made a run for it. All while you clung onto him for dear life as the two of you laugh uncontrollably.

At some point you look over Dean's shoulder to see that Beau's not too far behind. Hitting his chest dramatically to let him know. "He's gaining on us - Run faster! "

Beau catches up to them eventually with the beer can frothing at the surface in a menacing pace. Albeit the lack of oxgen going to his lungs since Dean was well fater than him. "Can't run from me forever bro!"

Unfortunately for him. Those summer nights weren't long enough for him. Soon being brought back to a cold, seemingly lonely reality. When Beau walks into the dimly lit living room. Making a look of disgust when he see's his semi nude friend on the couch.

He sticks his head in the refrigerator to look for cool beverages. Considering how hot and sticky he felt after hanging outside with Tucker out in the garden. "A little birdy told me something that you'd wanna hear."

Dean lifts his head at the mention of your name falling from Beau's lips. Now more aware of his surroundings as he registers the girl in his arms. Then he groggily asks Beau to confirm what he had just heard. "Come again?"

"Right uhh. She's coming back tonight." Beau replies calmly. Chugging from the can casually like he hadn't just dropped a bombshell of valuable info.

"The fuck you mean she's coming back tonight?!"

Beau just sighs with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Bro. Do you even read your texts? No wait -- did you look at your phone at all today?"

Dean gets up so abrutly that the girl in his arms fell straight onto the floor with a surprised yelp before staring up at the culprit with a dirty look. He mutters a quick apology before frantically searching for his phone ontop of the kitchen counter where he had last left it.

He lets out a sigh of relief when he does then switches it on, the bright screen making him squint as the sound of multiple pings go off. Sure enough, you had actually sent texts and 10 miss calls. All in the past hour or so.

By the time he was reading through the texts in a panicked manner, you had already landed and were on your way by taxi. Turns out, your trip had to be cut short due to delays at the airport. So you made sure both Beau and Dean knew about it beforehand.

Little did you know that your text messages would send the blonde jock into a worried frenzy.

"Fuck! Uhh." Dean pauses for a moment, hand dragging through his messy locks. Trying to process everything. While the girl who had fallen onto the floor gathers her clothes with a scoff. Pissed yet also confused as to what was going on as she mutters curses to herself about Dean on the way to the front door.

Dean could care less. As harsh as that may seem. He then turned to stare at Beau, wide eyed and utterly dazed due to being drunk. "When did she say she was coming over?"

Beau sighs yet again at his best friends lack of awareness and points to the clock with a cheese stick. "In 15 minutes. She said she's near campus. But I guess I could call her again if you're so worried."

Dean nods in agreement, swallowing nervously as his adam apple bobs from the motion. Watching Beau intently as he rings your number on his phone.

"It's alright Beau. I'll be fine." You reassured the fussy brunette over the phone. As he kept on insisting that he could help you with your things. "Thanks anyway. Oh — And say hi to Dean and the others for me too."

"Sure no problem. But you can tell Dean yourself." Beau muses. When a voice that you knew all too well spoke nearby. Despite his words sounding a little slurred, you knew it was Dean. "Come by yourself Maxwell!"

"Missed you too Dean." You smile to yourself after hearing his voice. Knowing he must be right next to Beau with a boyish grin that you grew to love, and a beer in hand. "Oh right. I just got a call from Allie saying that my dorm room's flooded. So I might have to stay over for a couple of days."

Beau being Beau, ignores your last comment entirely and decides to make fun of the situation instead. While Dean starts to freak out at the mention of you staying over. Immediately wondering where you should sleep.

"Aww Deanie she missed you ~" Beau mirrors your comment in a highly exaggerated way. Throwing in kissing noises while he was at it. Causing quite the commotion as the boys started to laugh and you assumed they were also shoving eachother due to the clatter of plates.

Which then earned a good scolding from Tucker in the process. You shook your head with a smile on your face, ending the call not soon after. "Idiots."

It had been a couple of days since your arrival and you seemed to fit in just fine. The boys tried to stay as respectful as the could around you. Meanwhile Dean let you stay in his room. Which came as a surprise to them. Usually because he never brought women to his own bedroom. Notoriously using the living room couch or floor for his hookups.

So imagine Garretts surprise when he walks out his room to see you standing in Dean's bedroom. Quietly painting on your canvas with the faint sound of music playing in the background. As Dean talked to you animatedly behind you with his chin resting ontop of your head.

He didn't really question it. Figuring because you were close with Dean, like a friend, that it should be normal for you to sleep in the same room as him.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep on the bed?" You ask for the a hundreth time that week. Feeling bad as you peer down at the blonde man, fingers reaching down to brush through his perfectly tamed hair. He looks up at you with a surprisingly soft gaze. For reassurance, he brings your fingers to his lips. Pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips with a low whisper. "I'm good down here."

What Dean wasn't expecting at all was for Logan to step in and make breakfast for you one morning. A simple, innocent gesture. Yet for some reason, it bugged Dean. Normally he wouldn't be the jealous type. But the way you thanked Logan with such an adoring look in your eyes made him wonder. Should he be jealous?

Another time was when he caught Logan sneaking glances at you at the stands during practice at the hockey rink. Without thinking, the grip around Dean's hockey stick tightens.

Thinking surely, you wouldn't be staring back at him too.

His grip loosens once he see's that you weren't looking at Logan, but at him. Giving him a small wave and a gentle smile. Your fingers like always, covered in paint since you were finishing an art project in your large sketchbook.

A weight lifted off his shoulders as he waves back with his usual boyish grin. Flashing you his dimples that you always adored as he playfully blows you a kiss.

However, that didn't stop you from liking Logan. That was the worst part. Not romantically ofcourse — well, Dean hoped not. But they clicked effortlessly. You two traded sarcastic comments across the dinner table. Logan would remember what items you liked for breakfast, lunch and dinner so that he could help Tucker make them for you. Watched movies together. Spent hours talking together in the living room, helping you with your art projects. Flaunting his 'boy next door' persona.

Meanwhile Dean transformed into some grumpy idiot whenever Logan was around. With the party being his last straw.

The boys decided to throw yet another big party one weekend. Dean was searching for you in the large crowd. His head thumping rigorously and adrenaline pumping through his veins due to the cheap alcohol and beer he consumed in the past hour or so. Doing drink challenges with his friends and most importantly Beau. Considering it was their shared birthday.

It made sense, Dean being dressed as Maverick. While Beau was Goose. An iconic dynamic pair.

Dean wondered who you'd come as. He figured maybe Hannah would come as your partner. He stops dead in his tracks when he see's who you're with.

Logan was with you in the living room. His arms around your shoulder as the pair engage in a conversation on the couch. You wore a satin white dress that stopped just above your knees, exposing your thighs. Paired with little angel wings on your back and a pair of satin embossed heels that looked just like ballerina shoes.

Dean was about to turn around and leave them alone.

That was until he see's Logan whisper something in your ear. And the look you had on your face made Dean wonder what he could have possibly said. You were at a loss for words, mouth agape and the tips of your ears turning pink. Then, Logan smiles at you. A genuine smile. And like the gentleman that he was, he leans in to wipe off the smudges of left over icing on your cheeks.

"Holy shit." Garrett mutters. Interrupting the somewhat intense staring session Dean had just now. Dean turns to look at him with an exhasperated groan. "What?"

"Dude. You're jealous. Don't even deny it."

"No I'm not." Dean scoffs. Quickly glancing at the pair as he picks up a red cup from the counter. Taking a swig before chucking it near the overfilled bin, completely missing it as it lands on the outside.

He takes another look that would inevitably piss him off. Logan whispered something in your ear again that made you laugh. As he not so descreetly point to Dean with his cup.

Garrett starts to wheeze when he see's his friends face. Deciding to put an arm around him and give him some advice. "Just talk to her man. I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding."

Yet Dean could'nt stop looking at the couple. Garretts words going in one ear and coming out the other. Soon he's at a breaking point when he see's Logan lean in impossibly close. Without thinking, he pries away from Grarretts clutches and weaves his way through the crowd.

'Yeah. He's pissed.'

Garrett doesn't stop him, wanting to see what sort of Drama would unfold as Hannah joined his side. Also curious.

Both you and Logan looked up towards the distresses blonde. You were the first to speak up. Growing slightly concerned as Dean seemed to find it hard to say something. Chest heaving and sweat clinging to his skin. "Dean? You okay?"

Logan knew exacly why came over as he fought back a grin. He had an inclining that Dean had a crush on you. But had no reason to make a move unless he witnessed something he couldn't ignore. "Need something?"

"Yeah. You bet I have a fucking problem." Dean replies quick and sharp. Almost catching Logan offguard as the tall man in the khaki green costume reaches for you.

You let out a small gasp as Dean bends down to hook his hands under your thighs. Lifting you effortlessly infront of everyone. Stormy blue eyes staring down at Logan before turning on his heel. While you clung onto him, looking around frantically as your cheeks began to feel warm from everyone staring as Dean walks past to head for the stairs.

Some guests cheered Dean on while others murmured amongst themselves. Jules ofcourse, caught everything with their phone as Dean makes it up the stairs with ease. "Oh this is Gold. "

"Took him long enough." Logan muses while Garrett handed him a $20 bill. With Garrett adding in another comment with a breathy laugh. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"God -- I'm so gonna walk in on them making out on the kitchen counter tomorrow." Beau groans in annoyance. Once again traumatised by the whole ordeal. Also hands Logan the same ammount. Leaving only Tucker as the exempted one since he knew Dean would break at some point.

[land0sc21]

𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝘼 𝙁𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 (Teaser!!)

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥! 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: A summer fling. That's all it was. That's all you were meant to be. Yet Dean was finding it ridiculously hard to keep you off his mind 𓇼

a/n: I'm still watching the show so Dean and Beau might seem a little ooc. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this little snippet! ( Main fic here! )

Dean, like usual, was splayed out on the couch. Shirtless with an empty beer bottle in hand, arm dangling off the edge carelessly. And a random puck bunny who he forgot the name of in his arms. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, with sweat clinging to his skin. His mind starting to drift due to the buzz from the alcohol.

Thinking back to distant memories. Not about the time he spent with the boys in the hockey house. No — But of you.

Dean had a crush on you for a while now. A long time actually. A year and a half to be exact. Which was unusual for a guy with a fuck boy reputation.

Since you were Beau's cousin, he'd see you often at family events or small gatherings with friends. And what started as casual conversations — gradually became something more.

On a deeper level? He'd became more comfortable around you. More open.

Soon, you become the person he looks for first whenever he entered a room.

He admires your paint stained fingertips whenever you finished an art piece and showed off your portfolio. Bright eyed and relieved whenever Dean complimented your work.

He also loves how you're so observant, have a great sense of humour, yet impossible to impress with Dean's charm.

Which was a lie, you are indeed quite charmed by him. You were just good at hiding it from him.

Unlike most girls he's met. You carried yourself with a quiet maturity. Meaning, Dean could rely on you for advice. Or emotional support after a bad hockey match. Feeling safe in your arms whenever you comforted him in rare cases where he felt vulnerable.

Then there was last year. Days spent in the Maxwell's summer home for the holidays. Was a memorable summer that he'd never forget. Beau was there too ofcourse. Protective over you as always, even if your mentality was much more mature than his own.

"Can you guys maybe not makeout on the counter during breakfast." Beau would say with a look of disgust. Walking by the couple in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in hand. Mouth full as he spoke as he pointed at them with his spoon. "It's fucking gross."

You scramble away from the blonde man with flushed cheeks and messy hair. Dean, however, tried to go in for another kiss without a care in the world. Even with Beau's judging stare burning into his skull from behind.

"Sorry Beau - " you apologise with a shy grin, breathing heavily. Placing a hand infront of Dean's mouth to stop him from kissing you. Only for him to press a cheeky kiss into your palms. Making you laugh softly. Still, you tried to the insatiable man at a distance. "You heard him Dean. No kissing on the counter."

"Bummer. Beau could've been our audience." Dean mused. Reaching forward to tuck hair behind your air with a smug grin. The suggestive comment causing Beau to choke on his cereal. "DUDE! Nuh uh. Don't drag me into this!"

"I agree with Beau on that one." You chimed in. Getting ready to hop off the counter to make breakfast. Dean helped you in the process since last night's antics made it hard for you to walk. You hold onto his shoulders for support before pressing a small kiss to his cheek with an appreciative smile. "Thanks Deanie."

"Thanks Deanie ~" Beau mimicks you in an overexaggerated childish way. Breaking up the otherwise cute moment. When Dean sets you back down on your feet. His hand slides around your waist, tucking you into his side.

He had a sense of pride with you wearing his jersey. It fit you like a glove, like it was meant to be yours.

"Ah -" He spots an empty beer can in the corner of his eye. Snatching it quickly then chucked it towards the brunette. Hitting him directly on the head which even caught Dean by surprise.

"Oops. Must've slipped from my hands."

"Oh. So you wanna play it that way huh?" Beau sasses back. Setting aside his cereal bowl with a clatter. He then ran towards the cooler to grab a full can of beer, shaking it up violently. Looking straight at the pair with a smirk and playful glint in his eyes.

"Oh fuck no -!" Dean's mutters, eyes widening in fear before turning to you to lift you off your feet. You let out a surprised sound as he makes a beeline towards the backdoor. Beau chases after the couple as he opens the beer can with a click.

Dean almost trips over the wooden stairs that led to the beach down below. Feeling the warm sand beneath his bare feet with Beau not too far behind. Not even bothering to close the door despite being told off about it multiple times.

Dean turned a corner, kicking up sand when he does so as he made a run for it. All while you clung onto him for dear life as the two of you laugh uncontrollably.

At some point you look over Dean's shoulder to see that Beau's not too far behind. Hitting his chest dramatically to let him know. "He's gaining on us - Run faster! "

Beau catches up to them eventually with the beer can frothing at the surface in a menacing pace. Albeit the lack of oxgen going to his lungs since Dean was well fater than him.

"Can't run from me forever bro!"

Yeah. That time was long gone now. Just a fond memory in the back of his mind.

[tyrannosaurus-maxy]

slow mo miami max

[ladyinpinklace]

I love being a Max girl 🤭🧡

[land0sc21]

This was his best look yet 🤏

[land0sc21]

Two minutes into watching Off Campus.... WTF did I just witness....?! 😳

[monacobby]

lando nipping down to the garage | monaco 2026 pre-fp1 & fp2

[land0sc21]

Hello?? 😳

[land0sc21]

𝙊𝙣 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙊𝙛𝙛 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 .✦ ݁˖ 𝐋𝐍⁴ 𝐅𝐢𝐜

.✦ ݁˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⤵︎

Lando legit starts to lose control of himself around you— after accidently consuming Aphrodisiac (love) chocolate. Then he realised something. Seeing you behind Toto's back was if anything, a pretty stupid idea.

So — when you get into an almost fatal accident. Lando finally asks you to be his. With or without Toto's approval.

𑣲𝑨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⤵︎

Reader is a Wolff, Secret non-official relationship with Lando, Oscar being fed up with you both, Merc Family mentioned and has slight angst?

Pease give feedback in the comments. Let me know if you guys like this sort of writing style 🙏

.✦ ݁˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⤵︎

Suggestive content!! Soft dom Lando, cursing, praise kink, but nothing too explicit occurs

Singapore's air was crackling with all sorts of tension that Sunday night. Your team briefing had lasted longer than expected. Discussing your near collision with Dorianne, who you already had apologised to. It was no excuse really. When you're in such a high pressure state battling for a World Champion title. Mistakes like that happen quite often.

Toto was looking for you not too shortly after. You'd been avoiding him like a living palgue ever since the race ended. Jack refused to say anything after you bribed him with signed collectables from his favourite drivers. So all who was left was Susie. Your mother.

"Der Schatz. Where is she?" Toto asks his wife with crossed arms and a raised brow. He had barged into the briefing room unannounced where everyone had just started packing up their notes and spreadsheets. All avoiding his intense gaze as he scans the room for your figure.

Suzie gives a small shrug. Too busy typing on her laptop, but aknowledged his presence. Already guessing what his facial expression could be.

After typing the last few words. She finalls turns to her right to look up at him. "Mm well. I'm not my daughter's keeper am I?"

"That's no reason to let her off the hook so easily." Toto sasses back. Pulling out a chair, taking a seat, rubbing his temple in frustration. Considerably over his stubborn daughters antics. "She probably went out to see that boy again."

That 'boy' he was referring to, being Lando.But, as it turns out. You were with Oscar.

He also needed some time to de-compress too after an excrutiatingly long race. He met up with you shortly after bumping into you in the media pen. Both agreeing to play padel to talk about the race and other uninteresting topics that occured during the weekend.

George was resting so he couldn't join you. With how insanely hot and humid the cockpit was. It was understandable that he opted to stay back at the hotel rather than join you in a session of padel. Kimi felt the same. Except he was more disappointed rather than feeling deflated.

"I could've done better you know?" He had told you with a tug on your sleeve during an interview. Which made you feel for the young Italian. He was still learning. Still, for a rookie he still had so much potential. You could see it, and so does Toto.

"You'll do better next time. I know you will." Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze along with a convincingly supportive smile.

Was it a lie? Maybe. No driver could ever predict or determine what could happen in a race. Even if they had the Verstappen mentality.

Now. Back at the padel court? There were other matters to attend address. According to a certain Aussie.

Oscar throws a ball at you. Light, and precise. Bouncing off of your head while you texted in a hurried manner. He clicks his tongue when he see's your oddly concerned facial expressions. Brows bunched and bottom lip jutted out.

"Is it Lando?" No response. He throws another ball at you. "Hello?..."

"You're not seriously texting him again are you?" Oscar sighed as he tilted his head back dramatically. Rolling his eyes in amusement when you pick up your phone in the middle of your paddle session.

You muttered quick apology before putting down your phone again. Your padel racket resting on your shoulder when you turn to look at him with the tap of your foot. "He's drunk texting me again. His spelling mistakes are worse than usual... you think he's okay?"

"Yeahh I mean. He's with Max."

Oscar could see the glint of worry in your eyes as you regain your composure to hit the ball. He readies himself to hit it back towards your direction with such ease and precision that it almost catches you offguard.

The Aussie snickered quietly when you miss and ran after the ball. "You know he's a grown adult. There's no need to dote on him like a kid."

You sighed in frustration. Oscar doesn't know that you Lando had been seeing eachother for a while. So ofcourse you'd worry about him. He tends to do stupid things when hes drunk. You hoped at least Max was there to keep an eye on him since you can't.

Still, you kept your cool and played innocent. Raising a brow at him as you gave him the 'are you serious' look. "Right. You're totally right. It's just -"

"Complicated?" Oscar finishes off. Causing you to look at him wide eyed. At a loss of words at his insanely good guess. "Yeah."

Unbeknownst to you, Oscar knew the gist of the situation. Both his friends were in denial. Lando was actively looking for a new girlfriend. Even though he just so happens to have the perfect girl right infront of him.

He had a feeling he might be drawing a line since you were Toto's eldest daughter. And that man was crazy protective over you.

As for you. You chose to deny it no matter how many times Oscar would tell you to do something about it.

Meanwhile, a certain curly haired brunette was looking for you. Max had just dropped him off at the hotel and thought that was the end of his problems. Little did he know that by leaving him on his own. He'd make quite a dizzying beeline towards your room at the end of the hallway.

His head was pounding but he still wanted to see you. Be in your loving presence.

"Now you're making me feel dumb." You groan in annoyance. Childishly pushing aside the spreadsheets on the counter.

"Sorry. I thought you knew." Oscar retorted with a small laugh. Giving a reassuring pat on your shoulders with a classic, boyish grin. The man was considerably good at giving you great racing advice that it seriously annoyed you.

He then turns to your door, reaching for the handle. He hears footsteps echoeing in the corridor and he freezes. Then a smile appears on his lips. "Sounds like you have company."

Oscar opens the door to reveal Lando. Who was surprised to see his teammate coming out of your room. Yet he didn't seem to bat an eye. Just whispered a quick goodbye to him as Oscar left with an amusing grin. "See you tomorrow mate."

Knowing Lando was smitten for you for sure.

He takes a look at you for a moment in the dimly lit room. Seems like you had just gotten out of the shower since your hair was still damp. His eyes rake over your body to drink in your appearance. As you wore nothing but just an oversized sleep shirt and a pair of tennis shorts that hugged your thighs perfectly. Fuck.

