Jun 27
Are your requests open please? Love the work so far ❤️
hi second anon!! they are indeed but nobody is sending me any right now :( i'm gonna tag this with things i write so hopefully people start requesting!! <3
seen from Croatia
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seen from Kazakhstan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Germany
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seen from United States
seen from United States
Are your requests open please? Love the work so far ❤️
hi second anon!! they are indeed but nobody is sending me any right now :( i'm gonna tag this with things i write so hopefully people start requesting!! <3
gonna spend the evening getting some pre-written imagines posted but just wanted to let you all know that my inbox is open for any reqs! 💌💋
Ice ice baby!
Summary-: lando crashes and his stone cold gf isn't so unfazed anymore.
Warnings-: car crash, hospital, near death.
In five years together, nobody had ever seen Y/N cry.
Not once.
Not Lando.
Not his parents.
Not their friends.
Nobody.
When Lando proposed, she'd smiled, kissed him, and said yes before stealing the ring box and making fun of how nervous he'd looked.
No tears.
On their wedding day, while half the guests were emotional wrecks and Lando himself had nearly cried watching her walk down the aisle, she'd simply squeezed his hand and grinned at him.
No tears.
When she'd fallen down a staircase and broken her wrist badly enough to need surgery, she'd spent the ambulance ride comforting everyone else.
No tears.
During arguments, she never cried.
During sad movies, she never cried.
During funerals, she stood quietly and composed while everyone around her fell apart.
People didn't think she was heartless.
Just...
Different.
Reserved.
Impossible to read.
Lando used to joke that she was secretly a robot.
She'd always roll her eyes.
"Someone has to be the rational one in this relationship."
He'd laugh.
And that would be that.
Five years.
Not a single tear.
Until the crash.
The race had started normally.
Then everything went wrong.
A mistake.
A collision.
A horrifying impact.
The kind that made an entire paddock fall silent.
The kind that made mechanics stop working.
The kind that made families stop breathing.
Lando's car hit the barrier hard.
Far too hard.
Y/N had watched it happen from the McLaren garage.
The moment she saw the impact, her stomach dropped.
The world seemed to disappear.
Engine noise.
Commentary.
People talking.
Gone.
All she could see was the wrecked car.
And Lando wasn't getting out.
The ambulance arrived quickly.
Medical crews moved fast.
Everyone kept saying reassuring things.
"He's conscious."
"They're checking him."
"They're taking precautions."
But nobody knew anything yet.
And that was worse.
Hours later, she found herself sitting in a hospital waiting room.
Lando's parents were there.
His father paced.
His mother sat quietly twisting a tissue in her hands.
Max Fretwell sat nearby, staring at the floor.
Everyone was worried.
Everyone was scared.
But Y/N looked exactly the same as always.
Straight posture.
Blank expression.
Calm.
Controlled.
Cold.
Max glanced at her.
God, she looked completely unaffected.
If he didn't know better, he'd think she was waiting for a delayed flight.
Then the doctor finally appeared.
Everyone stood instantly.
"How is he?"
"Is he okay?"
The doctor smiled gently.
"He's stable."
The entire room exhaled.
"He has a concussion, several fractures, and he'll need time to recover, but he's going to be alright."
Relief crashed through everyone.
Lando's mother immediately started crying.
His father wrapped an arm around her.
Max practically collapsed into a chair.
And Y/N simply nodded.
"Can we see him?"
The doctor agreed.
One at a time.
When it was finally her turn, she walked into the room alone.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And there he was.
Lando.
Covered in bruises.
Bandages.
Machines.
Asleep.
Unmoving.
For a moment she just stood there.
Looking.
Taking him in.
This wasn't right.
Lando was supposed to be loud.
Annoying.
Talking constantly.
Making terrible jokes.
Stealing her food.
Getting distracted halfway through conversations.
Not this.
Never this.
Slowly she approached the bed.
Reached for his hand.
And the second her fingers touched his—
She broke.
A sob ripped from her chest.
Violent.
Unexpected.
The kind that came from somewhere deep.
Years of control shattered instantly.
Tears poured down her face.
Her shoulders shook.
She gripped his hand desperately.
"Lando..."
Her voice cracked.
"Oh my God."
Another sob escaped.
Then another.
And another.
The dam had completely collapsed.
Outside the room, Max had been walking toward the door to check on her.
He stopped dead.
Because he could hear crying.
Not just crying.
Breaking.
He froze.
Lando's parents looked up too.
Everyone recognized the voice.
And nobody could quite believe it.
Y/N.
When Max carefully pushed open the door, his heart nearly stopped.
She was curled over Lando's hand.
Crying so hard she could barely breathe.
Tears soaked her face.
Her entire body trembled.
"I thought you were dead."
The words came out broken.
Raw.
"I thought you were dead."
Max had never seen her like this.
Not once.
Not ever.
Lando's mother quietly covered her mouth.
His father looked stunned.
Because this wasn't the composed woman they all knew.
This was someone completely shattered.
"You idiot," Y/N whispered through tears.
"You absolute idiot."
