🐚 K. she/her. indian. a pharmacy student. f1 and football fan – primarily a mclaren and barça supporter. kpop, kdrama, south asian media diehard.
currently watching: one piece, animal kingdom, rivals
⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖° 🏎️ masterlist. ⚽️ masterlist. inbox: open requests: closed
HOUSE RULES – prefer detailed requests but not necessary - done intitutively to motivation. no prejudice or hate on this page. absolutely no minors engaging w/ my 18+ content! all image/song/idea rights to respectful owners. copyright only on my own writing. anti-ai user!
did u add matteo like mr hot nurse night shift matteo???? from the pitt???? also the same john tucker from off campusss???? are we being fr rn????? stawppppp
heyy just curious if u have watched off campus. if u haven't u totally should ! and give us ur opinions and views after cause i would love to hear em
yes!! i binged it once it came out!
i think overall it was really nice! sweet and cosy vibes for the good parts. really good communication in all the horrible situations (especially when you compare it to other shows/movies these days).
i was kinda surprised about how much time tho they spent on garrett's dad versus hannah's backstory. they were both handled well but i thought hannah's would be a bit more extensive? especially when she was being intimate.
i think there were a few changes compared to the book since i first read it (i don't fw kennedy ngl). not all of them made sense but some were nice like removing the hands off law. this garrett and book garrett were different. i like the show garrett 🥰
the amount of liquid iv placements thooo... made me want to gauge my eyeballs.
favourite scene was the thanksgiving and the growing fruits/vegetables 😭 i love tucker tbh.
but yeah. refreshing to watch after kinda shitty shows for years. kinda gave me never have i ever vibes (i miss devi sm). definitely enjoyed it!
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: heading into ferrari for a new season, you think you're pretty focused. but things don't look too good when a series of love notes from your secret admirer start appearing out of nowhere.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: so so much fluff, poor humour, charles being corny affffff, reader is lowkey oblivious, arthur being the best brother in the world, mentions of charles' hardships with monza and monaco as well as lewis' own hardships, two idiots in love basically
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.3k
𝐀/𝐍: the last fic of my series! even though it's the cheesiest thing i've written, i love cheesy shit and even better if it's with charles! i really enjoyed writing this series! it's also the most active i've been in a while so that's been really fun. leave some requests and i might just take your offer up. // as usual, poorly proofread
𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Lewis Hamilton moving to Ferrari was a shock to most. Whether it was good or bad, well that was up to the individual.
And while Charles was very welcoming of the move, having the Lewis Hamilton as his teammate wasn’t quite the reason.
It was you.
Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari didn’t just bring the history, talent, and skills. It also happened to bring along his personal trainer – you.
You hadn’t been training Lewis long. Around three years after his previous personal trainer left. There was a lot of doubt surrounding you. You were young. A bit new to the world of motorsports. And it didn’t seem like you were helping Lewis through some of his hardest years at Mercedes.
But truth be told, underneath all of that, you happened to understand Lewis to a ‘T’. His mentality, his values, his respect, and his beliefs. They coincided with yours. Together, you could achieve the impossible, you were both sure of it.
Unfortunately, Mercedes just had a really shitty car (and a shitty attitude).
Cue the move to Ferrari. Which in reality was music to Charles’ ears.
Over the past few years, Charles had managed to become friends with you. It took him a while seeing as you were slightly reserved and all over the paddock at all times. But once you had given him one of the most inspiring and encouraging talks, he had ever received after the stint Ferrari had pulled on him in Monaco, 2022 – it was safe to say you had progressed your friendship.
To anyone with a brain and perhaps even slightly declined vision, it was plain as day that Charles was interested in you. Because someone not interested in you wouldn’t stop his interviews to say ‘Hi’ to you, get you involved in Ferrari’s YouTube videos, or walk the track every morning just so he could join you.
2024 was an irritating year for Charles. While the SF-24 wasn’t particularly awful and Charles had still managed to win some races, there was still something missing. Not to mention, a whole Constructor’s championship. Furthermore, waiting for you and Lewis to arrive to Maranello was like telling a child to wait to open their Christmas gift – it was far too long of a wait.
But the time had finally come. Charles had done his annual training camp and arrived to Maranello and both you and Lewis had officially settled down in the area. The first few weeks with you on the team was surreal. Charles was spending more time with you than ever. Almost every day he interrupted your lunch and sat down with you. When Lewis was in the car, he’d appear next to you, discussing smalls things like how you were finding Italy or how the car was.
With every passing second, he spent with you, Charles was struggling to be just friends with you. Especially with the occasional rumor or ship edit of you and Lewis. Deep down, he knew there was nothing to be worried about. Lewis saw you more as a sister if anything, sharing your knowledge with him.
It was time, however, to change this.
Charles had planned it out carefully. Fourteen notes from your secret admirer. Plastered around all areas you visit the most within the Ferrari headquarters. One for every day up until the holiday of love itself: Valentine’s Day.
The first five notes were relatively tame and simple, complimenting your hair or your smile or even giving you some encouragement. They were enough to get you to pull Charles and Lewis aside.
“Guys,” you ushered, gathering the two men into a small circle. “Don’t tell anyone just yet, but for the past few days, I’ve been getting these secret notes,” you squealed quietly, holding a few of them in your hands.
Lewis raised a brow, taking one into his hand. “Secret notes? You mean like letters from a secret admirer?” He asked, reading the note slowly.
You paused. A secret admirer. You hadn’t really thought of the notes like that. You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly. “Oh... I’m not quite sure about that. They seem really sweet but I don’t think they mean it like that.”
Charles pursed his lips together, in disbelief that he was watching his entire plan fall apart before his very eyes. “I mean... they probably do mean it like that,” he chuckled, trying to waver off his nervousness. He blinked at the staring expressions from you and Lewis. “I mean–who leaves compliments they could say to your face on paper if they don’t like you.”
Huh. Now that you thought about it, that was a reasonable argument. “Maybe,” you agreed with a small nod, taking back the notes.
Lewis shoved his hands in his pockets, moving his knowing glance from Charles to you. “Do you think they’ll ever reveal themselves?”
Unbeknownst to you, Charles’ skin began heating up as you gave a small shrug. “Possibly. Who knows? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
━━━━━━━━━━━
After your conversation with Charles and Lewis, your notes were starting to become only slightly less complimentary and more poetic.
“At night, when the world falls asleep and all is still, you take over my every thought, against my will.”
“Your laugh is a melody of my favourite music notes I wish to hear. A song for my ears only. So soft and so warm.”
“The smile you wear, while unnoticed by all, is one I cannot forget at all.”
Were they cheesy and corny? Yes. Absolutely.
But were you smiling from ear to ear? A hundred percent.
It was getting bad now. For every note you read, your heart would race against your chest, your cheeks would flush, and the world seem to go quiet. You were sure this was exactly what this person wanted.
You couldn’t help but try figure out who the person was. But so far, there were very little personal clues in the notes. All you knew is that the person seemed to know you quite well as every note you found were in the places you visited the most.
“Hello,” a voice sung.
You looked up from the laptop you were supposed to be doing work on (and not daydreaming about love letters). You grinned at the familiar face. “Baby Leclerc!”
Arthur gave you a feigned pained expression, taking a seat next to you. “You and Charles... I swear,” he sighed, resting his head on the chair as you laughed softly. He turned his head to you. “So, I hear you’ve been getting secret notes?”
You flickered your eyes over to Arthur. “That idiot! I told Charles not to tell anyone,” you pouted.
Things are different when your brother sends you to deliver these same notes at six in the morning. Arthur simply smiled. “Any ideas on who it is?”
You sighed, shutting your laptop. “Nope,” you pursed your lips. You had received ten notes in total now. You had managed to pick out a few things. “I think whoever it is likes music or plays something since I’ve had three notes about music. They also might like snow since my ‘heart is as soft as the snow.’”
Arthur pressed his lips together on a line, trying to control his body from projectile vomiting on his brother’s corny notes. “Sound like anyone you know?” He asked, watching you carefully.
Surely by now...
You furrowed your brows. Music and snow. Music and snow. Music and snow. Nothing. There was nothing going through your head and Arthur could tell.
“Well,” Arthur started, standing up from his seat. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
You smiled. “Hopefully.”
━━━━━━━━━━━
Four notes were left and it was getting more difficult to not only convince Arthur to put them in the selected locations but to make sure you were able to see them. It was getting closer and closer to the date of the car launch. It was five days after Valentine’s Day, the day you were going to receive your last note and this game of hide and seek would finally come to an end.
D-3
“You guide me through all the noise and speed. When you’re here, I find all I need.”
Noise and speed? Now you were thrown off. What did that mean? The noise and speed of what?
But as you walked past the plethora of rooms working on every small or big part of Ferrari’s new car for the season, one cog turned in place. You halted in your steps, thinking very carefully as drills and machines vibrated throughout the building.
Of course. The person had to be within Scuderia Ferrari. Your first thought – it could’ve been anyone. But noise and speed? That was Formula 1. That was at least all your engineers, mechanics, pit crew...
You felt a hand rest on your shoulder, your name softly being called out. “Hey. You okay, chérie?” Charles queried, blue eyes looking down at you slightly concerned.
You blinked, allowing a smile to grace your face even though it felt like the weight of his hand was burning your skin. You tried to keep your cheeks from heating up but any efforts were wasted. “Yeah, great,” you breathed. “Just figuring some things out.”
Charles slowly nodded, removing his hand and allowing you to breathe again. “Okay,” he murmured, “I just wanted to ask. Make sure you eat and drink well, hmm? I don’t want you passing out on the launch.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks still burning. “Speak for yourself. Don’t think I haven’t seen you skipping lunch for the past week.”
Charles grinned to himself. You noticed. Reality was that he was struggling to not just confess every time he saw you, so he thought cutting one part of his day with you would help. It didn’t. But, hey, at least you noticed.
“You can just say you miss me. I won’t tell anyone, chérie. It’ll be our little secret,” he winked, starting to quickly walk past you in the hope you can’t see his flustered expression.
You blinked blankly again, feeling your heart loudly beat in your chest.
Holy shit.
D-2
“Even amongst the roar of the engine and the cheer of the crowd, you’re the only one I can hear.”
So, you were right. Whoever this admirer was, they were dealing with Ferrari’s car in some shape or format. It was more likely to be a mechanic or engineer, maybe even a test driver.
But one who liked music and snow? You couldn’t think of one person who fitted in all those categories.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lewis queried, taking a seat next to you at lunch. He mended his brows, tilting his head. “Or should I say euro?”
You huffed, shaking your head. “Funny guy, aren’t ya?”
“Very,” Lewis commented before nudging your shoulder. “So... what’s on your mind? A secret admirer, perhaps?”
You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone. “Sort of. I’m just trying to figure them out. I just wish...”
Lewis raised a brow, turning his body to yours. “You wish...?”
You wished Charles was your secret admirer instead.
Sure, the notes made your day. But Charles was making your day in real life... off the paper. Just this morning, you and Charles had bumped into each other after you received your note. You were about to order your usual drink when he had ordered it for you, memorising the way you liked it exactly.
You told him you couldn’t believe he remembered. And he responded, “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”
The moment had left you thinking for the entire day. You hadn’t seen him since but you don’t think you could look at him without being flustered and a hot mess.
“Nothing,” you mumbled, sighing while Lewis grinned to himself. He knew exactly what you were wishing for.
D-1
“For every checkered flag that waves, you’re the one I look for first. Because even in a crowded room, I’ll always look for you.”
Checkered flags were always a mess. Seconds before the race leader would even pass, the garage and the stands were always moving, running, to the podium. It was rhythm of chaos. You never knew who was next to you. All you could feel was what it felt like in the moment.
Silverstone 2024 was for you to remember forever. Lewis’ first win since 2021 – since you had joined him as his personal trainer. The driver to have the most wins at a single circuit and it was at his home race.
Tears were shed that day.
And the crowd was something you would never forget. You almost lost yourself until Lewis had found you himself, thanking you for being by his side for some of the toughest years of his life.
But for your secret admirer to find you in a crowd of a checkered flag waves... well, they must have some good eyes.
You were lying down on a bench with Charles seated next to you and Arthur sitting across you. All of you were on your break, soaking in the tiny bit of sun that had come out during winter.
Your eyes were shut, protecting yourself from the sun and from melting under Charles’ gaze. You could hear Arthur call your name, making your ears perk up. “What do you look for in a guy?”
You couldn’t see it but Charles was sending the most heaviest glare he could muster to his younger brother. Arthur simply rolled his eyes, waiting for your response.
“That’s such a random question,” you mumbled.
Arthur cleared his throat. You were already onto him. “I mean... well, I asked Jade after I saw a TikTok of people’s responses. She said personality which is great, I guess. Kind of unsettling news for my face though,” he murmured towards the end.
You and Charles found yourself laughing at the scenario. Arthur was truly one of a kind. Quietening down, you realised the brothers were both waiting for your answer. “Um,” you momentarily pondered, “their soul.”
Arthur and Charles paused. The younger brother raised a brow you couldn’t see. “Their soul? What are you, a grim reaper?”
You chuckled softly. “It’s not that... it’s–well, I think everyone has specific types of souls. You can see it when you talk to someone and get to know them. It’s someone’s essence... the fabric of who they are.”
Charles leaned over, face hovering over you from a safe distance. “Their souls?” He repeated out of curiosity.
You nodded. “Yep. Everyone has one. Even you.”
Now you had full undivided attention. “Yeah? What do you think my soul is like, chérie?”
You opened your eyes, swallowing hard when you met those baby blues. Letting out a slow exhale, you stared at him as you thought about your answers. The words seemed to come easily to you.
“Charles... your soul dances. Purely. Freely. It dances to every fleeting moment and to the rhythm of life. Your soul finds meaning in everything because you have the biggest heart I’ve ever known. Because you are the most beautiful person I have ever met, inside and out.”
Charles blinked, speechless. He wasn’t sure what was more touching. Your words or your sheer seriousness. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his heart at bay.
One more day...
That’s all he needed to wait for
D-DAY
“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? I don’t know about you but I hope they do.”
You stared at the piece of paper. Souls? All of a sudden?
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” a voice quietly greeted behind you.
You turned your body despite knowing exactly who it was by the wave of warmth his voice had sent through you. “Hmm? Did you say something?”
Charles pursed his lips. Shoving his hands in his pockets of his jacket and smiled. “I said Happy Valentine’s Day. You know... since it’s the fourteenth.”
You nodded slowly, half processing his words while his dimples twinkled at you. “You too,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. Stupid goddamn cheeks and their susceptibility to Charles.
You watched his eyes to fall the note in your hands. “Another note?” He asked.
You gave a small smile. “Yup.”
Charles cleared his throat, shuffling on his feet. “What does it say today?”
You opened your mouth, ready to start complaining. “It asks me about whether I think the universe fights for souls to be together–”
“Well, do you?” Charles queried, softly staring at you.
You blinked, feeling tongue-tied. “I... I-I mean yes. I’m sure the universe does but that’s not my point. My point is... is that it’s too random. Where did souls come from? This entire time it’s been music, piano, snow, noise, engines, and checkered flags... it’s so random. They’ve all been somewhat connected by now and–”
“Chérie,” Charles called.
“Yeah?” You responded only to be met with silence. You mended your brows together as he silently stood in front of you. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
You felt the walls of the world close in on you as he raised his eyebrows gently. Surely not...
Charles took a step closer to you, grabbing your hand with his. “I’m not sure about the universe, chérie. But I would love to fight for us.”
Your mouth fell open. You think your hands were shaking. “Charles... you wrote the notes?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, hand reaching to rub the back of his neck as his own cheeks started to burn.
“I’ve been planning it a few days after you came to Maranello. I just didn’t know how long I could be just friends with you for but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you then. If it isn’t clear yet,” he breathed in, thumb rubbing your hand gently, “I really really like you.”
You gulped. Charles’ eyes were always soft. They changed when he raced. Like he could burn down the track. But today, they looked at you with such a warm and heartfelt intensity. It was the same one when he lost in Monaco and when he won.
The same one you found searching for you in the crowd.
Charles’ breath hitched as he felt you lean in. He watched you move your head, eyes falling to his lips. And just like that, he could feel your lips pressed onto the corner of his mouth. He steadied himself as you pull away, your thumb grazing his mouth gently.
He flickered his eyes to your lips as the words fall freely. “I like you too.”
Charles grinned, dimples popping out once again. His arms moved to wrap themselves around your waist, bringing you into a tight hug. He let out a relieved exhale. “Thank God,” he murmured next to your ear.
He could feel you laugh against him and he loved it. “What did you think I was gonna say? That I didn’t like you?” You asked with a small smile as you pulled away from his body, still in his grasp.
Charles rolled his eyes, thumb rubbing small circles into your waist. He looked at you, taking in the moment. He gave you a small shrug. “You always make me nervous,” he sighed out.
“Me? Make you nervous?” You gaped. “I’m pretty sure I’m shaking right now.”
A wide smile graced his face. “I’m glad I have the ability to do that.”
You stayed silent, unsure if you could trust yourself to speak any further. You simply smiled, cheeks still burning to react to Charles while you rested in his arms.
“Chérie,” he called softly and this time you looked back to what was yours.
You tilted your head, waiting for him to say something.
“You never asked me about your soul,” he stated.
The way he said it made the comment sound factual. But you didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” You asked.
He laughed quietly at your confused expression. Tucking your hair behind your ears, Charles rested his hands back on your waist. “I want you to ask me what I think about your soul.”
You fell quiet for a brief second. Christ, was he sure that you were the one making him nervous? Because he sure knew how to make you speechless.
“Okay.” You breathed, giving him a small smile. Moving your arms to his neck, you hung them and opened your mouth. “Charles, what do you think about my soul?”
“Chérie, you said my soul dances. But your soul... it breathes. It lives. Everywhere you walk, you give life to world. You create reason. Everything you say and do sounds like a song. Even your silence is music. Sweetheart, you make living the most beautiful gift of life.”
do you write abt dn3? even if he’s retired? sorry i need more content from him 🥲
i have one fic with him and lando that i wrote ages ago called 'gorgeous.' but i never really had much to write for him unfortunately 😓 sorry to disappoint ♡︎
PAIRING: oscar piastri x mercedes!f1 driver!fem!reader
SUMMARY: summer break doesn’t feel all that glamorous when one moment breaks your illusion entirely.
WARNINGS: fluff, angst, denial, jealousy, oscar and reader feeling homesick, lando being messy, MAJOR DEVELOPMENT, white wedding, poor humour // poorly proof-read
A/N: here it is! would you believe i made this entire series solely based on this bet scene? AND I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT 😭 but sorry in advance. you won’t like me after this.
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist | 🦋 heart of chambers
Home looked the way it almost always did. Even in the winter, it still had a way to shine. Nor was it particularly cold. A nice contrast to the incessant heat that been scathing everyone months on end.
The only difference was your house evidently looked like the house of a bride and groom. The sun has begun to set, pinks and purples stretched out across the horizon, allowing for the endless number of dainty lights you were sure Dylan had spent forever doing. Garlands came in swathes across the backyard, paired nicely with your aunt's flower of choice. The outdoor dining table, usually stashed away for the summer was out with the help of Edie and her father. Music, selected by Hattie, of course, lightly rang through the air, gentle and faint as though not to intrude on any conversation.
Oscar sighed, resting his arms on the balustrade of the porch, eyeing the set up for the rehearsal dinner as the few guests started to pour in. The air felt nice. A reprieve from the thick air of racing that had been suffocating him.
He had spent the two days back home with you, helping you arrange the last-minute needs for your aunt's weddings. You had been stressing the moment you stepped onto the plane, constantly eyeing the to-do-list on your phone as in-flight entertainment. He could tell you wanted things to be perfect. And he endeavoured to make that happen.
"So..." Your voice erupted into the air, catching Oscar's attention. "How does it look?"
Oscar's throat dried, brown eyes wavering over the sight of you. It wasn't anything particularly special. But he would digress. There weren't too many times he'd see you all dolled up. But with the happiness of wedding activities, you were especially beautiful. Cheeks all flushed and rosy, smile wide and bright. Hair all curled in the right places. Lips painted in a colour that made him want to fall to his knees.
"Oscar? The dinner?" You queried, blinking him out of his trance.
He cleared his throat, nodding, forcing himself to look out at the setup once again. "It looks great," he agreed, slowly reverting back to you. "Gorgeous," he breathed, unable to stop the whir of his heart.
You grinned, hands clasping excitedly, making him smile even harder. "Thank God!" You almost squealed. Stressed didn't even begin to cover it. You had barely been to any weddings as it stood. You had no idea what to do. Even though your aunt and Dylan said you didn't need to help. You felt awful for racing during most of the planning. You needed to do something. Which was why you had begged to help with the dinner months ago. And after some relentless pleas, your aunt had finally agreed.
"It does look gorgeous," you hummed, looking over the backyard with the setting sun. God, it was unreal. You pressed your lips, turning back to Oscar, eyeing his well fitted shirt. "I think I saw three of those white polos in your suitcase," you teased quietly, holding your hands behind your back.
"They're different shades," Oscar maintained, narrowing his eyes at you.
You chuckled softly. "Well, you look good," you murmured awkwardly, cheeks beginning to heat up even more. You prayed for the winter air to help even slightly. Why the heck did you say that?
"Thanks," Oscar smoothly responded back like his chest hadn't exploded entirely at your compliment.
You raised a brow, watching him take a step too close to you. Head leaning down, brown eyes softly falling over your face like he was examining you, hot breath just grazing your cheeks. You held your breath, frozen at his sudden movements.
"You have pretty eyes."
"Oh?" You blinked blankly, momentarily confused as you tried to register his words. "Oh. I... thank you?" You queried, rubbing the back of your neck, instantly feeling the hot skin on your fingertips
He simply smiled, leaning back, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers to prevent him from entirely freaking out. "Come on," he said, looking over at the people beginning to take their seats. "It's time for dinner."
You swallowed hard, watching Oscar take to the steps, only managing to get down one before he looked back at you. Your eyes fell to his stretched hand, mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. Had Oscar always been like this? So... God, you didn't even know how to describe it.
Drawing a quick breath, you gave him a tight smile, hesitantly sliding your hand into his, instantly feeling the warmth spread to your fingertips. You pressed your lips together, heading towards the steps. He's just being nice. You reminded the quickened pace of your heart before your brain got too carried away. You didn’t need to fall back to the ways of your old self.