Despite him intensely undressing you with his eyes. You sigh. Opening up your arms like an invitation. And he takes the offer insanely quick. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a needy kitten.

"You okay?" You whispered softly. He didn't answer.

All that was on Lando's mind was how insanely good you smelled. Too good... ' What the fuck was in that chocolate? '

"Missed you." He'd says. Voice tantelisingly low and hoarse. Ofcourse he had the ability to make you buckle at the knees with just a few simple words.

"Need you bad." He whispers, quieter this time. Desperate, yet needy. Hot lips kissing a trail from your jawline down towards your neck and eventually, your collarbone. Lazily lapping at the soft, tender skin with his tongue. Completely enamoured by your scent. His hands going all over your body in a crazed, delirious manner. "Gimme."

He's not sure what type of chocolates he had during in that odd club party he attended just an hour ago. But you had a solid guess as to what is was. "Lando hold on — ! "

"No please." He whimpers when you pull away briefly to talk some sense into him. He stares down at you, cheeks flushed. Lids heavy, overstimulated and sweaty. His dark brown curls sticking to his forehead. Practically heaving as his chest rises up and down. "Just let me fuck you."

With such a pathetically needy look on his face, there was no chance of rejection. So you give in. Reluctantly nodding. Then he smiles. Like genuinly smiles, the one that shows off his dimple. As if you've just given him a reward.

'Fuck it.' You thought.

Lando almost instantly melts when he feels your lips search for his. As the soft pads of your fingers brushed his cheeks affectionately draws him in. You could care less who he see's. As long as he had time for you.

When your lips finally connected with his in a hurried frenzy. Soft, hot and breathy. Lando makes a strained noise. Surprised but needy.

"Fuck babe." He whimpers against your lips. Your face being held in his large hands, rough and insanely warm. But clammy.

Angling your head to get a better angle as incoherant words were said into the kiss. While he slowly starts to lose himself in pure bliss. "Mmph. So good f' me. So, so good."

Biting your bottom lip. Abusing the soft muscle, before prodding past your lips to suck on your tongue instead. Causing your stomach to flip. While Lando engulfs every delectable noise that you made.

Your fingers entangled in his curly locks as you tug at it. Knowing that was one of his weaknesses. He buckles. Groaning into the kiss in satisfaction as his bulge strains against his boxers. And you instinctively pull him closer to feel him more.

"Cheeky." He'd murmer, smirking against your lips. Amused but also extremely aroused. Frantic hands reaching for the hem of your t-shirt as he rides it up. Brushing past your bra. Thumbing greedily over your hardened nipples. Causing you to whimper in response as you felt his member pressing onto the side of your thighs.

He lifts you effortlessly. Your legs wrapping around his hip as he holds them tightly. Never breaking the kiss as he moves towards your bed.

As Lando was ready to completely devour you beneath him.

Memories of that fateful night's encounter became a blur. Today should have gone smoothly for you. Considering this was your second season with Dorianne on a circuit that you enjoyed.

Yet the streets of Monaco had never been so quiet. Not for the fans, or the drivers, or the race engineers. Just Lando.

The crash replay still looping on the giant screens. A sudden lock up into Sainte Dèvote caused you to hurtle into the barrier. Causing the car to rest on it's side with smoke coming out. Then silence before the radio crackled to life.

"Driver is okay."

Toto, Susie and everyone else present in the paddock breathed again. Including the Mclaren team and especially Lando. He was honestly extremely scared. That could've ended badly for you. And he wasn't sure he could deal with living in a world without you.

He knew you for years now. Since your days in Formuls 2. You, his best friend and now soon to be lover.

Three years of friendship.

Three years of denial.

Three years of having to watch you date other guys.

He had to make things right with you. Even if it meant confronting your scary dad who looked like he was out to get him.

Now Lando stood outside the medical centre waiting room. Pacing back and forth in an impatient manner. Oscar had been witnessing him do that for almost an hour. "Mate. You're wearing a hole in the floor."

"I'm not pacing." He retorts rather quickly. While Oscar rolls his eyes with his arms folded. "You walked past me 17 times."

"You must be imagining it."

Oscar was about to answer to that with a witty comment until being interrupted with the sound of your door opening.

You step out. There were noticeable scracthes on the top part of your cheeks since you had opened your visor to see after the crash. Arm in a sling. Very much alive. A smile appears on your lips to see both Lando and Oacar blinking back at you in concern.

"Wow. You two look terrible."

Lando nearly laughs from relief. Taking a few strides towards you to pull you into his arms. He was careful not to squeeze you too hard though. "Thanks for that."

"No seriously. Have you slept?"

"Huh. You literally crashed into the barriers at high speed in a near fatal crash. What do you think?" Lando answers back. Full of sass. His voice muffled as he takes the moment to press a kiss ontop of your head.

Oscar had slipped out by the time you looked back towards the chair where he was sitting. "And?" You pressed on. Unaware that Lando was in complete turmoil right about now.

"And I thought --" his voice cracks. Stopping himself midway through his sentence to bite his bottom lip. Tears already welling up in his eyes. You step away slightly and peer up through your lashes to look at him. Then your smile faded. Okay, now you were concerned. "Lando? Is something wrong?"

For a moment. Everything and everyone in the hallway seemed to be at a standstill. He stares at the floor then back up at you. Repeating the action as he lets out a strained exhale. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"Lando-" was all that you could seem to say. Your free hand reaching up to cup his face. Coercing him to look at you. He sniffled, laughing softly. Eyes slightly red and puffy while you wiped away stray tears that ran down his cheeks. "I know this is a horrible time."

"It really is." You mused. Lando laughs more as you try to lighten the mood. "When they showed your crash on the screen. Idk I --... I realised something."

You tilt your head and urge him to carry on. He leans into your touch as he begins to calm down. "I need to stop pretending that we aren't something more."

"I love being your best friend." He carries on. Bringing your hand to his lips. Pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "But I also want you to be mine. Officially. If you'll have me?"

"Oh." Was your response. It wasn't a surprised 'oh.' Which made Lando's stomach drop. "Oh?"

"You idiot." You say, pointing to your good arm. Lando, confused, blinks a few times before answering. "Excuse me?"

"You complete idiot."

"I feel like I'm being insulted after a vulnerable moment." Lando retorts with a sigh. Raking his fingers through his hair as he makes sense of your comment. That is, until you finally tell him why. "You waited until I almost get wiped out of existence?"

"So?" Lando asks casually.

"So --? We could've easily resolved this issue if you had just told me about this earlier." You iterated with a dramatic hand gesture in the air. Lando watches you with his mouth hung open. Unable to respond to that.

"I'm say yes. We can make be together. Just -- tell me what's on your mind next time. Yeah?"

"Like...yes, yes?" Lando asks twice. Just to make sure he wasn't hearing things. As he was a little sleep deprived. You scoffed and shook your head in disbelief. "How many kinds of ' yes' ' are there?"

Then a grin spreads across his face. The tips of his ears turning pink, so does the apples of his cheeks. And before you could say anything else. He pulls you in by the waist. Immediately searching for you lips. Kissing you soft and slow.

Smiling into the kiss like a love crazed idiot. Which he was. You laugh softly at his enthusiasm as he held you in place carefully. Steadily. Like he couldn't believe this was really happening. "Took you long enough."

"Hey. Don't put this on me! Your dad is the one I was worried about."

"Oh is that so?" A familiar voice echoes down the hallway. Making the young couple freeze. The once lovely bubble they were in. Burst.

Indeed it was Toto. Standing there with his arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face.

"Oh uhh - hey dad." You say with a tight lipped grin. Immediately took a step back. Lando gulps nervously, his adam apple bobbing as he does so. Wanting the earth to swallow him whole.

Toto looks between the two. Back and forth as if analysing their behaviour. Then he sighs, with a hand running down his face before he speaks. "Finally."

"What?" You blink. Obviously not believing what you were hearing. While Lando shifts uncomfortably beside you. Not so casually searching for your hand for support.

"I'm not stupid. Do you think I haven't seen you two sneaking around? How exhausting it's been watching this for the past year?"

"You knew?"

"Young lady. Everyone knows." Toto says to his daughter in a sassy tone. His eyes then sharply drifting to Lando. "You young man. Make it pretty obvious too."

Lando groans and covers his face with his hands. Feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. Both Oscar and Kimi had been listening into the intense conversation around the corner. The words leaving the teen's lips before he could stop. "I KNEW IT."

And the first time since that entire chaotic weekend in Monaco. Everyone laughed.

Still. Lando would ofcourse get the Toto lecture about keeping boundaries and to never break your heart in any way. Or else he had an angry German to deal with.

[land0sc21]

ˑ 𓈒 𐔌 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝟒 𝙔𝙤𝙪 ͡꒱ ۫ ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹

.✦ ݁˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⤵︎

You and Lando have been subtly soft launching your relationship for months now. So when fans see Lando sneaking out of your hotel room in Monza. Everyone starts to freak out! Both from the F1 fandom and your own. Ofcourse they're super supportive and adore the sunshine pair

𑣲𝑨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⤵︎

Sort of suggestive? sunshine x sunshine couple, reader has pink hair, she dotes on Lando alot, Lando is super clingy, Social media craze, fandoms coming together. Overall lots of fluff involved.

Please give feedback in the comment section and reblog if you like my work 🙏

I hope you guys enjoy .ᐟ.ᐟ

❤️ liked by f1, lando, oliviarodirgo, conangray and 29,456,00 more

y/nstagram GRWM for race weekend! 🏎

Read more

f1 hope you have a lovely time here in the paddock 😊

oliviarodrigo Oh? 👀

conangray Someone's getting bold 🤭

username Is that Lando freaking Norris?!

username I knew it! I swear I saw Lando attend one of her concerts last month

username That has to be Lando for sure

username Omg so if our hunch is correct. They'd be the ultimate power couple oat 🤏

username Guys don't just assume they're a couple. They could just be really good friends

username Aww I bet she makes really sweet song lyrics for him

username New WAG alert?

username Even if they're friends this is still cute

For months nobody had a clue. Lando had a hard time ofcourse. Considering how bad he was at keeping secrets. You, the Indie pop star girlfriend. Who was basically the internet's dream combination of soft girl aesthetic, whimsy core outfits and devistatingly good songs -- was somehow much worse than Lando.

One example was the instagram post you had uploaded a few hours ago. Already blowing up your phone as you scrolled through the comments with a small grin on your lips. Absolutely loving the chaos you had caused.

Another phone was propped up along with a ring light behind it for better lighting. As you setup your makeup and skincare items near the sink for your GRWM live on tiktok.

It was early in the morning when you decided you should go on live for some content. Since you were in Monza for race weekend to support Lando and the Mclaren team. Once you were ready, you start the live session. And in no time, your screen began to fill up with hearts popping up and fans sending you gifts.

You say your greeting and kick start the live with a routine skincare tutorial. Talking to your fans as if they were your friends in a care free attitude.

"Do you guys think the pink is a bit too bold?" You ask your fans while you brushed through the mane that was your hair, trying to get rid of all the knots. Which was still damp since you had just finished taking a shower.

username No way! You look super cute!

username Best decision you ever made really ☺️

username yeahh you sort of look like pinkie pie 💞

You read the latest comment and laughed softly. "Yeahh. That was the vibe I was going for to be honest. She's a cutie."

Then another comment pops up that caught your attention. You scroll back to the comment and read it aloud.

" 'Was that Lando in your recent instagram post? And don't lie!' Hm...maybe it is. Maybe it isn't." You say casually, with a shrug. Biting back the urge to smile due to pure gidiness.

After your response, the comments flooded in faster. With many speculating already with evidence and theories. One even mentioning that you have a suspcious amount of papaya in your closet.

You decide to tease them further. Humming when you tap your chin with the wooden part of your makeup brush as you leaned against the cold glass of the shower door behind you with glee. "Well. Who knows? I might just really like the colour orange."

Then an idea pops into your head. "Alright. If you guys can figure it out. I'll hand out tickets to 50 lucky winners!"

The fans ofcourse, were super exited after hearing the offer.

Meanwhile Lando waited impatiently outside your bathroom suite. As soon as he hears you ending the livestream, he softly knocks on the door.

The second you open it he slips inside and immediately wraps his arms around your waist. Burying his face into the crook of your neck as a relieved exhale escapes past his lips. "Finally."

He then smothering your neck with kisses as you try to push his face away while laughing in response. "Hello to you too?"

"No seriously." He mumbles against your neck dramatically. Completely drawn in by your scent. Being candied strawberries and vanilla bean. "Do you know how painful it is to watch you go on live with your fans for an hour and not being able to say anything?"

"You were texting me the entire time."

"Because you ignored me." He fires back. Sounding like an abandoned puppy that lacked attention from it's owner.

"I was live Lando." You sighed as you try to pack your things. With Lando clinging onto you like a koala it was a pretty hard task to do. His response made you snort because of how stupidly simple, yet adorable it was. "Escuses. You should be spending time with me."

You roll your eyes at Lando's childish response before walking over towards your bed. Only for him to be attached to your hip lile velcro. Not budging at all.

"Lando."

"What?" He asks while laying ontop of you. Pressing soft kisses on the exposed skin of your plush stomach. Where your tank top had ridden up. Feeling very content with where he was while you squirmed beneath him.

You also lay on your back. Letting him do as he pleased while the freshly new sheets ruffled beneath you. Even if you felt a little embarrassed that your boyfriend loved to praise you and your body so affectionately.

You felt your cheeks starting to grow increasingly warm. Looking anywhere else but him due to nerves. The scruff of his stubble brushing against your skin just adding to the quiet, intimate moment.

Causing your voice hitch as the butterflies danced in the pit of your stomach. "You're awfully clingy for someone who claims that they aren't."

"So? I missed you. I have a right to be clingy." He retorts. Sounding quite offended at your seemingly true accusation.

"At least your self aware." You sigh in defeat. Knowing he was right as your hands reached down to brush through his curly locks. Smiling down at your lovely boyfriend. Who stared back up at you with the same adoring look.

Eventually. Fans were certain that the two of you were dating after seeing a picture of Lando, not so discreetly leaving your hotel room. He just so happened to staying right down the hall where a few fans had spotted him.

"No way. Is that Lando?" The girl points out as Lando happily makes his way back to his room with a huge, lovesick grin on his face. The girl's friend had her phone out and took a quick picture for proof with an excited giggle. "This is actual gold."

Soon enough, the hashtag #landoy/n started trending on almost every social media platform overnight.

Fans reactions ranged from sceptical : "This is the most randomest couple ever."

To : "No but it actually makes perfect sense."

And ofcourse, since the two of you were so busy with schedules. Neither of you took notice of the social media craze happening online.

Meanwhile, at your concert. You had made up your mind on the whole ordeal. Figuring it was best to just let the world know since Lando wasn't too keen on the 'secret relationship' idea in the first place. Including not being able to be openly show pda with you whenever you visited the paddock.

You sat ontop of an odd looking box in the middle of the stage with an electric guitar in your lap and a mic in your hand. Ready to finally confirm what your fans had been dying to know.

"This is a special song for somebody who honestly is the sweetest person that I know."

As soon as those words left your lips. The crowd started to scream, already anticipating who it could be. You were audibly stunnrd when one fan shouts out Lando's name. Fans erupted into laughter and joined in. Ready to confirm the girl's hunch.

While you took a quick glance towards your right where Lando was backstage. He was biting his bottom lip due to nerves because he too, had a sense what you were about to do. Even so, you smiled at the brunette reassuringly. Giving him a cheeky wink before turning back to the anticipating crowd.

"He just so happens to be world champion."

The venue nearly collapses, as the camera then faces Lando and he appears on the big screen. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights. His face you'd never forget. He was extremely red as his hands flew to hide his cheeks with a shy grin. Clearly he wasn't expecting this at all.

His first instinct was to hide behind a speaker. That was until you usher him to join you on stage, making fans scream louder and teased Lando for being shy.

"We knew from the start!"

"You owe us the free tickets by the way!"

"At least warn me next time when you pull a stunt like this babe." Lando whispers to you when he joins you by your side. Waving to all the fans as his heart hammered against his chest. Your hand slips into his much clammy ones. Giving it a gentle squeeze before answering in a teasing tone. "Where's the fun in that?"

It was all chaos really. Many took videos to create compilations to post on twitter, youtube and tiktok. Some short clips of Lando staring at you lovingly during your dates. Or whenever you'd join him in the paddock or the Mclaren hospitality suite. Edits of you teaching Lando how to play the guitar. You being very attentive and patient as you do so.

There were also clips of him attempting to sing your songs and sometimes getting the lyrics catasrophically wrong. Or sang in a high pitched tone with a crack in his voice. With you still encouraging him with a proud grin and singing along in earnest.

World peace could've happened since both fandoms agreed that you and lando were unexpectedly adorable in every way possible.

Formula 1 fans started listening to your songs and streaming them regularly on Spotify. Your fans suddenly knew what tire degradiation was and became hardcore fans of the sport. Specifically supporting Mclaren.

Whenever you'd attend a race. Camera's would immediately pan to Lando to catch his reaction. He'd pretend not to notice you but eventually would break into a shy grin. While you urged him to carry on with the interview since he stopped speaking and focused his attention on you instead.

One of the sweetest part of your relationship with Lando was how you try to keep things normal. Instead of fancy dinner dates. They'd spend evenings cooking dinner together and creating a mess while doing so. Arguing over what movies they should watch or sometimes playing swimming pool games with Oscar and Lily. Like chicken.

"Let's watch a horror movie." Lando suggested. You immediately turn to him with a look of disbelief. "You're not seriously suggesting that."

"Why? What's wrong with my suggestion?"

"Because you scream every time a jumpscare comes up."

Lando pauses for a moment. The popcorn bowl tipping slighly as he tried thinking of a decent response. But alas - there was no point in denying it. "That happened once."

"Sure. Keep on telling yourself that."

One time he finishes a debrief after a race and immediately searches for you at the hospitality suite. He was sweaty, heart racing and full of adrenaline. Still, he couldn't wait to be in your arms again.

Surprisingly. You weren't there. Lando's mum, Cisca had told him that you were doing an interview with Sky news. Luckily for him. You had just finished wrapping up with the reporters, giving them a wave while you turn to leave.

Lando pace quickens when he see's you heading the opposite direction. Making his way down the busy pitlane full of the revving noises of the engines and conversations between engineers.

He gave you no time to react when he suddenly grabs hold of your hand. Making you look over your shoulder in confusion.

"Lando? What're you -" you didn't get a chance to speak before he pulls you into his arms. A content sigh leaving his lips and his chin rested above your head.

"Ugh. Now reporters are stealing you from me..." He whispers in a sarcastic, yet oddly upset tone. Eyes closed as he presses a kiss ontop of your head. You were wary of the looks everyone was giving you both. But answered him back anyway. Smiling to yourself from his silly accusation. "That's the perks of being famous I guess."

He pulls away, but not too far to peer down at you. Chest heaving since he had just ran all over to the paddock in a crazed manner. You could tell he was super happy to see you thanks to the huge grin on his lips. The words leave your lips without second thinking. Causing Lando to become a blushing mess. "Why're you so cute?"

"You thinks so?" Lando asks back with another question. His tone going slightly higher than his usual voice.

"I know so." You answer back softly. Poking the spot where his dimples were while he actively denied you once again. Your sweet boyfriend was a blushing mess while you shower him with love.

He calms down after a while. Burying your face into your neck before looking back up at you again. Soon his face was infront of yours. Gently nudging his nose against yours. Your eyes nervously flickering towards his lips.

Burberry cologne, after shave and the salty scent of sweat filled your senses. As it engulfes you in the narrow space.

Lando's lips were dangerously close, brushing over yours but not making contact just yet.

"Do you like to see me suffer?" You sighed in frustration when Lando teases you yet again. He had taken a step back to see you chasing after his lips. Letting out a small laugh at your desperation and responded in a gentle tone. "Yep. Makes the moment all the more entertaining."

Fine. If he wanted to play hard to get? You'll play hard to get. You avoid his attempt at kissing you to no avail as he pulls you back in effortlessly. Choosing to litter your face with kisses while you laughed.

Despite trying to block his mouth with your hand. You felt him smile against your palms before giving the soft skin a kiss. Voice muffled while he tried to act clueless. "What did I do?"