She pressed her forehead against his hand.
And cried harder.
Years.
Five years.
Nobody had ever seen a single tear.
Now she couldn't stop.
"I need you."
The room went completely silent.
She didn't even realize she'd said it.
But everyone heard.
Every single person.
"I need you."
Another sob.
"You're supposed to come home."
Max looked away immediately.
Lando's mother's eyes filled again.
Because suddenly it all made sense.
Y/N wasn't unemotional.
She wasn't cold.
She wasn't detached.
She simply carried everything herself.
Always.
Quietly.
Without showing it.
And the one person who made the weight lighter—
The one person she leaned on—
The one person who made her feel safe—
Had almost been taken away.
"Lando..."
Her voice barely existed now.
"Oh my god, your ok"
She finally maged to take a deep breathe and force air inside her lungs.
When she finally noticed she had a audience she quickly qiped her eyes..
No one said anything because this-
it wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't romantic.
It was honest.
Terrifyingly honest.
For years she'd been the strong one.
The steady one.
The unshakable one.
And now everyone could finally see the truth.
The strongest people still have someone they're holding onto.
And for Y/N...
That person had always been Lando.
Several hours later, Lando finally woke up.
Groggy.
Confused.
In pain.
The first thing he noticed was Y/N asleep beside his bed.
Her hand wrapped tightly around his.
Her face puffy.
Eyes swollen.
Clearly she'd been crying.
Lando blinked.
Twice.
Then looked at Max.
"Wait."
His voice was rough.
"Has she been crying?"
Max laughed.
Actually laughed.
A tired, disbelieving laugh.
"You have absolutely no idea."
Lando looked back at his wife.
Then down at their intertwined hands.
And for the first time in five years, he finally understood something.
She hadn't cried at the proposal.
Or the wedding.
Or every awful thing life had thrown at her.
Not because she didn't feel deeply.
But because she'd spent years teaching herself how not to show it.
Until the day she thought she might lose him.
And suddenly there was no way to hold it back anymore.
Lando squeezed her hand gently.
Her eyes opened immediately.
The moment she realized he was awake, fresh tears appeared.
Lando smiled weakly.
"Seriously?"
She laughed through the tears.
"Shut up."
His smile widened.
"You're crying."
"Don't."
"I've waited five years for this."
She immediately smacked his arm.
Carefully.
Because he was injured.
And despite everything, despite the tears and the fear and the heartbreak—
Lando knew one thing for certain.
He had never felt more loved than he did in that moment.
__×__
Miscellaneous masterlist
Mainmasterlist
IN BETWEEN US.
Summary-: charles dates a single mom, whose daughter completely despises him. And he couldnt understand why. Hes trying!! He really is!! Until one night after a nightmare he understands why shes been so scared of letting him in.
Warnings-: death, descriptions of car crash, children involved in said car crash, guilt, nightmares, complex feelings.
Charles had never minded children.
He'd always liked them, actually.
His nieces and nephews adored him. Fans often brought their children to races and he always made time for them. Kids were easy.
Kids were honest.
Kids were funny.
Kids were—
Well.
Usually not actively trying to ruin his day.
Grace, however, seemed determined to be the exception.
The first time Charles met her, she was five years old and hiding behind her mother's leg.
Y/N had spent weeks preparing her.
Talking about him.
Showing her pictures.
Explaining that Mommy had a friend she'd like Grace to meet.
Charles had been nervous.
More nervous than he wanted to admit.
Meeting a girlfriend's child felt significantly scarier than standing on a Formula One grid.
Because this mattered.
Because if Grace hated him...
Nothing else would matter.
At first everything seemed fine.
Grace peeked around Y/N's leg.
Charles crouched down.
"Hi, Grace."
No answer.
Just enormous eyes staring at him.
He smiled.
"I've heard a lot about you."
Silence.
Y/N sighed.
"Grace."
The little girl continued staring.
Then finally she asked:
"Are you famous?"
Charles laughed.
"A little."
"Why?"
The bluntness nearly made him choke.
Y/N looked mortified.
Charles found it hilarious.
And for a brief moment he thought everything would be okay.
Then Grace asked:
"Are you leaving soon?"
The smile slipped from his face.
Y/N immediately gasped.
"Grace!"
"What?"
The little girl looked genuinely confused.
Y/N rubbed her forehead.
"We don't ask people that."
"I just wanna know."
Charles forced a smile.
"It's okay."
It wasn't.
Not really.
But she was five.
So he ignored it.
Unfortunately, things only got worse.
---
The second visit ended with Grace staring at him from across the dinner table.
Charles had spent the evening trying.
Asking about school.
Asking about cartoons.
Asking about her stuffed rabbit.
Nothing worked.
She answered every question with one-word responses.
Then suddenly she said:
"I don't want you here."
The room froze.
Charles blinked.
Y/N looked horrified.
"Grace."
The little girl crossed her arms.
"I don't."
Charles managed a small smile.
"Why not?"
"Because."
Excellent.
Very helpful.
Y/N immediately sent Grace to her room.