You smiled openly towards the familiar faces gathering near the table as you and Oscar arrived. Suddenly, it really felt like you were home. It hadn’t been that way in a while.
"___, sweetheart," Oscar's grandma peered at the both of you, eyes wrinkling at the sight of you two together. "I was wondering when you'd finally start dating!"
You almost choked on your breath, snapping your wide eyes to your hand still with Oscar's. You looked up, meeting the frozen expression etched onto his face. Snatching your hand back, a nervous laugh immediately spilled from your lips, head shaking. "Oh we aren't... um..."
Oscar pressed his lips together as you trailed off awkwardly, spotting you wiping your hand cautiously on your clothes, clearly agitated at the comment. He kept his frown at bay, brown eyes flickering elsewhere, only to meet the raised brows of his mother and your aunt nearby. Christ... was it that obvious?
Oscar's grandma frowned more obviously, low hum falling from her lips. “That’s a shame,” she simply said before taking her seat at the table.
You blinked blankly, mind whirring with confusion as you hesitantly turned to Oscar. "I... sorry. That was weird," you laughed awkwardly, rubbing your arm because it was the only thing preventing you from letting the ground swallow you whole.
Oscar shook his head, giving you a tight smile. "It's okay," he said, bending down to whisper into your ear. "She might have had one too many already," he joked before leaning back, hand curving over a nearby chair to pull back. He gestured at it. "Come on."
"What was that?" Your aunt asked Oscar as she and his mother came together, practically cornering him once the dinner had dispersed and the guest count had fallen to the two families lounging around the backyard.
Oscar raised a brow at the incessant eyes on him, gathering the remaining dishes left on the table. "What was what?" He asked coyly. It was best for him if he didn't get hounded by your aunt and his mother. Because when those two banded together, no secret of his was left unturned.
His mother huffed in amusement, taking the pile of dishes from her son's arms. “You know what,” she retorted, eyeing him carefully. "You've been awfully sweet to my girl all night."
Your aunt nodded, resting a hand on her lower back for support. "The steps."
"The whispering," his mother added.
"Jokes all night."
"Stuck to her like super glue really."
Oscar cleared his throat, tips of his ears reddening. “Would it be crazy to say you raised a good son?" He retaliated in his defence, taking back the dishes from his mother's arms, heading towards the very steps they had just been talking about.
Nicole looked over at your aunt knowingly. The past few weeks had been full of Hattie and her sisters giggling here and there. God knew why. But after tonight, it seemed to be a bit clear as to why. For so many years, you had been Oscar-crazy. Oscar this. Oscar that. The two of them had watched you devote your time till one day, you woke up and decided you'd act like he didn't quite exist—something they still couldn't wrap their heads around. And now, they had gotten their first inkling of him feeling the same way.
"Ten dollars he'll be blushing tomorrow the moment she walks in?"
"You really want to turn your own wedding into some matchmaking?" Nicole tilted her head at your aunt, grin already stretching onto her face. She paused for a moment before speaking. "Thirty he asks her to dance."
Your aunt snorted. "I'll take that action."
The George Ballroom was a restored heritage building. The ceilings were high with intricate decor, ornate period detailing in every inch of the room that combined perfectly with the soft light pouring in through the large windows. The timber below was warm and ready for the colder temperatures trickling in.
The perfect venue just thirty minutes away from home.
Oscar's role was to greet all the guests along with Hattie, make light conversation while seating them as you, his mother, and the rest of his sisters figured out any other last-minute logistics. It was the first time he had ever been grateful his sister couldn't shut up.
"Would a smile hurt?" Hattie retorted as the both of them returned to the entrance of the ballroom. They had just seated some close friends of your aunt's and her brother had sported an expression she couldn't quite name.
Oscar gave her a pointed look. "I am smiling," he maintained, "See?"
She made a face at the sight. It was a half of a smile and some sort of pained grimace. “That’s not even close," she huffed.
"Well, if someone asks me about F1 again, it'll be a frown," he sighed, folding his arms, resting his back against the edge of the door momentarily. Almost every conversation he had entertained had involved some sort of comment about his car, his performance, or his team. And as much he loved his sport, this was supposed to be the one place where he could escape them. But alas... that was never the case.
Hattie pursed her lips, checking for any new guests coming in. A grin stretched onto her face at the sight of you and her mother talking, presumably about the processional. She cleared her throat, hissing loudly, "___! Mum! Tell Oscar to smile more!"
Oscar tilted his head, instantly about to snap back some sort of defensive comment but the words seemed to die in his throat as his eyes landed on you. His lips parted at the faint green satin curled around your body. His breath caught at your pinned hair, loose tresses framing your face. And his heart seemed to pace at the light dusting of red on your cheeks and soft yet rich pink painted onto your lips.
He had seen you at the gala and that was one thing of itself. But now that he had accepted what he felt, the sight of you made him want to fall onto his knees and kiss the floor you walked on.
A smile curved onto your face, eyes shifting to Oscar. "You're gonna have to smile for these photos, Osc," you pointed out, giving him a small nudge.
Oscar felt that static spark surge through him once again, skin becoming impossibly hot and ears tuning in and out surrounding frequencies. All while he was oblivious to wide grins on his sister and mother's faces. Looked like Nicole was going to have to pay your aunt after all.
He cleared his throat, forcing a sarcastic smile onto his face. "Funny," he simply commented, unable to think of a better thing to say. It was better if he kept his words to you short. He’d make a fool of himself more than he already was.
Your tongue rested on the corner of your mouth as you looked over the shoulder of the wedding photographer. The processional wasn't too far away. But before 'everyone turned into a sobbing mess' (Nicole's words, not yours), you needed to take photos.
You smiled satisfactorily at the frame, hearing the shutter go off, capturing your four favourite siblings together. You stood back with a quick breath in, watching them organise themselves again for another snap. You had thought about it more than once since you got here but God, it was truly nice to have everyone together. Especially for such a special occasion. From Chris to Dylan's grandparents... they were all here.
Your family.
You hadn't realised how much you missed everyone until you were here. These past few years... they had all been for working towards this season. This seat. This opportunity. The people around you had given a lot for you to be here. But you had also sacrificed them to be here.
You missed birthdays and anniversaries. Graduations. Holidays. Home in Australia had turned into standing in a room full of strangers in another country. Learning new names and people when the one's you cared about were thousands of kilometres away.
Not a part of you regretted it. You understood. Some things were necessary. But you wished it could've been different. That some part of you could've been normal.
But for today, you could pretend. At least for a few hours.
"Okay, now you and Oscar," Mae breathed out, locking her eyes on you as she parted from her siblings, hand already wrapping around your wrist to drag you in front of the camera.
You blinked, eyes slightly widening as you looked at her. "W-What? But we already have photos."
"Yeah... with everyone else," Your aunt pointed out, folding her arms while she sat next to the standing Hattie who wore a shit-eating grin on her face.
Oh lord.
You swallowed hard as you came to a stop, w sizeable gap left between you and Oscar. You met those familiar brown eyes, sending a pang right to your heart. You turned your head instantly, consoling the strange whir your chest. With another stabilising breath in, you gave a calm nod to... well, whoever. "Okay, ready," you stated.
Nicole raised a brow, peeking from behind the photographer. "Can you act like you want to be in the same room?" She queried, eyeing the empty space between the both of you. "Come on. Closer, you two."
You pressed your lips together tightly, barely shuffling closer to Oscar. You gave Nicole a pointed look as though you were asking if this was enough. But her hands narrowed together, sizing still ever present opening next to you.
You tried not to sigh, fingers curling into the side of your dress while you neared him, fitting suit entering more of your peripheral as you did. Surely... this had to be enough. There was like a couple of inches left... this was fine.
Until the photographer peered out of their camera, unimpressed eyes wavering over you and Oscar. "Guys, come on. You look like strangers."
You opened your mouth to refute the statement but the feel of Oscar's hand sliding against the curve of your back silenced your words. They burned against your throat, trapped, too attached to the fingers searing through your dress, encircling around your waist before he tugged you closer to him. The action left you flushed against him, shoulder to shoulder as his head slightly tipped towards you, soft smile stretching onto his face while he stared at the camera.
Nicole grinned, giving a glance to your aunt before looking back at the both of you. “Perfect,” she commented casually, patting the photographer's shoulder as she took a step back. She eyed your frozen expression. The sight made her smile warmly, fingers moving to gesture for you to do the same.
You blinked, looking back over at the camera. Your heart seemed to claw at your chest, wild like an animal though the poised smile on your face arose smoothly. Like you had rehearsed for any other occasion than this. But it wasn't so easy. The corners of your mouth trembled with every shift of Oscar's fingers against your waist. You could even smell him, for crying out loud! Cologne curling around you like a warm hug.
You reminded yourself to breathe as every second seemed to become impossibly long. This was probably the most humiliation you had felt in years. At least two of them. You had taught yourself to stray away from these reactions. To steer clear of all things Oscar. But he had put a large crack into your walls. And of course, he didn’t know.
But Oscar stood next to you, anything but calm as the expression on his face. He couldn't remind himself to breathe for the fear that his next breath would shake. He was sure his ears were redder than anything he could imagine. Scarlet. He couldn’t look at his sisters and their knowing glances. And he certainly couldn't look at you.
But he did.
God, he did.
And from where he stood, he could've sworn his knees quivered. His throat bobbed nervously, pupils dilating at the sheer sight of you. There weren’t enough words to describe how you looked. Like some sort of angel had fallen from heaven itself. Like you were the only person that made his world spin. And a part of him needed you to know that.
His heart almost stopped when your head tilted and your eyes swiftly moved to him, catching him entirely in the act. If you knew, you didn't let on.
"What?" You raised a brow, voice gentle.
Oscar swallowed hard, forcing him to shake his head. "Nothing," he whispered.
"Dylan," your aunt shakily breathed in, not particularly bothered to wipe her tear-stained face. "You've always been there for me. Every all-nighter I've pulled to watch races. Every complaint of this pregnancy. Even through my subpar bacon and eggs," she chuckled, shaking her head with a watery smile. "I'm eternally grateful for your unwavering support. You have this light in you, and it never quite dims. It lights up my path and if I'm honest, I'm always a little jealous. All I know is that there is no one quite like you. So in this new path together, I promise to be that same light. Be there like a nuclear force and cherish you for forever. As my partner. My husband. The father of our children. As my love."
Oscar should have been paying attention. It was rude not too. But he couldn’t help drifting his eyes behind your aunt, finding you standing with a handkerchief, which was definitely meant for the bride, being dabbed onto your wet cheeks.
You were stubborn about it. He could tell. The pursed lips and consistent sniffles. Like you weren’t crying. But he could spot your glossy eyes from miles away. How soft they looked with every romantic word spoken into the air. Not jealous or envious. Just... happy. The way your arm curled around his mother's like you both needed support.
It took everything in him to not walk by the altar and wipe those freshy fallen tears. So instead, he kept his fingers by his side, quiet.
But the action did nothing to silence his brain.
How much longer could he wait? The words were almost on the tip of his tongue. Even though he had no idea what he would say.
That he had never like this before. So giddy. So consumed. So happy that it was you his heart ached for.
With every week that had passed since Canada, he had been falling more and more. And call him crazy and absolutely insane but he almost didn’t care for the Spanish footballer pining after you. But truth be told, he cared more than he’d like to admit.
All he wanted was for you to know. To hope that somewhere in your silent stares and flustered states, it was also your heart that beat for him.
"Okay," you cleared your throat into the microphone, nervously eyeing the guests in the room. Were there always this many people at the wedding? You swallowed thickly, breathing in once again. "I've been asked to make a speech and contrary to belief, I'm not that good with a microphone."
You smiled quietly at the low wave of chuckled ruminating around the room. Your tense shoulders relaxed, spotting the familiar ease of smiles thrown back at you. "But this is for the person who's quite literally has been my day one. No one really knows how much my aunt has given to me. Her time and efforts. Every dime to get me where I am today. My teacher, my mother, and my aunt in all in one. And while I'm sure I'll spend forever in her debt, there is no one quite like her. She’s relentless with the biggest of hearts. And she’ll always take your problem and make it hers. Late nights and early mornings. She's there twenty-four seven. To be honest, these things used to make me worried."
"But then she met Dylan," you breathed, grinning at her husband. "Dylan is the entire opposite of her. The guy who actually says, "Go with the flow." Who knows when balance is needed so he'll crack a really bad dad joke to see her smile. It's strange because like some sort of perfect puzzle, he matches her. And now I'm not so worried," you chuckled softly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. "When two people love each other as much as they do, it's hard to be worried. So if everyone would kindly raise a glass—because what's a wedding speech without a toast? To my aunt and Dylan. May you continue to remind the rest of us that real love is worth celebrating every single day."
Several glasses lifted into the air while some hands remained occupied drying tear-filled eyes. You took a step away from the front of the room, smiling warmly at your aunt who now stood from her table, arms open for bring you into a long hug.
She kissed the side of your cheek before murmuring, "I love you, honey."
You breathed in, fingers tightening around her. "I love you too," you mumbled against her shoulder, free hand reaching to grasp Dylan's, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
You sniffled as you pulled back, eyeing the newly wedded couple. "So... you guys gonna bust some dances moves out there? I think it's time."
Your aunt chuckled at your wiggling brows. "These littles ones are definitely ready," she answered, gesturing to her stomach. "They've been kicking non-stop," she heaved, shaking her head with a dry look.
You grinned, moving back to give them the space to do so. Quietly you watched the couple drift towards the centre of the room, shuffling their feet to the slow rhythm travelling from Hattie’s piano in the corner of the room. Their eyes never quite moved off one another, smiles ever persistent, warm and entirely content.
And as the music began to shift, the floor slowly became busy with Mae dragging her mother with her, Edie with her boyfriend, and Chris with his partner. You took the time to sit and watch happily; afraid you'd miss this moment like all the others.
It was a simple and sweet reminder right in front of you—not everything was as complicated as it was on track. Life seemed to be a constant plethora of schedules and training. But when you purposely pushed all of it aside, it wasn't so overwhelming.
You blinked at the sudden hand entering your vision, making you tip your head up to find Oscar staring down at you. You raised a brow at him, drifting your gaze to his hand again.
"Everyone else is dancing," Oscar stated the obvious, swallowing quietly. He reaffirmed his hand position. "So... dance with me?"
You pursed your lips at the question, unable to ignore the honey eyes boring into your face. Your fingertips tingled at the offer, though your mind and heart formed some sort of coalition, glaring obviously at you to decline.
This was dangerous territory once again. You had drawn your lines and ventured to never cross them. But Oscar, as he often did without realising, liked to blur them. But you weren't teetering on those lines. You weren't. Yes. You were metres away from it, if anything.
You knew your boundaries. You were safe.
A grin stretched onto Nicole's face as she danced with her daughters, spotting your hand glide into Oscar's palm. Her eyes flickered over to your aunt, brows raised pointedly as she mouthed, "You owe me."
Your aunt only rolled her eyes, looking over as both you and Oscar stepped towards the dancing bodies. The sight reminiscent to you both of the gala in Monaco.
You breathed in with a careful composure, not too shaky nor too calculated. Just normal. You were just normal when you planted your hand on top of Oscar's shoulder. Equally as indifferent to your hands almost intertwined or the press of his fingers against your upper back.
You both seemed to fall into the rhythm naturally, feet moving with smooth practice after Monaco. You could feel his eyes on you as you averted your gaze to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Only to find Hattie wiggling her brows at you as she joined the floor, leaving the music to the speakers. You almost groaned, shaking your head instinctively. Of course, she would find this very moment to make it about you and Oscar.
It was just a dance. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Oscar cleared his throat, brown eyes still on you. "That was a really sweet speech," he murmured with a soft smile.
You blinked, lifting your eyes back to him. Your lips stretched into a thin, warm smile. "Thank you," you said. "I did get some help from Edie though," you confessed, remembering the few times across the season you had spent with her over the phone. You weren't particularly great with words. Lucky for you, Edie had an affinity for them.
A hum fell from Oscar's throat. "Thought I heard a bit of her in there," he lightly joked, eliciting a soft chuckle from you as you shuffled your feet against the floor, in tune with the slow-paced music. "You did great though. Barely a single dry eye in the room."
You raised a brow before you narrowed your eyes. "Does that include you?"
Oscar pursed his lips, giving you a funny look. "I was sweating out of my eyes," he retorted despite the corners of his mouth beginning to quiver with amusement. "I was," he maintained when you blankly stared at him.
"Sure, sure," you rolled your eyes, shaking your head.
He chuckled gently, falling quiet as the warmth of his gaze fell over you once again. Being this close to you, he could see the specks of red in your cheeks, different from the blush dusted on them. He wondered if it was because of him and not the heat. He hoped it was.
He swallowed thickly before taking a calm breath in, watching your eyes waver to anything but him. "Did I tell you look you beautiful today?"
You could feel your body still despite the world moving around as you matched Oscar’s footsteps. Your mouth ran dry, mind unable to conjure a single word to respond with. So you danced, lips parted around nothing while your heart thudded in your ears.
Oscar smiled quietly at your wide eyes finally on him. "Well," he started, "you do. Very much so."
"I... well," you caught your breath, still hearing your hammering heart as though it was coming through the speakers. "We all wore similar stuff," you shrugged, ever aware of his fingers on your back.
A sigh fell from his lips, teasing eyes focusing on you. "Why can't you just take a compliment? You look beautiful, I mean you always do, but I’m telling you. Simple as that," he murmured, satisfied with the deeper shade of red flushing your cheeks.
Your throat tightened, feet shuffling dangerously close to your drawn lines. You breathed in, putting on a small smile. "Thank you," you said, almost a whisper.
Please for the love of God, someone interrupt before you did something you'd regret.
"Okay. Show and tell's over," Hattie intervened, patting her brother's shoulder. "It's my turn with her."
Oh thank God.
Oscar snapped his head to his sister as the both of you came to a slow stop, hands reluctantly peeling away from you. His eyes narrowed incredulously. "Your turn?" He queried, baffled. "You're not serious," he retorted, giving her a small glare. Why the hell was she practically cockblocking him? Her out of all people?
"You keep hogging her and besides, she's my best friend," she huffed back, folding her arms. My best friend that looks like she's going to explode but my best friend, nonetheless.
You forced a smooth chuckle from your lips. "It's okay, guys. There's enough of me to go around," you teased, nudging the both of them with your elbows.
Hattie smiled, tilting her head at Oscar. "See? Now go and dance with Mae. Go on," she ushered, hands shooing in him away.
Oscar gave his sister another small glare, still obeying her as his feet inched away from you and towards Mae. And just before he turned, he shot you a faint smile, tips of his ears slightly red.
Hattie watched her brother walk away begrudgingly, arm looping through yours naturally. Her lips parted, evidently about to say something about the situation with the cheeky glint in her eye but you had beat her to it.
"Not a word, Hats."
"But—"
"Hattie!"
Belgium had been a real kicker for you. A sprint win and P2 was no match for Oscar’s unconscious point advantage. Because his race win and sprint P2 had left you on the back foot and right back in the hunt for the championship lead once again.
Five points. That's all you had between you.
But God was the media having a field day with it. They couldn't stop talking about how tragic it was. You had just "had the championship in your grasp" and now "you were going to have to catch up to Oscar."
Talk about dramatic.
But as you stood on the podium in Hungary, grinning ear to ear as you held the P1 trophy to the crowd with the sun beaming down on you, the theatrics had only just begun. You could hear the journalists and officials' talk as you got out of your car.
"A two-point gap... Oscar better hope it doesn't get any bigger after the break."
"A new championship leader on the track Oscar got his controversial maiden win... talk about uncomfortable."
You breathed in, reverting your eyes back to the orange littered ceramic trophy, tracing the hand-drawn patterns momentarily. You hummed satisfactorily, carefully placing it away from Lando's vision. As much as you'd appreciate a remake of this beautiful artwork, you weren't sure if the artists nor the FIA would be too happy.
You blinked at Lando's nudge, watching Oscar pick up the nearby bottle of God knows what. Turning your head, you raised a brow.
"You might feel like a winner today, but you and Oscar have both lost," Lando yelled out over the endless roars of the crowd, hand tightening around his bottle.
Confusion poured over your face as Oscar mended his brows together, evidently feeling the same. "Did you drink before you got on the podium?" You joked, shaking your head at whatever antics the Brit was now pulling.
Lando chuckled. Of course, you two forgot. But he didn't. "It's Hungary," he stated the obvious, blue eyes wrinkled with amusement at the blank looks on your faces. "The bet. Oscar said I'd be leading by now. You said Oscar would be. But guess who won?"
Realisation flickered over your face as you took a step back, watching the bubbles of alcohol spray into the air and all over everyone else. You tried to recall the moment it had happened. It felt like a while ago. Shanghai. The cool room.
Your voice echoed in your brain. "What exactly are we betting on though? What happens if someone loses?"
Lando blinked like he hadn't thought about that. The sound of his fingers clicking rang. "Whoever has the wrong prediction will have to jump into the sea in Monaco. So, two of us will lose."
Your eyes slightly widened, head snapping to Oscar who seemed to have the same memory jogged, lips faltering away from the bottle of champagne. His brown eyes looked over at you in disbelief.
Ah fuck.
You turned towards Lando, eyes wincing at the sudden beam of sun behind him. You almost frowned at his wide smirk. Talk about a complex. "I thought you were joking," you whined, feet moving to take a picture with the papaya boys.
"You don't actually expect us to jump into the sea, do you?" Oscar queried from the right side of you as you all posed for the camera.
"Sure," Lando started, smirk barely falling as he turned back to the two of you, granting you momentary relief. "If you guys are chickens."
"Oh come on," you huffed, peace leaving as fast as it came. This was childish. You had better things to be doing than jumping into the Monaco sea in the middle of August for crying out loud.
Lando only smirked harder, stepping back with Oscar to let a Mercedes engineer take a picture with you. He folded his arms, inching closer towards the podium exit soon as you two did the same. He breathed in, entering a darker corridor to leave.
"If you post on your stories that I'm the best uncle Basil has ever had then you can be free."
Oh Christ.
You looked over to Oscar who had the same expression as you. Yeah. Like hell you would.