"You're being a tease." You mused. Finally letting go of his mouth so he could speak properly. Lando knew you were trying to act cool about the whole situation. But your reddened cheeks say otherwise.

His grin only widened as his lids felt heavy. Staring down at you with adoration. "You seem to enjoy it though."

Ugh, this man was going to be the death of you. Yet you could see how much love he has for you just by staring into his starstruck, pale green eyes.

You reach up to fix his tousled hair that had become messy due to the helmet he wore. Lando leaned into your touch and sighed at the feeling of your fingers entangled in his soft, curly locks. "I guess that's true."

The truth was that all the affection that you showered him with still surprises him. The notes that you'd leave on his luggage. The goodluck kisses before qualifying sessions. The way in which you'd share the same emotions if not more after he wins a race. Your songs that were specifically tailored for him.

Lando overall, loves how openly devoted and affectionate his Pop star girlfriend was. But he wouldn't exchange you for anyone else.

Bonus :

"Nice hickey by the way," Oscar points out with a smug grin when he spots the purple mark on your neck.

"What're you-?... Oh." You stopped mid sentence when you realised what he was talking about. You felt your cheeks begin to get warm. Embarrasment and dread creeping up on you.

Turns out the pair had a pretty passionate lovemaking session as soon as you two got back to the hotel. Oscar suggested covering up with your jacket collar while shaking his head in amusement. "Way to keep it subtle."

"Don't start Piastri." You groaned in annoyance. Your mind flashes back to last nights, intimate session. Cheeks flushed as you picked at your pancakes with a fork.

Lando joins the rest of the team in the canteen of the Mclaren suite. Oscar mouthed 'good luck' as he pointed towards his angry girlfriend.

Well. It was fun while it lasted.

[land0sc21]

Can you guys send in requests so I know what you would like for me to write? I'll try a different writing style because I feel like it's not really working right now 😭

[verstappenverse]

2:47AM

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: When your car dies on an empty road at 2:47am, Max Verstappen is the last person you want to call and the only one you know will come.

3.8k words / Masterlist

The screen of your phone glowed against the dark interior of the car, the weak light washing over your face in pale blue.

Three percent.

You stared at the tiny red battery icon like you could intimidate it into lasting longer.

“Come on,” you muttered, tapping the screen as if that would somehow help. “Don’t do this to me now.”

The phone, naturally, did not care.

Outside the road stretched out in both directions, black and empty beneath the dull orange wash of one distant streetlamp. Beyond that there was nothing, you couldn’t see a petrol station or any passing headlights. It was just fields, a narrow country road, and your very dead car sitting uselessly on the shoulder as if it had given up on life.

You had already tried everything.

Turning the key again and again until the engine made a pathetic clicking noise and then nothing. Popping the bonnet even though you knew absolutely nothing about what you were looking at. Standing outside for all of thirty seconds before the silence became too much and you got back in, locked the doors, and pretended the shadows between the trees weren’t starting to look like people.

You checked your messages again.

Nothing. No replies.

Your mum would be asleep, and even if she wasn’t she was over an hour away and would panic so dramatically that you would end up comforting her while stranded in the dark. Your thumb hovered over the emergency breakdown number, but with so little battery and no charger the thought of being placed on hold until your phone died made your stomach twist.

Then your eyes drifted to another name.

Max Verstappen.

You stared at his contact for a minute.

Absolutely not.

No.

There had to be someone else. You scrolled up. Then down. Then up again. As if your contacts might rearrange themselves and present a better option. They didn’t.

You watched as your battery dropped to two percent.

His name sat there, annoyingly available… annoyingly useful.

You knew that he was probably awake and it annoyed you that you knew he would be. Max had always had the worst sleep schedule of anyone you’d ever met. If he wasn’t at a race, in the gym, or chatting with engineers, he was on his sim rig until some ungodly hour, barking into a headset, swearing in Dutch and acting like an online race in the middle of the night was as important as a world championship.

You could practically picture him now, hoodie pulled over his head, hair a mess, face lit by the glow of three monitors. One hand on the wheel, the other probably reaching for an energy drink he definitely shouldn’t be having at nearly three in the morning.

The thought made something familiar and irritating tug in your chest.

You and Max had known each other for years, long enough that the sharp edges between you had worn into something strangely comfortable even if neither of you would admit it.

At first he had been impossible. Blunt and arrogant. Too competitive for his own good. The kind of person who could turn anything into a contest, from lap times to who got to the paddock café first. You’d met him through mutual friends in the racing world, and within twenty minutes he had corrected something you said about GT racing with the kind of smug certainty that made you want to throw your drink at him.

You had called him unbearable.

He had called you dramatic.

That had been the start of it.

Years of bickering followed. Max making sarcastic comments whenever you walked into the Red Bull garage. You rolling your eyes whenever he pretended not to care what people thought. Him stealing chips from your plate without asking. You hiding his cap once before qualifying and watching him lose his mind for ten full minutes before giving it back.

You wouldn’t call it friendship, it was something more annoying than friendship, something with a lot of history and not enough honesty.

“You two flirt like you’re trying to kill each other,” Lando had once said, grinning behind his bottle of water.

“We do not flirt,” you had snapped at the exact same time Max said, “As if.”

Maybe you had caught yourself looking at Max for a little too long when he was focused, jaw tight, eyes narrowed, his whole body wired with impossible concentration. Maybe he had once put a hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowded afterparty, and maybe the warmth of it had stayed there long after he’d moved away.

Maybe there had been a night in Monaco years ago when you’d both ended up outside on a balcony, tired of noise and people pretending to be more interesting than they were. You had argued about nothing for fifteen minutes and then somehow talked until sunrise.

He had looked at you differently that night. Then, the next morning, he had acted like nothing happened.

That was how it always went with Max. One step closer, two steps back. A strange almost, a constant nearly. A tension you both buried under sarcasm because sarcasm was easier than admitting anything real.

Which was precisely why calling him now felt like handing him a loaded weapon.

You could already hear him.

Really? You got stranded? How do you even manage that?

You closed your eyes.

The phone blinked at one percent again.

“Fine,” you whispered. “Fine… but if he’s smug, I’m hanging up.”

You tapped his name before you could change your mind.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Your heart thudded harder than it should have.

“What drunk dialling now?” Max’s voice came through low and, yes, smug. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

Instant regret. You squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head back against the seat. “Don’t flatter yourself Verstappen.”

“Then why are you calling me at…” he stopped, “…2:47 in the morning?”

You glanced out of the window.

Still nothing.

“I’m stranded,” you said.

Another pause.

“Stranded?”

“Yes.”

“As in… emotionally?”

You would have laughed if your nerves weren’t stretched so thin. “Physically, Max.”

“Right.” His tone sharpened slightly. “Where?”

“My car died. I don’t know where I am. I think I took a wrong turn.”

The background noise on his end changed, less amused now, more alert.

“What do you mean died?”

“What do you think I mean? I mean it made a terrible clicking noise, refused to start and now it’s sitting here dead!”

“Okay, okay. Where are you?”

You swallowed and looked down at the dash as though the car might provide an answer. “I took a wrong turn after dropping Poppy off, and then my phone started dying, and now I’m on this empty road with no charger and no idea where the nearest anything is.”

“Can you see anything?”

You peered through the windscreen at the faded sign half-hidden near the bend. “There’s a sign. Something like… Mont Angle? Or Mont Aville. I can’t properly see it.”

“What can you see?” he repeated, firmer now. “Any houses? Signs? Junctions? Anything.”

You sat up straighter, thrown slightly by his tone, and squinting through the windscreen. “A field. Trees. A broken fence. There’s a small signpost near the bend but I can’t read all of it. And there’s a mile marker, I think. B-something.”

“Can you send your location?”

“I can try, but if my phone dies—”

“Try.” He interrupted.

You quickly opened your location, fingers clumsy from cold and panic. The screen lagged and for one terrifying second, it froze completely.

“No, no, no,” you whispered.

Then it loaded and you sent it to him.

“Did you get it?” you asked quickly.

Silence.

“Max?”

“I got it,” he said.

Then the call went quiet again, except for the faint sound of movement on his end. A drawer opening, something being shoved aside, the sim rig audio cut out abruptly.

“Lock your doors,” he said.

“They are locked.”

“Check.”

You frowned. “I’m not five.”

“Check.”

Something in his voice made you do it without arguing and you pressed the lock button again.

“They’re locked.”

“Good. Don’t get out.”

“I wasn’t planning to go for a scenic walk.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell,” you said, softer despite yourself.

There was a beat and when he spoke again his voice was lower. “Stay on the phone with me yeah? For as long as it lasts.”

Then you heard keys. You suddenly felt embarrassed, pressed your lips together, unsure what to do with the warmth crawling into your chest. “You don’t have to.”

“You called me.”

“I know, but I mean… I can call someone else.”

“With what battery?”

You didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” he said. “I’m coming.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I called you because you’re the only idiot awake at this time.”

“And yet I’m the idiot coming to get you.”

You leaned your head back, eyes closing for a second. The car felt too quiet around you. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s okay.”

For some reason, that was worse. You opened your eyes and stared out into the dark. “Don’t sound so pleased about it.”

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice changed again. Rougher, almost irritated, but not at you. “I don’t like that you’re there alone.”

Your chest tightened, he said it like your safety mattered to him in a way that didn’t fit neatly into the version of your relationship you both pretended to understand.

“Well,” you said lightly, because light was easier, “I’m not exactly thrilled either.”

“Why are you even out there alone at this time?”

“I told you. I dropped Poppy off.”

“And you didn’t stay at hers?”

“She had an early flight. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You are unbelievable.”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You would rather drive alone at almost three in the morning than inconvenience someone.”

“You’re making it sound like I planned to be stranded.”

“No,” he said, and you heard a car door open on his end. “I’m saying you do this thing where you act like needing help is a criminal offence.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Outside wind brushed against the side of the car rattling faintly through the trees.

“I don’t do that,” you said, but it lacked force.

Max gave a short, humourless laugh. “You do.”

Max Verstappen who had made a career out of acting like nothing scared him, who had rolled his eyes at you more times than you could count was getting in his car at almost three in the morning because you had called.

“How far are you?” you asked.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen if I ignore the speed limits.”

“Please don’t die trying to rescue me from my own car.”

“I am not dying. Also this is not a rescue.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“A retrieval.”

You stared at the phone. “I’m not luggage.”

“You are currently stranded on the side of the road and need collecting. Sounds like luggage.”

“Remind me to never call you again.”

“You say that like you call me often.”

For a moment the familiar rhythm returned, the back and forth, the easy bite, the verbal sparring that had always been safer than saying anything with weight.

You listened to the sound of his car through the phone, the faint rush of speed, the occasional click of his indicator. It was strange hearing him like this, Max breathing quietly on the other end of the line, driving through the night because you were scared and trying not to admit it.

“You still there?” he asked after a while.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“You keep checking.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His answer came too fast. “Because your phone is dying.”

You smiled faintly despite yourself. “Right. That’s the only reason.”

“You want a better one?"

“Depends,” you said, voice quieter now. “Do you have one?”

Max didn’t answer immediately. For a moment there was only the road noise on his end and the nervous beat of your own heart.

Then he said, “I don’t like not knowing if you’re okay.”

You looked away from the phone like that might make the words easier to bear. “That sounds dangerously close to concern.”

“I am concerned.”

You swallowed. Max rarely said things plainly unless he was annoyed. Or certain. There was something disarming about hearing it without sarcasm wrapped around it.

“Oh,” you said, because apparently your brain had stopped working.

He huffed softly. “That’s all you have?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thank you for your concern, almighty racing prince.”

“There she is.”

You smiled, but it faded quickly. Your eyes drifted to the dark road again.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For calling.”

His reply was instant. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“No. Don’t do that.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Apologise for needing someone.”

The words settled hard in your chest. You looked down at your lap. Your hands were cold, fingers curled tightly around the phone. “It’s just… I know we’re not exactly—”

“What?”

“Like this.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No,” he said, voice lower. “Say it.”

You loathed him a little for that. For making you be the brave one when you were sitting in a dead car in the middle of nowhere and already feeling exposed. You rubbed your thumb along the edge of your phone. “We’re not exactly the kind of people who call each other when something goes wrong.”

Max was quiet for long enough that you wondered if the call had dropped.

Then he said, “Maybe we should be.”

You stared at the screen still somehow hanging onto one percent, still somehow alive, as if even your phone had decided it needed to hear what happened next.

“Max,” you said carefully.

“I know.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes I do.”

You almost laughed. “Still arrogant.”

“Still right.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”

“You’ve said.”

“I’ve meant it every time.”

“I know,” he said. “But you still called.”

You looked out of the window again, but all you could see was your own reflection. Wide eyes. Tense mouth. The expression of someone who had spent too many years pretending she didn’t feel anything just because the alternative was too complicated.

“You were the only one I knew would be awake,” you said.

“That’s why you called?”

“Yes.”

“But not the only reason.”

You didn’t reply. Max exhaled through his nose. You could imagine him gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead, jaw set the way it always was when he was pushing too hard.

“I’m not trying to make you say anything,” he said after a moment.

“That’s a first.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Then you said, barely above a whisper, “I knew you’d come.”

The line went quiet. Your pulse thundered. You wished immediately that you could take it back, but not really, because some part of you had always known that beneath the snark, beneath the stubbornness, beneath years of pretending not to care Max would come if you really needed him.

“Yeah.”

That one word did more damage than a confession.

Finally headlights appeared in the distance. At first you thought you imagined them. Two faint beams cresting the bend far down the road, cutting through the darkness like a promise.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “I see headlights,” you said.

“What side?”

“Behind me. Coming from the bend.”

“That’s me.”

Relief hit so suddenly your eyes stung. The car slowed as it approached, sleek and dark and unmistakably Max’s. It pulled up behind you with a controlled sharpness, headlights flooding your rear-view mirror as the engine cut off. For a second neither of you moved, then his voice came through your phone one last time.

“Stay there.”

The call ended. Your phone died immediately after, screen going black in your hand.

Max was in a hoodie and joggers, hair messy, face set in a hard line. He looked like he had left in the middle of whatever he’d been doing without a second thought, no cap or jacket. Just keys in hand and concern written plainly across his face before he managed to bury it.

He walked to your window and knocked once as you unlocked the car. His eyes moved over your face, your shoulders, your hands, like he was checking you for damage.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His jaw flexed. “Really?”

“Yes, Max.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Only then did some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He looked away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”

You blinked, surprised by the raw edge in his voice. “I told you I was fine.”

“You told me you were alone on a dark road with a dead car and no battery.”

“Well. When you say it like that.”

He shot you a look and you gave him a weak smile.

Max crouched slightly beside the open door, one hand braced against the frame. “Do you know how stupid that was?”

Your spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Driving alone at this time with no charger.”

“Thanks. I really needed a lecture.”

“I’m not lecturing.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m saying you should have called earlier.”

“My car died five minutes before I called you.”

“You should’ve had a charger.”

“I usually do.”

“Usually doesn’t help now.”

You glared at him. “Are you always this charming when rescuing people?”

“I told you, retrieval.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one stranded.”

“And you’re being insufferable about it.”

For a second, his mouth twitched, then his eyes softened. “I was worried,” he said.

You went silent and Max seemed to realise he’d been too honest. He looked away, jaw tightening, gaze fixed somewhere over the roof of your car.

“I mean,” he added, too late, “it's not exactly ideal.” He straightened, glancing towards your bonnet. “Pop it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

He gave you an offended look. “I know cars.”

“You know Formula One cars.”

“Still counts.”

“This is a very sad little road car.”

“I can see that.”

“You said it.”

You popped the bonnet and got out, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cold hit properly. Max immediately looked at you.

“Where’s your jacket?”

“In the back.”

“And you didn’t put it on?”

“I was a bit busy trying not to be murdered by the countryside.”

He rolled his eyes but moved before you could protest, opening the back door and pulling your jacket out. Instead of handing it to you he stepped close and draped it around your shoulders himself.

The movement was quick but his hands lingered at your collar, tugging the fabric closed around you.

You looked up. He was close enough that you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the sleep-creased side of his face, the focus in his expression that had nothing to do with engines or racing or winning.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved, the cold air curled between you and his hands dropped away slowly.

Max cleared his throat and stepped back. “Bonnet.”

“Right,” you said quickly.

He inspected the engine like he could forcce it into behaving. You stood beside him watching with absolutely no useful input. After a minute he sighed and lowered the bonnet.

“What?” you asked.

“I think it’s the battery.”

“I told you it was dead.”

“I meant the car battery.”

“Oh.”

He looked at you.

You looked back.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it loudly.”

“I was thinking many things.”

“Like?”

He wiped his hands on his joggers, glancing once down the empty road before looking back at you. “Like I’m taking you home.”

Your stomach gave a small, stupid dip at how easily he said it.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Max raised a brow. “Your car is dead. Your phone is dead. And you're standing on a road that looks like the opening scene of a crime documentary.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can wait with you until recovery comes.”

“At three in the morning?”

“You’re here now.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “So get in my car.”

You gave him a look. “Bossy.” The corner of your mouth twitched before you could stop it.

He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call someone to sort the car. You can deal with it tomorrow.”

You looked back at your car, sitting abandoned under the weak glow of his headlights. “I hate leaving it.”

“It’ll be fine.”

There was something steady in his voice, something that made it hard to argue so you didn’t, you just pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and nodded.

“Fine.”

Max’s expression softened a little, like he knew that was the closest thing to surrender he was going to get from you.

He opened the passenger door for you.

You stared at him. “Are you seriously doing the gentleman thing?”

“Get in before I change my mind.”

“Too late. I expect princess treatment now.”

He snorted. “You are a nightmare.”

“And yet you came.”

The words slipped out lightly, almost teasing.

But Max didn’t answer straight away he just looked at you, the humour fading from his face.

Then he exhaled through his nose. “You’d have done the same.”

You paused, fingers resting on the open car door. “Would I?”

Then, almost too quiet to catch, he said, “Yeah. I think you would.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

It was warm inside his car, and smelled faintly of his hoodie, his cologne, and the late-night world he seemed to exist in better than anyone else. Max shut the door walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

You glanced over.

He kept his eyes forward. “Don’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say thank you.”

His hand rested on the gearshift for a moment before he looked at you.

“Okay,” he said. “You can say that.”

You smiled faintly. “Thank you Max.”

His gaze flickered over your face, just briefly, before he turned back to the road.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “Anytime.”

Anytime.

You turned your head towards the window, watching your dead car shrink in the side mirror as he pulled back onto the road. For once the silence didn’t feel like a fight and behind the wheel Max kept both hands steady, driving you home like it was the easiest thing in the world to come for you when you needed him.

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak @taylordaughter @taetae-armyyyyy @kitty-m30w @abcdefghi09lmnopqrstuvwxyz @kevynnashley @robindrake13 @lilorose25 @sogoodtoheritsvicious @angelluv16 @alex1ella @nightrose-18

[land0sc21]

Love the banter!

[land0sc21]

𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 — ᨳଓ

Max is dating Charles' younger sister and the pair had been keeping it a secret from him for 6 months. That is, until your birthday comes around and Charles finds out eventually. Let's just say he wasn't overly keen about it

⟡ 𑣲𝑨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is just a cute, fun little scenario that I came up with. Reader is a gen-z and is the same age as Alexandra. Lots of sneaking around and kissing involved. Lando acts like a clingy sibling. 'Yvie' is a nickname given to you by Lando. Charles scolds Max like a overgrown child. Suggestive towards the end.

⟡ I hope you guys enjoy .ᐟ Also let me know in the comments if you want more of Max x Leclerc reader fics .ᐟ.ᐟ

A very special middle name was chosen for you that you cherished. Yvette. It was a chic yet sophisticated name. Since you were adopted by the Leclerc family, there were perks. Like attending fancy parties and luxury brand events since you were a rising model. But one perk you were most grateful for was how much they appreciated you and made you one of their own.

Another person who also adored you as much as your family, was Max. The way in which you two had met was pretty funny actually. Max had accidently stumbled into your fashion shoot while taking a jog near the river in Monaco. You were sat on a silk embossed chair, legs out. In a lovely pink sundress, hair out and a shy smile that made Max stop dead in his tracks. The tips of his ears turning red at the sight of you.