The child stomped away.
Charles could hear her crying from down the hallway.
And suddenly he felt guilty.
Like he'd caused it somehow.
Y/N returned a few minutes later looking exhausted.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not."
Charles reached for her hand.
"She's five."
"Still."
"She's adjusting."
Y/N looked unconvinced.
Charles wasn't entirely convinced either.
But he tried.
---
For months, Grace remained stubbornly opposed to his existence.
She tolerated him on good days.
On bad days?
Not so much.
"Why are you here?"
"I'm having dinner with your mom."
"Oh."
A pause.
"When are you leaving?"
Another day:
"We're going to the park."
"That's nice."
"You don't have to come."
And his personal favorite:
"Mommy and I had more fun before you got here."
Each comment landed like a tiny paper cut.
Not enough to seriously hurt.
Enough to sting.
Y/N always corrected her.
Always.
But it never seemed to make a difference.
Grace would apologize.
Then do it again tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next.
---
Charles never told Y/N how much it bothered him.
Because what was the point?
Grace was a child.
A grieving child.
A traumatized child.
He understood that.
He really did.
But understanding something didn't stop it from hurting.
One evening he was driving home after dinner.
Grace had spent the entire meal pretending he didn't exist.
Not answering questions.
Not looking at him.
Not acknowledging him.
And suddenly Charles gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Frustration bubbling up.
*I'm trying.*
The thought surprised him.
*I'm really trying.*
He attended dance recitals.
School events.
Birthday parties.
He sat through animated movies.
Played tea parties.
Colored pictures.
Helped assemble ridiculously complicated toy castles.
And somehow he was still the enemy.
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Immediately guilt followed.
Because she was a child.
Because she'd lost her father.
Because none of this was actually about him.
But feelings weren't always rational.
And some nights Charles went home feeling rejected anyway.
---
Months turned into nearly a year.
Slowly, things changed.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just tiny moments.
Tiny cracks in Grace's walls.
One afternoon she scraped her knee at the playground.
Without thinking, she reached for Charles.
Only realizing halfway through.
The look of panic on her face would've been funny if it hadn't been heartbreaking.
Charles simply cleaned the scrape.
Put on a bandage.
And never mentioned it again.
Another day she fell asleep in the car.
Y/N asked Charles to carry her upstairs.
Grace woke briefly.
Saw him holding her.
Then rested her head on his shoulder and went back to sleep.
The next morning she acted like it had never happened.
Charles let her.
There were dozens of moments like that.
Tiny things.
Things most people wouldn't notice.
But Charles did.
Because he was paying attention.
Because beneath all the anger and resistance, Grace wasn't mean.
Not really.
She was scared.
Though Charles didn't fully understand why.
Not yet.
---
The nightmare happened on a rainy Thursday.
One of those quiet evenings where the world felt sleepy.
Charles and Y/N were already in bed.
The apartment dark.
The storm tapping softly against the windows.
Y/N was curled against his chest.
Charles absentmindedly played with her hair.
Half asleep.
Comfortable.
Happy.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Tiny.
Hesitant.
Y/N immediately sat up.
"Come in, sweetheart."
The door opened slowly.
Grace stood there clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Charles immediately noticed something was wrong.
Her eyes were red.
Her shoulders shaking.
"Hey, baby."
Y/N held out her arms.
Grace didn't move immediately.
Instead she whispered:
"Sorry."
Y/N frowned.
"For what?"
"Interrupting."
The answer shattered Charles a little.
A six-year-old shouldn't have to apologize for needing comfort.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Y/N's voice softened instantly.
"You're not interrupting anything."
Grace looked toward Charles.
And to his surprise she whispered:
"Sorry, Charles."
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
"No, mon amour."
His voice came out gentle.
"It's okay."
Grace nodded.
Then climbed onto the bed.
Settling directly between them.
Y/N immediately wrapped an arm around her.
Pulling her close.
Holding her.
Only then did Charles notice the tears.
Grace's cheeks were soaked.
And suddenly she started crying again.
Small.
Broken.
Heartbreaking.
"What happened?" Y/N asked softly.
Grace buried her face against her mother's shoulder.
"I had a bad dream."
"It's okay."
"I saw Dad."
Everything stopped.
Charles felt Y/N freeze.
Just for a second.
Then she recovered immediately.
Pulling Grace even closer.
"What happened in the dream?"
Grace shook her head.
More tears falling.
"I don't wanna say."
"Okay."
A sniffle.
"I'm sorry."
Y/N immediately corrected her.
"No. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Another sob.
"I'm sorry."
"No, baby."
"I'm sorry."
Y/N kissed her forehead.
"This wasn't your fault."
Charles frowned.
Grace cried harder.
"I'm sorry."
"This wasn't your fault."
"I'm sorry."
"Dont say that grace."
Y/N's voice remained steady.
Firm.
Certain.
"This wasn't your fault."
Again.
And again.
And again.
The same words repeated over and over.
Like a prayer.
Like a promise.
For fifteen straight minutes.
Charles listened quietly.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
Watching a conversation they'd clearly had many times before.