"Humiliation or humiliation," you sang dryly, shooting a half-amused glare towards Lando.
"Hey, at least it's summer," Lando retorted, hands rising in his defence. "Could've been an asshole and reminded you in winter."
"Gee, thank you, Lando," Oscar said sarcastically, navigating the exit with ease. "How can we ever repay you?"
Lando only grinned, patting both of your backs with a few thuds. "You know how," he stated, smoothly walking in front of you. "Happy summer break, you two!"
You eyed the retreating figure with slight disdain. "A few days with Basil and he's got an ego," you sighed, shaking your head.
Oscar pursed his lips, watching his teammate as Lando's incessant teasing for the past month or so came to mind. He curled his lip. "Trust me... this is a Pre-Basil thing."
"Lovely," you commented, voice hosting barely any humour at all. You clasped your hands, turning to Oscar. "So... call me when you want to jump into the sea?"
He raised a brow. "You going somewhere this break?"
Between the wedding and racing, he’d forgotten to ask what you were doing for the next month.
You nodded, following after your publicist. "Keeping myself busy with all the small stuff. Brackley. Reading. The gym, of course," you drawled dramatically, making him chuckle.
"Well, if you get bored of keeping yourself busy," Oscar started, nudging you with his shoulder. "I'm only ten minutes away."
You grinned, watching your paths split momentarily as your publicist headed into a different direction. "I'll try and remember that."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" You asked Oscar cautiously, brows slightly mended as you turned to him from the table.
Oscar looked at you, confused. He nodded slowly. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
You pursed your lips, hand reaching to scratch the back of your neck. "This just doesn't really seem like your type of... thing," you said awkwardly, settling on the most neutral word you could find.
He looked down at the blank white canvas in front of him and pots of small paints arranged across your table. He took a breath in. “Well… I’m not not an expert at this. I'm pretty sure I bet Lando in the video."
You blinked. Huh... You gave him a gentle smile, hand instinctively reaching out to pat his shoulder from across the table, the action almost consoling. "It is very important to me that you know this isn't a competition," you uttered with the finest balance of dryness and concern.
Oscar's lips parted as his brain struggled to form a single coherent sentence, too caught up in your fingers pressing into his shoulder and searing into his skin. His gaze drifted up your arm, finding your innocent wide eyes blinking at him like you weren’t doing anything to him. The air caught in his throat as you tilted your head, emphasising your concern, sending him into a coughing fit.
You retracted your hand, brows raised with surprise, reaching out to grab the glass of water nearby. Pushing it to him, you slightly leaned in with concern. "Did you just choke on air?"
He mulled over your question, tips of his ears red. "...No?"
You smiled, amused as you sat back in your chair, arms folded. "Good. Can't have you dying on me, Osc. It's no fun winning without the competition."
The confusion on his face fell flat, brown eyes raking over the evident spots of determination written over you.
"But you just said—"
"Let's start!"
They say time flies by when you're having fun. And as much as you'd hate to admit it, whoever ‘they' were... were right. Every minute seemed to pass by without too much thought. Any lines you had drawn, while in front of you, felt like you seldom drawn them. No guards. No caution.
It was the way Oscar made you feel when your heart wasn't slamming against every vessel of your body. At ease and warm.
You didn't overthink every laugh of yours as Oscar broke out every single horrid memory from your childhood.
The one time you and Oscar decided to swap karts for a race and raced under each other’s names. You even exchanged helmets and you tried your best to tuck your hair into your helmet. Much to your surprise, no one had realised. Of course, you still won.
Then that time you were in Albert Park, and you decided venturing up the largest tree was a good idea. Which was all fun and games until you looked down at felt gravity shift, becoming like a cat stuck up in a tree in need of rescuing. You were a kid. And as you defended yourself, "It was really high, okay?"
It was Oscar who tried to get you down while Hattie did the mental persuasion.
Nicole was the one who succeeded.
You had to get Oscar back for that memory. So you didn’t shy away from the endless times Oscar tried to look 'cool and casual' (his words, not yours) in front of Lily at boarding school. All of which had failed, naturally. Your favourite, however, was the time you all played dodgeball. All three of you were on the same day. And Oscar tried to protect Lily from getting out... only to get hit in the face.
"My nose ended up bleeding," Oscar deadpanned from across the table, swiping over the canvas so carefully hidden from you.
Your eyes brimmed with tears, skin hot, barely able to breathe at the memory with all the laughter. "B-But it was the way you left!" You gasped for air. "Hand on your nose, talking to Lily so casually to say you were fine. With that haircut too!"
He gave you a pointed look while he rested his paintbrush; his attempt being miffed. But even the corners of his own mouth trembled as your head came down onto the table, hand tightening over your brush, body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. The sound came from his throat all too easily, especially when he spotted the glimpse of tears running down your cheeks.
He almost leaped out of his chair, grinning and laughing so hard, fingers pressed on the edge of the table. "You're crying?" He exclaimed in disbelief, own head buckling with the weight of the sight. "It's not that funny," he breathed out despite the obvious answer.
It so was.
Sixteen-year-old Oscar. Hair all choppy in strange directions. In that horrid PE gear, hand shaking as he covered his very obviously bleeding nose, ears entirely red and ignoring the frantic calls of his teacher. Just leaning on a wall as he met Lily's concerned gaze nonchalantly. "I'm fine," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. He shrugged casually, half-wincing at the pain surging through is nose. "Could happen to anyone."
You sniffled after a few minutes, leaning your head back on your chair, letting the air cool your flamed cheeks. You cleared your throat, breathing shakily as you wiped your stained cheeks. "Okay," you croaked, voice broken, eliciting a small chuckle from Oscar.
You sucked in a sharp inhale of fresh air, looking at the back of his canvas. "Done?"
He grinned, nodding as his stomach ached from all the laughter. "It's a masterpiece,” he stated proudly.
You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Picasso. If you're so confident, why don't you go first?" You retorted, folding your arms.
"I will," he replied back without missing a beat, pompously turning his canvas with his raised brows and smug smile. "Ta-da," he sang.
You blinked, leaning in at the splurge of black, white, and grey. Your eyes narrowed, head tilting while you spotted the inklings of pink for a tongue. "Is that... Is that Basil?" You gaped, snapping your head to the poor dog in the corner of your apartment, lying down innocently, unaware of the tragedy that had just befallen.
"Obviously," Oscar said, frowning at your reaction.
"Oscar... that is so... discourteous," you hisser, shaking your head. "Baz barely likes you as it is!"
The offence was clear on Oscar's face. "We've had a strained relationship, but we've worked things out,” he defended, leaning back in his chair. He pointed at his canvas. "That is art. I'd like to see you do better."
You blinked blankly, turning your painting of what was so clearly both of your karts from the Oakleigh Go Kart Racing Club. Crisp lines from the track. The fencing. Down to the colour of the karts. Not a single detail missing (well... considering the time you spent laughing than painting).
Oscar pursed his lips, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent him from smiling hard. He sucked in a sharp breath, maintaining his composure far better than he once did. "You know you can be bad at things too, right?" He sighed, letting his half-assed annoyance flow into his voice.
You scrunched your nose, mocking. "Not my forte, Piastri."
Summer in Monaco was nothing like summer in Australia. No astronomical heat blaring into your skin. No melting thongs on paths. No backyard barbies nor your small conversation starter on how it was.
Instead, it looked like this for Oscar. A tennis court filled with athletes and people with a little more money in their pockets than needed. If there was one thing he had learnt in his time in Monaco was that after racing, the Monégasques loved tennis.
And while he respected every other sport, there was something only slightly dreary about watching a ball go from one side of the court to another.
Lucky for him, he wasn't alone.
"You think you'd ever be a good tennis player?" Oscar queried, sat in the provided box, turning his head to you.
You pursed your lips at his question, hands slowly raising after everyone erupted into an applause. "I mean there's some physics to the art," you murmured, squinting your eyes at the yellow ball before settling back in your seat. "But I don't think I'd make a very good one. It's too much pressure."
He raised a brow at you, corners of his mouth grinning. "More than racing?"
You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. "It's too silent in here. Too many eyes," you grumbled. "When we race, I know I'm not alone. You’re on the track. The team watches over the data. Here it's every man for himself."
Oscar nodded in understanding. That was a fair point. Strangely enough, tennis was a vulnerable sport.
"I'd be a better football player anyways."
He blinked, snapping his head back to you. "You would?" He asked, unsure if he would like the answer you would give.
You nodded casually, eyes following the ball in action in zig-zag patterns. "Learnt a thing or two from Pedri. So you know... if the racing thing ever fails..." You dryly trailed off, grin stretched on to your face.
Oscar bit his lip, unbothered to hide the slight pained expression on his face. He breathed in. "How come you never told me about him?" He finally asked the question he had been thinking about for weeks now. You had spent two years with the guy, and he had known nothing about it. And perhaps it didn't bother him back then but it sure as hell bothered him now when he was still seeing your ex's face in the paddock.
You mended your brows, turning your head to him. "I told you in Paris," you retorted.
"Yeah, but I mean before that. I mean we barely talked to each other before the season started."
You swallowed quietly. Oh. That was the line you were going down. "Well, we were both busy," you said vaguely. "I didn't think you needed to really know about it. Or that you really care," you shrugged.
"But—" Oscar sighed, trying to find the right words. "—it was like you had basically cut off contact."
You breathed in uncomfortably, trying to focus your attention on the match. Lines. Drawn lines. You knew what you were doing. "I think things just got really intense," you said after some time. "Every other day was a conversation about my seat. My future. I think I was scared it would disappear when I was so close to it, you know? My relationships with everyone kinda got sacrificed along the way. So I focused on the people who were nearby at the time. So… sorry,” you smiled tightly.
Oscar tried to discern the look on your face. You weren’t telling the truth. At least not the full version of it. But he didn't want to push you. "Well, you've made it now," he murmured, giving you a gentle nudge. "Don't go ghosting me."
You chuckled softly, shaking your head, reverting your eyes back to the match with a quiet breath. If only he knew how much effort you had spent to ensure you were completely and perfectly normal in moments like these. Not the fourteen-year-old with hopes and one too many daydreams. Just normal you.
You opened the door, unfazed by the familiar figure in front of you. You had seen a lot of it in the past few weeks or so. "You know… I’m beginning to think you should just live here, Osc."
Oscar Piastri had practically been invading every second of your peace since this break had started. You didn't know how he knew what you had planned but you were almost bumping into him every other day. Grocery shopping. On runs. Even at the gym. And Lord... that was dangerous territory.
The only break you recently had was your few days back in Brackley.
Oscar simply smiled, walking past you as he entered your apartment. "I'm unopposed to the idea. Beats having to walk to ten minutes back and forth," he sighed, slumping himself onto your couch like he had owned.
You frowned at the sight. It was so... natural. Like he belonged there. As if he had just come from a long day of work and plopped himself right there. A routine. Shoes off. Traversing your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew where your cutlery was. That your light switches were actually swapped around thanks to the stupid electrician who previously worked on them.
You blinked yourself away from the thought. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his peering gaze. "You're lazy for an athlete," you joked, maintaining a careful distance between him and the armrest of your couch. You sucked in a sharp breath. "Speaking of... I'm supposed to be working out."
An unimpressed grunt fell from Oscar's lips. He shifted on your couch, perking up so his brown eyes focused on you a little more. "It's eight in the evening. Do you ever relax? Why do you have to be doing something every second?"
You scrunched your face at him. "I don't do that.
You had only just spent the entire day looking over old races and data sheets and eyeing some of the potential upgrades the team could bring to the car. Work outside of work. That's what you had been doing.
"Yes, you do. It's like you're afraid of being unproductive," he retorted, raising his brows to make a point.
You mended your own brows, folding your arms as arms as the confusion wavered over you. "Well... what's the point in doing that?"
He tilted his head in disbelief. Without a second thought, he leaned over, hand wrapping around your wrist before he pulled you down with a swift tug. A yelp escaped your lips as you fell awkwardly half onto Oscar and half against your couch.
You blinked rapidly, heat immediately pouring into your face when you spotted the grin on Oscar's face. Your head instinctively leaned back as he inched closer. Your breath caught in your throat, heart slamming in your chest. All of a sudden, it was difficult to look away from him.
Your head screamed. Lines. LINES! Those goddamn lines.
"Learn to relax a little more," Oscar murmured, brown eyes warmly looking over your face. He smiled quietly at your small gulp, head tilting so he could grab your remote from the coffee table. “So sit and watch."
You swallowed thickly, heat growing in your cheeks when you looked down at the space between the both of you. Your hands retracted from his grasp instantly, lifting yourself up as your head rigidly moved towards your flat screen and you curled yourself into the corner of your couch.
A few minutes passed. You hadn't caught an inch of what was playing. Some show about some family. You were far too occupied with the constant flicker of those eyes boring into your head for seconds at a time.
Sucking in a sharp breath, you snapped your head towards him. "I'm relaxing," you grumbled, throwing a nearby cushion at his side, wishing he would stop.
Oscar hummed unsurely, quiet grin apparent on his face, jaw leaning on his hand as he reluctantly turned back to the screen, barely watching.
Night had fallen earlier than you had imagined. Much easier when you had fallen asleep. Apparently, you had taken the term 'relax' a little too close to home.
Oscar, of course, didn't mind. Not when you were half against him, quietly snoring away. He had paused the show probably a little more than an hour ago when he first felt the graze of your head fall against him. And the silence had kicked in, and his heart skipped one too many beats and as he watched you inch closer to him almost instinctively.
Before he knew it, he was fast asleep too. Arm hung around your body, keeping you close against his chest as his head tipped back onto the couch.
An hour had passed. The warmth between the both of you was immeasurable. If it wasn't for the constant ping of your phones, he probably would've slept forever. He had never quite slept like this. It was entirely different from Greece. The warmth of acceptance over his feelings made him feel... complete.
But nonetheless, it was your phones that made you both shift, heavy-lidded eyes wincing as you escaped your momentary slumber. Your head tilted up, one hand pressed against his chest, the other rubbing your eye to clear your vision. The bright blare of your phone from the coffee table made you lean over, still too asleep to register that arm around you keeping you balanced.
You narrowed your gaze at the series of text:
lando
guys i swear to god
if you two don't jump in the goddamn sea
i will hold this over your heads for forever
Iim picking a nice photo for your stories as we speak
You huffed with disbelief over your phone. You slowly turned your head to Oscar who was eyeing his own screen. "Fancy jumping into the sea right now?"
A tired grin stretched onto his face. "Ah yes. A dip into the sea in the middle of the night," he yawned, eyes flickering over to his arm resting over your waist. He pressed his lips together. "Just what I needed."
About to roll your eyes, you looked down at his arm, following where it connected. Your skin flamed as you met the soft gaze staring back at you. You swallowed quietly. Okay. Breathe. This was… normal. Everything about this was normal. There was nothing strange at all.
You cleared your throat, awkwardly stretching out to the other side of the couch. "Um, well," you started, very obviously stretching your arms, one leg out to begin standing up. "I have bathers. We can end this once and for all."
Oscar raised his brows at your words, hand already feeling the loss of heat as you had move away. "What are we waiting for then?"
"That looks... freezing," Oscar commented, brown eyes wavering over the darkened water under the moonlight. There was not a single soul in sight, the noise and clamber in the depths of some alleyway in Monaco where the sports cars were. He turned over to you; arms folded against his chest. "Did Lando consider we could get hypothermia from this?"
You made a face at Oscar. In his most rarest moments, his exaggeration often sounded like Hattie's. "We're already here," you grumbled, peeking over the cliff. "I'm not going home to find a picture of Lando in the group chat."
You sighed, drifting your hands to remove your shoes. You breathed in at the damp, cold grains of sand and dirt against your feet. Okay... it was a little cold. For the summer night at least. And he light breeze against the parts of your exposed legs did nothing to help. You folded your arms, now frowning at the sea of water in front of you. You turned back to him. "We need do to this before I back out. Because I'm already close."
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, nodding in agreement as he took off his own shoes. "It'll only be for a few minutes. All we have to do is take a picture after as proof," he reassured the both of you.
"Like exposure therapy," you added unsurely.
He raised his brows sceptically. "Sure," he agreed, hands reaching towards the hems of his hoodie and shirt in one go.
You swallowed, turning back to look at the cliff before yourself staring at something you shouldn’t have. One problem after another...
You unzipped your jacket, immediately regretting it with the rush of wind swarming your top-half. Fucking hell... You pressed your lips, pushing your jacket off your shoulders, letting it pool on the ground. Tugging awkwardly at your shorts, you inched slightly closer towards the small cliff just a few metres above the water. An eerie feeling swirled in your stomach as you looked down.
You weren't sure if it was the air or the slight traumatic fear of heights from Albert Park, but you had a bad feeling about this.
A strained breath caught in your throat. You shook your head, hands at your side. "I don't think I can do this," you admitted to Oscar, still eyeing the water with heavy caution. "I mean it's dark. How do we know the water is even deep enough? What if we hit our heads or something?"
Your head turned at the warmth spreading into your palm as Oscar grabbed your hand. You looked down at your intertwined fingers then slowly back up his bare chest before you met his gaze, eyes slightly wide.
He gave your hand a small squeeze, glimpses of those brown eyes shining under the moonlight. "We'll do it together."
You blinked after a while, swallowing hard as you nodded slowly. Great. If you weren’t nervous enough before. You sure as hell were now. Even in this slight cold, you were sweating from the feel of his hand in yours, stagnant and not going anywhere. The both of you so exposed and so close together, bare shoulder touching one another, knuckles against your body. You breathed in. "On three?"
Oscar tipped his head in agreement, fingers tightening around yours. "One."
You pursed your lips, heart beginning to pace. "Two," you uttered out after one too many seconds.
"Three!"
The crisp night air wrapped around the both of you as you pushed yourselves off, gravity impossible to determine under the moonlight, stomachs churning wildly. Bracing for impact, your eyes shut while the sharply cold water splashed against you harshly. Even as you spent those few seconds underwater, Oscar never let go of your hand. Not once.
The gasp for air was dire as you came up, hands now naturally pulling apart to clear your faces, movements rigid and stiff.
"This... is fucking freezing," Oscar swore, pushing his hair back from his face, goosebumps littering his skin. In this particular moment, he wasn’t quite convinced it was summer.
You nodded, shivering almost instantly. "Move. You need to move. Build the heat," you said, waving your hands through the water to keep you afloat.
"I've heard body heat also is good."
You blinked blankly at his suggestion. Had he hit the water too hard? While your skin burned at the thought, you curled a wave of water towards him. There. That would wake him up.
Oscar almost winced, blinking through the droplets as his arms covered his face. Wordlessly and with a haunting smirk, he waded through the water, hands already reaching out to grab you. But after you peeled your eyes away from the trails of water glistening over his chest under the moon, you could see what he was planning from a mile away.
"Oh hell no," you muttered, sending endless waves while your legs scrambled through the water, trying to get you as far away from him as you could. The smile on your face was automatic, eyes squinting at the trickles of water up in the air.
"You shouldn't start things you can't win," Oscar tsked over the loud waves, chest heaving while he watched you swim backwards, amused grin wide on your face.
"Who's says I'm not winning?" You poked your tongue out, splashing him from afar yet again.
He rolled his eyes, inching closer towards you. “You should start playing fair then. I can't win if you keep distracting me," he sighed loudly.
You raised a brow, slowing your arms in the water. "Distracting you? It's only water. Don't be such a baby," you teased.
He waded in the water, pressing his lips. You couldn’t see him the way he saw you right now. Moonlight sparkling all over you, leaving you to shine in the ripples of the water. Smile as bright at that very light. Hair soaked, water droplets travelling down your body.
Distracting didn't even begin to cover it.
You exhaled quietly at his silent stare, body now slowly warming up to the water. Pushing yourself onto your back, you floated through the water, looking at the dark night sky quietly, trying to think of something other than those brown eyes boring into you. "You know... " you said after some time, "I'm the one who's leading right now. But why does it feel like I'm the one who freaking lost?"
"Well," Oscar started, voice suddenly a whole lot closer. Almost close enough to make you lose your balance. "You did bet on me. So... you kinda did lose. The journalists would love that, wouldn’t they?"
You made a face even though he couldn't quite see it. "They're tearing us apart out there, you know? Headline after headline. I don’t think we’ll be friends in their story by the end of the season," you chuckled softly, trying to spot any glimpse of the stars.
A frown made his way onto his face. His eyes slowly traced your side profile, memorising every curve as he spoke, "I mean... does it really matter? As long as we know who we are, the headlines don’t win," he said, gaze falling on your tattoo peeking out of your shorts.
You hummed idly, closing your eyes while you mulled over his words. He was right. They only won if you let them. "True. Nothing could break fifteen years of friendship," you murmured into the night sky.
Oscar swallowed your words, heart whirring. "Right?" He queried hopefully, inching closing towards you. His hand reached out hesitantly, fingertips shaking but not quite from the cold as they brushed your cheek. "You promise?" He murmured.
You opened your eyes at his question, momentarily startled by his proximity, sending your body out of balance against the water. You swallowed tightly as Oscar's hands curled around both of your arms stabilising you, leaving barely inches between the both of you. You could feel his breath, warm against your cold skin. See the heave of his chest. The gentle gaze of his eyes.
You blinked, confused. "You're one of my closest friends, Osc. Of course," you whispered, eyes unfaithfully dropping to his lips.
He moved one hand from your arm, cradling your cheek, thumb grazing over the heat flushing your skin. His breath stuttered as he drifted closer, leaning down while he tilted your chin up, forehead barely skimming yours. Your pulse jumped as his eyes flickered up to yours.
His word was brief. An ushered breath of hope.
"Good."
It was slow the way he brought his lips to yours. Careful and controlled. As though he had been out of practice. Like he was walking on glass, and he didn't want it to break.
His touch on you was so minimal, but God, it made your stomach churn. And it was completely random. Yet your movements felt rehearsed. Natural. The knock of your noses and tilt of your head for something more. His other hand fell to your waist, lingering like he was afraid you’d disappear. But the graze of your fingers just above the waistband of his shirt almost made him shiver.
Even amidst the coldness of the water, you were like two flames. Exploring the taste of moonlight and water around you, consumed. For a second, the water felt like lava itself. Everything about this surreal.
The soft noises from your lips. The deeper tilt of his head. The echo of your heart in your ears.