He was extremely apologetic about it but you reassured him that it was alright. Then he became an unexpected model for a couple themed campaign that he really didn't sign up for. But hey -- at least you were happy. Because deep down, he did have a massive crush on you.

Even if your older brother Charles was pretty pretentious sometimes. You ofcourse, weren't your brother. And eventually, after a few weeks of getting to know eachother and constant flirtatious encounters. He asks you out. Which led you to the present day. Your birthday.

❤️ liked by f1, maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandramalenaleclerc and 15, 300, 057 others

y/nstagram pre-party grwm! ‎ꫂ᭪݁

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f1admin happy early birthday! 🎉

alexandramalenaleclerc you're stunning as always 💓

y/nstagram aww! Says you! Have you looked at yourself??

charles_leclerc Wait. Who got you all those flowers?

y/nstagram Is that really your business? 😒

charles_leclerc It is if it's from a guy

arthur_leclerc geez let the girl enjoy her flowers in peace

lando some are from me 😚

y/nstagram Yes! You got me my faves 😚

charles_leclerc consider yourself kicked off the guest list

lando what?! That's not fair!

y/nstagram Don't be ridiculous Charles. He's still invited

maxverstappen 😐

The Leclerc's held your birthday event outside the family's large white chateu that they owned. Located just on the outskirts of the city. Only inviting loved ones, friends and family. Including some of the drivers like Lando, Oscar and George.

Fairy lights had been strung out on the patio and the hospitality tents, just like you requested. Giving the garden a warm, whimsical glow that you were absolutely fond of. Guests were slowly making their way in through the large steel gates that had grown vines over time. With Charles and Arthur inviting them in with welcoming arms.

You sat outside on the patio. Watching the whole thing unfold as you leaned on the wooden rails that overlooked the garden. It was getting dark now and the stars were visible tonight with clear skies.

Charles caught you admiring the sky above with a dazed look. He shook his head in amusement as he watched you from afar with a warm smile. He was greeting guests before deciding to go over to you.

"Excuse me just for a moment," he'd say to one of the guests in a polite tone. He then walks over to you with the shake of his head. Sometimes he wondered what goes on in that mind of yours. You almost swat his hand away when he waves it infront of you in a dramatic manner. "What? You're back already?"

"Oh shush." You mumbled as you turn to him with a cheeky grin. Earning the head tilt of dissappointment from Charles. "What's with the attitude hm? I was just helping you get back to reality."

There was commotion at the gate when Lando and Oscar make an appearance. Both casually dressed since they knew you don't really want to make it a formal event. Lando had multiple gift bags in both his hands, while Oscar had 2 neatly wrapped boxes in his arms. With Lily kindly waving to you with a smile right behind him.

"Well. Looks like the entertainment is here." Charles muses as he ushers you off the patio towards the group. George, Carmen and Kimi joining later on during the night since Kimi forgot where he parked his car after a little last minute shopping spree. He may or may not have bought a collection of hot wheel sets for you.

Max had actually arrived way earlier than expected. So he waited for you to message him so the two of you could make a quick little getaway from everyone. Just for a few minutes since Charle's was extremely aware of his surroundings. Especially if it involved you and your special day.

He even judged how well wrapped Lando's gift was despite the effort he put into it. "You're surprisingly good at wrapping."

"Yeah. I know." Lando would respond. Proudly holding his head up high with a satisfied grin. His gift was actually pretty meaningful. He knew how much you liked to sketch and create your own fashion statement pieces. So he bought quite alot of art supplies and a beginners sewing machine.

"Lando this is lovely! Thank you!" you'd gush before enthusiastically pulling him into a warm hug. Which he returned with much love. Almost lifting you off the ground as he does so. "Anything for you Yvie."

Charles was about to step in before stopping when Lando sets you back on your feet again. You were a laughing mess when you pull away, while Lando childishly stuck out at his tongue at the Monegasque.

"See? I can be thoughtful." Lando retorts. As the earlier comment from Charles accused Lando of not putting any thought into anything comes back to taunt him. He sighs in defeat at the end. Giving Lando the benefit of a doubt. "Yes. Very thoughtful."

Next was George. Politely handing you a carefully wrapped lavish box a pale blue bow. You accept in the same manner while Lando looks over your shoulder to get a good look too, like a curious cat. His thick cologne overloading your senses as you loosened the ribbon to reveal what was inside.

George waits for your reaction patiently. With Carmen by his side, arm wrapped around his. You finally open it to reveal a beautifully crafted pendant that no doubt, cost quite the dime. You assumed Carmen had a helping hand since it was something you had wanted in a while. "Oh wow! It's exactly the one I wanted -- thank you guys so much."

"Thought you deserved something elegant." George shrugged modestly while you thanked him and Carmen profusely. She laughs softly before pulling you into a short, loving hug. "You deserve it. It's not every day you turn 23."

An hour into the party, Max starts to look for you. Following your voice as he weaves his way through the crowd. As laughter and music drifted through the warm evening air.

Max curses quietly to himself because of how stupidly hot and humid it was. Not to mention he hadn't even gotten the chance to speak to you yet. Always getting interrupted by guests who were fans or getting pulled away to play padel with the other drivers.

Yet the only thing he really wanted was to be in your presence again.

He lets out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the gazebo where you were. Cheerfully interacting with guests with a moderately sized cake infront of you and gifts stacked up beside you. Max smiles to himself before joining you by your side. Leaning down to speak to next to your ear quietly. His dutch accent slipping through. "Having fun birthday girl?"

You turn to look at him in an excited manner. Only to falter from the way he was looking at you. Still, you kept your composure, opting to smile up at him warmly. Even if you were internally screaming and freaking out over how handsome your boyfriend was up close."Depends who's asking."

"Just a concerned guest." Max plays along. His hand reaching for your waist when nobody was looking. You roll your eyes at him amusingly. Maybe you were enjoying this a little too much. "A concerned guest who can't seem to keep his hands to himself?"

Max for once. Struggles to find a comeback. His cheeks flushed as he tries to find a witty counter attack. It was obvious to you that he wanted to be open. But with how overprotective Charles was over you. It was hard to do.

A few moments later. It was time for you to cut the cake. It was a two layered cake black forest cake that had your name perfectly written at the top along with your age. As well as bows and pearls as decoration on the sides where the frosting was piped on intricately.

As your friends and guests gathered around to sing happy birthday to you. Max found himself smiling more than everyone else, because you looked genuinly happy for once. He knew how much you had been struggling with your new modelling job and all the hate you had gotten. So this was a night that you needed to enjoy.

"Careful mate. Smile hard enough and you'll be stuck looking like that." And the moment was now ruined. By none other than Lando Norris. Max exhales loudly when Lando playfully nudges his shoulder. Who oh so enjoyed teasing Max for keeping the relationship a secret. Even though almost everyone knew about it. Including Arthur and Mama Leclerc.

After you blew out the candles and made your wishes. Then came the chaos that was taking photos with family, friends and even the team staff from Ferrari, Redbull and Mercedes joined in. Unfortunately for Max, Charles drags him into one. "Come on! Get over here."

You had changed into a more comfortable, flowy dress since the other one became to restraining for you. The Dutch man almost trips when he see's you. You cover your mouth to hide your smile after witnessing it. After a few seconds go by. You mouthed 'Are you ok?'

He gives a quick thumbs up before Charles makes him stand on the opposite side of him. To be honest, he was getting a sense of what was going on between you two. So he made sure to keep you two far apart as possible.

Keeping you on his right so he could keep an eye on you. The camera flashed from every angle as the photographers asked you to pose with the others. Loving how professional you were while keeping it fun and unique. You even convinced Max to do some funny poses with you.

'Tonight's going to be a long one.' Max thought. His cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so much.

The birthday party was in full swing as the guests were scattered across the large garden that was full of small booths and games for the kids. One thing was that you made sure all the guests enjoyed themselves. Charles also, was busy entertaining guests.

Max being the impatient man that he was, steals you from some of your friends. Apologising to them and promising to bring you back later. You look around frantically just in case Charles spotted you. Eventually, you figured it was alright for now. It's not like spending some time with Max would hurt.

"So. We're really escaping my own party?" You teased while Max helped you over a large tree root.

"Briefly." He'd reply. You couldn't see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice. He takes you down the stairs leading towards the dock where the yachts were before turning back to you. Then he hesitated. Remembering that he didn't get the chance to give your gifts yet. "You wouldn't mind if I give you your gifts later do you?

You shook your head with a little shrug. "No. I wouldn't mind."

He hums in response before glancing up to see if anyone was watching. With the coast clear, he turns back to you. Cupping your face swiftly to kiss you. No warning, no time to ask. Just pure want. Your perfume was extremely intoxicating. Vanilla and coconut. As it only fuels his desire.

Max groans in satisfaction at the feel of your soft lips melting against his. God knows how long he was keeping himself at bay for your sake. But the wait was torture itself as he kisses you senseless. The faint sound of crashing waves became ambience behind them.

Sadly, the moment was cut short when the pair of you hear Charle's voices coming closer. You quickly scramble away from eachother. Smoothing out your dress when Charles's looks down to see you both.

"There you are! ... wait. " Max says, pausing half way through his sentence to point to Max with a raised brow. " Why's Max there with you?"

"Uhh. He was helping me find my ring! I dropped it on the way down." You quickly, yet calmly yelled back. Totally not freaking out at being caught. Max scratched the back of his head before nodding. His performance hardly convincing Charles at all. "Yeah! Found it near that lamp post over there."

Nonetheless, he let you two be. Max bent down to rest his hands on his knees and sighed loudly. You let a stifled laugh since Charles didn't bat an eye after seeing Max. Who's cheeks and lips were covered in lipstick smudges. "Oh Charles. The poor guy needs to get himself some glasses."

You then turn back towards your tall Dutch boyfriend. Reaching up to wipe away the waxy imprints on his face. Max scrunched his nose in response, but doesn't push you away. You struggled to hold yourself back because of how cute he looked before speaking. "And you looked terrified."

"I was actually calculating how fast I could swim if he actually caught us." He states calmly. However, his reddened cheeks and beating heart spoke otherwise. "Uhuh." You replied, raising a brow at the dutch. Pretty unconvinced. Max rubs his forehead in frustration before grabbing your hand to re - join the others back in the garden. Mumbling something about Charles being too nosy.

Despite interacting with him secretly throughout the night. Stealing glances, holding hands beneath the table during dinner. And even sneaking a kiss to your cheek right behind Charles near the Chateu. Clearly, that wasn't enough for him.

"Oh. You have a little something -" Oscar says while pointing towards the dark smudge mark on Max's neck. Max sighs before asking for a mirror so he could wipe it off. Lucky for him, Oscar happened to be the perfect messenger. So why send a text when he has a perfectly good courier that was right infront of him. "Could you do me a favour?"

Oscar walks over to you with a slightly panicked look on his face. Joining you at the gazibo and takes a seat infront of you while tucking his chair in. He leaned forward to pass on some valueble intel. Whispering to you in a low tone. "Max is looking for you."

"Shit - where is he?" You whispered back. Now equally panicked as he was. You had forgotten that you were supposed to meet up with him half an hour ago.

Oscar directs your attention towards the back entrance that led to side of the Chateu. An area that was well hidden. "He's back there. Good luck."

He gives you soft pat on the back for encouragement before running off again. You make yourself scarce as you not so casually, make your way over towards the towering pillars of the chateu. Dress bunched up while you ran quietly so that you wouldn't trip. Hopefully Charles hadn't spotted you sneaking away.

You almost yelp when you're suddenly pulled behind the pillar. Max covered your mouth so you wouldn't scream and waited for you to calm down before removing it. "What was that for?!"

"Sorry. Didn't want you to scream." Max admitted as he tucked stray pieces of hair behind your ear. His voice soft while he peered down at you in the dark. He had you trapped, his arms either side of your head.

Max was pleading with his eyes for permission to kiss you. His breath heavy against yours as his nose gently nudged yours, eyes flickering towards your lips.

You didn't hesitate. Knowing exactly what he wanted as your arms found it's way around his neck. Tiptoeing a little to match his height as you kissed him sweetly, but with much fever.

Max cupped your jaw, holding it in place as he gently coerced you to open your mouth. Savouring the taste of chocolate cake frosting on your tongue after the unfinished business an hour ago.

Another hand reaching for your leg to lift it so that he could slot himself inbetween you and his body. So that you were comfortable and he could enjoy the feel of your plush thighs. Feeling him press against you coerced you to sigh softly into the kiss. While Max soaked in every noise that you made.

He then left open, mouthed kisses along your jawline. Choosing to take his time when moving down to your exposed neck. The scruff of his stubble brushing against your skin as he does so, adding to the whole experience. As you squirmed beneath him as his lips felt like fire on your supple skin. "Mmph Max --...'s too good."

Littering the skin with dark marks like a messy canvas. Careful not to leave any in obvious places as they were only for him to see. The Dutch accent sounded heavier than usual as he praised you nonstop against your skin while he kissed a trail back up to your lips.

"You're doing so good for me schaje.." he'd mumble against your sweet, kiss swollen lips. Genuinely losing himself in your presence as your perfume filled his senses. Which was delightfully endulgent.

By the time you two were done with your makeout session. Charles was waiting with his arms crossed. His face then contourting from annoyed to shocked when he see's the lipstick smudge on the side of Max's lips when he stumbles behind you. The pair of you looked a total mess. Whilst you stood guiltily infront of your brother. "Charles I --"

"For future reference. If you're going to secretly meet up with my sister behind my back..." he paused, nodding towards the plant decor beside him. "At least make it less obvious."

Max was a little taken aback by the comment as you stiffled a laugh. "That decor was excellent cover." He argued. Thinking back to the embarassing moment of when he had to hide behind a large vase after being seen with you in his arms during the fireworks show.

"It absolutely was not." Charles retorts with the shake of his head. Sounding bothered and perhaps a little irritated. "How long have you two been dating?"

"A few months." You answered while avoiding Charle's intense gaze. Whilst also keeping that laughter in since he was wearing an apron and his hands were on his hips. Standing there like a mother hen who just caught his child doing something bad. "A few months?! Wha --"

"You." Charles points to Max. While he points at himself with a baffled look on his face. "Me?"

"You promise to look after her? Not break her heart?" Charles asks. Voice softer this time albeit being stern. Max nods almost immediately. "Yes ofcourse."

Charles thinks for a moment before answering. Glancing between you two before sighing, shoulders slumping as they relaxed. "Fine. I guess there are worse people you could've dated."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Max replies. Now relaxing after an intense stare down. Charles was quick to respond with a deadpan look. "Don't. I still don't trust you."

Your hand instinctively reached for Max's hand. Slipping them into his larger ones which were pretty clammy, but you didn't mind. Smiling at him with a soft look in your eyes. Max couldn't help but smile back. Charles watched the two of you interact and he internally groaned. "Oh no."

You look back to your distressed brother. Who had his hand over his face as if he's witnessed something he shouldn't have. "What?"

"I hate that you're cute together."

Max grinned at his friend's response while you tug him towards the Monegasque. You were overly joyed that your brother finally aknowledged Max somewhat. "I promise. You won't regret this!"

"I better not." Charles reiterates as he reached for your hair. Fixing it as it was messy from your little getaway with Max. "You're the only sister I have."

Max meanwhile, was content he no longer had to hide his relationship with you from Charles. Even if he wasn't fully onboard with the idea just yet. He'll prove to him that he is willing to go to every length possible to make you happy. Because seeing you smile was worth it.

[land0sc21]

𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𓇢𓆸

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Relocating to Melbourne for your job meant finding a place to stay. So when your long term crush Oscar Piastri offers a room for you. How could you refuse?

𑣲 Authors notes ᐟ this fic is a short drabble I put together last night after rewatching 'Children of the sea'. I waffled quite alot but I hope you guys like my writing style .ᐟ

Reader is a marine biologist and is close with Robert Irwin. Oscar acts like an awkward bean around you. Lots and lots of fluff involved + pining .ᐟ.ᐟ

❤️ liked by mclarenf1, robertirwin, oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe and 17,456,00 more

y/nstagram G'morning Melbourne 𓆉

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oscarpiastri you've already made the kitchen your home I see 🤔 168 replies ⤵︎

y/nstagram hey! Not my fault you have no taste in good home decor

lando you two bicker like an old couple

y/nstagram you're one to talk. You and Osc pretty much act the same way as we do

oscarpiastri don't bring me into this

lando I'm not the one crushing on him

y/nstagram lando?!!

oscarpiastri 😳

username omg what am I reading right now

username y/n has a cruch on Oscar?! I mean it was kinda obvious but hello?!!

username wow. Lando let the cat out the bag with this one

username y/n is soo gonna pummel him once she gets her hands on him lol. He better hide 🤣

Studying coral reef ecosystems meant having to constantly travel. And since you were based in London, it was becoming quite tiresome. So when you were offered a job in Melbourne's Marine Conservation in Australia. You took up the offer almost immediately.

Unfortunately for you. Apartment hunting in Melbourne was harder than you thought. Oscar, overheard your conversation with Lando about struggling to find somewhere to stay. Offering a solution in a rather casual tone "I have a spare room."

You two go awfully quiet in the aquarium lobby after hearing his suggestion. Both still processing that he just offered you a place so casually.

Albeit the sounds of bubbles coming from the water tanks filled with fish nearby. Lando snorted like an idiot while you choked on your drink. Well, what other choice do you possibly have? You reluctantly accept his offer, voice cracking slightly as you spoke. "Really? Well. If you're offering then I guess it's okay."

"Way to make it obvious." Lando whispered to you as he nudged your shoulder playfully. You rolled your eyes at the brunette's suggestive comment. Lando could tell you were fighting back a grin. Failing horribly at trying to hide your excitement. "So what?"

"So what?" Lando repeats. Scoffing at your question. "You've had a crush on him since forever."

Oscar again. Happened to hear Lando. Since he was just standing a few feet away from them on the lounge chair. The Aussie looking up from his phone. Blinking a few times before glancing back and forth between you and Lando. "Who has a crush on who now?"

"Great." You groaned internally as you try to refrain yourself from choking Lando right then and there. As the poor Brit tries to change the subject. "Uhh. Should we order pizza?"

One thing was clear to Lando before you left for Melbourne. Oscar was seemingly smitten for you. While you were oblivious to the signs. He was hoping the two of you would sort it out sooner rather than later.

Flying there was easy. You got to your flight on time after getting dropped off by Lando who offered you a ride. All your suitcases weighed perfectly. No major incidents occuring on the way to Oscar's apartment. But now that you were standing infront the red bricked place in Fitzroy, you were beginning to have second thoughts.

"This is a bad idea." You mumble to Lando over the phone. Visibly distressed and distraught at the idea of spending time with Oscar in his own home.

"It'll be fine." Lando replies. Sounding pretty entertained as he let out a small laugh. "Besides. It's only temporary until you find your own place."

'Right. Just a few weeks,' you thought. Gripping the handles of your suitcases before ringing on his doorbell.

Fitzroy was everything you hoped it would be. Beautfiul cafe's tucked away in small alleyways. Parks filled with people enjoying the sun. With the Yarra river nearby for you to have relaxing walks with Oscar early in the morning. Just before work.

You somehow, converted him into a morning person. Now he'd wait for you in kitchen downstairs making breakfast, with a neatly tied apron. Where you had decorated the shelves with many Studio Ghibli ornaments and trinkets. And fridge magnets that held notes, schedules and pictures of the two of you. Oscar didn't mind. In fact, he encouraged you to collect more. Especially loving the black cat Jiji.

Also you tried to ignore how good he looked with his messy bed hair and the lazy, boyish grin he gave you while he offered you pancakes. Which you accept glady.

"If you need anything just ask." He would say. Simple, but with care.

He was annoyingly easy to live with. Keeping in mind that he is and still was your long term crush. Helping you carry your shopping or your research whenever your hands got full. Making sure you felt comfortable around him and tries to keep his distance out of respect.

To make things worse. An instagram post you had uploaded earlier that day had gotten viral thanks to your loose lipped friend, Lando. Exposing your secret in the comment section for the whole world to see. Including Oscar. Over a petty joke you made about his dynamic with the Aussie.

Even after deleting the post, the damage had been done. Oscar had seen the comment but chose not to say anything. Figuring it was best to hear it from you instead. So he waited for when the time was right to ask.