Eventually Grace's crying slowed.
Then softened.
Then stopped.
Her breathing became even.
She fell asleep still tucked against her mother.
One hand gripping the rabbit.
The other gripping Y/N's shirt.
Like she was afraid to let go.
The room fell silent.
---
Charles waited.
Then quietly asked:
"Why does she keep saying she's sorry?"
Y/N closed her eyes.
For a moment Charles thought she might not answer.
Then she sighed.
"Because she thinks it was her fault."
His stomach dropped.
"What?"
Y/N stared at the ceiling.
Rain tapping softly outside.
"The accident."
Charles felt cold.
Y/N swallowed.
"The day it happened she wanted ice cream."
A pause.
"She threw a huge tantrum."
Charles listened carefully.
"We weren't planning to go anywhere."
Her voice cracked.
"But she wanted ice cream. So i told her dad to take her, just to get her to stop crying."
Silence.
"So she and her dad got in the car."
Charles suddenly understood where this was going.
And hated it.
Y/N looked down at her sleeping daughter.
"She remembers everything."
His heart broke.
"Everything?"
"No, her brain erased the after part, the people crowding the car pulling her out. Me showing up half an hour later.. the funeral that all is blank. But She remembers crying."
A pause.
"She remembers him driving."
Another.
"She remembers the crash."
Charles closed his eyes.
Y/N continued quietly.
"Her dad died instantly."
The words barely came out.
"Grace was in her car seat."
Charles looked at the sleeping child.
Tiny.
Curled into her mother.
Safe.
Now.
But not then.
"She couldn't get out."
Y/N wiped away a tear.
"She was trapped."
Charles couldn't breathe.
"She saw everything."
The room felt unbearably heavy.
"She was like barely three, and i- i thought she would forget- like how she forgot the rest. but she remebers it so vividly"
Y/N laughed bitterly.
"Her brain decided it was her fault."
Charles looked at Grace.
At the little girl who spent months pushing him away.
At the little girl who constantly expected people to leave.
At the little girl who apologized for existing.
And suddenly every piece clicked together.
Every single one.
She wasn't afraid of him.
She wasn't angry at him.
She was terrified.
Terrified of loving someone.
Terrified of losing someone.
Terrified that if she cared enough, something bad would happen again.
Charles felt ashamed.
Ashamed of every frustrated thought he'd ever had.
Every moment he'd secretly resented her.
Because she wasn't being difficult.
She was surviving.
---
"She's strong."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Y/N laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny.
Because she needed to.
"You think so?"
Charles looked at Grace.
Really looked at her.
"Yes."
Y/N searched his face.
"How?"
Charles smiled sadly.
"Look at her."
A pause.
"She wakes up every day."
Another.
"She goes to school."
"She laughs."
"She has friends."
"She still believes in magic."
A small smile appeared on Y/N's face.
Charles continued.
"She still loves people."
His throat tightened.
"After everything."
Y/N's eyes filled with tears.
Charles reached for her hand.
"That's strength."
Silence.
Then Y/N whispered:
"I worry."
"I know."
"What if she never gets over it?"
Charles squeezed her fingers.
"What if she always blames herself?"
He looked down at Grace.
Sleeping peacefully now.
Protected between them.
Then back at Y/N.
"Then you'll keep reminding her."
A tear slipped down Y/N's cheek.
Charles brushed it away.
"You'll remind her every day."
Another squeeze.
"And eventually she'll believe you."
Y/N smiled shakily.
"You sound very confident."
"I'm a racing driver."
She laughed.
"That doesn't answer my question."
Charles grinned softly.
"No."
Then his expression softened.
"But I know one thing."
"What?"
He looked directly at her.
"She has the best mother I've ever met."
Y/N immediately started crying.
Real tears.
The exhausted kind.
The emotional kind.
The kind that came after years of carrying too much.
Charles shifted carefully.
Reaching around Grace.
Taking Y/N's hand.
Holding it tightly.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Just listened to the rain.
Listened to Grace breathing.
Felt each other's presence.
Then Y/N whispered:
"I love you."
Charles' chest ached.
Because he knew what those words cost her.
How much trust they represented.
How much faith.
How much hope.
He squeezed her hand tighter.
"I love you too."
And he meant it.
Not just Y/N.
Not just the woman he'd fallen hopelessly in love with.
But the little girl sleeping between them too.
The little girl who had spent a year trying to push him away.
The little girl who wasn't mean.
Wasn't difficult.
Wasn't broken.
Just scared.
And for the first time since meeting her, Charles understood.
Some walls weren't built to keep people out.
They were built to keep pain in.
And once you understood that, you stopped trying to tear them down.
You simply sat beside them.
Patiently.
Lovingly.
Until the person behind them felt safe enough to open the gate themselves.
As rain continued falling outside, Charles held Y/N's hand.
Y/N held Grace.
And Grace, even asleep, held onto both of them.
For the first time, they felt a little bit like a family.
__×__
Main masterlist
Miscellaneous masterlist
𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆.
Favorite Baker of all time.
