UH OH wrote some pialbon / landoscar drama yet again
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
snippets ❤️ (english is not my first language, sorry for broken english and mistakes in """slang"""")
Lando knew that Oscar always answered. That’s just how he was—always kind. Always reliable. He’d answer him at three in the morning, even when he himself couldn’t sleep next to Magui.
Lando didn’t know who he was. But he knew who Oscar Piastri was: Oscar Piastri was kind to everyone.
Sometimes he didn’t understand why the label of “mental health ambassador” had been slapped on him like a garish discount sticker, since he was real bad at emotions sometimes. He knew it.
Couldn’t help. Couldn’t improve it even though he wanted to. Fucking desperately
Lando was terrified of precisely these kinds of feelings, into which he had now sunk.
He loathed mourning and hated loving—he dealt with heartbreak by staring intently into the sea of people until the eyes met his own.
It didn’t matter if it was a man, a woman, or another, he’d pull the new person toward him and strip them emotionally and later physically, was a can opener for everyone but himself—it was, after all, much easier than this kind of freaking agony.
Lando felt a searing pain. He never cried—Max was surprised and worried—crying hurt; every damn tear trickled from him like a drop of poison.
Fucking Albon, he thought to himself; they were childhood friends. You know how to hurt me, Alex.
You know, and I know what you’re doing to my lover right now. Fucking Albon, fuck, Lando sighed aloud through clenched lips, and struck the headboard with a hand half-clenched into a fist so hard it hurt. He’d known it from the start—he’d sensed that something would happen between them. Lando was good at spotting situations like this, good at reading people.
Oscar and Alex were very similar; they were quick-witted and proud, fast and sharp. Both of them were damn lovely, both with eyes so dark you couldn’t make out the pupils; they were both such damn philosophers that you never knew what either of them was going to say next. And of course, Alex had charmed him with his self-confidence, and Oscar hadn’t realized a thing.
Alex recalled seeing Lando reject Oscar on Osc's birthday. It had been outrageous, even by Lando's standards for relationships, Alex had thought, and had given Oscar a bear hug once the rich boy had disappeared from view.
Their relationship hadn't been hard to guess. Oscar had been expressionless for the rest of the evening, barely managing to get up to greet the people who came to congratulate him. He’d blamed his sudden fatigue on being drunk, even though the glasses in front of him were full.
The man was too proper. Far too innocent for Monaco’s social circles and Lando’s fuckboy ways, Alex had thought, no matter what Carlos said about him. His heart was on Oscar’s side.
So he’d started playing padel with Oscar every week. Figured it would be nice if the guy had some company other than that grumpy old Mark Webber, whom Alex viewed with even more skepticism than Lando. At least Lando wasn’t deliberately devious—maybe just a polyamorous person—but Oscar, in Alex’s opinion, was endearingly clueless, and he wanted him to have a friend by his side who wouldn’t lead him around by the nose.
Alex, of course, was now dreadfully wondering if he, too, had been manipulative toward Oscar.
His feelings had slowly grown into lust—he had begun to flirt deliberately, always feeling a sense of triumph when Oscar blushed and acted shy; my Lord, what a pretty man he was. What thighs, what quiet charisma, and what surprising confidence in bed, a stripping passion before which he himself had been completely swept away.
He knew this about himself; he wasn't sure if he could ever fall in love with a man, but maybe he could develop a crush like this—yes. Lily guessed that too, smiled knowingly, and supported him. Goddamn, what a lucky relationship he was in.
“Don’t be sad,” Alex said quietly, but was careful not to touch Oscar; he knew well when a person needed tenderness, and when they didn’t.
Alex doesn’t know Lando, Oscar thought as he hurried home. Alex doesn’t know what kind of relationship they have. Alex doesn’t know how Lando sees him. Alex doesn’t realise that trust can be betrayed, even if you’re not in a relationship. Alex doesn’t know that Oscar had promised and sworn that he would always talk to Lando about everything, and that now he had broken that promise with his old friend. Alexander Albon doesn’t know anything, but he’s a d a m n good kisser, and Oscar would sometimes seek joint custody of Pear, he thought, managing to smile. Alexander doesn’t know that no one else matters but him and Lando, he thought, and opened the door to his empty home.
curios why didnt you answer me last night
If possible, I’d talk to you about it face to face
I’m checking flights, Lan
I think your answer says it all
Oscar slid down the wall onto the hallway floor, still wearing his outdoor shoes and coat.
Fuck you, Oscar Piastri, he read over and over again on the phone screen.
He sighed so hard it made a whoosh.
What the fuck else did he have to put up with?
Through his tears, he looked around his apartment, which wasn’t a home.
Grief turned the lifeless Monegasque apartment into a mosaic-like stained-glass window
Fuck you, Lando told him. It was over, he thought, letting his phone slip from his hand and covering his face with his hands.
Fuck you, he repeated in his mind.
Fuck you for fucking up my world championship.
Fuck you for leaving me like this.
Fuck you for leaving me alone, even though I’d do anything for you.
He picked up his phone resolutely, wiped away the heaviest tears, and typed in a fit of rage.
Fuck you Lando Norris for never loving me
you only love your own dick
fuck you for having multiple lovers while I’m not allowed to have anyone
fuck you for never putting me first