Robert Irwin in the meantime, would visit you at the conservation you worked at. Often bringing his own notes about sea life and ensuring that you settled in perfectly. Oscar knew your work revolved around coral reef restoration projects and protecting endangered sea turtles. One day, he gets an invite from to visit the Marine conservation centre. Which wasn't too far from Melbourne.

When he arrived. He spots a group of school kids surrounding you in the open ocean exhibit. Each child bombarding you with questions about what you do and how you save sea creatures. Oscar stood off to the side for a moment. Wanting to observe from afar as a smile grew on his lips when he overhears the kids argue whether a whale shark was a whale or not.

Your eyes soon met with his across the dimly lit room of the research centre. Oscar gave you a small wave. The Smile on his face not faltering as he stayed perfectly calm. Although, his own heart beating rather erratically gave him away when you walked towards him with a clipboard clasped to your chest.

"Hey! You made it." You say softly. Trying to ignore the group of kids giggling in the background as Oscar stood awkwardly infront of them all. "Yeah I mean. You invited me. So there's no reason for me to refuse."

There was no time for you to retort when a familiar voice joins into the conversation. "Oscar? Is that you?"

You turn around to see Robert jogging over to you both with his own group of kids in tow. He then stands beside you with his hands on his hips and a bright grin on his face.

"She told me you were coming." Robert referrs to you as he nods his head towards your direction. "But I had to come over to see for myself. How're you doing mate?"

"Pretty good actually." Oscar replies politely. Shaking the blonde haired man's hand firmly when Robert offers it. To make the mood a little less awkward, he makes a joke. "Looks like the two of you got a wayy cooler job than I do."

Robert laughs as his arm reached for your shoulder. Placing his hand just above it for support while he spoke. You didn't mind. But it did make Oscar shift uncomfortably on the spot. "Depends who you ask. Most of these kids would love to trade places with you for a day."

A child nearby named Lucas raised his hand almost immediately. Knowing exactly who Oscar was. "I would!"

The rest of them joining in as they soon forced you, Oscar and Robert to do a tour together and have a good time. Midway through the tour. Oscar asks Robert a question. Something that had been on his mind for a while after witnessing the coral bleaching from his visit to the great barrier reef.

"So. If someone wanted to help. What would actually make a difference?"

Robert appreciated his question. Thinking of a simple way to explain it to Oscar in the best way possible. "Conservations exist because we want people to care. Whether it's wildfires, reefs or forests. Awarness is usually the first step."

Oscar nods as he listens intently to Robert's advice. He also noticed the close proximity you had with Oscar as the pair walked side by side. Shoulders bumping against eachother.

Then an innocent comment popped up in Robert's mind. One that sends both you and Oscar into orbit. "Your girlfriend's research has helped us quite alot actually. We already have some parts of the great barrier reef restored within just 2 months thanka to her imput!"

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks, the tips of his ears turning red as he laughed nervously. "Uhm...we're not dating."

Now it was Robert's turn to become flustered. Feeling guilty that he misunderstood your relationship with Oscar as he turned to look at you. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea --"

"It's alright." You interject halfway through his apology. Seemingly calm, despite your clammed, sweaty hands that were balled into fists and cheeks flushed due to embarrasment. Soon calming yourself before finishing off your sentence. "No harm done. Right Osc?"

Oscar hesitantly nods in agreement. He also, was recovering from what he just heard. Nonethless. Both you and Oscar reassured Robert that it was alright. Soon carrying on with the tour with lots on their minds. The kids also teasing you and Oscar for the embarrassing encounter.

Months went by rather quickly. Melbourne was soon beginning to feel like home to you. And Oscar had become a part of that picture. Suggesting many places to visit all over Melbourne. Specifically in the area he grew up in.

It also became significantly hard to avoid eachother in such a big apartment. Meaning your hands would brush against his when passing by him in the narrow hall. Or when you two would have to sit together on the couch during movie nights.

Usually ending up with you in his arms. While he brings you in closer unconsciously in his sleep. Only to be totally embarrased when waking up to find you so close to him.

You noticed the small things he'd do for you that mattered. Like remembering your coffee order when you go cafè hopping. Bringing you snacks that you liked without having without mentioning it to you.

"Thought you might want these. I stocked up on them after you left for work."

Or calling you if he was coming home late and that you should lock up so that you wouldn't have to wait for him. "Don't wait for me. Just lock up like usual and don't open the door for strangers." He'd warn you over the phone. As if you were five.

Oscar found himself looking forward to seeing you whenever he came home. Usually because his house was pretty empty before you came along. Now the place was filled with your things. Including your trinkets, marine biology books that had piled up around the house. He even offered to move some of your stuff to his room. "No it's okay. I don't have plenty of room."

Polaroid pictures of the two of you stuck on the fridge with your magnets. He almost choked on his coffee when he caught you wearing his hoodie that looked way to big on you. Deep down, he actually thought you looked good in it so he let you keep it.

Overall, he was just happy you were there and wondered whether what Lando had suggested to him was true. That you had a crush on him for almost a year? That he had to know.

One evening, he plucks up the courage to ask you after dinner. As the sun was setting over the waterfront of St Kilda Pier, painting the bay with washes of oranges and pink.

Oscar leaned over the wooden rails, creaking slightly as he does so. He also fiddled with the bracelet that sat rather oddly around his wrist. Fraying slightly due to the ware and tear of the strings that was barely holding it together. Shells chipping on the sides after months of wearing it. Considering it as his lucky charm before races.

It was a simple band of woven cord threaded through tiny, cream coloured and pale blue shells. Compared to the expensive watches he usually wore. It was incredibly ordinary. Yet he couldn't find the courage to take it off.

Not when you so carefully crafted it together for him. Lando even pointed it out once. Already having a hunch on who may have made it. "You're wearing that thing again?"

Oscar glanced down at it and responded quite casually. "Yeah."

"It's not from who I think it is." Lando asks suggestively. Well, he got the answer out of Oscar eventually. The truth was embarrasingly obvious. He liked you back. Like alot.

He finally realised his feelings for you during a beach outing with friends. Everyone had been gathering shells along the shoreline for a project you were incharge of. Including a mass cleanup session after some teeangers had trashed the beach after a bonfire party.

You had sat cross legged in the sand for nearly an hour. Carefully threading the delicate shells through the silver string with precision. Occasionally fumbling a few times since your hands would shake. Eventually, you finished it. Just in time for Oscar to see. As he walking towards you with a gentle smile. "What're you up to?"

He was looming over you. Blocking out the sun as his figure stood infront of it, giving you a chance to look up at him without squinting. "Made this for you." You'd say, holding up your lovely creation for him to take.

"For me? Really?" He laughed softly before taking it from your hands gratefully.

"Yeah. It sort of matches your vibes. Don't you think?" You point to his outfit. True enough, he was wearing a cream coloured shirt and light blue shorts paired with some sandals. Oscar looked down at his outfit while nodding in agreement. "Hm. I guess you have a point."

He observed the bracelet carefully. Some shells were uneven but still somehow, they looked perfect to him. Oscar thought this was perhaps one of the nicest gifts he ever recieved. "I like it". He'd say. Voice full of endearment.

And when he peers down again to see your gentle smile. Eyes full of adoration. He loses it. He truly fell for you at that moment. "I'm glad you like it."

Months later and the bracelet rarely left his wrist. Only coming off if he needed to change or take a shower.

He invites you to the same beach before race weekend. Wanting to clear the air and tell you what was on his mind. You were in a meeting back at the conservation so he waited for you. And eventually you'd arrive. Almost slipping on the mossy, wooden stairs due to excitement.

Your eyes lit up when you spot the young Aussie in the distance. Standing next to the surf hut as he stood in the shade of the small shack. Leaning against the freshly painted wood. He waved at you, ushering you to join him.

"You still have it?" You asked when you spotted the bracelet. The only reason you didn't know he wore it often was because of your busy schedule clashing with Oscar's. Not seeing him as often as you should.

"Ofcourse." He responds softly. His cheeks flushing since he thought it was pretty silly that the bracelet held so much sentimental value to him. Then something unexpected happens. He feels another pair of hands touch his wrist. It was yours.

You, without hesitation. Admire your work as your fingers brushed over the shells. Smiling to yourself since Oscar seemed to care about your little gift quite alot. Oscar swallowed nervously yet stayed composed. Wanting to see what you'd do or say next. Sure enough. You do.

"So? What's on your mind?" You mumbled. Not looking up at him just yet. Oscar exhaled while rubbing the back of his neck. 'Here we go'. "So uhh...I was wondering."

"Yes?" You urge him to carry on. Finally glancing up at him with a curious look. Oscar licks his lips as he thinks of how to ask you out without being a total dork.

"Would it be stupid of me to ask you out on a date?" He asks quietly with that shy, boyish grin that you grew to love."Or I've completely misunderstood what we have?"

Albeit your racing heart rate. A smile appears on your lips, your hands slipping into his larger ones as you held them infront of you with the utmost care. "No. I don't think you've misunderstood. And yes, I'd love to go out with you."

Oscar lets out a sigh of relief and a small laugh. The look on his face -- faltered. It was more intimate. More loving. That also reflected in his actions as he tugs you forward gently. Hands moving away from your grasp and instead, moving towards your waist. He was close now. Nose nudging yours as he tested the waters. Breathing sort or rugged due to nerves. His eyes flicker from your lips back up to your eyes. "Can I?"

"Yes," you'd answer instantly. Breathless in anticipation. Yet you found yourself reaching up to move aside the hair that fell infront of Oscar's eyes. Him appreciating the gesture with a gentle smile. "Thanks."

And soon, his lips met yours. They were slightly chapped but oh so soft. As he moved rythmetically in a slow motion. Wanting to savour the moment. Sighing into the kiss in satisfaction.

The only sounds heard was your breathing and the faint sound of seaguls in the distance. Not forgetting the waves crashing against the shores as the two of you lose yourselves in eachothers arms. One rather enthusiastic, yet respectful. While the other calm, collected but just as equally hungry.

"You're so pretty," he'd whisper against your lips. Accent heavier than usual as your mind became a haze. His lips moving lazily but with precision. You find the time to make a joke inbetween kisses. "You too." Earning a small laugh from Oscar as he breaks the kiss briefly.

He was breathing heavily while you took the chance to drink in Oscar's appearance in all his glory. Hair messier than before and his slightly tanned skin flushed, while his pupils were dark and dilated. If you squinted hard enough, you'd also see the glint of mischief. Then that same boyish grin came back once again. " I wonder why I fell for you in the first place."

"Could say the same about you too." You mused. Voice barely making it past your lips. He leans in once more to press a gentle, loving kiss on your reddened lips. The rough pads of thumb swiping across, he was here to take care of you. To show you how much you meant to him. His love. His lucky charm. "Too bad. You're stuck with me."

[land0sc21]

𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𓇢𓆸

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Relocating to Melbourne for your job meant finding a place to stay. So when your long term crush Oscar Piastri offers a room for you. How could you refuse?

𑣲 Authors notes ᐟ this fic is a short drabble I put together last night after rewatching 'Children of the sea'. I waffled quite alot but I hope you guys like my writing style .ᐟ

Reader is a marine biologist and is close with Robert Irwin. Oscar acts like an awkward bean around you. Lots and lots of fluff involved + pining .ᐟ.ᐟ

❤️ liked by mclarenf1, robertirwin, oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe and 17,456,00 more

y/nstagram G'morning Melbourne 𓆉

read comments

oscarpiastri you've already made the kitchen your home I see 🤔 168 replies ⤵︎

y/nstagram hey! Not my fault you have no taste in good home decor

lando you two bicker like an old couple

y/nstagram you're one to talk. You and Osc pretty much act the same way as we do

oscarpiastri don't bring me into this

lando I'm not the one crushing on him

y/nstagram lando?!!

oscarpiastri 😳

username omg what am I reading right now

username y/n has a cruch on Oscar?! I mean it was kinda obvious but hello?!!

username wow. Lando let the cat out the bag with this one

username y/n is soo gonna pummel him once she gets her hands on him lol. He better hide 🤣

Studying coral reef ecosystems meant having to constantly travel. And since you were based in London, it was becoming quite tiresome. So when you were offered a job in Melbourne's Marine Conservation in Australia. You took up the offer almost immediately.

Unfortunately for you. Apartment hunting in Melbourne was harder than you thought. Oscar, overheard your conversation with Lando about struggling to find somewhere to stay. Offering a solution in a rather casual tone "I have a spare room."

You two go awfully quiet in the aquarium lobby after hearing his suggestion. Both still processing that he just offered you a place so casually.

Albeit the sounds of bubbles coming from the water tanks filled with fish nearby. Lando snorted like an idiot while you choked on your drink. Well, what other choice do you possibly have? You reluctantly accept his offer, voice cracking slightly as you spoke. "Really? Well. If you're offering then I guess it's okay."

"Way to make it obvious." Lando whispered to you as he nudged your shoulder playfully. You rolled your eyes at the brunette's suggestive comment. Lando could tell you were fighting back a grin. Failing horribly at trying to hide your excitement. "So what?"

"So what?" Lando repeats. Scoffing at your question. "You've had a crush on him since forever."

Oscar again. Happened to hear Lando. Since he was just standing a few feet away from them on the lounge chair. The Aussie looking up from his phone. Blinking a few times before glancing back and forth between you and Lando. "Who has a crush on who now?"

"Great." You groaned internally as you try to refrain yourself from choking Lando right then and there. As the poor Brit tries to change the subject. "Uhh. Should we order pizza?"

One thing was clear to Lando before you left for Melbourne. Oscar was seemingly smitten for you. While you were oblivious to the signs. He was hoping the two of you would sort it out sooner rather than later.

Flying there was easy. You got to your flight on time after getting dropped off by Lando who offered you a ride. All your suitcases weighed perfectly. No major incidents occuring on the way to Oscar's apartment. But now that you were standing infront the red bricked place in Fitzroy, you were beginning to have second thoughts.

"This is a bad idea." You mumble to Lando over the phone. Visibly distressed and distraught at the idea of spending time with Oscar in his own home.

"It'll be fine." Lando replies. Sounding pretty entertained as he let out a small laugh. "Besides. It's only temporary until you find your own place."

'Right. Just a few weeks,' you thought. Gripping the handles of your suitcases before ringing on his doorbell.

Fitzroy was everything you hoped it would be. Beautfiul cafe's tucked away in small alleyways. Parks filled with people enjoying the sun. With the Yarra river nearby for you to have relaxing walks with Oscar early in the morning. Just before work.

You somehow, converted him into a morning person. Now he'd wait for you in kitchen downstairs making breakfast, with a neatly tied apron. Where you had decorated the shelves with many Studio Ghibli ornaments and trinkets. And fridge magnets that held notes, schedules and pictures of the two of you. Oscar didn't mind. In fact, he encouraged you to collect more. Especially loving the black cat Jiji.

Also you tried to ignore how good he looked with his messy bed hair and the lazy, boyish grin he gave you while he offered you pancakes. Which you accept glady.

"If you need anything just ask." He would say. Simple, but with care.

He was annoyingly easy to live with. Keeping in mind that he is and still was your long term crush. Helping you carry your shopping or your research whenever your hands got full. Making sure you felt comfortable around him and tries to keep his distance out of respect.

To make things worse. An instagram post you had uploaded earlier that day had gotten viral thanks to your loose lipped friend, Lando. Exposing your secret in the comment section for the whole world to see. Including Oscar. Over a petty joke you made about his dynamic with the Aussie.

Even after deleting the post, the damage had been done. Oscar had seen the comment but chose not to say anything. Figuring it was best to hear it from you instead. So he waited for when the time was right to ask.

Robert Irwin in the meantime, would visit you at the conservation you worked at. Often bringing his own notes about sea life and ensuring that you settled in perfectly. Oscar knew your work revolved around coral reef restoration projects and protecting endangered sea turtles. One day, he gets an invite from to visit the Marine conservation centre. Which wasn't too far from Melbourne.

When he arrived. He spots a group of school kids surrounding you in the open ocean exhibit. Each child bombarding you with questions about what you do and how you save sea creatures. Oscar stood off to the side for a moment. Wanting to observe from afar as a smile grew on his lips when he overhears the kids argue whether a whale shark was a whale or not.

Your eyes soon met with his across the dimly lit room of the research centre. Oscar gave you a small wave. The Smile on his face not faltering as he stayed perfectly calm. Although, his own heart beating rather erratically gave him away when you walked towards him with a clipboard clasped to your chest.

"Hey! You made it." You say softly. Trying to ignore the group of kids giggling in the background as Oscar stood awkwardly infront of them all. "Yeah I mean. You invited me. So there's no reason for me to refuse."

There was no time for you to retort when a familiar voice joins into the conversation. "Oscar? Is that you?"

You turn around to see Robert jogging over to you both with his own group of kids in tow. He then stands beside you with his hands on his hips and a bright grin on his face.

"She told me you were coming." Robert referrs to you as he nods his head towards your direction. "But I had to come over to see for myself. How're you doing mate?"

"Pretty good actually." Oscar replies politely. Shaking the blonde haired man's hand firmly when Robert offers it. To make the mood a little less awkward, he makes a joke. "Looks like the two of you got a wayy cooler job than I do."

Robert laughs as his arm reached for your shoulder. Placing his hand just above it for support while he spoke. You didn't mind. But it did make Oscar shift uncomfortably on the spot. "Depends who you ask. Most of these kids would love to trade places with you for a day."

A child nearby named Lucas raised his hand almost immediately. Knowing exactly who Oscar was. "I would!"

The rest of them joining in as they soon forced you, Oscar and Robert to do a tour together and have a good time. Midway through the tour. Oscar asks Robert a question. Something that had been on his mind for a while after witnessing the coral bleaching from his visit to the great barrier reef.

"So. If someone wanted to help. What would actually make a difference?"

Robert appreciated his question. Thinking of a simple way to explain it to Oscar in the best way possible. "Conservations exist because we want people to care. Whether it's wildfires, reefs or forests. Awarness is usually the first step."

Oscar nods as he listens intently to Robert's advice. He also noticed the close proximity you had with Oscar as the pair walked side by side. Shoulders bumping against eachother.

Then an innocent comment popped up in Robert's mind. One that sends both you and Oscar into orbit. "Your girlfriend's research has helped us quite alot actually. We already have some parts of the great barrier reef restored within just 2 months thanka to her imput!"

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks, the tips of his ears turning red as he laughed nervously. "Uhm...we're not dating."

Now it was Robert's turn to become flustered. Feeling guilty that he misunderstood your relationship with Oscar as he turned to look at you. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea --"

"It's alright." You interject halfway through his apology. Seemingly calm, despite your clammed, sweaty hands that were balled into fists and cheeks flushed due to embarrasment. Soon calming yourself before finishing off your sentence. "No harm done. Right Osc?"

Oscar hesitantly nods in agreement. He also, was recovering from what he just heard. Nonethless. Both you and Oscar reassured Robert that it was alright. Soon carrying on with the tour with lots on their minds. The kids also teasing you and Oscar for the embarrassing encounter.

Months went by rather quickly. Melbourne was soon beginning to feel like home to you. And Oscar had become a part of that picture. Suggesting many places to visit all over Melbourne. Specifically in the area he grew up in.

It also became significantly hard to avoid eachother in such a big apartment. Meaning your hands would brush against his when passing by him in the narrow hall. Or when you two would have to sit together on the couch during movie nights.

Usually ending up with you in his arms. While he brings you in closer unconsciously in his sleep. Only to be totally embarrased when waking up to find you so close to him.

You noticed the small things he'd do for you that mattered. Like remembering your coffee order when you go cafè hopping. Bringing you snacks that you liked without having without mentioning it to you.

"Thought you might want these. I stocked up on them after you left for work."

Or calling you if he was coming home late and that you should lock up so that you wouldn't have to wait for him. "Don't wait for me. Just lock up like usual and don't open the door for strangers." He'd warn you over the phone. As if you were five.

Oscar found himself looking forward to seeing you whenever he came home. Usually because his house was pretty empty before you came along. Now the place was filled with your things. Including your trinkets, marine biology books that had piled up around the house. He even offered to move some of your stuff to his room. "No it's okay. I don't have plenty of room."