This was what you had dreamed about for years. This very moment. To be so close to him. To be in that position where you liked him and he finally—
Reality came crashing over you hard. Colder than the water you were in. Like a slap in the face.
What were you doing?
Oscar blinked as you pushed yourself away from him, brief smile fading as confusion poured onto his face. He could see your wide eyes, parted lips wrapping around nothing because you couldn’t quite get the words out. A harsh pang hit his heart as he recognised the small shake of your head.
"No. ___—"
But you had already turned, legs feeling heavy against the water while you waded closer towards the coast.
Oscar swallowed, fear creeping into his chest faster than he could think. He called your name once again. Twice more as he followed after you, heart now slamming in his chest at your reaction. The damp sand had reached his feet before his hand wrapped around your wrist, forcing you to stop for just a moment.
"What happened? D-Did I do something?" He queried, mended brows tilting with worry, brown eyes staring down at you, concerned and torn.
You breathed, chest heaving. "I need to leave," you stated, already looking for the closest route to get back to the cliff. Back to your clothes. Back to home.
"What?" He asked, more confused than ever. "But... I don't understand. What just happened, that was—"
"—wrong. That was wrong," you finished, pulling your hand out of his grasp, stepping back on your foot. The eerie feeling you had felt before now curled low in your stomach. Christ. You needed to get home now.
Oscar rubbed his face with his hands, trying to make sense of this situation while his heart gnawed at your words. Wrong. "Can you just stay?" He queried as he looked back at you. "Please? Stay and let's talk about this," he pleaded, voice careful and strained.
You shook your head, unable to even look at him as the sting behind your eyes began to form. "I... I need to get out of here."
"I don't understand. Why do you have to leave? Just stay with me and talk about this," he begged, hurt crossing his face in such a manner it made your heart clench. And yet your frustration grew.
"Why don't you understand that if I stay here for even a minute longer then—" You stopped yourself with a small gasp, eyes wide and breath shaky when you finally looked at him, reading his pain clearly.
Oscar breathed in sharply. "Then what, ___?"
Your chest uncomfortably tightened with the weight of it all. You were tired. God, you were tired. How much effort had you put into this? To keep it going. To stop it. Every second of every day you had been trying to not succumb. It was exhausting.
"Then I'll fall in love with you... again," you admitted, glossy eyes pleading, head shaking. “And you won't... again."
The breath Oscar had taken felt raw. Like it was his last as you turned and walked away. His feet didn’t move. He couldn't move. Stuck with shoulders now burdened with the new philosophy.
"Doesn't matter though, right? Pedri's her first love who came to her race."
Oscar, I love you but you're an idiot."
Oh how wrong he had gotten it.
It was him all along.
His heart ached.
All these years. It was him.
But the glass had broken. It was shattered entirely. And all Oscar had was the broken shards to walk on
also thank you guys so muchhh for the love on the recent aby chapter 🤧 you guys are so sweet. i'm scared to write the next one... how am i gonna top it aghhhhh
SUMMARY: the morning after one too many drinks leads you to find out alex doesn't really celebrate his birthday. now that just won't do, will it?
WARNINGS: domestic fluff, teasing, angst, jealousy, bad medical jargon, alcohol consumption (reader gets drunk af - don't recommend), alex's birthday, poor humour, desi culture (kheer and carrom), alex just being happy, 18+ smut (minors dni), p in v, birthday blowjob, unprotected sex (also don't rec), aftercare that leads to slight vulnerability // not proofread
A/N: a long chapter bc i'm not gonna update for a few weeks 😓. peak sadness is actually having to do the work for your degree. also i incorporated the feedback on my writing for smut so... i hope it's better (emotional stuff at the end tho). lmk if it's better! also had a few reqs in this. :)
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist | 🥂 anyone but you
China seemed to be kind to Alex when his car was anything but. The skies were decent and the atmosphere lively despite the threat of a Mercedes dominance looming over everyone. The rumours of how good their car was were whispered last year. But watching it actually come true in Australia felt like a blow to the heart.
Alex was happy for George. Truly. He deserved a good car after suffering with the nonsense both Williams and Mercedes had brought him. But it was hard to say he wasn't a little jealous. His dreams and hopes of a good season had been crushed right from the beginning with James' promises coming out empty.
But yes, China was good. Although it was missing one thing—a woman. And not just any woman.
You.
If you were here, perhaps Alex wouldn't be feeling so miserable right now.
Nor would he be walking into his motorhome to find Carmen and a different woman.
His eyes blankly blinked like he was in slight disbelief, steps slowing as he reached the both of them. He nodded over to Carmen before turning his head, polite smile stretching onto his face. "Emily," he acknowledged.
"Alex!" Emily cheered, arms immediately opening wide open to bring him into a hug.
Carmen pressed her lips together, spotting the bewildered look on Alex's face boring into her eyes while his hands awkwardly rested at his sides. She raised her hands in her own defence as Emily stepped back. Clearly, word of George's tampering with guest passes hadn't gotten to him.
"Thank you so much for letting me be your guest! I know it's last minute and everything," she gushed with a nervous chuckle. "I hope it's not a bother or anything."
Alex blinked again, registering her words as his eyes briefly dipped to the VIP Guest pass slung around her neck. He swallowed, looking back at her before shaking his head. "No. Um, it's no problem at all," he assured with a tight smile. "The more the merrier."
He flickered his eyes over to the semi-guilty Carmen and held in his sigh. George...
Alex watched Emily quickly fall into in some conversation with a Williams' staff member, allowing him to take a step closer to Carmen. With his voice hushed, the both of them stood quietly peering over at her. "I don't even really know what to say to this," he admitted. "My own guest and I didn't even know?"
"It was a last-minute call," Carmen reemphasised with a hesitant smile. "And George's parents came in so we needed a pass. Patrick was happy to help a friend."
Alex frowned. He needed to cut contact between George and Patrick. Evidently that was a dangerous pairing. "Speaking of which," he started, discreetly raising a brow at Emily. "How are you two friends again?"
Alex barely knew much about Emily aside from the fact she was a bridesmaid and some other very trivial things she was very open to sharing. But he failed to understand how Carmen was friends with someone so... so... was 'optimistic' the right word?
Carmen drew in a small breath, arms folding. "She used to be my co-worker at my old company when I first moved here. We became really good friends soon after. She's a great person," she defended before sighing. "She's just a little..."
"Thick in the head?"
Carmen gave Alex a pointed look despite her being inclined to agree. "I was gonna say boy-crazy, Alex," she retorted flatly. "Don't start with me."
There came a point in time in long friendships where one could begin to see all the flaws in another. Carmen had soon seen that in Emily. She was pretty obsessive about her men. Slightly passive-aggressive and cunning. And yet a bit aloof. But did that make her a horrible person? No.
Everyone had those types of flaws. It was what gave people personality and character. Some things were unimportant enough to just live with.
Alex huffed quietly, leaning in further with narrowed eyes, mouth about to open to retaliate before the familiar shrill voice erupted into the air.
"Alex, can we take some pictures together? I want to remember my first race!"
Alex stepped back, lips parting. "I..." He exhaled, resigning to a gentle smile. "Sure."
Today was like any other. You had woken up to the blaring of your pager at the crack of dawn and pulled yourself out of bed begrudgingly. You showered and had your tea. Though you might’ve been inclined to some toast and coffee, but you were sure your stomach was just acting up.
Even the walk to the hospital was normal. Air slightly cold despite spring hanging over England. The stone pathways still had the same number of cracks. The patch of grass near the carpark still hadn’t been taken care of by the council. You shared the same tight smiles with other staff members walking alongside you.
But then you had gotten it.
The endless pings from your phone.
Because somewhere, a few nine thousand kilometres away, was an afternoon in China where Emily apparently currently resided.
And it had made you stop in your footsteps and glue your feet just metres away from the hospital entry. One would've thought you had received some bad news with the way you stood so rigid in the bay of the emergency department. As if you were experiencing the usual calamity the place brought.
But no. In fact, it hadn't started off like that at all.
First, it was a few pictures of Emily in the overdue bridesmaids group chat. She was in China and at the track. That much evident by the mounds of asphalt and frames of green and red lines. Then a picture of Emily with Carmen in front of the Mercedes' suite. One with George and a wide grin slapped across his face. Then the same trio with Alex.
You blinked. One. Twice. And then another.
You pushed past the picture-perfect smile on Alex's face, zooming onto his large hand on her waist as they posed for the photo. Then the small gap between Emily's shoulders and his arms like she had... squished herself against him. And then her bright eyes sparkling right through the screen and at you—haunting.
You swallowed tightly, blinking as you closed your phone and tucked it into your pocket. You took a dignified breath in; lips pressed into a firm line before you took one step forward, pushing what you had just seen past you.
It was approximately two and a half hours into your shift. Practically baby hours. Light work. And Sam had returned to the emergency department from ortho for a potential replantation of a few cut off fingers (factory machines and evil bosses were always an ugly pairing).
But as he had tried to welcome the constant adrenaline that circulated on your floor with the usual abhorrent bright light, it was a nurse that walking by that had caught him as he pushed open the doors.
"Here for the replantation ___ got?"
Sam had nodded, not thinking much of the question as he grabbed a pair of gloves from a nearby box. "Yeah, man. Hoping preservation is good," he sighed, crossing his fingers.
The nurse smiled at him blandly. "Well good luck with her. ___'s off her rockets," he sung, brows wiggling, teasing Sam. "Snapped at me for ‘questioning her twice.'
Sam blinked, turning his head to Trauma 2 as he took a few steps closer. He raised a brow. You? Off your rockets? Never.
He swallowed, looking over to the nurse, giving him a polite smile as he continued to walk backwards towards the room. "Thanks for the heads up, Mateo," he tipped his head in acknowledgement before using his elbows to push the trauma doors open.
"Good morning, everyone," Sam greeted the staff in the centre of the room while he snapped his gloves on, sound echoing amongst the endless machines and clinking of surgical instruments.
He looked over at you, spotting the expression of 'resting bitch' all over your face. Oh good lord. He cleared his throat. "___."
You didn't spare him a glance, continuing your examination of your unconscious patient's hand. "Xinye Lin. Workplace injury. Index and middle cut off at the proximal phalanx. Surrounding tissue looks good. Antibiotics. Cleared her for head, chest, abdomen, and pelvis."
Sam pursed his lips at your blunt response, jutting his head towards the slightly bloodied amputate bag resting on the nearby table. He whistled quietly, opening the bag up to examine the digits. "Well, those are definitely fingers."
"So...?" You deadpanned, looking over at Sam.
"Give me a second," he retorted, flashing you a brief pointed look, taking the amputated digits into his own hands. "Transport time was good. Wounds are clean..."
"Any time now, buddy," you sung, boredom evident in your voice.
Sam sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head at you. You definitely were off your rockets talking to him like this. "Replantation is a go," he agreed, settling the fingers down into the bag before inching closer towards you with a wry smile as he peeled his gloves off.
"Someone piss in your cornflakes?" He queried with a raised brow.
You wrinkled your nose while you monitored the vitals closely, doing one more check over. "Let's irrigate the fingers and get ready to send her up," you ordered the nearby med students before turning to look at Sam blankly. "Don't talk about cornflakes like that."
Sam chuckled quietly, folding his arms. "This about Alex?"
You furrowed your brows, words instantly on the tip of your tongue. "What? Why would this be about Alex?"
"So it is..." He hummed, walking back on his feet towards the door with a small grin stretched onto his face. "That was just a guess too. Amazing how a man can bother you from a different time zone."
"Sam," you heaved with annoyance, moving to pinch the ends of your gloves off. You glared at him, trying not to remember that in that very same time zone was Emily. "Can you just shut up and go up to the operating room?"
He simply smiled, opening the door slowly. "Only if you stop terrorising your floor. No one wants a Megatron around here," he quickly retorted before speeding outside, not letting you get a single word back in.
You blinked blankly in disbelief, slowly turning back to your team. "I'm not... terrorising... am I? You queried. The tedious silence in the room made you sigh dramatically. God what was wrong with you? You barely recognised yourself.
You took in a deep breath, resetting your face with a slightly brighter smile. "Okay... let's try this again, shall we?"
China was a shitshow. There was no other way to put it.
Shit.
Show.
With a SQ1 exit and a hydraulics issue identified on the instal laps that left him with his second ever DNS of his F1 career, Alex had never been gladder to step back into England. If he even looked at his car for a second longer than he had to, he would've committed a crime that barred him from even getting on the goddamn jet.
It was only just turning into the late night down in Oxford. Alex had barely rested, leaving his boarded-up suitcase in the corner of his apartment before he took a shower. He should go to sleep. He hadn't caught any shut-eye on the ride back. But nothing prevented him from sitting on his bed, towel loosely wrapped around this waist and his thumb moving across to your name on his phone.
It rang once and then four times more. Perhaps he should've thought about it first. You were either sleeping or in the ER. And either of those options still involved your precious time.
And in the split-second Alex decided to hang up, the call connected.
His brows furrowed at the muffled bass and loud chatter echoing from your side. "Hello?" He queried. "____?"
"Alex!" Your slurred voice shouted almost enougb to make him wince away from his phone. Your loud laugh soon followed after before a scream of joy fell from your lips.
"___... where are you?" Alex asked cautiously, long fingers already darting towards his dresser to grab some fresh clothes while he put you on speaker.
"In Oxford, silly!" You laughed again before half-belting into some words he barely understood, joined by some voices next to you.
Alex stared at his phone as he pulled his shirt over his head. "___... are you drunk?"
There was no possible way you were. You barely drank as it was. You were familiar with the word 'tipsy' but 'drunk' was usually out of your vocabulary. But the way you sounded made him think otherwise.
"Maybe... maybe not," you replied after a few seconds before shouting again. "Hey, this is my favourite song! I think I'm going to stay here foreverrrr!" You yelled at no one in particular.
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose once he finished putting his pants on, head shaking in disbelief. You were. You were totally drunk. Carmen was going to kill him. Your mother was going to kill him. And it wasn't even his fault. But one phone call had made him your partner in crime.
"Did you just get back?" You called out to him, far too close to the speaker.
He grabbed his phone swiftly. "Yeah. An hour ago," he said. "Can you tell me where you are, please?"
"Huh..." you hummed like you were in thought. "You called me first," you grinned to yourself over the blaring music. "Guess she didn't make the cut," you incoherently mumbled under your breath.
"___. Your location," he reminded, trying to get you to focus. He didn't like the idea of you being drunk for the first time with people you didn’t know that well.
A small giggle fell from your lips. "There's men here."
Alex felt the pit of his stomach drop, fingers instantly tightening around his phone. He swallowed hard. Don't think about it, Alex. Don’t think about it, Alex. Don't fucking think about it.
"Come on, sweetheart. A few words. Tell me," he encouraged.
"Oh! He kinda hot," you admitted, evidently talking to someone else. "Girl, you should talk to him before I do!"
Oh Jesus.
Alex pressed his lips together, trying to ignore your words and tune into the music to see if he could find you. Knowing you, you were likely to still be in Oxford. All he needed was a rhythm and internet access. He sighed at your sharp giggles, focusing on the high-energy and addictive notes blaring in the background.
"I should've come here before," you whined loudly over the phone. "Desi nights at the Bridge are the best!"
"Oh thank fucking God," Alex breathed with some relief. He swiped the keys he had only just rested an hour ago. "____, stay there, okay? I'm gonna be there soon."
The Bridge looked like it usually did the last time Alex had gotten so drunk after him and some of the Williams crew had signed off for the holidays two years ago. It was dingy thing. Dark and littered with neon and way too many strobe lights. The bouncers were aggressive as he remembered, happy with a little authority. The drinks too expensive. The air too thick. The crowd too large for such a small place.
Just your usual shitty nightclub in Oxford.
But from your phone call, you seemed to be having the time of your life. And as Alex's eyes drifted over the endless dancing bodies, he could hear the familiar upbeat Bollywood rhythms he had deducted from your side.
"What the fuck?" He whispered to himself as he mended his brows, watching this crowd of South Asians and more come together in front of him. They weren't just dancing... they were in sync. Was this choreographed?
He blinked as he caught sight of your long hair under the strobe lights first, his steps slowing while your face came into frame. His breath faltered for a moment at the curve of your smile like you were just halfway through a laugh as you turned your body, matching the directions and movements of those around you.
His eyes never fell from you. He couldn't possibly bring them away as you and your small groups of girls inched closer towards one of the tables in the corner of the room. The neon lights do better to help him see the large gold earrings hiding behind your silky tresses, gold bangles shining right at him while you used the booth to hoist yourself onto the table, knocking off your heels (God, you'd be mortified in the morning).
A small round of cheers erupted into the air as you lost yourself in the music, hands gliding all over your floral lace cami and tight jeans before you playfully flirted with your girls, eyes wrinkling with a genuine happiness that made it impossible for anyone to forget you let alone him. Even as you stumbled, drunk off your arse, it was like a siren had come to town.
Alex wasn't sure when he had interrupted the crowd, finding himself at the edge of the table, peering up at your figure with a mystified awe. He blinked after what felt like a while, eyes slightly burning when you caught his gaze.
"Alex!" You chorused over the music, eyes bright with the wide grin on your face.
He drew in a stabilising breath, tilting his head while your jasmine overtook the grotesque smell of nightclub. "That's enough dancing, ___. Come on," he said, reaching his hand out to you.
You dropped your gaze to his hand, pout immediate on your face, entirely oblivious to the skip of Alex's heart. You swatted his hand away from you. "No!"
Alex sighed, giving you a pointed look. "You're drunk. You're stumbling. I'm taking you home," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Booooo!" You groaned, glaring at him with your dazed eyes as the blaring music rang in your ears. "You're such a party pooper! Ruin all the fun. First her and now you," you grumbled.
He furrowed his brows at your words. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He blinked, shaking his head. "___, trust me. I know you. You’re going to hate tomorrow morning the more you stay here."
You pursed your lips momentarily, not really understanding what he meant. You eyed him carefully as you could with your shaky vision. "If I go, will you stay with me?" You queried.
Alex almost felt his heart explode in his chest. You, albeit drunk you, were asking him to stay over. This was a dream... right? He was still in the sky, and Carlos was talking his ear off about golf. But your doe eyes blinking at him innocently reminded him of his current reality.
He smiled and nodded knowing damn well he was supposed to be elsewhere tomorrow. "I will," he promised, stretching out his hand again.
You hummed loudly to yourself, satisfied with his answer. Your fingers glided into his palm, feeling his own clamp over yours tightly before his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, hoisting you over his shoulder with ease.
A yelp fell from your lips, half destroyed by the sudden motion, leaving you with no effort to complain. Upside down, you could see glimpses of Alex grab your heels and purse with his free hand in your peripheral and for some odd reason it elicited a short laugh from you.
Cute.
Fifteen minutes. That's how long it had taken Alex to get you settled into his car. It was impossible for him to fathom that you were this difficult when you were drunk but God, you were. After adamantly refusing to wear a seatbelt, he had guilt-tripped you by saying "Good doctors wear seatbelts." Realistically, he should've just done it earlier.
Now here he was. Driving to your apartment. Or at least trying to.
You hadn't stopped talking since he had started the car. Mesmerised by the streetlights in passing, claiming you had seen a cat in an alleyway, and complaining about how inattentive he was... the list was endless.
"I want to go back," you whined, turning your head to him, writhing against your seatbelt, fingers edging towards the buckle. But Alex was far too quick for that, free hand clamping down on your hand, making you groan further. "This is boring! I was having fun over there. I didn't even say bye," you pouted.
Alex rolled his eyes, shaking his head, while he smoothly turned the car into the right lane. "Those were basically strangers," he deadpanned.
You made a face at him, lips curling in disgust. “You know I have friends other than you and Carmen, right?"
He took a quick glance at you, grin instantly gracing his face. "So we're friends now?" He queried, chuckling softly to himself. He might just have to bring this up tomorrow. He should’ve been recording you because hell, you were never going to believe him without proof. You’d probably try to file a case on him for something absurd like defamation just out of spite.
He snorted at the thought, looking back at you when he found your eyes boring into the side of his head. He raised a brow at the wide smile on your face, looking back at the road. He blinked, almost unsettled if it wasn't for his traitorous heart. "What?"
Before you even spoke, you giggled, eyes crinkling. "You're like a tree. Ha! So tall! Oh!" You gasped, clasping your hands while you widened your eyes. "And smiley. A smiley tree!" You called out.
"What the hell..." Alex whispered to himself as you broke out into a slurred, poorly sung song of how tall and smiley he was. He pressed his quirking lips together. Carmen was going to kill him for not recording this.
"Smiley, smiley, smiley, Alex!" You beamed, leaned in towards him, spotting the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your smile deepened at the sight, index finger pointing out to poke his cheek. "You're smilinggggg," you exclaimed. "Your smile is so cute. You are so cute when you smile."
Alex tried his best to fight the seeping warmth in his cheeks. "Thank you?" He queried unsurely, pulling into the street of your apartment. He swallowed quietly, turning the engine off before swiftly opening the door to come and get you before you wound up face-first on the concrete.
You shivered at the night air as Alex reached over to undo your belt, gently grabbing your arm to get you out of your seat, careful to not hit your head on the roof of the car. You frowned at the feeling of your heels that he had put on your feet before you left the club. Ow...
You perked at the sound of him locking his car, hands wrapping around his thick arm instantly. You smiled pleasantly as you both walked towards your apartment building, nestling your head against him. "You're so warmmmm," you stated gleefully.
This was crazy. This just had to be a dream. Alex was pretty sure you'd actually throw yourself across the street before you even tried to warm up to him like this. He might throw himself at the rate his heart was pacing.
You frowned at the sight of Alex punching in the code to your apartment building. "Alex... you know my passcode? That's like... a crime!" You gasped, furrowed browns facing him.
"Okay, smartass. You gave me the passcode to get in when I first got here," he retorted, rolling his eyes as he opened the door.
"Oh? Oh... I did!" You exclaimed, hitting his arm playfully, watching him push the button for the elevator. You pursed your lips, waiting for it to arrive while you absorbed more of his warmth. He was really warm. Almost hot.
Taking a few steps into the elevator, the doors closed on you and the sudden motion whipping past you had you pressing your lips together instantly. You released a miserable, muffled groan, ducking your head into Alex's chest.