---OP81
Oscar Piastri x Baker!Reader
A/N: I was about to write the second part for Lando's serie I started but suddenly, this idea started to itch my brain and I knew I had to do this.
Warnings: Few uses of Y/N, Oscar being cold and lowkey rude to reader at the start, slowburn type of stuff, cheesy? (Yes), good ending, reader is fem. I don't know what else but tell me if there's smth.
Description: At the start of a race weekend, Oscar decides to have his alone time at a bakery. The worker there seems a bit too annoying until he realizes he was too rude to her. As an apology, he starts visiting everyday for that week and every time he's near. It turns into a habit until he brings Lando to taste some of reader's baked cookies and goods and suddenly Oscar is almost begging reader to make some baked goods for the whole paddock.
Word count: 4.2k
You felt overwhelmed. This morning was buzzing with customers and your energy keeping you up was slowly draining. Your sweet smile decided to become a fake one and your back ached every time you reached to pick something up. Dealed with two karens, a crying kid whose family does not care and a man who almost stole some baked goods without paying.
That's what you went through today.
You weren't joking when you said you were going to smile through every frustrating shit. You did smile. But your nerves changed places with anger, sometimes hands itched to punch or slap someone right on the face. It was a great thing that you didn't commit a murder yet. Preparing coffee, cookies, muffins, bread and warming some of them to serve the customers with a sweet 'thanks'.
Meanwhile Oscar was having a shitty day. Had been recognized by some paparazzi crowd twice, been followed to a building, had to sign five caps and take ten photos, maybe more. Some brain rotted kid slammed their head right on his cars door. He was trying so hard to not leash some crazy drama that could ruin his reputation and career.
He was trying to survive.
A tired body and tired mind on a race week.
All he saw was a calm looking cafe and that's when he decided he'd go in that place and eat something that could get his strength back to him. Oscar's brown eyes traced the small shop. Few customers who minded their business, great.
No paparazzi, No fans.
Perfect.
With quick steps, he got in the shop. Stood in front of the counter as he put his eyes on some chocolate chip cookies you've made this morning. You were too busy cleaning some lipstick mark on a glass that a karen left. Oh, what wouldn't you give to push everything away and slap her face.
A sound of someone clearing their throat. Shit.
"Oh, hey! Welcome to-" You started well before you were cut off by a tall guy with brown hair and oddly cold brown eyes who stood in front of the counter. He raised his hand. As if saying I'm too tired to listen to this shit but the behavior only made you more mad than you were supposed to be. Without letting him talk. You continued, "Welcome to We don't serve men with ego bigger than their height bakery." you said sharply.
The words made Oscar raise an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean, 'welcome to This place smells like burnt muffins bakery'?" He answered with the same sharp tone. His calm voice was annoying to argue with.
Burnt muffins…?
The muffins in the oven!
Your eyes widened with the realization. You wore your gloves, opening the oven carefully as you took the burnt muffins out of the oven. Some of them were dramatically black and crumbled meanwhile others looked too devastated to eat. With muffins having no stock. You were so fucked.
"Ha, ha. Nice way to address stuff, sir." You commented with your eyes narrowed before you gave an annoyed smile that screamed fake. You hated this guy already and wanted him to leave the bakery. You watched the man with angry eyes before he started to stare at you too.
Not realizing you still had the gloves on your hands, you looked a little bit ridiculous.
Oscar just blinked once before speaking again, "I will have two muffins and a cookie. I will eat them here." He gave his order that made your left eye twitch with disbelief. This guy was rude and nothing else. You clenched your fists. You still didn't have the money to go on some stupid vacation trip you planned.
"Muffins are not avaible to buy at the moment if you're not blind." You scoffed. Referring to his burnt muffin comment with bitter words and a death glare. Oscar's eyes narrowed with the tone of your voice and your defensive words that sounded a lot colder.
"How much do you want me to pay you do muffins from scratch?"
"Huh?"
"Do you want me to repeat?"
"It will cost me my time and I will have to go home late, are you serious, dude?" You laughed. Not from joy but from exhaustion.
"It will cost me my money," Oscar said. He shrugged calmly. The move made you frown, a little headache hitting your head with the sudden frown. The guy looked like he didn't have a lot of money but had money judging on how he dresses.
A casual T-shirt with shorts and classic black sports shoes.
You stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. "Sure. It will cost $62. You can pay after you get your muffins and cookie." The only calm sentence that left your mouth was this. Maybe because it was like a memorized speech with every customer that came and left.
"Fine for me. Before taking a seat, I should know the name of the woman who smiles a lot but makes everyone feel it's fake." Oscar said bluntly. It made you angrier. It made you feel like adding too much salt to the dough and poison him with lots of salt to see his stupid brown eyes water. The idea was so close and sadly so far away.
"It's Y/N. It wouldn't hurt to know the name of the man who makes my nerves want to explode."
"Oscar."
"Great." You scoffed before turning around to start baking the new muffins. Maybe it was good since you were always lazy to make yourself breakfast in the mornings. You could take the extra muffins home today and warm them to eat in the morning tomorrow. Convinced that you're some sort of genius creature, you gripped the flour.