Polaroid pictures of the two of you stuck on the fridge with your magnets. He almost choked on his coffee when he caught you wearing his hoodie that looked way to big on you. Deep down, he actually thought you looked good in it so he let you keep it.

Overall, he was just happy you were there and wondered whether what Lando had suggested to him was true. That you had a crush on him for almost a year? That he had to know.

One evening, he plucks up the courage to ask you after dinner. As the sun was setting over the waterfront of St Kilda Pier, painting the bay with washes of oranges and pink.

Oscar leaned over the wooden rails, creaking slightly as he does so. He also fiddled with the bracelet that sat rather oddly around his wrist. Fraying slightly due to the ware and tear of the strings that was barely holding it together. Shells chipping on the sides after months of wearing it. Considering it as his lucky charm before races.

It was a simple band of woven cord threaded through tiny, cream coloured and pale blue shells. Compared to the expensive watches he usually wore. It was incredibly ordinary. Yet he couldn't find the courage to take it off.

Not when you so carefully crafted it together for him. Lando even pointed it out once. Already having a hunch on who may have made it. "You're wearing that thing again?"

Oscar glanced down at it and responded quite casually. "Yeah."

"It's not from who I think it is." Lando asks suggestively. Well, he got the answer out of Oscar eventually. The truth was embarrasingly obvious. He liked you back. Like alot.

He finally realised his feelings for you during a beach outing with friends. Everyone had been gathering shells along the shoreline for a project you were incharge of. Including a mass cleanup session after some teeangers had trashed the beach after a bonfire party.

You had sat cross legged in the sand for nearly an hour. Carefully threading the delicate shells through the silver string with precision. Occasionally fumbling a few times since your hands would shake. Eventually, you finished it. Just in time for Oscar to see. As he walking towards you with a gentle smile. "What're you up to?"

He was looming over you. Blocking out the sun as his figure stood infront of it, giving you a chance to look up at him without squinting. "Made this for you." You'd say, holding up your lovely creation for him to take.

"For me? Really?" He laughed softly before taking it from your hands gratefully.

"Yeah. It sort of matches your vibes. Don't you think?" You point to his outfit. True enough, he was wearing a cream coloured shirt and light blue shorts paired with some sandals. Oscar looked down at his outfit while nodding in agreement. "Hm. I guess you have a point."

He observed the bracelet carefully. Some shells were uneven but still somehow, they looked perfect to him. Oscar thought this was perhaps one of the nicest gifts he ever recieved. "I like it". He'd say. Voice full of endearment.

And when he peers down again to see your gentle smile. Eyes full of adoration. He loses it. He truly fell for you at that moment. "I'm glad you like it."

Months later and the bracelet rarely left his wrist. Only coming off if he needed to change or take a shower.

He invites you to the same beach before race weekend. Wanting to clear the air and tell you what was on his mind. You were in a meeting back at the conservation so he waited for you. And eventually you'd arrive. Almost slipping on the mossy, wooden stairs due to excitement.

Your eyes lit up when you spot the young Aussie in the distance. Standing next to the surf hut as he stood in the shade of the small shack. Leaning against the freshly painted wood. He waved at you, ushering you to join him.

"You still have it?" You asked when you spotted the bracelet. The only reason you didn't know he wore it often was because of your busy schedule clashing with Oscar's. Not seeing him as often as you should.

"Ofcourse." He responds softly. His cheeks flushing since he thought it was pretty silly that the bracelet held so much sentimental value to him. Then something unexpected happens. He feels another pair of hands touch his wrist. It was yours.

You, without hesitation. Admire your work as your fingers brushed over the shells. Smiling to yourself since Oscar seemed to care about your little gift quite alot. Oscar swallowed nervously yet stayed composed. Wanting to see what you'd do or say next. Sure enough. You do.

"So? What's on your mind?" You mumbled. Not looking up at him just yet. Oscar exhaled while rubbing the back of his neck. 'Here we go'. "So uhh...I was wondering."

"Yes?" You urge him to carry on. Finally glancing up at him with a curious look. Oscar licks his lips as he thinks of how to ask you out without being a total dork.

"Would it be stupid of me to ask you out on a date?" He asks quietly with that shy, boyish grin that you grew to love."Or I've completely misunderstood what we have?"

Albeit your racing heart rate. A smile appears on your lips, your hands slipping into his larger ones as you held them infront of you with the utmost care. "No. I don't think you've misunderstood. And yes, I'd love to go out with you."

Oscar lets out a sigh of relief and a small laugh. The look on his face -- faltered. It was more intimate. More loving. That also reflected in his actions as he tugs you forward gently. Hands moving away from your grasp and instead, moving towards your waist. He was close now. Nose nudging yours as he tested the waters. Breathing sort or rugged due to nerves. His eyes flicker from your lips back up to your eyes. "Can I?"

"Yes," you'd answer instantly. Breathless in anticipation. Yet you found yourself reaching up to move aside the hair that fell infront of Oscar's eyes. Him appreciating the gesture with a gentle smile. "Thanks."

And soon, his lips met yours. They were slightly chapped but oh so soft. As he moved rythmetically in a slow motion. Wanting to savour the moment. Sighing into the kiss in satisfaction.

The only sounds heard was your breathing and the faint sound of seaguls in the distance. Not forgetting the waves crashing against the shores as the two of you lose yourselves in eachothers arms. One rather enthusiastic, yet respectful. While the other calm, collected but just as equally hungry.

"You're so pretty," he'd whisper against your lips. Accent heavier than usual as your mind became a haze. His lips moving lazily but with precision. You find the time to make a joke inbetween kisses. "You too." Earning a small laugh from Oscar as he breaks the kiss briefly.

He was breathing heavily while you took the chance to drink in Oscar's appearance in all his glory. Hair messier than before and his slightly tanned skin flushed, while his pupils were dark and dilated. If you squinted hard enough, you'd also see the glint of mischief. Then that same boyish grin came back once again. " I wonder why I fell for you in the first place."

"Could say the same about you too." You mused. Voice barely making it past your lips. He leans in once more to press a gentle, loving kiss on your reddened lips. The rough pads of thumb swiping across, he was here to take care of you. To show you how much you meant to him. His love. His lucky charm. "Too bad. You're stuck with me."

[celestrii]

⋆˚ EVERYWHERE ⋆˚࿔

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

it's a cruel twist of fate as you find out you're forced onto the same charity campaign as your childhood enemy, oscar piastri.

﹙ ⓘ ﹚ warnings: angst, slow burn romance, elements of humor. he falls first and harder, oblivious!reader. miscommunication trope. enemies to lovers. 9.0k words

✶ author’s note 𑣲   ֹfirst fic … and i'm a little nervous putting it out there considering i've never posted on tumblr b4 !! but i had so much fun writing this concept that i knew i couldn't just leave it sitting in my drafts foreverrrr. i'm excited to share this story, and hopefully you enjoy reading it. here's to manymanymany more oscar fics in the future, he's such a fun person to write for !!!

THIS HAS TO BE SOME FORM OF DIVINE PUNISHMENT.

There’s just no alternative explanation, because reuniting with Oscar Piastri again — after all these years — is far too cruel of a coincidence.

The brightness of your laptop screen glares back at you mockingly, and you’re tempted to slam it shut like a petulant child. Unfortunately, squinting hard enough hasn’t rearranged the words into anything else, and it’s not like breaking your expensive computer is going to erase the email, no matter how much you wish it would.

The Apex Foundation is thrilled to announce the launch of our newest youth motorsport outreach campaign, featuring ESPN+ commentator Y/N L/N and McLaren driver Oscar Piastri.

It’s not the first half of the letter that bothers you, it’s the last portion. 

“No,” you say aloud to nobody in particular.

Your roommate Olivia, who’s in the process of making herself a matcha latte, glances up briefly before deciding whatever turmoil you’re experiencing is not her problem.

You keep reading further, hoping that maybe Oscar will be there temporarily. It’s a stupid thing to think, but you’ve always been foolish when it comes to him.

Over the next three months, the campaign will include media appearances, charity karting events, interviews, and stops across both Europe and Australia.

Oh God. You feel like you might be sick, all over the glossy marble counter. 

When you signed up for this, the idea of spending a quarter of your year jetsetting around the world sounded perfect. The best way to tick off a few boxes on your list of places you wanted to visit without having to deal with major expenses and taking time off of work. But now, realizing you’ll be in close proximity with your sworn enemy… that turns this dream into more of a nightmare.

You drop your head with a dull thunk. This is karmic retribution, it has to be. Maybe you cut someone off in traffic. Maybe you laughed at a child crying once. Or, maybe God just hates you specifically, for no other reason but for entertainment.

Nobody had warned you that there was even the slightest chance of this being a joint tour with another athlete. You wouldn’t have dared to apply if that was the case, but it didn’t matter now. The universe had found its way to put you back into orbit with the boy who spent your entire childhood making your life miserable. With that infuriatingly calm face and knife-sharp, perfectly precise insults that couldn’t exactly be classified as bullying.

Oscar was much too clever for outright bullying. That smug bastard preferred psychological warfare, and you’d bet anything that you’d be on the receiving end of his torture for the foreseeable future.

You’d wanted to strangle him from age eleven onwards, but unfortunately your parents had been best friends and that was out of the question. It had always confused you how someone as nice as Nicole Piastri could have given birth to pesky Oscar, a question that persisted the longer you were around him.

Which was quite often, seeing as you’d both grown up around karting paddocks. Every weekend for years had involved sunburns, petrol fumes, and Oscar’s silent judgement. Yet another staple of your childhood that you tried to repress. You’d always love and value your humble beginning, but you loathed how close you’d been to Oscar, especially considering how your parents would still bring him up in conversations despite not seeing him face-to-face for almost a decade.

By thirteen, your rivalry had become legendary amongst the adults.

By fifteen, people were taking bets over which one of you would snap first: quiet Oscar, or you, feisty little Y/N L/N?

But then, by seventeen, Oscar left for Europe, and you were finally free of his aggravating presence. In fact, you had celebrated by throwing a party so dramatic your mother still brought it up occasionally. 

“Honestly, it was a little concerning how happy you were.”

And yes, you were happy.

Now, your joy was spoiled, because the bane of your existence was back in your life. 

You lift your head from the counter, wishing you could teleport to another dimension where you could escape this situation. Before you can spiral too deeply, however, your phone buzzes with Unknown Number.

Strange — you don’t get many calls at this time of day. Or ever, really. You mostly communicate through a barrage of emails or text messages. You consider ignoring it, but curiosity peaks in you, so you decide to answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s muffled static, a pause, and: “Hi.”

You nearly choke. Of course you’d recognize that voice instantly, regardless of how many years it’s been since you last heard it. Low, gravelly but still dryly unamused and disinterested. 

Oscar Fucking Piastri.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

“That bad, huh?”

“You called me. Why?” You decide to cut right to the point. You’re not a typically blunt person, yet it looks like you’ll get used to it very quickly. Spending more time on the line with Oscar is not something you want to do. 

“Yes, that’s generally how phones work.”

There it is. The same irritating comments you remember.

You sit up straighter out of pure, defensive instinct. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Another pause, eating up more seconds of your precious time. Oscar sounds almost hesitant, though, when he says, “Temporary ceasefire?”

You bark out a sharp laugh in shock. “A ceasefire implies we’re at war.”

“Are we not?”

“We were not.”

“Oh, but if I remember correctly, we absolutely were. You threw a Capri Sun at my head in 2014 after I cracked one joke about your messy handwriting. That’s assault.”

You snort. “Well, you deserved it.”

There’s more rustling on his end of the line, faint voices in the background. It’s probably McLaren employees, working like busy bees to have everything perfectly in order for Oscar’s next race. You can almost see it in front of you: that dumb composed expression he always wears in interviews to make it seem as though everything’s under control. 

Yes, you’ve seen him. Obviously. Everyone loves him, the quiet rookie becoming a Formula One star and almost clinching a World Championship by his third season. He’s an internet darling — all the girls love his lack of humor and how he remains ice-cold under pressure. 

The world thinks Oscar Piastri is unreadable, a robot made to pump out wins and purple sectors.

You know better. 

You know he drums his fingers when he’s annoyed. You know he goes still when he’s nervous. You know his left eye narrows slightly when he’s trying not to smile.

Then again, you also know that he once told twelve-year-old you that your homemade brownies, baked out of love, tasted “like burnt tires.”

Which is unforgivable.

“So,” Oscar says casually. “Can we try to be adults about this?”

Your head jerks. “Nope.”

“Right.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.” You wait to hear his next remark, if it’s as biting as the past. 

Oscar sighs softly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t ask for this either.”

An irrational part of you bristles. “Oh, wow. Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

“That’s not —”

Anger pricks at you. God, how is it so easy for Oscar to rile you up? “You know what? Actually, don’t worry about it. We’ll smile for the cameras, pretend we don’t hate each other’s guts, and save the children. Do our duty, whatever. Then we can go back to our lives before any of this shit happened.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

You grit your teeth. It’s taking all your effort to not hang up the phone, but you know Oscar will just redial over and over again until you pick up. “You used to call me Little Miss Perfect.”

“In my defense, you would throw a tantrum every time something didn’t align with your schedule. Even if it was off by half a second.”

You shake your head. “Not all of us can rely on a murder of employees to keep us on track.”

You hear it then, very quietly: a laugh. Not the polite little exhale he does in interviews. A real one. Brief, and warm, and startled out of him.

Your stomach does somersaults traitorously. Absolutely not. Nope. You refuse.

Because Oscar Piastri is still Oscar Piastri. Annoying, arrogant, insufferably composed.

And definitely still your enemy.

A fortnight later, you walk into the campaign launch in Monaco and immediately realize two things.

One: the room is full of cameras. Everywhere you look, there’s some form of flashing light. Is this a media event or life under Big Brother? 

And two: Oscar Piastri has gotten unfairly attractive.

It’s actually quite offensive.

He’s standing near the platform wearing a dark navy suit, talking to one of the organizers, expression calm and attentive (like always). Oscar’s taller than you remember, with broader shoulders and cleaner edges. All the gawkiness of his youth has been filled out now, toned muscles shaped by the physical demand of Formula 1.

Most annoying is how pretty he is. Like some sort of genetically engineered prince designed specifically to irritate you with his bland attractiveness.

As if sensing your stare, he looks up. Your eyes meet across the room, and there it is — that strange little pause, the world hiccuping for half a second.

Oscar’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, not smug or mocking, just surprised. His gaze flicks over you once, quick and quiet, and something unreadable settles behind his eyes. There’s that mask being put back into place.

You decide to avoid that general area for a while, and keep Oscar always in your peripheral vision. You’d prefer not to interact with Oscar until it was one-hundred percent necessary, with no other way out.

Sadly, this wish doesn’t stay fulfilled for long. A photographer for the campaign launch brings you two together, and Oscar continues to look at you strangely. Too intently, like he’s trying to solve a problem — but you’re not a Rubix cube, and you hate the weight of his attention. It makes your skin feel warm in a way you deeply distrust.

“Perfect timing!” she says brightly. “Can we get a few shots together?”

You and Oscar share a look of mutual suffering. At least that hasn’t changed.

The photographer, as naive as a summer child, beams. “Closer together, please.”

You step exactly one centimeter nearer. Oscar glances down at the measurable distance between you and almost smiles. “I don’t bite, you know,” he murmurs.

“You definitely do.”

For the first time, his composure cracks fully. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, a devastating quirk that makes you swallow roughly.

The worst part is that nobody else notices it, the way Oscar Piastri looks at you after that. None of the photographers, or the event coordinators fussing over schedules, or the PR team hovering nearby with tablets and caffeine addictions.

To everyone else, Oscar Piastri still looks normal — the same old calm, reserved self he’s known to be. 

But you can analyze the tiny differences, how his smile is usually controlled. Neat around the edges, carefully measured for cameras and optics. His posture is usually effortless in a detached sort of way. 

Right now, though? He looks focused, entirely on you.

“OK, beautiful,” the photographer compliments. “If we could get a little closer, that would be great. The proportions look a little off when you’re this far apart.”

You instantly fold your arms. “Sorry, no. It’s non-negotiable.”

Oscar exhales through his nose like he’s suppressing laughter. “Come on, Y/N, professionalism is important,” he remarks solemnly.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Language. We’re working with children.”

You roll your eyes. “We are currently working with a woman holding a Nikon. The children are nowhere to be found.”

The photographer in question snorts. “You two are supposed to look like you actually enjoy each other’s company.”

“That would require extensive visual effects that I fear is greatly out of budget,” you mutter.

Oscar hears you anyway, because unfortunately he’s always heard everything you say. You remember that from childhood too. You could mumble a curse under your breath from twenty yards away and somehow he’d still reply with, “You’re not allowed to say that.”

You used to think he did it to annoy you. Now there’s something softer underneath his teasing.

And that is significantly more alarming,

“Just one nice photo,” the photographer begs.

Oscar glances at you, and before you can react, his hand settles lightly against the small of your back, bringing you closer to him. You freeze. It’s not a dramatic touch at all. Under most circumstances, you wouldn’t consider it a touch, but your entire nervous system short-circuits instantly.

Oscar’s never touched you gently before. Scratch that — he’s barely touched you at all.

Your childhood consisted mostly of competitive shoving, stealing snacks from each other’s coolers, and one memorable incident where he accidentally elbowed you into a stack of tires and didn’t talk to you for three days afterward. It was blissful.

This is different. Intentional.

His fingers flex once against your back, almost hesitant. You can feel the warmth from his palm emanating through the fabric of your dress. When you tilt your head up to look at him, it’s a huge mistake.

He’s already looking at you. Not at the cameras or bustling crowd, but at you. Like other people don’t exist. 

Something twists in your chest, and you decide on the spot that you hate it.

The photographer, on the other hand, lights up. “Yes! Hold that —”

Flash. Flash. Another flash.

Oscar leans down slightly so only you can hear him. “You’re tense. Don’t lock your knees or you’ll faint. I wouldn’t want to have to catch you.”

“Well, you’re touching me.”

“Yes,” he says amusedly. “I noticed.”

Your face grows hot instantly, red flags of heat flaring on your cheeks. He notices too… Of course he does. A tiny smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

You want to push him into the Mediterranean.

The problem becomes obvious over the next two weeks. Oscar Piastri is flirting with you. Subtly, relentlessly, and so absurdly dry that you almost don’t catch it half of the time. You think you’re going insane. This is impossible.

It’s Oscar Piastri, your mortal enemy.

The boy who once told you that your presence in the garage was bad luck for him.

The teenager who corrected your grammar during arguments.

The person who spent six consecutive karting weekends pretending not to care that another racer liked you, whilst becoming so unpleasantly competitive he nearly got banned from the paddock.

You hadn’t realized why at the time. You just thought he was an insufferable arse, which is partly true. 

Still. This cannot be considered flirting. 

There’s just no way.

You’re in Barcelona when the campaign team decides to film a “casual challenge video” together. Which is PR-language for forcing attractive people into manufactured proximity until the internet goes clinically insane.

You’re seated beside Oscar on a plush leather couch while a producer explains the game.

“Since you two are – or were – familiar, we wanted to see how much you remembered about each other. So, you each answer questions about one another. Whoever gets the most right wins.”

“Oh, good,” you respond flatly. “Psychological torture.”

Oscar, weirdly enough, looks pleased.

The producer gives you a wide grin. “First question. What’s Oscar’s coffee order?”

You forget to act nonchalant, instantly answering, “Black, with no sugar.” Both Oscar and the producer blink. “That was fast.”

You shrug one shoulder, heart pounding in your chest. “He’s been ordering the same thing since he was thirteen years old. I’m assuming he wouldn’t have changed it up in the years we haven’t stayed in touch, because he’s emotionally incapable of spontaneity.”

Oscar turns towards you slowly. “You remember my coffee order from when I was thirteen?”

“I absorb information against my will. Don’t read too much into it,” you bite out.

“Hmm.”

The producer tries not to laugh. “OK,” she says. “Oscar, what’s her favorite movie?”

Oscar does the right thing by taking a moment to think. “Pride and Prejudice. The 2005 version specifically, even though she claims the miniseries is technically superior.”

Dead silence. You stare at him, open-mouthed. “What?” Oscar looks confused by your confusion, so you stutter, “How… how do you know that?”

“You made me watch both versions during a rain delay in Bathurst.” 