Alex looked down, hand moving to cradle your head while he smiled gently. He knew that feeling all too well when he was drunk himself. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doing really well for me," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
Carefully, Alex guided you out of the elevator as you reached your floor. The steps to your door felt laborious. Was your corridor always this long? And so wide?
Alex stopped at the sight of the lock on your door. He sucked in a sharp breath, turning his head to your purse hung on his wrist. For the love of God, he hoped your key was in there and not where you usually put it. Relief poured in his chest when he spotted the familiar metal, not wasting another second to open your door.
He bent down after shrugging his shoes off, letting your weight fall against his body as he removed your heels and closed the door behind you. Placing your purse on the counter nearby, he turned on the dim lights in your living room before turning to you, finding you soon resting on over the counter, face half flat against the cold wood.
A soft chuckle fell from his lips. "Come on. Let's get to bed."
You lifted your head and eyed his outstretched hand. Grabbing it begrudgingly, you let him tug you a bit closer before you planted your feet firmly on the floor, stopping the both of you from moving anywhere.
"What now?" Alex sighed, spotting the troublesome look on your face as you eyed him once again. This time more careful and greedy.
"Can you take your shirt off?"
He blinked blankly at you. Seriously... "Let's just go to bed, hmm?" He smiled, trying to turn towards your bedroom but your fingers grappling onto his shirt stopped him. He looked down at the tightened fabric around your fist. "___..."
"Come on," you begged, lips jutting out in a pleading pout. "I want to see your abs," you shamelessly said. "Oh I know you have such good definition! I could study you all day long. Your tendinous inscription and linea alba are so defined. And your abdominis, ughhhh," you groaned, throwing your head back at the mere thought.
Alex rubbed his tired eyes. As much as he enjoyed this unfiltered version of you and would definitely make fun of you tomorrow morning, he was running out of options to deal with you. And as someone running on a few hours of shut-eye, his energy wasn't quite up to par with your drunken energy. "___, I need sleep. You need sleep."
For a moment it was silent in your apartment. The obscene time on your clock reflecting the stillness of your neighbourhood.
"Just a peek?" You blinked with your puppy eyes, hand teasingly creeping underneath his shirt, feeling the warmth of his bare skin. You pouted again. "Pleaseeeee?"
"Oh my God..." Alex whispered in disbelief, corners of his mouth quirking up. He wouldn’t make a habit of it, but he had to get you drunk more often.
He breathed in, large hand caressing your face as he leaned in. His thumb brushed your cheek while he grinned tiredly. "___?" He softly called.
You smiled at his response. Yes. He was going to say yes!
"Yeah?" You queried eagerly.
"Go. To. Bed."
The invasion of the sunlight on your eyes was entirely unwelcoming as you woke up. You winced almost instantly at the wave of pain smacking against your head, blurry eyes blinking with great difficulty. You frowned to yourself, furrowing your brows at the warmth against your back. Head turning with bare effort, you found a glimpse of Alex's face fast asleep, arms loosely hung around you, chin barely grazing your shoulder blade.
The small glance was enough to jog a bit of your memory. End of day shift. You were annoyed as you had been the whole weekend. The message from some old friends about a Desi night at the Bridge. One too many drinks and that's when your brain called it quits.
You sighed internally. Your head was pounding far too much to dive any deeper into any more mishaps you might have committed last night.
Wait. Were you still in your outside clothes? In your bed? You blinked despite the sore ache in your head, peeking down your duvet to spot your thin singlet and pants stuck onto you. You breathed in relief. The mere thought of all the nightclub dirt made you want to shiver. You barely wanted to remember what had happened let alone bring it all the way home.
Carefully peeling yourself out of your bed, you treaded lightly on your carpet, maintaining any attempt of motion stability your head could offer. Your fingers rubbed your temples deeply as you pulled the curtains to cover the inklings of sunlight from disturbing Alex's sleep.
You closed your eyes tightly, leaning against the windowsill. God, was this what hangovers were like? You pressed your lips together. Thank fuck you weren't missing out on anything. This was worse than Carmen made it seem.
Your ears perked at the sudden blaring of Alex's phone in your bedroom. You almost groaned as the pounding in your head deepened. You watched Alex wake up, half-startled and half-awake, large hand feeling around the nightstand for his phone.
"Alex..." You moaned, chest tightening with a light nausea. "Turn it off."
"I'm trying," he grunted, clicking the buttons to decline the call. You both sighed together, Alex's face digging deeper into his pillow, body slumping with the desire to sleep more. You were barely collecting yourself together in the passing seconds when you heard the second rounding of ringing.
A groan fell from Alex's lips, arms reaching to grab your pillow and smash it over his head, blocking his ears.
Oh come on... You stared at him blankly before you practically lugged yourself back to your bed, lunging yourself over him to turn it off yourself.
Alex's arms instinctively reached around you, bringing you and his phone down with him. Lifting his head, knocking your pillow away, he kept you close, opting to say nothing while he tried to get back to sleep and you rested against his chest.
Not having the energy to fight him back as his warmth spread against, you simply let yourself lay next to him, aching head and eyes fluttering at the potential dark slumber calling you. But another sharp ring from his phone nearby made you peek an eye open.
"Alex," you said with a heavily controlled calmness, fingers tightening over his phone as you lazily brought it to his ear.
He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, grabbing his phone, answering it without looking. "Hello?" He greeted, voice thick with sleep.
"Happy birthday, my son!"
Your eyes opened slightly wider while Alex kept his shut, nodding mindlessly over you. "Thanks, mum," he murmured tiredly.
"You're coming by later, right? Your apartment?" His mother asked.
"Of course," he yawned, sleepy eyes now trying to wake up.
"Okay, honey. I'll see you with everyone else, yeah? Have a great day for me."
Alex hummed in agreement. "Bye. See you," he said before cutting the call, phone already pushed off to the side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms around you. He paused as his gaze fell to your bewildered expression. "What?"
"It's your birthday?" You queried in disbelief; headache dissolved with this new discovery. "And you didn't tell me? W-What were you going to do? Just sleep there and pretend like it wasn't?"
In the few years you had known Alex, you hadn’t been particularly involved with his birthday. From what you knew, it was usually during the season and always far from you. And you were usually always working. Besides a potential wish if Carmen reminded you, you didn't keep track of the date like you usually did with others.
Alex shrugged casually. "It's just a day in the year," he retorted, unfazed by your reaction.
He watched you look at him incredulously as if you were becoming offended on his behalf. For a moment Alex really didn't know what to say. The words sat on the tip of his tongue and the fear of judgement momentarily controlled him. But the hint of concern in those doe eyes of yours eased him.
"I'm the oldest son in my family," he simply stated with another shrug, propping his elbow up so he could see you better. "I've spent most of my life helping my siblings through some of the darkest times of our lives. Between mum's imprisonment and my parents' divorce, birthdays weren’t particularly glamorous by any means. It really was just another day in the year."
You pursed your lips at his words. That was understandable. Another day he needed to survive to make sure everyone else survived. Your parents and relatives made it so you had to do the same. Every birthday where you were careful not to ruffle any feathers in fear of creating problems from nothing. It was like walking on ice. You had to always be thankful regardless. Speak politely. Respect your elders even if they disrespected you.
But that was the perk of moving out. No elders. No rules. You were living life on your own. You had built your life on your values and no one else's. And if there was one thing you had come to believe was that: "Birthdays deserved to be celebrated, Alex. Even if it's with something small."
Alex hummed, staring at you with a cheeky glint in his eyes, unreceptive to your words. His arm pulled you in closer, pressing you up against him. "Well birthday suits and a birthday blowjob will always be greatly appreciated," he grinned, leaning in further, lips just a few inches away from your own.
You curled your lips at his words, miffed glare from your eyes directed right at him. You swatted him on the side of his torso, making him yelp. "That's just crude," you grumbled, pushing yourself off him. Knees digging into the mattress, your hands reached to grab his wrists, lips pressed as you tried your best to pull him off your bed. "Come on. We're going to the kitchen."
"I, the birthday boy, just basically got hit by you and you're making demands?" Alex huffed in disbelief, corners of his mouth tugging upwards regardless.
You rolled your eyes. "Come on," you groaned, tugging harder. Good lord. What were you pulling on? Eighty kilos of pure muscle?
Alex chuckled softly at the sight of you, cheeks slightly red at your efforts to get him out of bed. Well this certainly was a nice comparison to you last night. With a defeated sigh, he clasped your wrist and pushed himself off the mattress, letting you drag him all the way to your kitchen.
"Now sit," you ordered, patting on the stool next to the kitchen counter.
He smiled quietly, sliding onto the stool effortlessly, elbows propped up on the counter as he watched you grab a nearby pot, dispensing a few cups of rice before you began to wash it thoroughly. He raised a brow when you started to add some milk into a separate pot. "What are you doing?"
You paid him no attention, turning on your stove to a medium heat before putting the pot of milk onto it. You smiled satisfactorily as you added a spoonful of ghee, head tipping in acknowledgment before you turned to him, leaning on your arms from across the counter.
"So... the big three-zero," you stated casually, smile faint on your face. "You celebrating with your family?" You asked.
Alex nodded slowly, trying not to warm over the domestic sight of the both of you conversing in your apartment without arguing. "We get to do it more often the days now that everything is... sorted," he winced at his choice of word.
You hummed quietly. "That must've been tough. Everything you went through," you murmured with a small frown. "I'm sorry."
He gave you a tight smile. "It was. But I believed things would get better. They usually do," he mumbled, brown eyes not deterring from yours, noticing your frown deepen like you were questioning him. Did they?
"It brought us closer as a family," he breathed out with a warmer smile. "Even though a part of me wishes it never happened, I'm grateful it did. Seung my siblings laugh...watching my mum smile. It was all worth it."
You swallowed tightly, giving him a nod of understanding as your ears perked at the sound of the milk boiling. You turned around, slowly adding in your washed rice to the milk, giving it a quick stir, cranking the heat a little higher before you returned back to him. Your fingers tingled at the thick wave of tension in the air.
Turned out birthdays weren't the lightest topic in the world.
You narrowed your eyes, trying to bring some ease into the atmosphere. "Would it be an educated guess to say that you're a mummy's boy?"
Alex raised a brow daringly; arms folded on the table. "Any problems with that?" He retorted, fully owning up to it, eliciting a small smile from you.
You shook your head indifferently. "None," you stated, raising your hands in your defence before turning back to ensure the milk wasn't getting scorched. "It's sweet," you added idly, looking over the pot carefully. You dusted your hands, looking over at him. "She comes to all your races, right?"
Alex nodded slowly, brown eyes falling to your hands as you walked back to the counter. It was instinctive the way he took your hands, instantly looking for traces of the mishap that had happened in Australia. The soft pads of his fingers traced over the healing scar on your palm faintly as he spoke.
"Almost all of them," he corrected. "She gets worried watching me race. Says she needs a break," he chuckled gently.
Your breath caught in your throat, peering down at the warm sensation spreading throughout your hand, briefly spotting the relieved look on his face. You didn't question how he knew about the cut, assuming Carmen had told him in some shape or format.
A sigh fell from his lips while he slowly rested your hand back onto the counter. "Not like it matters. Car's so slow, she could watch the race with her eyes closed," he huffed with a grimace, head shaking.
You eyed him carefully, returning back to the stove, tingling hands needing an urgent stretch. "I thought you said you 'believe things get better,'" you quoted with a quick exhale, stirring the milk and rice while you composed yourself.
"I'm not sure if optimism has a place in F1," Alex retorted dryly, leaning on his hand as he watched you. Besides... people like winners. I'm no winner."
You snapped your head to him, brows raised and partially-rice covered wooden spoon pointing at him. "Hey, I don't accept birthday degradation. Nice things only," you glared lightly.
A grin stretched onto his face. "Well go on then, Red Riding Hood."
You mended your brows together for a moment, resting the spoon down before easing them when you realised what he meant. You smiled coyly, returning back to the counter. "Oh what big eyes you have, Alex," you started, fluttering your eyelashes to play along, elbow resting on the counter, meeting his amused gaze. "My what a big smile you have."
"And...?" Alex trailed off, wiggling his brows as his eyes fell down to his lap.
You groaned, whacking his shoulder, immediately sending him into a fit of laughter while you cursed. "Why are you like this?" You complained despite the corners of your mouth teetering. You had walked straight into that one.
"You're not denying it," he pointed out, grinning wider as you gave him a blank stare. He sighed, calming himself down. He shrugged casually, stretching his arms. "Can't deny the truth."
You shook your head in disbelief, peeling your eyes away from those ridiculously delicious looking muscles. "A thirty-year-old frat boy," you muttered, turning back to the stove. "I have a thirty-year-old frat boy in my apartment," you grumbled, stirring the rice again, watching it thicken up within the past fifteen minutes.
Grabbing your sugar container, you added an amount that would make any other doctor frown. With another satisfied nod, you looked over to find Alex staring.
"What?" You asked, grabbing some nearby cashews to chop.
Alex shook his head lightly. "Nothing," he said. Nothing... he was just thinking about the mere fact that this was the first time in this life someone was cooking for him without being asked or assigned to do so. And it made him feel warm even though he knew it shouldn't. That he shouldn't read into it. But he couldn't help it.
It was you after all.
You sighed quietly, humming quietly as you grabbed your round container of spices, easily picking up the cardamom powder and your cherished saffron, putting in enough to make someone's (your) mouth water. Adding some of your chopped cashews, you looked over at Alex again. "You know... you're much more enjoyable when you shut up."
"Hey, what happen to 'no birthday degradation?'" Alex asked in disbelief, hands raising in his own defence.
You pursed your lips in thought before sticking your tongue out at him. "My apartment, my rules."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, large hand rubbing his face. God, he had never liked someone like you.
Fifteen more minutes had passed since the creation of whatever it was you were making. Between more conversations about his family, the F1 season, and more insults, Alex now watched as you had finally finished, scooping something white into one of your decorative bowls, sprinkling some chopped cashews and pistachios before adding a spoon.
You smiled happily, taking the time to walk around the counter and place the warm bowl in front of him. You stood next to him, looking at him expectantly because this was probably the most beautiful dish you had ever made.
Alex smiled strangely, awkwardly flickering his eyes between you and the small bowl in front of him. It was white and soft, creamy and garnished with nuts. "You made... porridge," he feigned his light enthusiasm.
Your smiled dropped, hand instinctively reaching out to smack his head. "Gadha," you grumbled, watching his rub his head. "I'm going to assume that was the white in you." You stated before sucking in a sharp breath. Idiot.
"It's shahi kheer, okay? It's..." You trailed off, thinking for the right words. "...a rice-based dessert. We make it during all special occasions because well, you know, have to have something sweet," you chuckled sheepishly, fidgeting with your fingers.
"Oh," Alex pursed his lips in understanding, nodding slowly. "So like sticky rice?"
You blinked, peering over at him as you considered his words. Hmm... you had never thought of it like that. "I guess our cultures kinda intersect, huh?" You mumbled in thought before you shook your head. You grabbed a good spoonful of kheer, bringing up to Alex's lips. "Come on now. Close your eyes."
"What?" Alex queried, raising his brows in confusion, staring at the spoon and you. "Why?"
You groaned at his resistance. Why couldn't he just shut up and do what you said? "Can you just do it?"
A sigh fell from his lips as he begrudgingly obeyed your instructions, standing in front of you. Closing one's eyes was always a strange thing. Such a vulnerable state to put anyone in. To be exposed to the unknown. And yet, when he was in front of you, he didn't feel so exposed. Like he was safe with you.
"Now make a wish—but don't say it out loud," you quickly added, bringing the spoon closer to him.
Alex peeked an eye open, finding your small glare before he closed them again. He took a deep breath in. And in those few seconds, he wished for something never usually wished for on his birthday. Every birthday, he allowed every wish but this. But he stood, desperate.
"Okay," he said, opening his eyes again, chest warm to see you still in front of him. "Done," he whispered. Before you could hear a grumble or protest from him, you gently shoved the spoon into his mouth.
Alex blinked rapidly at the explosion of sweetness crawling within his mouth, brown eyes flickering to yours with disbelief as he savoured the rich flavours on his tongue.
You grinned in understanding. "Not porridge, is it?" You said smugly.
He shook his head eagerly, swallowing the kheer while he looked down at the bowl on the counter. "That's... wow," he murmured, speechless. He didn’t really know how to describe it. It was like the warmth of home and the taste of love and care all in one.
You chuckled quietly, pushing the bowl towards him. "All yours, birthday boy," you stated, giving him a genuine smile. "Happy birthday, Alex."
Alex's eyes softened for a moment, taking in what you had just done for him. He smiled tightly. "Thank you."
Oxford didn't look any particularly different as Alex drove back to his apartment. The sun, as surprising as it was, still looked the same. The roads still unmaintained in the same areas. The same trees now in full blossom as spring came about. The car ride sounding static against the winds.
And yet, everything felt different.
Alex tried not to think too hard, brown eyes focused on the road in front of him, hand on the top of the wheel. He tried to think of anything else. But he just seemed to come back to the past few hours he had just spent with you.
It wasn't just the first time someone had cooked for him without asking or being told to. It was also the first time he had celebrated his birthday with someone who wasn't from work. Sure, there was his family and sure there was George who was basically his brother. But the logistics were always there. That tie of racing forever embedded into who he was.
But for the first time since he was fifteen, he had spent his birthday with someone else. And not just anyone.
You.
And it was surreal.
Surreal how you made time slow down yet go so fast. How he could talk to you for hours on end. Tease you. All while you wordlessly stood in front of him, making him something you enjoyed. Making the effort to ensure he felt special on his day.
"Fuck," Alex muttered, teeth catching his trembling lip, trying to blink away his blurry vision.
Because he didn't understand how he wasn’t supposed to fall deeper. Promise after promise. The ones to George. The ones to himself. He had convinced himself that he didn't need to fall any further for you because it would only end up with him being hurt. But when you stood in front of him in your kitchen, holding up a spoonful of kheer, something you made wholeheartedly, asking him to make a wish, he couldn't help it.
So he wished the selfish wish he had denied himself for years.
And what that wish if not to have you finally allow him to call you his.
Because for the longest time, he had already been yours.
You frowned to yourself, staring at the empty stool Alex had just sat down on a few hours ago. You had finished your lunch plans, making your way through your to-do-list for the day such as finally cleaning and stocking your kitchen. But you had become stuck at the site of this damn stool.
You made kheer. Birthday kheer. For Alex.
Never in your life had you thought you'd be in a position to make kheer for anyone let alone Alex. Even Carmen hadn't received that level of speciality because heck, you had better ways of doing putting in effort (that and Carmen had a perpetual argument with cardamom). So why the hell did you do it? What was so special about him that had made you do it?
You blinked, swallowing tightly as you shook your head. "No... birthdays are special. Everyone deserves a special birthday. That's all," you reasoned, grabbing your idle tea towel to fold.
Because that was all... right? It wasn't like Alex was starting to become someone special in your life? Consuming your thoughts or almost every other moment.
"Okay," you blew your air into your face, slightly agitated with yourself at the mere thought. And without any warning, the memories of last night seemed to hit you more clearly.
Yes, you finished your shift. You were annoyed, blah, blah, blah. Had some drinks and then Alex was there. Well, after he called you. Where you said some... strange things. But he was there, in front of you. Convincing you to leave. Carrying you out of the club. Then you sang in his car. You stumbled. And then you pleaded to see his muscles.
Fuck your life.
You sucked in a sharp breath, eyeing your spotless kitchen shining back at you mockingly as your cheeks flamed with humiliation. You sighed, shaking your head vigorously. "I need something to harder to clean now."
As far as birthdays went, Alex was sure this was one of his bests. The family celebration at his apartment was just that—familial. His mother doted on him and the moments of his life she was most proud of. Everyone had gone over the stupid memories from childhood to make the moment a bit lighter. And his siblings had pitched in on some of the stupidest gifts.
Luca had given him the 'best brother in the world’ KeepCup for him to take to races. To which Alex responded, "I'm your only brother." Zoe and Chloe had banded pitched in on a commissioned caricature of Alex and his pets. Framed, of course. Alicia’s was at least a bit more thoughtful—a mini photo album of lost pictures of Alex as a child.
Even as he was driving back from his apartment upon receiving a message from George that he and Carmen were at your apartment, he couldn’t stop smiling. Even as he stood in your elevator and walked through your corridor like he had done many times now. It was like this addictive giddiness surging through him.
Happiness as Alicia quoted to him, "looks good on you."
"Mate, you look like the Joker. What's wrong with you?" George queried as he opened your apartment door.
Alex's smile fell momentarily, brown eyes narrowed as he removed his shoes. "Whatever happened to 'Hi. Hello. Happy birthday, Alex?' I mean come on," he exasperated, walking in further to your apartment, finding you and Carmen sprawled out across a large board laying on your coffee table.
Carmen whipped her head over, instantly smiling as she stood up from the sofa. "Happy birthday!" She cheered, arms opening for a hug.
"See? Now that's what I'm talking about," Alex huffed with a small chuckle, returning the gesture. "Thank you."
His eyes drifted over to you, hovering over a large talcum-dusted board and largely in thought. Raising a brow, he walked over to you, eliciting a dip on your sofa as his arm brushed against yours. "What's this?"
You blinked, turning your head away from the board like you weren't still pondering the same thoughts from hours ago. You swallowed, acutely aware of how close he was. "Uh, carrom. You ever played?"
"Of course he hasn't," George retorted, giving him a disapproved look. "He's uncultured like that."
Alex flitted his eyes to his best friend as though to say, 'Who's team are you on here, mate?' Turning back to you, he murmured, "Seriously. What happen to 'no birthday degradation?'"
You chuckled softly, moving to rearrange some of the coins on the patterned board. "It's okay. I’ll teach you," you simply said, leaning into the board, feeling Alex do the same. You cleared your throat. "So basically, you use this big white counter to pocket these small black and white coins by striking them like this."
Alex watched as you squinted slightly, adjusting your hand so your index finger and thumb lined up with one of the coins before you gave the big counter a firm flick, ending the move with a small clack. He blinked in disbelief as it rebounded from the edge and straight into a black coin that fell into the mesh net on the corner of the board.
He looked up at you in surprise, noticing the satisfied smile on your face. "You meant to do that?" He queried. "How... How did you...?"