Hearing the soft breathing behind you, your eyebrows raised while you continued the recipe you hid like a gem. "Do you always act too harsh against the flour package?" The question flew to your way. Making you frown. You weren't harsh to the flour package. Your eyes looked around the counter you worked. Flour trails. Ah, damn it.
"If you know better, you should do your own muffins. At home." You punctuated the last sentence. Sassiness wrapped around every word. Without looking at Oscar, you could feel him roll his eyes at you from your back. You just continued the recipe. "You don't have to stand behind me the whole time," you said. The calmness in your voice was oddly surprising.
You heard him go silent for a moment before he actually answered you with a proper tone. "You can't tell me what to do when I'm the one paying."
"Can you stop being a complete asshole and a pain in the ass?"
"That was rude." Oscar scolded lightly. The sentence made your stomach do a 360 to stop yourself from punching him. "I expected you to be kinder," he said.
You scoffed. A sarcastic chuckle escaping you lips. Clearly focusing on the muffins. "That was until you decided to be an asshole." You answered. Your eyes narrowed. His Australian accent tickled your brain in a very good way. The accent made his words sound calm and collected. Attractive in a way that could make you kick you leg against the soft material of your bed if you were home and if he acted a little bit more gentler.
"I was not the one who started acting rude."
"Oh, hell no. You were the one who dismissed my welcome speech."
Oscar sighed, "I just had a terrible headache." he said.
"And I was pissed the whole time to handle your shitty moves." You spoke a little too fast. With the frustration of your welcome to the bakery speech being cut to half, you didn't hold yourself from being rude. It did piss you off when people cut you off mid-sentence and that was what Oscar did.
He was just a regular guy and even if he was famous, which you gave no chance to be real, he shouldn't have the right to act rude.
"Understandable."
Your eyes widened with the first word that wasn't rude or sarcastic came out of Oscar's mouth. Your hands stopped doing what they were doing before continuing smoothly. "Great to know you agree," you said.
In this moment, you decided to remain silent and not continue any problematic behavior.
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The sun began to dip and hide itself from everyone. You just put the muffins in the oven, waiting them to be cooked enough while Oscar sat outside. The only customer left in the shop. A laptop in front of him, eyes glued to the screen with pure focus. You watched his slender fingers type, you watched them freeze when he thought about what he should do next. His eyes focused, his posture was still straight when you always did the shrimp pose in front of some computer or laptop.
To pass the time. You chose a cookie and put it on the microwave to warm it. A soft little yawn left your lips, you stretched. Exhausted. The oven gave a ding sound. You took out the muffins. Picked two and got the cookie from the microwave. Put them in a paper bag. Leaving the inside of the shop, your eyes watched Oscar before you walked towards him.
"Thanks for waiting, here's your order." You put the bag on the table. The sentence felt too practiced when you said it.
"Thanks."
"Please be gentler against waiters, waitresses or bakery owners. We don't have to put up with your shit." You crossed your arms, giving your weight against your right leg. Oscar's lips curled, his eyes narrowed and he… smiled. The sight made your heart go thump thump.
He nodded, "Yeah, I'Il be kinder." he said. Closing and putting his laptop in his bag before getting up and taking the paper bag. He took out a few cash money without looking before extending them to you. "Here. For closing your shop late to serve me, for two muffins and a cookie." Before you could reject and just take what you told, he stuffed the money in your hands before walking out of the shop rapidly. You could do nothing but stare behind his back.
"Hey-" You tried stopping him but you couldn't.
Damn it.
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You realized,
This wasn't a one time thing when Oscar started visiting everyday. Same order. Two muffins and a cookie while he sat and did his work on his laptop. He had his usual like a loyal customer. He teased you about your first impression on him and the argument between you two. You kept rolling your eyes but a soft smile plastered on your lips. You admitted that you liked his Australian accent. He was flattered and even smirked to himself for straight 30 minutes.
But, there was a thing…
You were convinced that he wasn't a regular guy since some of the customers looked at him for too long. A kid got a signature from him. Some took photos with him. Every action made you squint your eyes with quite suspicion. You thought about questioning or asking for his full name but he didn't brag about anything. The question continued messing your thoughts before you got the courage to ask.
It was another Monday morning. Being used to Oscar coming around 8.00AM, the first customer of the day, you started waiting after opening the shop.
8.30, no signs of Oscar.
9.46, still no Oscar.
12.00, your hopes started fading.
Maybe he was one of those customers who came for a week then disappeared mysteriously. But you couldn't accept the fact that he was like that. The frustration hit you hard. You should've got his number. You should've asked his full name, you should've asked for his last name. With the disappointment, you continued your shift until another day was over and this time, your almost favorite customer wasn't here.
You didn't bother thinking about him after that day. Seeing that he didn't come for a whole week, you lowered your expectations and continued your life with the tiniest bit of hope that he would come back one day. So you could act sassy and angry. No favorite customer, no early customers, no customer to tease like a friend.