Your eyes widen. “That was fifteen years ago, Oscar.”

“It’s quite memorable when you cried during the hand flex scene,” he points out.

You shoot daggers at him. “I was twelve!”

“You also cried at —”

“OK, next question!” the producer cuts in.

The crew is openly invested now. Traitors, all of them.

Question after question gets worse. Oscar knows your favorite foods, your worst habit, your tells when you’re lying. 

You know all of this for him too, but yours feels normal. Him knowing this about you feels too specific, too invasive.

“What’s her comfort show?”

 “Derry Girls,” he answers.

“What’s his biggest irrational fear?”

You smother a laugh. “Escalators.”

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “It was one time.”

“Not my fault you screamed bloody murder,” you retort.

“I was seven years old, for heaven’s sake.”

The producer, and several other members, are wheezing. You’re starting to feign enjoyment, too, until the fatal question.

“What’s one thing you admire about each other?”

The two of you answer at the same time. “Nothing.”

At the same exact second Oscar says: “She cares too much.”

You both freeze, and the room hushes, the sound of laughter choked out by the stark contrast in your reactions. You look at him in shock. Oscar, meanwhile, looks like he regrets having functioning vocal cords. “What?” you inquire.

His ears are pink. “I misunderstood the tone of the game.”

“No, no,” the producer pushes eagerly. “Continue.”

Oscar visibly wants to crawl into a hole and die. Interesting. Very, very interesting. To his credit, he clears his throat, and manages to squeak out, “You care about people. Even when they annoy you.”

Your heart skips a beat unexpectedly. He states it so simply, an obvious fact that he’s always known about you. You tear your eyes away from him. The second you break eye contact, the crew collectively notices the tension, thick and uncomfortable.

And once people notice tension, they become vultures.

It gets worse after the video releases. Apparently the Internet has made the verdict that your dynamic with Oscar is “rom-com coded.” You discovered this against your will at two in the morning in the hotel room in Milan, and you still haven’t recovered emotionally. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper in horror.

Your publicist, Mia, is lying face-down across the other bed. “What now?”

“The comments. They think we’re secretly in love.”

She lifts her head slightly. “Are you?” “No.”

Too fast.

Mia narrows her eyes, scenting the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside of you like a bloodhound. “Oh, that’s ugly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You toss your head back in frustration.

“That was the fastest no I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“Sure…” she trails off, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“It is,” you insist, cheeks flushing.

“Mmm. If you say so.”

You throw a pillow, which she catches without effort. Then your phone buzzes on the vanity table. Oscar. You stare at the notification suspiciously.

Mia readjusts herself to face you. “Open it, Y/N.”

“No.”

“Stop being such a coward.”

You open it, teeth snagging at your lower lip in nervousness. 

Oscar:

The internet appears to think we’re dating.

You:

Well the internet also thought the earth was ending in 2012 so

Oscar:

You’re avoiding the point.

You: 

There is no point

Oscar:Right

You:

How TF do you sound sarcastic through texts?

Oscar:

Natural talent.

There’s a moment of inactivity that makes you consider putting your phone down. Then another message appears.

Oscar:

For what it’s worth, I don’t mind the rumors.

Your heart stumbles once. Hard.

Mia is fully leaning across the bed now, fully invested in the drama unfolding next to her. “What did he say? Tell me!”

You lock the phone before she takes a peek over your shoulder. “Nothing.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh…” She points violently at you, nearly taking your eye out. “You’re doomed.”

You tilt your head. “I am not doomed.” You refuse to be doomed.

There’s nothing to overthink. Just Oscar Piastri acting weirdly lately, that’s all. Being annoyingly attentive, suspiciously thoughtful, occasionally devastating. Which is totally normal enemy behavior, probably. 

You spend the next week trying very hard not to notice him. A difficult task that would be made much easier if he stopped doing things like showing up beside you with your favorite drink before interviews. Or instinctively adjusting his pace to match yours when you walk through airports. Or looking at you like that.

God.

The looking is becoming a serious issue.

Because Oscar has always looked at people carefully — analytical and observant in that unnerving way of his — but this is dangerously different. 

Like every time he sees you, he’s still surprised you’re real. And unfortunately, you keep catching it.

Such as right now.

You’re backstage in London before a charity gala, sitting in front of a mirror while your makeup artist fixes your hair. The room is full of noise: stylists moving around, assistants carrying garment bags, distant music filtering from the ballroom outside. You’re half listening to your stylist explain something about “visual balance” when the door unlocks behind you.

Your eyes meet Oscar’s in the mirror.

And he halts in his steps.

The stylist keeps talking, but Oscar doesn’t hear a word of what she’s saying. You can tell because his entire expression goes blank for half a second. Not cold blank, but stunned blank.

His gaze drags over you slowly before he catches himself. Then he looks vaguely frustrated about the fact that he caught himself catching himself.

Your eyes turn to slits. “What?”

Oscar gives him a tiny shake, to reorient himself. “What?” he echoes.

“You just made a face.”

“I… don’t do faces.”

“Well, I know what I saw.”

A vein ticks in his jaw. “I didn’t.” The stylist glances between you both with poorly concealed fascination, and Oscar finally adds, “You clean up nicely.”

Now it’s your turn to be astounded. “Was that a compliment?”

“Not at all.” Oscar ignores the stylist, who’s now trying to shoo him out of the room. He’s still gazing at you in the mirror. And the thing is… you should be used to attention by now. You work in media, where cameras follow you constantly, and people look at you all the time. But Oscar feels entirely different, too vulnerable and honest. It makes your pulse feel stupid.

You swivel around in your chair to face him directly. “You’ve been acting strange lately.”

One of his eyebrow lifts. “Lately?”

“Don’t start.” 

“I’m not starting anything,” he protests. His mouth twitches. There’s that almost-smile again, the one that feels weirdly private. Yet his eyes flick downward briefly, to your hands. You follow his gaze automatically, heat curling in your body.

“Oh, you noticed.” You try to make it sound casual and off-handed, but it comes off as fake even to your own ears.

The stylist had put silver rings on your fingers to match the outfit. Oscar nods once. “You stopped wearing rings when you were sixteen. When one slipped between the gears of somebody’s kart.”

Your throat bobs. That’s not a normal thing to remember. Especially not after a decade apart. “Why do you know that?” A persistent question, but never answered.

His expression shifts. “I just… do.”

The stylist claps her hands suddenly. “OK, you two are either secretly married or one argument away from making out. And I honestly can’t tell which!”

You choke violently and Oscar burns a hole through the floor with the intensity of his glower. 

The gala itself is worse, since apparently whoever organized seating arrangements has a sick sense of humor. You’re placed directly beside Oscar for the entire evening. Close enough that your knees brush under the table, close enough that you can smell his cologne, close enough to notice every tiny expression he makes. 

It’s unbearable.

Particularly fueled by the fact that he’s in one of those tailored black suits that should honestly qualify as psychological warfare.

You’re halfway through dessert when the host announces some ridiculous fundraising game involving “celebrity pairs.”

You immediately know this will ruin your life. “Absolutely not,” you whisper viciously to Oscar, in case he was thinking about volunteering. 

The host beams from the stage. “Each pair will answer relationship-style questions about one another!”

The room erupts. 

You close your eyes briefly. 

When you dare to open them again, Oscar is attempting — and failing – not to look at you with amusement. 

“I could fake my own death,” you muse.

“You’re not organized enough for that,” he answers back quickly.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” The words leave his mouth easily, and your chest tightens unexpectedly. Before you can respond, microphones appear at your table.

The host grins. “Alright! Let’s start easy. Who apologized first after your worst fight?”

You laugh. “We’ve literally never apologized to each other.”

Oscar says at the same time: “She never apologizes.”

You whip your head toward him so fast you’re surprised your neck didn’t snap. “Excuse me?”

“It’s true, you don’t.”

You growl, “It’s not like you do!”

“I’m aware.”

The audience laughs, and you have to curl your fists to keep from punching him in front of everyone. 

“Next question,” the host says amiably, “Who gets jealous more easily?”

“Neither of us,” you answer. You’re the only one to speak.

Oscar’s staring at the tablecloth, and the host lights up like it’s Christmas Day. “Oscar?”

He meets the host’s eyes, face carefully neutral. “I think the question is poorly phrased.”

Your jaw practically unhinges and shatters on the floor. The audience loses their minds. “Oh, this is unbelievable,” you grumble to yourself.

Oscar avoids your eyes entirely now, which somehow makes the situation ten thousand times worse.

The host vibrates with excitement. “Interesting answer! Next question — when did you realize you cared about each other?”

You laugh again, because the only other thing you could consider doing is combusting.

Oscar does not.

You falter.

The host… hell, everybody… notices the change in Oscar, and it’s only exacerbated when he says, “I don’t know.”

You feel dizzy. Somebody must have raised the temperature randomly. The host moves on after that, but the damage is done. For the rest of the night, you can feel the weight of Oscar thinking.

You know him well enough to recognize it; how his silences mean different things.

This one? It feels dangerous.

You corner him after the gala ends, mostly because your brain refuses to let things go, and partly because you’re beginning to feel insane. 

“Oscar.”

He pauses near the hallway exit, turning towards you slowly.

The ballroom noise is distant and muffled behind closed doors. It’s just the two of you in the quiet corridor.

“You’re acting weird,” you say again.

“You’ve mentioned that.”

You cock your head to the side, evaluating him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You cross your arms defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His brown eyes soften. That’s the terrifying part — he’s no longer cold, or detached, just plain tired. Holding an invisible burden, modern-day Atlas carrying the world. “You really don’t see it?”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

His jaw tightens slightly. For one awful second, he looks genuinely hurt. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway nearby, and whatever was about to happen disappears instantly. Oscar steps back, expression shuttering closed again. “There’s nothing,” he says evenly.

And now you’re pissed. Because you know that was a lie. “You literally just —”

“Goodnight.”

“Oscar —”

But he’s already walking away. 

You do not think about the hallway conversation. You especially do not think about the way Oscar Piastri looked at you before he shut down completely and walked away. And you definitely do not spend the next three days replaying his wounded voice in your head.

You really don’t see it?

See what? What are you supposed to be seeing?

Because every possibility your brain comes up with feels absurd. Oscar doesn’t like you — even suggesting that seems mad. This is Oscar, the same Oscar who spent most of your childhood correcting your math homework without permission. The Oscar who once told a boy at the kart track that your favorite flowers were tulips because “roses are too obvious for her,” then acted confused when you stared at him for ten full seconds afterward.

Actually.

Wait.

You stop mid-step in the hotel hallway. “Oh no.”

Pieces begin clicking together in horrifying succession. The tulips thing. The coffee orders. The way he remembers everything about you. The jealousy question. The I don’t mind the rumors. The looking.

Oh, God.

No.

No no no.

That’s impossible. 

Your phone hums in your hand before you can spiral any further.

Mia:

Lobby in ten. Don’t be dramatic today.

You: 

I’m having a crisis

Mia:

Hot or ugly?

You:

Unsure

Mia:

Then it’s hot.

You hate her. 

Today’s event is a charity karting day outside of Budapest. Which feels particularly cruel considering kart tracks are the reason why Oscar exists in your life at all.

The second you arrive, memories start ambushing you.

The smell of rubber. The sharp whine of engines. Kids racing around in oversized helmets.

And there, leaning against a barrier with sunglasses on, looking unfairly good in a black team polo —

Oscar.

Your stomach betrays you instantly.

He sees you approaching almost immediately, his entire face changing in that tiny, subtle way it always does around you. Softening at the edges before he reverts himself. You hate that you notice now. 

It’s worse to think that maybe it’s always been there.

“You’re late,” he critiques you.

You glance at your watch. “I’m four minutes late.”

“That’s still late.”

You pout. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said.” His gaze narrows. “You look tired.”

Your heart does something embarrassing, because his voice changes when he says it. Lower, gentler, concerned. And suddenly you remember every tiny moment from childhood that could have meant something else.

Oscar handing you his hoodie when you were cold without saying a word.

Oscar getting into an argument with another driver because they made you cry.

Oscar sitting beside your hospital bed for six hours after you broke your wrist at fifteen, pretending he was only there because your parents made him stay.

“Oh my God,” you say aloud accidentally.

Oscar blinks. “Concerning response.”

You stare at him, and he stares back, completely unaware of the psychological warfare currently unfolding in your brain. Surely he doesn’t know that you know.

Except —

No, wait. Maybe he thinks you already figured it out.

Which means he thinks you’ve been knowingly rejecting him this entire time.

Your soul briefly leaves your body.

“You… OK?” Oscar asks slowly.

“No,” you breathe.

“Comforting.”

You point at him. “You.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Strong argument. Want to expand your vocabulary a bit and enlighten me on what’s going on?”

“You’re —” You break off. In love with me? Nope. Can’t say that. Your brain shuts down completely. “You’re tall.” You finish weakly.

Oscar stares at you in silence. “I was aware.”

You want to die.

Things get catastrophically worse during lunch, if that’s even possible. Apparently the universe has decided humiliation builds character.

You’re sitting under one of the paddock tents with several organizers and drivers when one of the younger drivers grins at Oscar. “So,” she says casually, “how long have you two been together?”

You inhale water directly into your lungs.

Across from you, Oscar goes very still.

The table erupts instantly. “No, no,” one organizer says. “They just fight like an old married couple.”

“Which is honestly worse,” another pipes up.

You cough violently, face mottling with embarrassment. “We are not together.”

The volunteer looks unconvinced. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes!” you exclaim.

She turns to Oscar for confirmation, and he opens his mouth. For one horrible heartbeat, you genuinely don’t know what he’s going to say. Finally, he blurts out: “No.”

And something weirdly disappointing twists in your chest, which is insane. You immediately become angry about it.

The conversation moves on eventually, but you can feel Oscar beside you growing quieter. More withdrawn.

You risk a glance toward him.

He’s staring down at his untouched drink, jaw tight.

And suddenly it hits you all at once. He thinks you’d never want him back. That’s what this distance is. The hesitance… it all makes sense.

Oscar Piastri — emotionally repressed, terrifyingly intelligent, chronically composed Oscar — has been trying to like you quietly enough that you wouldn’t notice.

Because, odds are, he thought you hated him.

Thankfully you’re seated, or your knees would have buckled and given way beneath you.

Which feels deeply unfair considering he’s the one emotionally compromising you.

The breaking point comes later that afternoon. There’s a small grandstand overlooking the track where the guests can watch the kids race. You slip away there during a break, needing air before your thoughts kill you outright.

The seats are mostly empty, and you’re halfway through contemplating faking your own death when footsteps sound behind you.

It’s Oscar, obviously.

He sits beside you without speaking. Not too close. The space feels like a chasm, and all you want to do is reach out and stitch the hole between you up, even though that’s the last thing your younger self would have done.

The silence stretches, comfortable in the way only silence with him has ever been. You used to hate that too, how easy it was to sit beside him doing nothing. Even your quiet understood each other.

“You’ve been avoiding me today,” he says finally.

You keep your eyes trained on the track, small dots whizzing past. “Have not.”

“You called me tall like it was a threat.”

“In my defense, you are alarmingly tall,” you shoot back.

A tiny huff of laughter escapes him. Then it’s quiet again, wind brushing through the stands and engines roaring below. Oscar taps his fingers once against his knee, his nervous tic rising to the surface. 

“You know, you’re actually very hard to read.”

He glances sideways at you. “That’s… objectively untrue. For you, I mean. Not for others.”

“It’s not.”

Oscar’s nose twitches in confusion. “You’ve known me since childhood.”

“Exactly, and you’re still impossible.”

He looks down briefly, and says, so quietly you almost miss it: “Not around you.”

Your breath catches. The fact that he’s not looking at you when he confesses makes it more honest, somehow. “Oh,” you whisper.

After what feels like an eternity, he turns towards you. There’s no more distance left in his expression, no careful detachment. Just exhaustion, want, and something terrifyingly sincere. “You really didn’t know,” he murmurs softly.

It’s not even a question, yet you can’t speak for a second.

Suddenly, every version of Oscar in your memories looks different.

Every sharp comment that was actually attention. Every argument that lasted too long because neither one of you wanted to stop talking. Every lingering glance. Every moment he stayed.

“Oh my God,” you sputter.

Oscar’s eyelashes flutter briefly, as though this is physically painful for him. “I cannot believe I’ve spent months flirting with someone this oblivious.”

You gasp in offense automatically. “Months?”

“Years, actually,” he amends.

You suck in a breath in astonishment. “Years?”

“You thought I kept memorizing things about you recreationally?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you were annoying!” you protest.

He smirks. “I was annoying, but that’s not the whole truth and you know it.”

“You were emotionally terrorizing me,” you scoff. 

Oscar lilts one shoulder, finally edging closer to where you were perched. “I liked you.”

“That’s a clinically insane way to show affection!”

Oscar laughs properly, right then and there. Bright and helpless and completely unlike the controlled smiles he gives everyone else.

And the absolute worst part —

Is that you think it might be your favorite sound in the world.

You stare at Oscar Piastri like he’s personally offended you; which, to be fair, he has. “Years?” you repeat weakly. 

Oscar leans back against the grandstand seat beside you, one hand dragging down his face. “I’m realizing now that I may have overestimated your observational skills.”

“I thought you hated me!”

“I brought you coffee every morning for two weeks in Melbourne.”

“I thought you were being polite,” you bemoan loudly. “God, you remember everything.”

He works his jaw for a moment. “Yes. Because I’m in love with you.”

Silence. Actual, complete, crushing silence.

Even the sounds from the track below feel distant suddenly. Your brain — whatever shards of it were left rattling around in your skull — fully stops functioning.

“You look alarmed.”

“You just said the L-word!”

“Yes,” he thinks aloud. “Unfortunately, I did.”

You shake your head roughly to clear your thoughts. “Why is that unfortunate?”

“Ideally, I would have preferred a slightly smoother reveal than you accusing me of being tall.”

You make an outraged noise, and he laughs again. Like he can’t quite believe this conversation is real either. 

That idea nearly destroys you. Oscar Piastri has always seemed so composed and impossible to shake, but right now? He looks nervous.

His fingers tap once against his knee again before stopping abruptly when he notices you looking. “You’re fidgeting,” you say faintly.

“That’s your takeaway?” He smirks.

“You never fidget.” 

Oscar drops his hand from his knee, ears going pink. “I do around you.”

This is horrible, you moan internally. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Every single interaction from the past few months is replaying in horrifyingly clear retrospect.

The staring, the jealousy, the almost-confessions, the way his hand lingered on your back during photos, the way he looked disappointed earlier at lunch.

“Oh my God.”

Oscar winces.

“You thought I was rejecting you.”

Neutrally, Oscar replies, “I assumed you weren’t interested.”

You flinch a little hearing that. Seeing it from his side has made everything so… devastating. Oscar trying, probably for the first time in his emotionally constipated life, and you responding by calling him irritating seventy-eight times.

“You idiot,” you tease.

He scowls. “Interesting criticism considering you’re the one who didn’t notice.”

“I noticed things,” you argue.

“Like my height.”

You nudge his shoulder. “You’re making that sound unreasonable.”

“It is unreasonable.”

You glare at him, and he looks suspiciously fond about it.

God, that look.

Now that you understand what it means, it’s unbearable. It’s everywhere, in the way he watches you talk, in the way his shoulders relax around you. It’s even in the tiny unconscious smile he gets whenever you say something sarcastic.

How could you have missed this?

“How long?” you ask quietly.

Oscar’s expression evolves instantly, more fragile. It scares you more than the confession itself. “A while.”

“Oscar,” you push.

He exhales slowly, eyes on the track instead of at you. “Probably since we were teenagers.”

Your heart feels like somebody pulled the trigger. “What?”

“You were fifteen.” He starts off awkwardly, but he presses on, saying, “You broke your wrist doing cartwheels or some other gymnastic trick.”

The memory flashes in your mind. Slick pavement, the awful crack of impact. Your tears blending in with the rain.

And Oscar — Oscar sitting with you in the hospital afterward for hours. Silent, irritated, but hovering. You thought he was there because your parents made him stay. “I remember,” you say softly, almost reverently.

He nods, just once. “You fell asleep eventually. Still had tears on your face. You looked…” he fumbles for the right word. “Small.” Something in your chest caves inward. “And I remember thinking that I’d kill someone if anyone tried to hurt you. Even though, technically, it was your own fault you broke your wrist.” You can hear the blood rushing through your ears as Oscar continues. “Which was really inconvenient because I was sixteen and emotionally repressed.”