You turned to him with a smug grin. "Because I'm the best."
Alex rolled his eyes, body stretching by you to retrieve the counter. Resting it on the board, he attempted to flick the coin. Confusion poured onto his face as it only shuffled a few inches further. He pursed his lips, looking at you. "But I did what you did," he complained.
You pressed down the smile threatening to creep onto your face. Look at this pouty princess over here.
You sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing his hand with yours, pausing at the brief static sparking between them. You swallowed, angling his hand onto the board. "Keep your hand like this," you said, leaning down near his wrist to find a suitable coin to target.
Alex watched quietly. Well, he should've been watching what you were teaching. But he found it impossible to look away from you. To not feel that heat of your cheek hover over his wrist or the mere graze of it against his. It made his stomach churn tightly.
Carmen and George became the spectators for this overwhelmingly sappy version of Alex, eliciting a nudge into George's side.
"I hope your hundred dollars is sitting and ready,” Carmen teased quietly, making him roll his eyes.
But George couldn't exactly deny it. Months ago, he never would've imagined you willingly being in the same room as Alex but here you were, teaching him your favourite game.
"See! That's better," you smiled when Alex retried. "Okay. New round?" You asked, clasping your hands, looking over at the married couple with raised brows.
George grinned, cracking his fingers. "Bring it on."
"That's not fair!" Carmen shouted in disbelief as George had easily leaned over the board to take one of the coins she was targeting on her turn. It had been an hour or two. And you had started your third round of carrom after Alex won the first (beginner's luck), and you won the second.
George only smiled smugly, collecting his coin out of the pocket, looking over at his wife. "Don't hate the player, hate the game, baby," he retorted, perfectly stacking his coin against the mountains he had been collecting.
"Stupid, long arms," Carmen grumbled, sitting back in her seat with a defeated slump and a glare at her husband.
Alex miserably failed at stifling a laugh, redirecting her daggered eyes to him. He raised his hands in his defence, quickly making himself busy now that it was his turn.
"Carmen, sweetheart. I think you need to take a lap," you chuckled, looking at your pissed off best friend. It was only few moments like these where you were pretty sure George was sleeping on the couch tonight.
Carmen mumbled something incoherent under her breath, ensuring to swat George's head on her way to the kitchen, ignoring his small yelp of pain.
Alex leaned over to you, voice low. "I didn't know Carmen took this so seriously."
You snorted, pocketing another coin. The competition was mainly between you and George. And as of now, you were losing by a few points. "She doesn't. Not unless it's him."
"It's kinda funny," George added with a wide grin.
"Funny until you're sleeping on the couch," you reminded, raising your brows at him.
"That was one time—"
"You took it too far," you instantly replied far. "You can't steal her coins while she's not watching. That’s not sportsmanship."
Alex widened his eyes. "George," he taunted, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
George pursed his lips, spotting the look on his best friend's face and taking it in as 'Who's side do you think I'm on now?' He sighed dramatically. Carmen had talked about receiving karma for being so messy... was this it?
"Okay, birthday boy," Carmen called out, putting the final candles on the cake she had put out on your kitchen counter. She smiled at Alex's raised brows from the sofa, gesturing to the cake. "Come on."
You couldn't quite stop the spread of warmth in your chest as Alex stood up from your sofa, brown eyes eagerly peering at the cake while you and George followed after him. You watched intently. You thought maybe after a whole day of celebrating, he'd be tired. But you saw it. The slight disbelief in his eyes. The quirk of his lips. The flush of his skin. He was happy. And it looked good on him.
Alex eyed the decorated cake and iced writing sprawled on the top before looking up at all three of you. "You guys made this?"
"We did," Carmen nodded enthusiastically.
"George just stood there," you mumbled, giving George a pointed look.
Alex chuckled as George began to argue again, promptly getting you and Carmen to retaliate instantly. With every passing comment, he couldn’t help but stand back and watch the three of you. His friends. Some of his most cherished people right in front of him. And you were in the mix. Here. Willingly.
At thirty, Alex was as unsure of his future as he was at twenty. He still dreamed of podiums and championships. He still dreamt of a life with a sickening amount of happiness. He wasn't sure what he could do. How he could get it. Nor what the future had in store for him.
But what he did know, was for however long he lived, whatever age he was, he wanted you three next to him for all of it. Grey-haired and around a table, still arguing about the most trivial things like how much effort George really put into to make this cake.
"Okay! God," you grumbled, giving George and Carmen a side-eye. ""Can we actually sing happy birthday or are we not going to agree on that too?"
George rolled his eyes while Carmen nodded, nudging her husband in the rib. You sighed, turning to Alex apologetically when you spotted the strange twinkle in his eye, making you raise a brow. "What?" You mouthed.
He only smiled and said nothing, watching you so delicately it made you want to shy away for a moment. You cleared your throat, averting your eyes to the married couple while your cheeks flamed. "Okay... on the count of three."
"You really don't have to stay and help," you said to Alex as you both cleaned up the mess you had all made after a few hours of playing and talking. George and Carmen had left for an early start to tomorrow's morning, and you were lucky enough to another day off before four straight shifts.
"You've said that for the fifth time," Alex rolled his eyes. "It's okay. I want to help," he reassured, taking the carrom board easily from your hands after you wiped it down, resting it against your nearby shelf.
You gave him a pointed look, deciding to not drag it out any further. "I suppose that is the neighbourly thing to do," you heaved, putting your hands on your hips.
He dusted his hands, raising his brows at you in confusion before connecting the dots and chuckling. "So she told you," he deducted, taking a few steps towards you. "As neighbourly as getting your drunk ass to bed, by the way. Do you have any idea how difficult you are when you’re drunk?"
You blinked. Well, you supposed you had to go through this humiliation ritual at one point or another. "I couldn't have been that bad. Trust me," you added when you caught Alex's huff. “Carmen being drunk is bad."
"Yeah, well, Carmen isn't calling you a 'smiley tree' and begging to see your abs," he retorted with a grin stretched from ear to ear as he watched the heat crawl up your face.
You pressed your lips together. "I didn't beg," you snapped back, frowning at his steps closer to you. You clasped your fingers together, hiding the tell-tale signs of your slight nervousness. “That was just... educational interest."
Alex hummed, clearly not believing you. "What was it that you said?" He queried, now just centimetres away from you. "You could study me all day long? And my abdominis is just so ‘ughhhh,'" he rephrased with his grin shaping into a smug smirk.
Your cheeks burned impossibly. You folded your arms, taking in a deep breath. "Educational interest," you stated firmly.
He dipped his head down, lips hovering over yours while his eyes flickered up to yours. "You're cute when you're drunk."
You swallowed tightly, hairs of your body standing up straight. You focused on him. Doe eyes narrowed and deliberate. "You're insufferable when you're sober."
The last thing you saw was his smile, a brief glance of it before he brought his lips to yours. Weeks. That's how long it had been since he had kissed you. Not that you were counting or anything.
His kiss felt stranger than usual. Brutal and all-commanding yet soft and careful.
Alex's mouth crashed into yours with the utmost refined restraint, a few threads away from snapping. It started off messy, large hand pressed into your jaw, desperately tilting your head higher, and teeth knocking against yours before it settled into something slower and deeper.
His thumb pressed down on your jaw, firm enough to make you gasp. Enough for him to swallow the sound entirely. His other hand curled around your waist, almost territorial the way his fingers dug into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His feet shuffled against yours, crowding the both of you until your legs hit the sofa and you fell. Neither of you let go, insistent on the body heat pinning the both of you there.
"Fuck," he groaned breathlessly, barely pulling away from you as he rested his forehead against yours. "Been wanting to do that since I left."
Before you could even tease him or question him, his lips were back on yours.
This time deeper and slower. Thin restraint dissolving into the need to savour you. Every part of his mouth against yours was full of intention. Like he knew you'd press your fingers against the very abdomen you were drunkenly admiring last night. Or that your other hand would run through his hair, keeping him against you.
Your fingers slid down to his neck, nails grazing the tip of his skin, eliciting a tightly drawn breath from him. His grip around you only tightened in response, ensuring there was no space left for either of you to think. Your bodies pressed together, lips swollen, breath entirely ruined.
Alex pulled back once again, just enough to look at you. You could see how much darker those brown eyes were, pupils blown out, jaw clenched like he was in turmoil. Your heart paced as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip—slow... almost possessive.
His heart paced at your small smile. "So... birthday blowjobs?" You raised a brow as you sat yourself up straight, pushing him up against your sofa before you stepped away, sinking down to your knees, eyes not moving away from his even for a second.
He swallowed hard, breathing hot, and uneven. "I'm not going to last if you keep looking at me like that," he murmured thickly, air in his windpipe stuttering at the feel of your hand palming his cock through his pants. He should've been embarrassed at the semi-hard. But it was hard when he could only hear your giggle, sweet yet nothing so innocent about it.
His mouth pressed together tightly as you left soft kisses on his pants, heating pouring through his thighs. You were so close to him. The head of his cock throbbed against the fabric, begging to be freed. It was only barrier between him losing his mind entirely. Or so he thought.
Because he did.
He did lose his mind at the sultry smile stretched across your face and your doe eyes fluttering at him as your teeth and tongue wrapped around the cold metal of his zipper, pulling it down slowly and smoothly. The sound echoed in your apartment.
"Oh my God," he just barely whispered under his breath as your fingers hooked into his waistband. It was sinister. Your eyes. Looking at him so innocently like you hadn't just committed evil torture. "Fuck," he gasped out at the rush of cool air on his cock springing out, hard and sore already.
You eyed him carefully, smile hard to contain when was already leaking so much. Twitching every time your fingers merely grazed it.
The second your mouth touched his bare skin, Alex hissed in pleasure, large hands gripping any bit of fabric from your sofa. He quivered as you started with those same soft kisses along his shaft, making him a man further gone than he was before. You were so gentle with him, and it did nothing but turn him on even more.
"Birthday boy deserves something special, hmm, Alex?" You moaned against his cock. And you watched as his whole body tensed, hips jerking a little as your voice vibrating against the most sensitive part of himself. It drove him crazy. Enough that he wanted to grab your silky tresses laying over your shoulders and fuck right into your mouth. But he held back.
He stopped breathing as you wrapped your warm lips around his large tip, tasting his sweet and salty precum. His head fell back against the sofa, mouth curling around a silent moan.
"Shit, sweetheart..."
Something about the way that endearment fell from his tongue made your thighs clench. So you pushed down the feeling, moaning around him instead, taking every inch of him deeper and deeper.
Your mouth felt like heaven after weeks of no contact. You were treating his cock like something precious as the kheer you had made him in the morning. Patient and deserving. Treating him so fucking well with the way your throat opened up for him, gags making him want to bury himself inside of you.
He was all for a birthday blowjob, but Alex didn’t want to cum into your mouth. Not today. So instead, his large hand fell to your jaw, pulling you off his cock. His chest heaved fiercely. His restraint completely shattered at the sight of you—your swollen lips connected to his leaking tip with a thin string of saliva surreal enough to make him positively lose his brain.
He gripped your jaw firmly, tilting you up while he leaned down, thumb brushing over your wet bottom lip. "I want you to cum on my cock."
"What birthday boy wants," you murmured, pressing your lips to his thumb. "Birthday boy gets."
The smile carved onto his face was damning. "Good," he replied swiftly, long fingers around your arms to bring you up before hooking into your waistband. His eyes remained on you as he pulled down on your pants and panties with a short, firm tug.
"I want you."
It was truly pathetic the way Alex pulled you into his lap, your moans beginning to fill your apartment as you started to grind against his cock, already wet enough to have the big thing sliding between your folds, teasingly nudging the bulb of your clit.
His hands crept under your shirt, roaming your bare back, pulling you flushed against his chest before he flipped you over with an ease only he could accomplish. He lowly groaned, settling between your thighs, eyeing the slick dripping out of you. "Such a pretty girl for me, hmm? Getting all wet for my birthday? Aren't you so generous?"
You whimpered in response as Alex continued to slide his member through your needy folds, collecting all your juices and mixing them with his leaking tip. His movements teased. Hips slowly grinding as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, eliciting a torturous gasp from your lips, not pushing in.
"Alex," you breathed, brows tense while you looked down to where you met.
Alex wasn't so kind. You couldn't ask him to be. He was the birthday boy after all. So he teased you again, long fingers grazing your clit in slow circles while his hips jerked in small movements, bobbing his head in your entrance.
You couldn't believe he was playing with you like this. After all these weeks without touching each other. How he could be so complacent with this.
But you couldn't see the struggle on Alex's face. Because as much as he loved teasing and taking in every inch of contact with you, the feel of you against him always left him ruined. No matter what.
"Fuck, you're so good for me," he quietly moaned, carefully watching the way your warm juices dripped down his shaft, beginning to coat his balls. God, you were so wet.
You watched as he slowly pushed in, the thickness of his long cock already so filling. Your lips wrapped around a whine, head digging into your sofa.
Alex watched you intently as he always did. Taking in the way your lips parted, pretty doe eyes half-lidded when he pushed in further, feeling your walls clamp around him. Savouring the expression of pure pleasure on your face as he slowly pushed in inch by inch of himself into you.
The tightness of your pussy wrapping around his cock was almost too much to handle, breath uneven and hot. "So perfect for me," he grunted, feeling you jerk against him when he fully bottomed out, balls flushed against you.
"Oh my God," you whimpered. Your hand fell to his arm, digging into the short sleeve of his shirt and skin to brace yourself. You swallowed tightly as Alex leaned down, kissing you, tongue sliding against yours. The movement joined with his slow, deep thrusts, an effort of synergy that made your toes curl.
From the outside, it didn't look like he was fucking you. Even if he was, it was like something else entirely.
Like he was making love to you.
Your eyes fluttered shut, moans inconsistent and nails digging into him. "F-Fuck," you groaned deeply, feeling his lips drag down your neck, hot kisses left in its trail. "Feels so good."
Alex only moaned against your neck, pulling away to see the small purple blemishes he had made. The sight only made his hips roll deeper. What a pretty sight you were.
You whimpered as his thrusts became harder. Your lips parted in disbelief, tightness in your stomach threatening to snap as he angled his hips to hit the spongy spot just right. You couldn’t help the words falling from your lips because you didn't know you were thinking of them. But they fall anyway.
"Missed this so much."
Alex almost faltered at your words, heart racing at the idea of you missing him in any remote shape or format. “Yeah? You missed me, sweetheart? I bet you did," he murmured, bringing his teeth to graze your ear, hot breath wavering over your skin. "Missed me so much... made my day so special today without even asking," he grunted.
You pressed your lips, walls clenching around him tightly. "A-Alex," you stuttered, feeling yourself lose control as the pleasure made your brain foggy.
"That's it. Cum for me, pretty girl. You deserve it after being so good," he breathed, lifting his head up to look at you.
It hit you like a crashing wave, pleasure shattering all over your body so hard, it left you seeing white. Your cunt was torn. Milking him for more but so perplexed with the sensation of him rubbing every spot just right.
Alex's lips parted, cock heavy with an urgent weight as he slammed deep into you, low moans filling your apartment. The dazed glint in your eyes and the clench of your walls pushed him right over the edge, leaving him burying his face in your neck, teeth gently biting down to muffle his own moans. His hips faltered against yours, filling you up, marking every inch of your insides as he came hard.
His heavy breaths wavered as he collapsed onto you, long arms keeping you close against him. For a moment, you didn't say a word, still coming down from your high. But with every passing breath, you could almost feel his heartbeat against your, slower and calmer. At ease with yours.
Your apartment fell silent. You made no effort to move. Nor to get either one of you to bed. It felt impossible with the weight of him against you. And the other part of you didn't quite want to.
But even at a serene time like this, your brain couldn’t quite turn off.
"Alex," you murmured, nudging him, making him shift against you, eliciting a shudder from you. "I need to clean up," you stated, hand naturally running through those dark locks, peripheral spotting the exhaustion finally seeping onto his face. Your heart twinged at the sight, guilt swarming your chest.
He lifted his head from your body, hazy brown eyes fighting sleep. The look on his face made you think his complaint was on the tip of his tongue. But the nod of his head was soft. His move away from you was as swift as the curl of his arms underneath your body.
"A-Alex—"
"Complain tomorrow," he whispered, heading towards your bathroom, half naked and without too much of a care for anything but your words.
So you swallowed your complaints, unable to peel your eyes off his face with every step as your arms hung around his neck. From this angle, you could see every bit of wear and tear life had offered him. Every memory and story etched onto his face.
You had spent an obscene amount of time calling Alex many names, 'Thai god' included. All of which had to do with that cocky, smug smirk always plastered on his face.
But you couldn't quite grapple with how beautiful this moment looked on him.
You shivered as your bare legs encountered the bathroom counter, cold surface striking while you released your arms from Alex and watched him turn on your shower. You mended your brows, finding him coming back to you, long fingers crawling under the hem of your shirt, letting a wave of goosebumps arise on your skin as he pulled the material up.
You raised your arms naturally, eyes still on him. "I can shower myself, you know," you said gently, not opposing the toss of your shirt nor the fingers unclasping your bra.
"What can I say, sweetheart?" Alex murmured, brown eyes flickering up to yours, thumb caressing your flushed cheeks. "Birthday boys can be spoilt, can't they?"
Alex's response left you unsure whether it was the exhaustion in him that had made him crazy or not. If you weren't so out of it, you'd make some offhanded comment about how annoying he was. But you did nothing stop him from taking off the rest of his clothes,
You breathed in, pushing yourself off the sink as the sight became unbearable. Your toes curled against the tiled floors, hand reaching out to test the temperature before you took a step into the steam. The pelts of warm water against you tried their hardest to soothe the trails of goosebumps. But nothing seemed to take the edge off Alex being so close by.
For a moment, you forgot how your lungs worked. Every fibre your medical knowledge in tatters as you felt Alex's large body step into your shower. And suddenly, the space that seemed so large to you, had become so small. Every shift of his body... you could feel it all.
You continued your interest in the shower wall, too worried about what would happen if you turned around. You weren't sure if the sight of Alex in your shower with you was healthy. Nor were you sure why it felt that way.
All lines of acquaintances and friendship you had blurred... none of it seemed to have the consequences so apparent like it did now.
This wasn't normal. People who hooked up didn’t just shower together randomly. Nor did they take your clothes off with eyes that held all the softness in the world. Nor did they carry you bridal style even when peak exhaustion had hit them.
You swallowed hard, mind beginning to churn. None of this was normal. God, what were you doing? Bedding your best friend's husband’s childhood friend? Doing things you would never do or say to anyone else?
You mended your brows at the wall, trying to forget those brown eyes haunting your very being. Why did he always look at you like that? Like he—
You gasped at the feel of Alex's wet hands falling around your waist, derailing your thoughts instantly as he turned you around to face him. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes blinking through the falling droplets.
Alex frowned after a momentary inspection. "What's wrong?"
Your heart seemed to fall into a state of arrhythmia again, beats too fast for you to comprehend. You didn't like how he knew something wasn't right. Like he could sense it.
You shook your head. "Nothing," you replied, even though it was clear as day to Alex that something was.
"The shower too much?" He asked.
You blinked for some time. This is weird, right? You wanted to say. A few months ago, we couldn’t stand to be in the same room. And now, we’re in a shower. How does that work? Isn’t that the most terrifying thing you've ever heard of?
You blamed the day. If it wasn't his day, perhaps you would've said it.
So instead, you leaned in on the tips of your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Happy birthday, Alex."
literally binged watched off campus and omg allie and dean give me such revolving door vibes its crazy
girll i know!!!
i binged the thing even though i read the series a while ago and they totally are! the secrecy and hooking up and getting over charles and everything. 🙂↔️
i actually may or may not have something similar for a max series 👀
it is different ofc but conceptually kinda allie and dean vibes
PAIRING: oscar piastri x mercedes!f1 driver!fem!reader
SUMMARY: the championship lead seems closer to tipping in your favour with austria and silverstone. the feeling of winning is beginning to be familiar again. unlike the strangeness oscar is exhibiting around you.
WARNINGS: fluff, angst, denial, jealousy, oscar trying to flirt, lando still playing cupid matchmaker, indirect mention of mental health, oscar feeling insecure over pedri, danica hate, lwk arguing between the siblings, poor humour // poorly proof-read
A/N: finally another chapter! returning back to danica (again, take it with a grain of salt) and preparing for something fun ahead in the end!
🏎️ masterlist | ⚽️ masterlist | 🦋 heart of chambers
"Mate, stare any longer and you'll fall," Lando retorted as both him and Oscar stood in the balcony of the McLaren suite, watching you and George a couple metres down the paddock, filming a video for Mercedes you had probably been roped into by Catherine.
"Then again," Lando started, turning to rest his back on the balustrade, arms folded as his eyes flitted over to Oscar. "You probably already have."
Oscar peeled his gaze away from you and gave his teammate a small glare. Things had already been strange enough for the past week or so. Between the crash in Canada and his new revelation about you, Lando had been torturing him endlessly.
Eyebrows wiggling from across the room when he spotted you nearby. Smirks sent when you chose Oscar for some interview question. Slight nudges to 'accidentally' push him into you. The "I left something in the car," before Lando left you alone. It was incessant.
"Say it louder, why don't you?" Oscar retorted dryly, shaking his head before he looked back at you.
The immediate smiled carved into his face was natural, brown eyes gently watching you laugh wholeheartedly at George, letting the sound ring in his ears. It was almost half-way through the season, and your team had decided it was perfect to see how much you knew about each other. And with every question that was asked, Oscar knew all of George's.
The world had become an odd place for the past week. It spun more slowly. Everyone Oscar seemed to meet radiated more brightly. The flowers he'd pass by became more lovely. The air sweeter and fresher. The colours vibrant. And when he was alone, he seemed to always be smiling.
Something had happened to him.
And that something was you.
"So..." Lando said quietly, turning to lean his elbows over the balustrade. "You going to tell her?"
Oscar snapped his head to Lando, a mix of confusion and surprise slapped across his face. "No. What? A-Are you kidding?" He spluttered, ears turning red with the passing seconds.
Lando pulled his brows together. "Huh..." He hummed, eyeing him strangely. In the few years he had known his teammate... "I thought you were the type to straight up tell someone."