Shame.
────────────────── .✦. ──────────────────
After a month,
It was 8.00AM, you opened to shop a little bit early. Focused on frosting some cake you made when the door opened. The bell rang and you smelled the familiar cologne. Your eyes focused on the cake. A fast murmur left your lips, "Welcome to-" you started but your words were cut off which made you narrow your eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. Welcome to we don't serve men with ego taller than their height bakery, anything else, miss?" The familiar accent made your eyes widen with surprise. You resisted the urge to turn around and see Oscar's face before the bell rang again. Someone else stepped in. When you didn't talk for a minute, the awkward quiet continued it's ruling before a British accent cut the silence off.
"Mate, she's angry."
"I'm not blind, Lando."
Lando?
The Lando you saw on an edit while scrolling. Lando Norris and… Oscar?
Oh.
Oscar Piastri.
You accidentally messed up the frosting, forgetting that your hand was lowkey covered in flour, you scratched your nose. Turning and staring at the two guys standing in front of you. The guy you think was Lando had curly brown hair with green eyes that stared into your soul with a puppy innocence while the cold browns of Oscar pierced your heart and soul at the same time. Great. You extended your hand out.
"Y/N/L/N. The owner of this baker your teammate visited everyday."
"Teammate, can't you say my name? It's Oscar if you forgot." You heard Oscar speaking. He was waiting for you to look at him but you didn't. You weren't forgiving him that easy. He left without saying anything and he expected you to look at him? HAHAHAAHHAHA. No. You scoffed, pressing you lips into a thing line before looking at Lando with threatening eyes that made him make a guuulp sound.
"Lando, can you tell your teammate that I expected him to atleast say something before leaving?"
"Well, mate-"
"Say the exact sentence." You ordered. Eyes squinted as you reached for your roller on the counter. You knew Lando was feeling like a victim but well, he could do a little favor for you.
"Y-Yes ma'am. So, Osc. She's saying that she expected you to let her know before you left the city for a raceweek-"
Your eyes finally found Oscar's. "Raceweek? Never told me you were an F1 driver."
"Thought you googled me atleast one time after we met."
"You looked to ordinary, what do you mean thought you'd google me?"
"Fair point." Lando shrugged before he got a glare from Oscar. He zipped his mouth and acted like he threw the key away. Your eyes locked with Oscar's. Maybe you had frustration in your gaze or anger or whatever. You just waited for him to say something to let you know. He was back.
You weren't going to act friendly until he decides to say sorry.
Consequences.
Oscar swallowed, you saw his Adams apple move with the swallow. Fucking attractive. "I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you sooner. I was busy and all that-"
"Yeah, sure." You scoffed. Moving to get two muffins and a cookie out while cutting a piece of carrot cake to put on a plate. "Cake is for Lando and here's your usual. Don't bother with me for a few hours until I decide to calm down." You crossed your arms. Sliding the plates to them. Oscar looked devastated while Lando stared at the cake with hungry eyes. Lando got the plate first and pushed Oscar's shoulders to make him move.
Oscar scoffed back, "A few hours?" he said. "Going to make me wait that much?"
"You made me wait a month."
Oscar just gave a small smile, reaching for the plate that had two muffins and a cookie in it. His eyes locked with your while his expression turned to it's usual coldness. You watched him sit down with Lando, taking out their laptops to work. Your heart still ached, how could he leave without telling when he came everyday and thought he had the right to tease and smile right at you with the soft warmth in his brown gaze.
Before the other customers came, you tidied the shop a little bit more, opening some classic music as a background sound and placing the baked goods before you heard Lando make a sound that was too close to a squeak. He stumbled in the shop. "This- This cake-" He started, making you raise an eyebrow. "Is fucking delicious!" His hands found your shoulders as Oscar entered too. His eyes on Lando's hands that was placed on your shoulders.
An unspoken jealousy.
Your hands moved to grip his wrists to push them off. Your head lifted up a little bit to see his face. "Thanks."
Oscar cleared his throat to get your attention on him completely. "Maybe you can make enough of them or anything for the whole paddock." He shrugged. You made an expression that signaled you weren't happy with his words. Well, bake many stuff for a whole group of drivers plus engineers and anyone else? Oh, hell no.
"You can make your own, Piastri. If you can handle a car that goes 200 kph, you can wait in front of an oven for 10 minutes." You snapped. The snap in question was just talking harsh while your heartbeats just continued faster. His focus on you made everything harder.
"Why would I make my own when you can make them with skilled hands?" He calmly answered. "You don't have to make them for everyone, you can only bake for me." A little shrug, a move of his broad shoulders before he smiled. Lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm joking," he said. Lando stared at you both before slipping away. You dried your hands, walking closer to Oscar. One eyebrow raised with some kind of sarcasm.
"Joking, huh? So you wouldn't want me to only bake for you?"
"Oh, trust me. I'd kill for that."
"Please don't."