“You’re still emotionally repressed.”

“Fair enough.”

You’re staring at him now, really admiring him. Traces of the boy he used to be: picking fights with boys who flirted with you, ending up beside you during group dinners, knowing your favorite things without asking. Oscar remembering. Always, always, always remembering. 

“You liked me this whole time?”

His expression is so open that it almost hurts to see. “Yes.”

The word lands heavily between you. Like it’s always been true. You look away first because your chest feels too tight suddenly. “That’s actually insane.”

“I’m aware, Y/N.”

“You could’ve just told me.”

He shakes his head. “The last time I bothered you, you threw a juice pouch at my head.”

You rub your temples. “That’s because you were being annoying!”

“I was seventeen and trying to flirt.” 

You whip toward him in horror. “That was flirting?”

“In my defense, I had no social skills.”

You cough out a strangled laugh. The wonders of teenage boys never failed to surprise you. Without thinking, you put your head on his shoulder, letting it rest there.

The atmosphere changes instantly.

Oh.

Oh no.

You feel delirious with how close he is. Close enough you can see the tiny scar near his jaw from karting. You notice how his breathing changes slightly as you shift closer.

“Oscar,” you say quietly.

His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then moves back to rest on your eyes. Your entire body is electric. “Yeah?” he answers softly.

There’s no more sarcasm, barbed teasing. Just him. Waiting.

You don’t know what to do with this version of Oscar. The honest one, looking at you like you’re something precious.

“You make me insane.”

Something flits across his face. “Mutual problem, actually,” he theorizes jokingly.

“You’re awful at communication.”

He rolls his eyes. “So are you.”

“You were in love with me for years and said nothing.”

“You called me emotionally manipulative in 2019,” he recounts with laughter in his eyes.

You huff. “That’s because you were emotionally manipulative in 2019.”

“I bought you soup when you were sick.”

“You insulted my movie taste,” you remind him. He scratches a spot on the back of his neck. “The movies were bad.” “They won awards!”

“Yeah, and they were still bad.”

You laugh before you can stop it, and Oscar looks wrecked. Hearing you laugh must be his favorite thing on earth, and your smile falters slightly when that epiphany hits you.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to say anything back, you know that, right?”

Your chest aches. He means it, even now, after all this. He’s still not trying to pressure you, staying forever careful with you. It becomes so clear to you why none of this ever felt like hatred. Even at your worst with each other, Oscar was never cruel to you.

Oscar was sharp, competitive, irritating, impossible. Yes. But never cruel.

He always looked at you like you mattered. You were just too stubborn to see it.

“You know what the worst part is?” you reckon.

Oscar studies you carefully. “What is it?”

“I think everyone else figured this out before I did.” You snort. 

His mouth quirks again. “Mia threatened to lock me in a room until I confessed.”

Your eyes widen. “Confessed?”

“She’s very aggressive, I will say.”

You groan and hide your face in your hands. “I’m never speaking to anyone again.”

His hand reaches out to touch yours, fingers interlocking. “You’ll recover.”

“No, I won’t,” you say. “This is humiliating.”

“I can think of worse things.”

You withdraw your hand from his, lifting your head to look at him. Oscar’s giving you his typical impossible stare, as though he’s trying not to say too much all at once. “You know, this is kind of your fault.”

“My fault.”

“Yes,” you insist. “If you had told me how you felt, instead of spending years acting like a weird person…”

Oscar jolts back, deeply offended. “Pardon?”

“You pined silently.”

“I did not pine silently.”

You purse your lips. “You remembered my favorite flowers for ten years.”

“Well, that’s not evidence.”

You level him with an appraising glance. “You got jealous over a guy I dated when we were sixteen and nearly crashed a kart into a barrier.”

“In fairness, he was annoying.”

You scoff. 

“He wore fedoras, Y/N.”

You burst into helpless laughter, and this time Oscar fully smiles. “You’re pretty,” you say accidentally.

Oscar blinks.

Horror floods your body all at once. “Nope, forget I said that.”

Oscar’s cheeks turn pink, just like the tips of his ears. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You heard nothing.”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure I heard everything.”

“You’re impossible,” you groan. 

“And yet.” His gaze drops to your mouth again, a millisecond that you still notice.

Your thoughts disintegrate. Up here, it feels strangely quiet. Private. Like the whole world is narrowed down to this one moment. Oscar shifts slightly closer, not enough to trap you but enough that you can feel the warmth of him beside you.

And softly, so softly you almost don’t survive it, he says: “Can I kiss you?”

Your brain completely bluescreens. Of course he asks, careful even now. You stare at him for a long second, at the boy who spent years loving you quietly, driving you insane your entire life and somehow became home anyway.

You grab the front of his shirt and kiss him before he can overthink himself into another emotional crisis.

Oscar makes a startled sound against your mouth. For exactly one second. Then his hands are suddenly on your waist like he can’t help it. It’s romantic, it’s perfect, and your brain is short-circuiting from the fact that Oscar Piastri kisses like he’s been wanting to do it for years.

Which apparently, he has.

“Oh,” he breathes against your lip afterward.

You’re still holding onto his shirt. His forehead rests briefly against yours. For the first time in your entire life, Oscar looks completely undone. “You OK?”

He laughs shakily. “You have absolutely no idea what you do to me.”

You want to melt.

“I can’t believe you called me pretty before you kissed me.”

Your face burns instantly. “Don’t make this worse.”

“I think I deserve to hear it again, actually.” “You’re unbelievable,” you snicker.

“And you’re in love with me.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Oscar’s grin grows slowly. “Oh my God,” you harrumph. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

The problem with kissing Oscar Piastri exactly once is that apparently your body develops an immediate dependency on it, which feels medically concerning. Because the second you pull back, your first coherent thought is:

Again.

Oscar seems to be having a similar issue. He’s still looking at you like the concept of oxygen has become secondary. One of his hands remains carefully at your waist, like he’s not entirely convinced you’re real enough to let go of yet.

The other is gripping the bench beside you hard enough that his knuckles are pale.

Interesting.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“I’m processing,” he deflects.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“You kissed me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You asked.”

“I honestly didn’t think you would agree.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “You literally confessed your love.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But historically you’ve also threatened me with sports drinks.”

“That happened one time. Stop beating the dead horse. It’s getting old.”

“It happened hard.”

You laugh helplessly, and immediately Oscar’s expression softens again in that terrible, fond way. It hits you suddenly — violently, overwhelmingly — that this boy has probably spent years collecting little moments from you like treasures.

Every laugh, every insult, every accidental touch.

“You’re being weird again,” you whisper.

Oscar doesn’t even try denying it this time. “Probably.”

“What are you thinking about?”

His gaze flicks over your face slowly. “You.”

You think you might actually burst into flames. “That’s not a normal answer.”

“I’m not feeling especially normal right now.”

Which — wow.

Hearing Oscar admit emotional instability is genuinely more shocking than the confession itself.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “How long have you been wanting to do that?”

“The kissing or the confessing?”

Your stomach churns. “Both.”

Oscar leans back slightly, considering. “The confessing? A few months.”

“And the kissing?”

He looks at you for one silent second too long. “Honestly?”

You point at him. “Don’t say honestly like you’re about to ruin my life.”

“That ship sailed ten minutes ago.”

“Oscar.”

His ears go pink again.

“I think,” he chooses his next words carefully, “probably Monaco.”

“The first campaign event?”

“You were wearing that black dress. With the sequins,” he hums.

“That was months ago!”

“Yes.”

“You’ve just been existing like this ever since?”

He looks mildly embarrassed now, which is so rare it nearly kills you on sight. “You kept standing very close to me.”

“You were the one touching my back in photos!”

“I was trying to be normal.”

“You failed.”

“That has become apparent.”

You stare at him, and another horrifying realization strikes. “Oh no.” Oscar looks wary already, before you can say anything else. “The gala.”

“What about it?”

“When they asked who gets jealous more easily —” Oscar inches away and you gasp dramatically. “You were jealous.”

“No.”

“You literally hesitated!” You burst out laughing again.

And there it is. That unbearably soft expression he gets when you’re happy. It nearly knocks the breath out of you. You understand now. All those years you thought Oscar was cold —

He wasn’t detached, he was careful. Careful with his feelings. Careful with yours. Careful not to want too much.

“You know,” you ponder aloud slowly, “I think we might actually be stupid.”

Oscar nods immediately. “That’s statistically supported.”

“You spent years in love with me.”

“Yes.”

“I spent years thinking you hated me.”

“That part’s particularly concerning,” he interrupted.

“And everyone else apparently knew.”

“Mia called me pathetic in Milan.”

You rear backwards in shock. “She said what?”

“In fairness, she wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“No, she absolutely was.” You shake your head defensively.

Oscar’s eyebrows lift slightly. “You’re already siding with me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” you huff.

“Too late.”

You shove his shoulder again automatically. This time, though, he catches your wrist gently before you can pull away. The movement is instinctive. Easy. Your breath catches a little when his thumb brushes against your pulse. God, nothing about this man escapes you now that you’re looking properly.

The tiny tension in his jaw. The way he keeps unconsciously moving closer. The fact that he looks happier than you’ve ever seen him. Warm all the way through.

And suddenly you realize something else too. You’ve never seen him like this with anyone. Not friends, not interviewers, not even Lando Norris.

Nobody gets this version of Oscar. Just you.

The realization settles somewhere deep in your chest.

“Oscar,” you say his name like a vow.

“Yeah?”

You hesitate. Which is rare for you. But this feels important enough to say correctly. “I don’t think I hated you either.”

Something flickers across his face. Small. But powerful enough that your chest tightens instantly. “No?” he asks quietly.

“No.” You smile, a stupid  lovesick idiot. “I think I was just emotionally constipated too.”

He laughs, completely gone for you.

You think you could spend the rest of your life trying to make him sound like that again. “You know what really annoys me?” you continue.

“Hmm?”

“You’re probably going to become unbearable now.”

“I’m already unbearable,” he objects.

“True.”

“But, I’ll simply be unbearable and loved.”

You sigh loudly. “Oh, you’re never shutting up about this.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re going to weaponize the fact that I kissed you first, aren’t you?”

He smiles. “You grabbed my shirt.”

“I was having a crisis.”

“You called me pretty,” Oscar reminds you, as though you need reminding of that mortifying moment.

“Please stop bringing that up.”

Footsteps echo faintly from below the grandstand, distant voices calling for drivers and staff. Reality is creeping back in. Eventually you’ll have to go downstairs. Eventually people will see this.

Mia will probably scream. The internet will become unusable. Your parents may actually pass away from vindication.

But right now it’s just the two of you sitting in the fading afternoon sunlight above a kart track that somehow started all of this years ago.

Oscar’s still holding your wrist gently, like he forgot to let go and doesn’t want to.

“You know,” he muses after a moment, quieter now, “I used to think you were the scariest person I’d ever met.”

You think he’s joking. “Me?”

“You threw things when angry.”

“You deserved those things.”

“Probably.” His thumb brushes your wrist again absentmindedly. “But mostly I think I was scared because I wanted you too much.”

Your heart stumbles painfully. Oscar says things so simply, so bluntly sometimes. Honesty does cost him less now that it’s finally out in the open.

“And now?” you ask softly.

His gaze lifts to yours. Warm. Certain. Entirely yours. “Now,” he says, “I think it might’ve been worth it.”

The universe feels like it has quietly tilted onto a new axis while you weren’t paying attention. You look at the boy who spent years loving you in silence. The boy you spent years misunderstanding with terrifying dedication. The boy who turned every fight into affection and every sharp edge into something strangely safe.

And suddenly it all makes sense. The tension. The gravity. The feeling that no matter how far apart you drifted, some invisible thread always pulled you back together.

Maybe this wasn’t divine punishment after all.

Maybe it was the universe getting tired of waiting for two idiots to finally figure it out.

[land0sc21]

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Formula 1 fans discover that Oscar is dating a Rally star racer and immediately becomes obsessed with them!

⟡ 𑣲𝑨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Lando and Oscar's family is mentioned. Reader is described to have short hair. There's lots of fluff and chaos involved so I hope you enjoy <3

❤️ liked by f1, mclarenf1, oscarpiastri, lando, alex_albon and 17,456,00 more

y/nusername chopped my hair off for the second day at the paddock. So excited!

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oscarpiastri Can't believe I have to wait another 8 more hours to see you :( 134 replies ⤵︎

y/nusername aww missing you too! 𖹭

alex_albon uhm...you could've hired a professional to do the job 🤔

y/nusername what're you trying to say Albono

lando can you guys seriously not survive without eachother for 24 hours?

y/nusername never!

oscarpiastri I'm not answering that...

username wait. Oscar's dating y/n?? Since when?!

username F1 boyfriend + Rally girlfriend is such a peak motorsports representation

username oscar dating a RALLY DRIVER is the most Oscar Piastri thing imaginable

username y/n is mothering as usual 🤏

username I just know Lando knew about these two dating before us. How selfish

username imagine arguing with your girlfriend when she casually drives sideways through a forest for a living

Nobody expected him to date someone equally as terrifying behind the wheel. Neither you or Oscar could've imagine that the pair of you would one day meet , become best friends then start dating in the span of a year. Lando unexpectedly became a wingman in the situation since he invited Oscar to watch one of your rally races.

It all kicked off from there.

Oscar was dating a girl who shows up covered in mud while he's spotless in his team kit. Yet he's utterly lovestruck and obsessed with you. That's the type of couple you were.

He was more protective of you rather than possesive. Checking that you get back safely from a stage. Watching onboard clips after rough rallies in a calm, yet concerned manner. Helping you decompress after bad weekends.

You two would argue once. Over a petty thing really. Oscar said to you that rally pace notes sound made up. Until you force him to take a ride with you in a rally car and he genuienly looks terrified for the first time in years. And you never let him forget it.

Oscar trusts you. Somewhat. Right up until you hit a Scandinavian flick at 100mph. And once the ride is over. He goes completely silent as he grips the edge of the passenger seat.

"I'm starting to understand why you enjoy this."

"Because it's fun?" You teasingly asked.

"No. Because you're insane." He'd retort with a deadpan look. Which you would reciprocate with a playful smack on the shoulder as Oscar laughs softly at your response. "You're lucky I like you."

Fans love to create edits of the pair on tiktok. Compilations of the two teasing one another or when they hang out in public spaces. Completely enamoured with eachother.

They also noticed many tiny details. One being that Oscar seemed to smile more around you. Every interaction would become a viral clip. Oscar fixing your headset. Carrying your bag without thinking. You stealing his cap and Oscar becoming a giggling mess. Or him unconsciously looking for you in the garage.

"They're either the calmest couple alive or the scariest."

"He went from '🙂' to '😊' around her and now I'm emotional."

"The way Oscar looks at her in interviews?? Your honour he is DOWN BAD."

Speaking of supporting one another. You had a flight to catch to meet with Oscar in Monza. Considering you hadn't seen him for almost 2 days due to your schedules clashing. So you were pretty excited to see your boyfriend again.

The paddock was chaos by Friday afternoon. Camera's everywhere. Team personnel moving in and around the garage in a stressed manner that only occurs during race weekends.

And somewhere in the midst of it all. Oscar Piastri was trying to finish an interview while pretending not to look towards the Mclaren hospitality entrance every few seconds.

Unfortunately for him, one reporter noticed. Making the Aussie quite flustered at his question.

"Waiting for someone special Oscar?"

Oscar tried to not seem fazed. But his body language gave him away. Swallowing nervously while trying to keep a straight face. The tips of his ears turning red and his cheeks, blinking a few times before answering.

"No." He's say at first. Soon changing it when the reporter raised an eyebrow at him. Clearly not buying it. "Maybe."

Ten minutes later, you arrive. Fresh from a rally event from Finland, still wearing your team jacket and sunglasses push into your hair. Cheeks flushed from the warm weather as you blew at a stray hair that dropped infront of your eyes.

The second Oscar spotted you. His whole demeanor changed. Subtle to most people. Obvious to everyone else who knew him. Especially his family. Hattie was the first to greet you, then Oscar's mum.

Lando spotted the lovesick look in his eyes from across the room and immediately goes over to you to point it out. Oscar was like a deer caught in headlights when Lando makes a gesture towards the Aussie with a smug grin.

"He was waiting for you all day." He muses. While you found it sweet that he missed you that much.

You barely step into the garage before he speed walks towards your direction. Calmly removing the bag from your shoulder and hand briefly going towards your waist. Whispering into your ear as he pulls you into a hug.

"You made it." Oscar peered down at you. You looked exhausted, but happy nonetheless. "Told you I would."

"Love the hair by the way. You look cute." Oscar mumbled. Running his fingers through your soft locks as he appreciated how amazing you looked. You would smile up at him softly before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

You then took a look around the garage. Taking in the chaotic enviornment that the mechanics had to work with. You hummed before speaking in an amusing tone. "Wow. Everything looks suspicously clean."

Oscar snorted softly with the roll of his eyes. "That's because niether of us have driven yet." Referring to Lando as the curly haired brunette joined the young couple for a quick chat.

The mechanics adore you. Appreciating your imput and the vibes you bring to the team. Also because you bring them coffee and sweet treats. One time you saw Oscar's setup sheets and went : " You're still overworking the fronts?"

Oscar looks up from his laptop. Trying not to seem amused as the corner of his lips twitched. "...Why are you attacking me in my workplace?"

During practice sessions you stood at the back of the garage, wearing his spare headset. Watching the timing screen with intent. Every now and then you'd no approvingly. Muttering comments about tire temperatures. Or quietly asking engineers questions that made them realise you understood everything.

One mechanic whispered to a collegue about your racing knowledge. "She's terrifying. Respectfully."

After a difficult FP2 session. Oscar would step out of his car in pure frustration. Not exactly happy of his performance. He was quieter than usual, giving short answers and shoulders visibly tense.

While engineers debriefed around him. You gently bump his shoulder with your own. Concerned for you boyfriend as he seemed down. "Hey. Wanna talk about what's on your mind handsome?"

Oscar exhaled slowly, tilting his head up with his eyes closed before turning to you. "Balance felt awful."

"Okay." You say calmly. Hands intertwining with gloved ones. "Then we'll fix it. Try not to let it get to you okay?"

No dramatic speech. Or empty reassurances. Just pure certainty. Oddly enough, that works better on him than anything else.

On race day, the paddock was increasingly louder than expected. You stood in your usual place with the team headphones on. While photographers kept trying to get pictures of you and Oscar together.

Right before the national anthem. Oscar suddenly felt the need for your presence. Reaching for you hand discreetly. Giving it a quick squeeze as he tried to ground himself. You squeeze back immediately, speaking softly. "Go do your thing."

Oscar nodded. And as he climbs back into the enclosed space of his cockpit. He glances back at you. Not because he was nervous. But to see you. His motivation for this race. And what would help him to get a podium at the end.

He'd look for you straight after the race ends.

You were congratulating Lando as laugh at something he says. Oscar meanwhile, has his helmet tucked under one arm before handing it to his race engineer. He wanted to play it cool at first. A calm yet relieved sigh leaving his lips as he felt himself smile.

Weaving through the crowd to reach you. Yet the second he gets a hold of you. All restraints would crack.

One hand sliding around your waist. Pulling you against him while the other tilted your chin up just enough to kiss your properly. He was ofcourse covered in sweat. But you payed no mind as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back.

He kisses you slow at first. Trying to calm himself after the intensity of the race. Then deepening the kiss with the same intensity. Adrenaline still buzzing in his veins and throughout his body as he let out a satisfied groan against your warm, inviting lips.

The mechanics and the camera's around them disappeared for a moment. Your heartbeat racing as Oscar grinned into the kiss at your enthusiasm. Seems it rubbed on him too since he wasn't usually so public with his relationship.

"You were insane out there," you whispered softly. Oscar's cheeks were flushed when you open your eyes to look at him. "Yeah. And I won because of you."

That would earn another kiss. Shorter this time. Teasing and proud before he rested his forehead against yours. Unable to keep himself from smiling while the paddock roared with cheers around them.

Including Lando and Oscar's family as they happily watch the couple have their moment. Hattie totally not gagging at seeing his brother kissing his girlfriend with no shame.