A sigh fell from Oscar's lips, brown eyes flickering back to you. "The last time I asked anyone out was almost seven years ago," he mumbled, watching you half fall off your chair in laughter as George exclaimed loudly.
Seven years ago, he had asked Lily out after a victorious cricket match in boarding school after mustering up the courage. Well technically, it was the adrenaline of winning that had gotten him across the field and to her. You were there sitting next to her, watching the match. And with one shaky breath drawn and a brief look of reassurance from you, he had done it. After a whole year of pathetic pining, he had done it.
It wasn't easy back then. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be now.
Oscar swallowed quietly, "___'s my best friend. I can't just... tell her."
Lando yawned as he stretched his arms wide. “Piece of advice?" He asked without waiting for an answer. "You're not fourteen anymore. You’re not that Oscar. You don't hold back anymore. You have game now..." He pointed out before adding, “…better hair."
"Oh Jesus," Oscar grumbled under his breath, giving him yet another small glare despite his hand itching to reach for his own hair. Lando didn’t understand. He wasn't the one suddenly head over heels for his best friend and had his entire world changed in the span of a week.
Lando grinned with amusement, patting his friend on the back. "Just show her and tell her how you feel, mate."
Oscar gave Lando a blank stare. What was this? English class? First Hattie and now him... what the hell was he going to do?
This was stupid.
Or at least Oscar felt that way as he tried to rush his footsteps against the paddock pavement, brown eyes latched onto your figure just a few metres away.
Oscar didn't rush. Even as a race driver. He was an organised man. He did calm. Things were done with consideration.
But he had seen a glimpse of your hair in the crowd and that all seemed to fall away instantly. The endless mounds of people nearby disappeared as he so subtly paced his footsteps, Austrian sun beating down on him while he flashed brief smiles, ensuring you were in sight and he wasn't losing you.
Sophie only gave him a bland look, hurrying her own steps as she followed after him. To the naked eye, this was a friend and co-worker catching up with another friend and co-worker. But with a more detailed eye and the slight spinning of an angle, people would see what she had seen in her suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed driver—a golden retriever bristling down the paddock for his favourite person.
You were just in hearing out some of the pointers Jenson and Catherine were giving as you felt a sudden warmth radiate near you. Your head turned slightly, almost taken aback when you found Oscar appear right next to you. You blinked slowly, smile casual. "Hey," you greeted.
Oscar swallowed his slight uneven breath once he finally caught up, lightly flushed cheeks bunching as he returned the smile. "Hey," he replied, oblivious to the exchanged glances between all the personnel around them. "How did your video go?"
"Pretty good," you commented, moving your eyes to the front, cautiously aware of the various cameras following you around. "I won… obviously," you grinned, picking up the snort from Catherine who had watched you and George battle it out.
"Yeah... I think I would've placed my bets on you, " Oscar chuckled softly, matching your brisk steps. "I'm surprised George even got ten points in the end."
You raised your brows, head turning back to him. "You watched?"
He nodded slowly. "Here and there. Enough to realise if I was George, I definitely would've won," he commented with a small shrug.
You rolled your eyes. "That would be cheating," you retorted, narrowing your gaze as you nudged him playfully, ignoring the brief surge of heat through the fabric of your shirt.
"I'm just using what I know to my advantage," he retorted with a small smug grin.
"Cheating," you affirmed with the curt tip of your head. You pursed your lips in thought, giving him a brief curious glance. "You think you could beat me?"
"Of course," Oscar said easily.
You made an effort to point a brow at him. "You think you know me better?" You asked in disbelief. That was a lie if you had ever heard one. There was not one single universe where he knew you better. Not one.
You had spent far too much time, perhaps an unhealthily number of years, learning everything about him. Most willingly and some unwillingly.
You knew Oscar more than you knew yourself.
"Don't I?" He remarked with a daring challenge. He had played this game in your kitchen months ago after Saudi. He definitely knew you.
You scrutinised him for a second, wondering if he was being serious. But the firm look in those brown eyes confirmed it. You chuckled softly, unaware of the heat spreading in his chest at the mere sound. "Oscar... did you know your ears go red when you get embarrassed?"
Oscar blinked out of his brief trance, right hand automatically attaching itself to his ear. His brows furrowed. "No... No, they don't," he huffed despite feeling the heat surge to the tip of his ear.
Fuck, you were right.
You smiled to yourself. "That's always how I knew you were lying as a kid," you muttered with a sigh, watching the paddock stretch on for ages before looking back at him.
He swallowed thickly, baffled at this new discovery. How many years had he been like this? How the hell did you know this? He opened his mouth to speak only to be beaten to it.
"You still double knot your shoes even after Hattie taught you how to do the bunny ears method because you didn't get it the first time," you added with a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "And you always put your right sock on first except for on a race."
Oscar looked at you softly. How did you say those things so... so casually? Like you hadn't just made his heart skip one too many beats?
His hand fell from his ear and to his side, knuckles grazing against yours. For a moment, he watched and let his hand stay there, feeling the soft brush of your skin against his. And for another, he forgot how to breathe while small sparks travelled through him. For the last one, he let himself imagine a moment where he simply slipped his hand around yours, casually and effortlessly, like it was normal.
He blinked as you brought your hand up to move your hair. He stretched his hand tightly, trying to unfurl the warmth clouding between each joint and digit. He pressed his lips together, noticing the way you suddenly averted your eyes back to the paddock.
"I think I'd win," you mumbled with an unconcerned shrug as you put your trembling fingers into the pockets of your pants. You breathed in quietly, "I know you, Oscar."
Oscar pursed his lips. Here he was, supposedly 'showing you and telling you' in some shape or form. But you had unintentionally done all of it yourself.
And yet again, you had taken his ability to speak right out of his mouth. Rendering him speechless. Leaving his mind screaming that he knew you too.
He knew you when you were focused not because of your furrowed brows or firm face but how your tongue just nestled on the side of your lips, barely poking out while you concentrated.
He knew which journalists you disliked in every conference because you had this micro-frown and hardened look in your eyes.
He knew that when you were really annoyed you held your breath to prevent you from saying something regret—a skill you had mastered early on in your career.
Oscar curled his fingers into his palm, swallowing tightly as self-doubt began to kick in and not a word came out of his mouth while you both continued to walk side-by-side. Perhaps he should’ve told Hattie and Lando... he sucked at show and tell.
The cooldown room was eerily quiet as per usual—one of the few rooms in the paddock that granted you any silence. It only slowly filled with the sounds of your helmets being place down in the small red archways and the rustle of your racing gear as you, Lando, and Oscar entered.
A strained sigh fell from your lips as you took a seat, reaching for the bottle of water and folded towel eagerly. Taking a hasty gulp of the cold fluid, you could feel the heat in your skin begin to cool as you wiped the trails of sweat from your face and neck. Your eyes flittered over to the large screen which begun the curated highlights of the race.
You watched with careful eyes; tongue stuck into the corner of your lip as the start played out. Your start was energetic from the get-go, car clambering all over Lando's rear until you were blocked in by Oscar. And that had practically set up the order for your entire seventy laps. You were lucky you hadn't thrown anything away with the amount of understeering you had.
You felt Lando turn to you. "Oh come on, ___. You can be a little happier," he chuckled, watching you tightly press your lips together from where he sat in the middle
You tilted your head lazily to the side, giving him a sarcastic look. "About my piece of shit car?"
Lando snorted, shaking his head with a grin stretched onto his face. "That's the swear jar for you," he said dryly.
You glared him, pointing your ring finger at him with a polite smile.
Oscar chuckled to himself softly, sneaking a glance of you from his chair. While the results of Austria had been a well-achieved double podium for the McLarens, the real headline lied in the six-point difference you and Oscar now had. Meaning Silverstone would make it or break it for you.
He blinked as you and Lando made winced faces at the sight of George and Max making contact.
"Well, I am so excited for my debrief," you stated with some feigned enthusiasm, eyes crinkling as you grinned at the two boys before your expression faltered. Between some of your poor driving choices and George's... it wasn’t particularly looking like Toto was going to be happy.
Oscar smiled, looking over at the replay of him locking up behind Lando, smoke billowing out instantly. He grimaced along with you. "So am I," he sighed, clicking his tongue.
"Not going to lie," you started, pressing your lips together before you looked at Oscar. "I was hopeful for a P2 at that point."
"Wow," Oscar gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's really your own people," he huffed, despite the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as the series of replays ended and the crew signalled for the three of you to start making your way towards the podium.
You rolled your eyes, standing up from your chair, folding your towel and resting in on the table before you inched closer towards the exit. "You still came P2 in the end so I wouldn't be so hung up on it," you teased, passing him briefly while you patted his shoulder.
"Hold on."
You blinked with surprised as Oscar's hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you in place. Your eyes flickered up to his face hesitantly, cheek already flushing as he leaned in with a narrowed gaze. Instinctively, you held your face back with every centimetre he came closer. Your breath caught in your throat while his other hand reached out, index finger gently swiping under your fluttering eyes.
You opened your eyes, skin burning while you looked at the Oscar slightly dazed.
He jutted his hand out to you and raised a brow. "Want a wish?"
You swallowed at your fallen eyelash on his finger. Your heartbeat miserably echoed in your ears. You shook your head timidly. "All yours," you mumbled, fingers fidgeting at their sides as you took a careful step back, turning on your foot.
Oscar smiled quietly at your cautious glance around you while you tried to continue making your way to the podium. He watched your trailing figure before pursing his lips and releasing a brief exhale over his finger. Drawing in a small breath, he sped his steps to match yours.
"Aren't you going to ask what I wished for?" Oscar queried as the cheers and shouts of the crowds slowly became closer and closer.
You raised a brow, acutely aware of the brush of your shoulder against his arm. "It won't come true if you tell me," you retorted like it was a simple fact. And it took all of Oscar's might to not grin pathetically at you.
He eyed the last few rays of shade as you both waited for your names to be called. His brown eyes flickered over to you. Without wasting a second of this short, awarded time, he leaned over you, bringing his lips to your ear. "That's not very scientific of you," he murmured.
He didn't wait for your eyes to grow wide as his name echoed through the speakers and he was off towards the podium.
You stood there for a moment with all the heat you had worked to reduce swarming through your skin yet again. You let out a shaky breath, wiping your sweaty palms on your gear, trying to calm the loud pulse reverberating in your ears.
You closed your eyes, taking in another deep breath. And with the shake of your head, you opened them back again.
Focus, ___.
Focus.
The dark abyss was warm. Like marshmallows over a fire. And every breath you took only made you want to stay longer. Forever if you could. You curled further into your duvet, dug deeper into your pillow, comfy smile sprawling onto your face—
"Get up. We're playing defence."
The hairs on your body stood up almost immediately as your blanket was torn off you. The unwelcomed flush of cold air made you groan loudly, hands scrambling for warmth once again. What the hell was going on?
You pushed yourself up begrudgingly, frown etched into your face palms sinking into the mattress beneath you. You blinked, eyes sleepy, vision blurred, brain rerouting to try and process Catherine's words. "B-But I've barely even breathed, Catherine," you grumbled, trying to muster a glare but evidently failing miserably as Catherine continued on her way, barely turning to talk.
"And yet the whole world did for the past nine hours," Catherine commented dryly, heading towards the hotel living room.
You blinked blankly again, turning your gaze to the cloudy skies of Silverstone—an important part of the experience. You sighed quietly, rubbing your eyes to keep you awake.
You tilted your head to your door, calling out, "Is there—"
"Yes. There's tea... grandma," Catherine added with an audible mutter, evident snickering following soon after.
Your mouth dropped in disbelief as you pushed yourself off the bed. "I heard that!" You retorted out loud before you huffed, folding your arms and following her out to the living room unwillingly.
You acknowledged the sight of Hattie, who was staying with you for the weekend, and Jenson. The both of them already seated in their respective attires: her pyjamas and an outfit that screamed Jenson was ready for whatever the day had to bring him.
You grabbed the pot of tea from the middle table and poured yourself a cup before comfortably taking a seat on the sofa and taking a small sip. You flickered your eyes to Catherine and raised your brow. "What could've possibly changed in the nine hours I've been asleep?"
Hattie snorted, leaning over to give you a pointed look. "Heard of time zones, genius?"
You narrowed your eyes at her. This was what you got for bringing her to Silverstone. Or anywhere for that matter. Strange, vapid comments twenty-four seven. You heaved, giving her a sarcastic smile as you set your cup on the coaster nearby. "So..." You breathed, settling back into your seat while you looked over at your small team meeting. "What's the damage?"
Defence.
Defence was the game your team had been playing for a few years now. It was often annual and spontaneous. And you never put it past you to play more than once. The gist of it? An attempt to do some damage control when the headlines started to house your name.
You had played a few rounds just a month ago with the whole debacle between the journalists and the media. And while you couldn't exactly say you won, you knew how to play. That being said. You had nothing on the expert right in front of you.
Catherine sucked in a sharp breath, looking over to her laptop propped up on the table so you could all see. "First things first," she started, clicking down on a button. "Danica."
A set of three miserable groans filled the air. Jenson curled his lip in disgust, putting his breakfast down. "Why do you do this to us, Cath?" He asked, shaking his head. "I think I lost my appetite."
"Me too," you mumbled, lips pouting at your cup of tea in front of you. What a shame...
Catherine rolled her eyes at your antics, looking back at the slide she had presented. She eyed it and grimaced. "Claims you're here to fill some sort of diversity slash gender quota from the FIA."
You scratched your chin, indifferent. "That's rich coming from her," you retorted.
"How is she seriously still working?" Hattie grunted in response.
Jenson shook his head idly, staring blankly at the table. "I ask myself that every day," he sighed. He had spent one too many hours with his co-worker and between bringing woman down and not knowing anything about the cars... his limits were being reached.
"I would try to keep the anger in," Catherine smiled cautiously, pushing down on the button again, letting another slide pop up. "Been doing a bit of digging with the rest of the team back home and... well, a lot of the hate reports since your seat announcement have been fuelled by her."
Jenson's eyes widened, head slowly tilting, jaw firm. "Are you kidding me?" He asked, brows dangerously raised while you and Hattie exchanged weary glances.
You couldn't say you were surprised. Danica had always had it out for you even if it wasn't so obvious.
Catherine waved away Jenson's upcoming retort with her hand, not wanting to expend so much energy on something so frustrating. "We've put in a plea with Sky Sports to take her off the screens. They’ll investigate but my request to you two," she stared both you and Jenson down, "is to not engage with her till anything definitive happens. She’ll take any opportunity to make things bad. And ___, ignore any questions related to her."
Jenson only sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. On the bright side, at least he could finally be free of her.
You smiled dryly. "I'll try," you hummed, eyes squinting with a feigned politeness as you reached for your cup of tea again.
Catherine rolled her eyes, finger tapping on her laptop again. "Second order of business. Pedri."
Your ears perked at the mention of your ex, eyes falling on the picture of him on the slide. You gave her an incredulous look. "Are you joking? He’s on Defence?" You queried with disbelief.
Between the spectrum of Defence... Pedri rarely found himself on it. And even now, you preferred it that way.
"Fans are speculating!" Catherine defended, voice raising as clearly. Her shoulders slumped while she flickered through her evidence in an animated manner that reminded you of Hattie. "He came to the Spain race. He's been liking your posts again and updates. He's mentioning Formula One in interviews," she pointed out specifically because everyone in the room knew he rarely cared for the sport itself.
You pursed your lips at a loss for words while you settled your cup down. "Okay... well," you started. "I literally liked fifty of Dev Patel's photos last night, but does that mean we're dating... no. And besides, Pedri hasn't even texted me!"
A stupid response considering he barely remembered to text you.
Catherine smiled smugly at you. "He's doing the music thing too! Your favourite songs in posts... favourite books... All the stuff he did when you were dating."
Your cheeks reddened slightly. Oh come on... that didn't mean anything. What was this world you lived in where you couldn't have similar interests? Was that such a crime?
You huffed to yourself, folding your arms. You sent her a pointed look. "Well, what am I supposed to do about that? I mean is it really causing that much harm?" You asked.
Catherine stared at you for a bit, hesitant before she reached over and changed slides again. "That's where problem three comes in."
You furrowed your brows as you, Hattie, and Jenson leaned in, reading the screenshotted headlines and comments. Your eyes widened while your skin officially began burning with each passing words.
Oscar and ___. More than friends?
Childhood loves racing for their dreams.
The HR headache: Oscar and ___.
"T-That's not true!" You stuttered, peeling back while you found everyone's eyes on you. You raised your hands in your defence. "W-We're just friends!" You maintained, voice straining desperately.
It was one thing convincing Jenson and Catherine... another when you had Hattie next to you.
"Well, a few corners on the internet doesn't think so," Catherine muttered, crossing one leg over the other while she slowly observed you along with Jenson.
You pursed your lips in defeat. "W-Well, that's a baseless claim. There isn't any evidence to prove it either. Trust me, guys. Oscar doesn't like me," you stated with a strange bitter taste in your mouth.
The corner of Hattie's mouth tugged upwards. If only you knew...
"Right... that's why he stares at you all the time,” Hattie said with raised brows like she was daring you to refute back.
You glared at her, hand darting out to push her with a dramatically upset pout. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?" You grumbled, settling back into your seat. Pfff... he didn't stare at you all the time.
Hattie grinned at you, pushing herself up from the sofa. "I'm here to protect your peace and make sure you're happy," she stated simply before adding, "This is protecting your peace and making you happy."
"Okay..." You took in a sharp breath and with one glance at her you turned back to the slideshow. "No longer hearing your perspective for the rest of this meeting."
Oscar walked through the Silverstone paddock for the final practice of the weekend alongside Hattie. The clouds continued to be grey as they had been yesterday, looming over the both of them while they traversed the endless fans to reach the McLaren motorhome.
He furrowed his brows, looking over at his sister incredulously. "What the hell is 'Defence'?" He asked.
"It's like a PR game," Hattie began to explain, mulling over the right words to use. "Or a team meeting where they go over all the things linked to her name."
"Everything?" He queried with surprise. That was a lot of events to cover for someone as prolific as you. He was usually the type to leave it up to his team. The less he knew, the better.
"Well, the important things," she said casually, brown eyes flitting over the paddock with effortless poise. "Like Pedri."
Oscar snapped his head back to her, face suddenly blank. "Really?" He queried before sighing at the small grin on her face. "Do you care about me at all? What if I dropped dead and had a heart attack? Give a guy a little warning next time."
Hattie rolled her eyes. "He's trying to get back with her," she commented, not helping her brother one bit. She patted his shoulder encouragingly. "Which means you need to step up your game. I mean come on, dude. What part of 'show her and tell her,' do you not understand?"
"This is a lot harder than it looks," he retorted with a brief glare, inching closer to the papaya building. "I didn't flirt with Lily. I didn't do any of these things before we dated. We just... did," he huffed.
At that age, flirting was probably the last thing on his mind. He could barely look at her without blushing.
"I'm sure you've done it unintentionally, Osc. Just think."
Oscar mended his brows in thought. The longer he searched, the more he seemed to unlock in his head.
After your DNF. The compliment.
Greece. Your tattoo. The beach.
The gala and the dance.
Canada. The hug.
All these small things that he had done. God knows what else he had done without thinking.
Hattie looked at her brother with a firm frown stretched onto her face. "Lily isn't ___," she stated. Maybe it was harsh but it was the truth. "You need more effort with her. Show her. Compliment. Flirt. Connect. If she's making your brain melt, make her brain melt."
Little did her brother know... it would be a lot easier than he thought. If your reaction in the hotel room had told her anything, it was clear two years hadn't exactly cleared him out of your system.
Oscar gave Hattie a pointed look. "I'm not sure how easy that is when I have the world’s best football player trying to win her back," he sassed back. "I mean, is he actually going forward with this? Is she interested?"
Hattie mended her brows. She had met Pedri once in passing when she visited you in France and he was on holiday. A small lunch in some café near your apartment. He was quiet. Only a slight bit awkward. Reserved in a way that made him look like an ordinary man and not one of the best midfielders in the world. But he was nice. And he liked you. A lot. She could tell.
For those two years, she was happy for you. Whether you had or hadn't moved on from Oscar, you clearly enjoyed Pedri's company. You talked about him a lot. Though not the way you did about her brother.
And then you broke up with him when the dream of getting a Formula One seat had suddenly let become more real than ever. You cited what she had expected, "Busy schedules" and "different dreams."
Hattie hummed idly, looking over at the McLaren suite before she spotted a familiar face. The corners of her mouth teetered with amusement. Well, this certainly changed things. She turned to her brother and said, "Or you could ask him."
Oscar sighed, stopping in his steps, hand resting on his hip while his eye twitched at his sister. "And how on earth would I ask him that?"
"Because he's standing right in front of you?"
Oscar almost choked on the air as he turned his head to indeed find the Spaniard talking to Sophie and some other staff members with a guest McLaren pass hung around his neck. He pressed his lips together, reverting back to his sister. "I don't think I'm can do this," he retorted with a small gulp.
"Oh, it'll be fine," Hattie smiled innocently, patting her brother's shoulder once again in reassurance. "Remember how I taught Mae how to swim? It's easy sailing, Osc."
He furrowed his brows. "Dude, you pushed her into the pool," he stated, a bit baffled to say the least.
She tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing in thought. "Hmm... funny. I don't remember doing that," she murmured before standing up straight. "Oh well!"
"Hattie, I—"
Oscar's eyes widened as she pushed him forward, bringing him right to the centre of the conversation. His lips stretched into an awkward smile while Sophie made the initial introduction. He sucked in a sharp breath as Pedri put his hand out.
"Nice to meet you," he greeted with a warm smile. "I've heard a lot about you from ___. And from Hattie too," he added, sending a brief wave to the sister a few metres back.
A part of Oscar wished the ground would swallow him whole. Because of course this was the nicest man he had ever met. He returned the gesture, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you too," he said. "Though I can't say the same about you," he murmured under his breath unintelligibly.
"You're good friends with ___, right?" Pedri asked so innocently it almost made Hattie want awe.
"Um, yeah, yeah," Oscar nodded slowly, retracting his hand. "Um... you here for her?"
A nervous chuckle fell from Pedri's lips, cheeks slightly flushing. He held up the guest pass around his neck. "I thought a different team would make it less obvious while I'm on holiday," he mumbled as he rested the pass back on his chest. "I guess not."
Oscar only smiled quietly. Was he really just causing havoc about this very man in front of him? Just a few weeks ago, he was glaring at the mere glimpse of him next to you and now... well now he just felt bad.
"I hope she wins," Pedri mumbled before his eyes widened slightly. "No offence! I hope you do well too, but you know... she likes Silverstone."
The corners of Oscar's mouth stretched a little wider. "She does," he agreed. "She's always wanted to win where it all started. We all do," he added, looking over at the paddock for a moment. "But it matters more to her. So... I hope she does too."
Pedri tilted his head, brown eyes taking a lot more effort to scrutinise the man in front of him. He recognised the familiar soft gaze. The very one he would give you. "Ah... de verdad eres tú," he murmured with a small smile, head shaking before he sighed. Ah... it really is you.
Pedri may have been a quiet man, but he wasn’t an idiot by any means. Any time anyone brought up Oscar around you, you seemed to act a little different. Stand-offish. But then you'd talk about him yourself and things changed. Your tone softer. Your eyes warmer.
Because while he was looking at his first love, you were talking about yours.
Oscar raised a brow apologetically. "Sorry... my Spanish is pretty awful."
Pedri shook his head again, smiling tighter. "I'm wishing you good luck," he said with a quick breath.
Oscar blinked. "Thanks," he nodded with some gratitude. He swallowed quietly, looking over at his watch. "I should be going but uh... I guess I'll see you at the podium? When she wins."
Pedri smiled softly. "When she wins," he affirmed.
"Not going to lie... that was a lot more tamer than I thought," Hattie said as Oscar reached his driver's room to prepare for the third practice.
Oscar gave his sister a pointed look. "What did you want me to do? He's so nice," he groaned, rubbing his face with annoyance. "It would've been nice if he was an asshole but no."
Sure. He was glad Pedri wasn't an asshole because that would've meant you were dating, well, an asshole.
But come on! It was difficult to hate the guy.
A hum fell from Hattie's lips while she sat on the small sofa set up in the corner. "Maybe you should take consolation that she was the one who broke up with him and not the other way around. If anything... she's not interested."
Oscar chuckled sarcastically, grabbing his gear with the same level of annoyance as he felt. "You weren't at Spain, Hats," he retorted, turning back to her. "She was so... smiley. Even when I was an asshole on the plane... oh my God, this just gets worse!" He grunted, tightening his fingers around the fabric.
How the hell was he supposed to compete with a man who made you feel like that?
Hattie looked at her brother incredulously yet with a good amount of confusion. "Dude, what the hell is your problem? Why are you so freaked out over this? We have a plan. Well, skeletons of one. Trust me. You'll be fine—"
"—Because if she liked Pedri, she wouldn't like me!"
The silence lingered in the room like a slap in the face, heavy and sudden. Hattie's lips parted with nothing to say for a beat and then another. Because for the first time in her life, she had seen her brother lack confidence in himself. Her brother. Oscar Piastri, who lived and breathed logic and rationale, was undermining himself.
"That's not true," Hattie murmured after a minute, eyes gently peering up to him.
Oscar huffed with a disbelieving smile. "How can you say that?"
She blinked rapidly, resting her hands on her lap while she figured out what to say. "Oscar, you're as nice as he is. Sweet. Considerate. There is no reason why she shouldn't choose you."
"I don't want her to just choose me," Oscar swallowed, chest heaving like he had to remind himself how to breathe. He pursed his lips. No. He didn't want to be like Pedri. As if he was just another person you could choose like him. "I... I want her to feel how I feel."
She mended her brows, asking softly, "Like what, Oscar?"
For another moment it was quiet before he drew a small breath in.
"Like she's the only person I ever want to see at the end of every day. Forever."
An abrupt knock came on the door. Sharp and deafening. Kim's voice was loud and clear. "Fifteen minutes out, Oscar."
Oscar sighed, rubbing his face harshly. "I have to get changed," he stated, slight humiliation flushing into his cheeks. God, what was wrong with him?
Hattie swallowed tightly as she nodded and stood up from the sofa. She inched closer towards the door, hand reaching out to grab the handle before she paused. "Oscar, you know what the difference between you and Pedri is?" She asked, not waiting for a response, though his silence was loud.
"You're the only one who actually knows her."
"Welcome to the twelfth round in the Formula One World Championship! We are here where it all began. England. Silverstone. The most historic track without a doubt! This race marks off half of the races of this season being completed and today's rookies are making their debuts at everyone's favourite track. With some grey clouds, sun, and a damp track, let's look at the starting grid!"
"The biggest surprise of grid since yesterday is Max Verstappen. The Dutchman returned to pole after a few sets of miserable races. Behind him, however, is a ravenous rookie! ___ missed out by a couple of tenths but says she is 'ready to bring the fight to the Red Bull.' In third came Oscar Piastri who brought home the shock of knocking his teammate down to fourth. What strategy will McLaren play here? Beat the bull or the huntress?"
You had memorised almost every track you had come across. But Silverstone was one you had branded into your brain.
Yes, the track had held some of the most iconic races and unforgettable champions in history. But it was just that part that got you so excited. The history. The place where it all started. The place that ultimately dictated the very steps you took to get here.
Even as you calmly drove through your formation lap, your heart seemed to jitter in your chest. You wondered how many dreams had passed through here. How many hopes... how many women had stepped through here. Because the truth was simple. You only knew a small fraction of the story you had lived. You may have had it harder in this sport. But there were points in time that were entirely unimaginable for you.
"The last car of Nico Hulkenberg lines up! Green flag waves and our red five lights and the Silverstone Grand Prix is underway! We’re racing to turn number one, through Hamilton Straight and to the Abbey! ___ is hot on Max's tail, getting all the spray on her visor. She needs to play it safe here and this is exactly why—Lawson spins at Aintree!"
"Incoming VSC, ___," Bono informed through the radio. "Thoughts on the track and tyres?"
You peered out at the sun in the slightly bluer sky and then flitted your eyes back onto the asphalt. "Not too bad," you murmured, manoeuvring around the track at a slower speed. You eyed Max in front of you. He wasn't pitting anytime soon.
"Let's stay on the inters," you decided.
"Copy."
"We race again after our second VSC that escorted Bortoleto out of his debut here in Silverstone. The Mercedes out front has kept herself close to the Red Bull so far. With the monster McLaren a few seconds back, ___ needs to use the time she has and overtake him now. But it takes a lot of effort to keep up with Verstappen and even more to get past him. We’ve it before and... we see it again! Down the Hangar straight, and ___ gets Verstappen just before Stowe!"
You chuckled quietly at the evident roars amongst the grandstands, unable to not feel a little proud as you captured a glance of the Red Bull in your rear mirrors. The car got smaller and smaller with every passing second. It wasn’t every day you overtook Max at Silverstone now, was it?
"Don't get too excited," Bono started, cutting your momentary joy even shorter. "Rain incoming in two or three laps. At least ten minutes worth. And Piastri's catching onto Max. Think about new tyres now."
Well, it wasn't England without some rain.
You sighed as the droplets of water fell firmer against your visor. Your inters weren't going to last another lap. Nor would Max or Oscar's. You were all going to have to pit soon. You had just needed to be the first one in.
Your thumb glided to the radio button. "I want it fresh, Bono," you hummed, turning the wheel.
A chuckle came from the other side. "Ready when you are."
The pit was good. Not perfect yet not slow. Just right as Goldilocks liked it. And for a few laps, it worked. You had built a thirteen-second gap while Oscar swapped places with Max before returning back to P3 after a slow stop.
And it all came crashing down.
Literally.
The rain sounded as heavy as it looked, pulsing on your visor. You could just barely see the track. You were more thankful you had no cars in front of you unlike the others. Even as you drifted through the track, you could feel the mounds of water pooling. You knew what that meant.
"The Safety Car is out! The heavy rain destroys the work of the Mercedes as the race becomes neutralised! Look at the disappointment on Toto's face!"
You grunted in your seat while you lifted your foot off the pedal, slowly coming in to see the rear of the safety car. "Peak British summer," you huffed on the radio. "I can't believe you were born here, Bono," you retorted on the radio.
If you were going to be stuck like this, you might as well enjoy it a tiny bit.
"I mean this is tragic", you groaned, eyeing the plumes of water in front of you.
"This Aussie is a bit too used to sunshine and rainbows. I wonder how she feels about Brazil last year."
Bono snorted at the loud commentary, shaking his head as he looked over the forecast again. It was lessening...
"And just as the safety car goes back in, it comes back out! Hadjar with no visibility just goes straight into the back of Russell's Mercedes! And that's another rookie down in Silverstone."
"Seriously," you mumbled, shaking your head. You were relieved to hear Isack was okay. But the annoyance was starting to get to you. This was the one race where you were all supposed to finish as rookies. Not another race where you were all going to be caught out by the water and you were the only one left standing.
You watched the queue of cars line up behind you as you all drove behind the safety car, waiting for the race to resume for the fifth time today. You chewed your lip, antsy foot struggling to not instinctively press down on the pedal.
"Come on, come on, come on," you repeated the hushed whispers while you waited.
"Safety car in this lap as we get back to racing! And Verstappen spins! That Red Bull is struggling, and he is not happy about being pushed to P11. But ___ makes the most of this opportunity, buzzing down the track with nothing but spray for Piastri!"
You were vigilant now. Eyes of a huntress. Perhaps a lion or a hawk. Whatever it was. You were careful. You didn't have the power of a McLaren. One small mistake and Oscar would come for you.
So any dry spots on the track, any rays of sun... they couldn't fool you.
It was moments like these where you had to remember—only you knew what it felt like in the car.
What the data said, what Bono saw, what the strategists saw... it all held very little weight. You knew what the track felt like under you. How the tyres looked. What your limits were. What you were capable of.
And right now, it looked like you were capable of being a Silverstone race winner.
"With all this talk of rain, we've not been talking about the most important thing! A win here for ___ puts her back in the Championship lead! With a one-point difference to Oscar. And we’re only halfway through the season!"
"A few more laps now, kid," Bono encouraged, stomach churning as the end soon came near. He sat in his seat like his knee wasn't jerking with nerves. Or that his fingers weren't exceptionally tight over his mouse.
Yes. He was nervous.
Anyone would be nervous if they were him.
Because he had known you for almost ten years now. He could still remember your innocent face that had only seen some of the world. Your big eyes dazzling when you told him about your dream at the age of twelve.
The first woman to ever win a Formula One championship.
It was something about the way you said it. With such conviction. Like it just had to come true or nothing else would be right.
It reminded him of Lewis.
And then your earnesty. How you had to stay behind and learn the car even if that mean mopping the floors in the middle of the night.
That reminded him of Michael.
Then your discipline. Despite your brutally honest complaints, you showed up. You wanted more. You always wanted more. Better. Faster.
That reminded him of Niki.
Even now, Bono could still remember the look on your face when you finally saw Silverstone in person during some of the private testing the other drivers were completing. Like you wanted to etch yourself into the track until every corner and turn was named after you.
And here you were.
Embarking on a championship you were about to lead. At a track you loved. And everything about that made him absolutely positively nervous.
"___ has been rewriting history from the moment she entered motorsports. And as she comes to the end of her final lap, she remembers the people who have made this historic moment possible. All the women and young girls who have dreamt and hoped. In the place where it all started! The place that birthed her passion for racing. ___ can finally take a breath and relish her name on this much-desired list of winners! ___ wins the Silverstone Grand Prix and retakes the Championship lead!"
It was strange. The way your eyes began to sting as you caught sight of Hattie amongst the barricades. You weren't sure what it was. The soft look on her face that told you she understood. Or the screams of your name so loudly ringing in your ears that you thought you might go deaf.
Hattie smiled gently as her arms stretched around you, chin slightly cold against your helmet. Her arms clasped your back tighter. "I'm so proud of you," she said.
"Thank you," you mumbled.
Pulling her head back, Hattie lifted her finger to pull your visor up. Her lips quirked at the sight of your reddened eyes. "I knew it."
You narrowed your eyes at her. "Shut up," you huffed, throat sore though you hadn't even been crying or screaming.
You chuckled softly at her grin, punching her arm playfully before you spotted the quivering lips of Bono standing next to her. You raised a brow at him, leaning in to scrutinise him. "I thought I heard them on the radio. Those are tears," you gasped quietly as though you were mystified.
Bono rolled his eyes, bringing his arm around you. "Speak for yourself," he grumbled, rubbing his hand over your shoulder warmly. "Proud of you, kid."
You hummed quietly, stepping back to remove your helmet. "Do I get my own 'Hammertime' now?"
Bono pursed his lips. "I think you're pushing it now," he teased, eyes wrinkling in a way a father’s did—experienced and proud.
You groaned dramatically, holding your helmet against your hip. "What does a girl have to do around here?" You glared at him playfully, eliciting a laugh from your team.
You smiled to yourself, eyes travelling across the numerous staff members down the line before you spotted another familiar face. You inched closer to the mop of brown hair and grinned. "Flick really needs to start putting you to work."
Pedri chuckled gently, leaning against the barricades with his arms. "Hey, I just started my holiday," he frowned teasingly, giving you a small nudge before smiling at you with that same wide, kind smile he always has.
"Uh-uh. Let me guess," you interjected when you saw him open his mouth. "You're proud? Well, that’s the first time someone's said that to me today," you added sarcastically, corners of your mouth tugging upwards in amusement.
Pedri struggled not to roll his eyes. "Fine. I'm not proud," he shrugged, hands raised defeatedly.
You raised your brow. "No?"
He shook his head before watching you carefully. Like he was taking in this new version of you had didn't quite know. You were you, of course. But this time apart, you had changed. Your dreams were becoming a reality, and it looked good on you.
"I'm happy for you."
You blinked, taken aback. Well, that was definitely the first time someone said that to you today. Your shoulders slumped after a beat, a smile warmly spreading onto your face. "Thank you, Pedri," you murmured, taking a small stare at him.
He was sweet. He always was.
You sighed at the tap on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality. Right. Duty calls.
You gave him another smile, turning on your foot to leave.
"___?" Pedri called.
You turned back to him. You watched him stand almost... resigned. The smile on his face was soft yet sad. You pulled your brows together, frowning. "Yeah?"
"Love looks good on you."
The confusion must have been apparent on your face because he laughed quietly. "I don't... I don’t understand," you said, feet shuffling as an official began pulling you away.
"You don't but I do," Pedri replied, smiling tightly, flickering his eyes behind you before coming back to you. "And you'll understand soon too."
You blinked as you were swept away, thrown back into the chaos of interviews and cameras. You were left wondering what the hell Pedri meant, unaware of Oscar's eyes watching you just metres away.
"Jesus... did you pack Basil's toiletries in there too?" You retorted; amused brow raised as Oscar lugged his large suitcase towards his front door with a slight grunt under his breath.
He looked down as he placed the suitcase, watching you sit right next to the door with Basil curled up in your lap. A small smile carved into his face before he gave you a gentle glare. "Funny," he remarked dryly, taking a glance at his suitcase. "I only packed what I needed."
You gave him a pointed look. "We're home for five days," you stated, running your hand through Basil's white fur.
"Correction. We're home for a wedding for five days," he retorted, smiling widely to emphasis his point, hand on his hip to rub it in further.
That was right. You were finally heading back to Australia for your aunt's wedding. Months ago, you were planning to hop onto the plane and get there without any thought or consideration for Oscar. But now you were sitting on his door frame, in his apartment, preparing to leave together.
It was funny how the universe worked.
You supressed the teetering corners of your mouth, peering down at Basil's beady eyes while you rubbed the top of his head softly. "He's weird," you whispered, receiving a small bark in return.
Oscar narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer before bending down to meet your seated figure. He captured the slow flicker of your eyes towards him, somewhat hesitant and aware. "Are you trying to turn Basil against me?" He queried with a raised brow, fingers moving to run through his dog's fur.
You laughed softly at his words, shaking your head. "Don't need to," you responded, looking down towards Basil in hopes the light dusting of red on your cheeks was hidden. "You already love me, huh?" You teased, watching Basil perk up in your lap, paws reaching up towards your chest.
You grinned proudly, head tilting to Oscar, sticking out your tongue instinctively at him. "He's mine now," you said matter-of-factly.
Oscar pursed his lips, taking you in for a moment. It was odd how less hesitant you had become. Carefree. Like your guards had come down. And in that split second, he would've given you anything to keep you just like this.
"You can have him," he responded with a warmth that made you shiver. He breathed into a quiet sigh, brown eyes shifting to Basil. "Traitor," he grumbled, ruffling his fur once more before shifting the weight to his knees and standing up.
You blinked at his stretched-out hand in front of you. You raised a brow.
"Come on. These bags aren't going to check themselves in," Oscar stated with a brief grin. "And we still need to drop Basil off to Lando's."
You pursed your lips, taking a glance at Basil, placing him on the floor before you slowly extended your hand, breath caught as the glide of Oscar's fingers instantly grabbing yours to pull you up. You swallowed at the little distance left between the both of you, eyes locked with his.
Oscar let out the breath he had unintentionally been holding as you took a step back from him. His hand stretched tightly, moving to rub the goosebumps on his skin.
"I can't believe you think Lando is responsible enough to take care of Basil," you retorted, clearing your throat. "I would've picked Alex."
Oscar chuckled softly, letting his hands fall to the side. "I've learned to trust him," he heaved, grabbing the handle of his suitcase and his keys from the hook nearby while you moved to grab Basil into your arms. "He's surprisingly a lot more insightful than he looks. Philosophical in some... modern way. A bit like Hattie, actually."
You pursed your lips as you watched Oscar lock his apartment up. "So my new paddock bestie?"
"What?" Oscar turned his head to you, mending his brows like he was disgruntled at the thought.
"Hattie's my bestie which would make Lando my paddock bestie if he's so similar," you shrugged, furrowing your brows. "As long as you don't tell Ollie. Or Isack. Or Paul,” you paused, thinking. You sighed. “Okay. Maybe not."
"What about me?" Oscar queried, standing in front of you as if he was offended his name wasn’t on your list.
You narrowed your eyes teasingly, turning on your foot towards the elevator down the corridor. "What about you?" You asked despite the grin etched onto your face. "Now come on. We’re gonna be late if we keep standing around."
Brown eyes blinked blankly at the back of your head; lips parted in disbelief. "I..." Oscar trailed off, small frown making its way onto his face. He swallowed as he realised you were getting further away. "H-Hey. Wait up!"
"And make sure you give him the biscuits specifically after his walk, otherwise he'll be all cranky," you reminded Lando as you watched Basil scamper around his new home for the next five days or so.
Lando gave you a blank look as you, Oscar, and him stood in his apartment. He had been listening to you and Oscar talk about Basil for ten minutes now. He had accepted the offer to take care of him solely but bloody hell, the both of you were making him regret it.
"Since when did you become Basil's mother?" He huffed, folding his arms.
"Since when did you become so annoying?" You retorted, raising a brow at him.
Lando tongued the inside of his cheek at your annoyingly undeterred face, fleeting his eyes over to Oscar and then you again. "So what are you two?"
Oscar felt the air close around his throat, coughing slightly. His brown eyes glared at him discreetly while you gave Lando a confused glance.
"Co-parents... parents? Mum and dad to Basil?" Lando queried with a small grin tugging at his mouth.
Oscar facepalmed his face behind you while you rolled your eyes. Though Lando could see the slight flush on your face from here. "Can you just promise not to feed him spring rolls?"
"That was a joke!" Lando cried out in his defence, hands wailing about. "Trust me, will you? This is my nephew now," he smiled, bending down to hug Basil while peering at the both of you.
You eyed Lando with an unimpressed scrutiny. "I don't think I would include you in your imaginary family tree," you retorted.
Lando grinned wider, sitting down on his floor now, knees to his chest. "Oh trust me," he started, looking between the both of you. "Uncle Lando definitely created this."
Oscar blinked slowly, mustering the heaviest glare he could without you seeing. He cleared his throat after a beat, cheeks warm and flushed. "We should probably get to the airport," he gritted out, wishing he could wipe the shit-eating grin off of Lando's face.
You hummed idly, still psyched out by Lando's weirdness. He was truly strange off track. Philosophical in some modern way? Was that what Oscar said?
please i feel feel goofy as hell for rereading revolving door knowing it had me crashing tf out last summer
but i wanted to ask, and i will glaze your writing as much as possible because deserved but what made you dive into the world of writing and fanfics and all, you write in such a way that makes me feel and imagine like im physically there?.?!.!:)
first of allll, please don't feel goofy for re-reading! I LOVE RE-READING SO MUCHHHH <333 and you're telling me it's almost been a year since rd??? wth 🤧
second of all, well, i've always liked writing growing up. did it all the time as a kid. probably bc i read and consumed a lot of media. it's been a little over ten years since i first published work. started in tv show fanfics on wattpad (tvd, teen wolf, etc). did pretty good over there. then i took a slight break when i got caught up studying (still reading tho). then moved to x reader stuff (kpop and f1 and football) on tumblr.
but you glaze me too much 😭 i make a lot of mistakes and i lack plot and depth compared to others. but i figured, if i want some writing, some other's might want some too! ♡︎
revolving door made a lot of writers which was unexpected but entirely welcome!!! writing is very cathartic for me. i improve when i can but i just find it fun lol
hellooo, i LOVED the revolving door series so much i read it in one sitting and ruined my sleep but it was SO worth it!! nothing has had me hooked like this in a LONG time omg you’re so unbelievably talented im really excited to keep reading your work and hoping you do another max series 🥹💕💗
if it’s not too much could you please write about her saying i love you to him for the first time and what his reaction was 😭 it’s literally the only thing missing in the series and i need it so much. whether you choose to do it or not im still so thankful for you and your writing!! keep it up and best of luck with it 🫶🏻✨
thank you so much!!! i'm still really proud of it (even though it needs to be edited badly). sorry for ruining your sleep though 😭
as for her saying i love you, if i can direct to to the rd drabbles, you'll find this is where she says it for the first time. kinda unconventional but i still love it!
i really want to make another max series as hoc (my oscar series) is coming to an end (slowly slowly lol). i just have no ideas rn 😤 (except for neighbour!max and retired!max via reqs) so if you have anymore, lmk!!!!
i'm planning an uni au with oscar and lando x reader but i'm still unsure about it. i want do a max one before i do another oscar one but ahhhh