"Mhm." Oscar hummed, his hand gently held yours. Bringing your hand that was smaller than his against his lips. A soft, feather light kiss pressed against your knuckles. Eye contact at it's finest. "I'm sorry I couldn't let you know when I had to go." Another kiss against your knuckles. Another heartbeat. Blood flooded your cheeks. Body freezing. "I couldn't let paparazzi overwhelm my favorite baker." He whispered. With a quick move, he pulled you close. His breath gently hit your neck. "I can let you know when I have to leave or you can come with me to the next race with some baked goods since I didn't shut up about you."
You swallowed, hard and slow. "If you're trying to manipulate me, Piastri," you started. "It's working so well." You murmured. Feeling his one arm wrap around you. His lips pressing lightly against your neck to plant a sweet kiss.
Oscar chuckled, "That was the plan." He smiled. For real this time. Eyes narrowed, lips curved into a smile that made cupid send arrows right at your heart. "So, sassy baker? What do you say?" He waited for you to speak. You couldn't help but see Lando stare at you both with traumatized eyes. "Do you only want to know when I leave, or do you want to be close to me when I do leave?"
"I go a business here-"
"I'Il take care of it."
"How?"
"New employees."
"Oh, never thought of that."
"Aren't I genius?"
"No, shut up."
You pressed your head against his chest with a flustered expression. You heard his heartbeat for a moment. Faster when you're close. "Fine, I'Il come with you. You will help me bake though."
"Whatever you want, chef."
Lando once again, barged in. "You guys are so ew. Cheesy as fuck." The words made you roll your eyes with the most embarrassed smile ever. "I never ever did-"
Oscar cut him off, you started to think he wasn't that calm and quiet at all that he looked on the cameras. "Yes you did. I would blackmail you but my favorite baker is right next to me," he said.
You nodded with wide eyes and pursed lips, "I am." you agreed.
"Oh, fuck you guys."
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It was like a dream,
After one week you forgave Oscar, he got you a paddock pass for the next race week. He made sure you'd be comfortable and warned you several times about letting him know immediately if a crazy paparazzi person tries to harass you or tries to bother you. You just nodded and thought how possessive and protective he looked while he spoke to you. A hand on your waist, head tilted down to see your face.
Ugh, why so attractive?
As promised, you baked some muffins and cookies for the whole McLaren team and a big carrot cake for Lando which he shared with other drivers and got them waddling behind you to ask if there was more. You just sent them off by simply saying Ask Piastri and they almost threatened him to bring you to every race. Everyone liked your baking.
But Oscar was the biggest fan of his favorite baker.
His one and only.
not very happy with this BUT IM TRYING TO SURVIVE A WRITERS BLOCK UGHHHH
When the angst is so good you're howling 😩😩😩👌
forgive me for everything but I have a Oscar fic on my mind that tickles so... Lando's spy stuff has to wait a lil bit more
𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑
𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬
***
"Don't look at him like that, he is an enemy."
---LN1
A/N: Okay, I've been getting the need to write stuff so heh… Grammar issues are still with me so, just ignore 'em.
EnemySpy!Lando x Spy!Reader
Warnings: Angsty(?), they are real enemies, 2 uses of Y/N, Lando can't handle the fact that reader sees him as a real enemy, grammar issues, dying, dying, dying, blood(not this episode). The story is going fast with the pace(SOOO SORRY FOR THAT). Uhh, yeah.
Word count: 2.1k
Gun was the weapon, mind was the killer and the task was to survive. It was what you did for years while working for an underworld agency that paid you millions for each task. You were intelligent, a sharp mind with skilled hands was your gift from day one. Blood was never a problem for you after many missions. Emotions were useless unless you used them to captivate a man before stabbing him in the face.
Yeah.
That was your job.
Get information, give information, maybe kick some peoples ass before receiving your peace for a few days.
Your apartment was cold even though the summer hot was cruel. Thanks to your A/C you managed to survive in the summer. Not being used to the hot weather was like being burnt in a big goblet of fire. Cold sheets, pillow is both cold on the both sides, heaven. Your legs spread in the bed with a comfortable position. Eyes locked on the ceiling.
After the last mission, you had three days until you had to work again.
Not getting out of your apartment was an option. And you always chose plan A. Go sleep, eat, maybe run outside a bit before showering and sleeping again. It was like a pleasing cycle in your 'rest' days.
Until…
A loud noise, a movie? Music? Someone banging the walls? Who dared to mess up your peace you built piece by piece? With a bitter chuckle, you managed to roll yourself off of the bed.
"Oh fuck, this backache is going to kill me-" You made an unpleasant hum before wearing an oversized hoodie nearby and pulling up some grey sweatpants. Flip-flops still on your foot, a sign of 'You messed up my day, man'. You left your apartment with a tired sigh before walking to the door of your new neighbor.
Knocking once, twice, thrice…
A low yawn that reached your ears before the door was opened by a man with attractive green eyes, curly brown hair and manly facial features. Top naked, wearing just black sweatpants.
Great.
You watched the man run a hand through his hair, "Mm, hey neighbor. Does something trouble you?" he said as if he didn't make all the noise. You shook your head with disbelief and sarcasm. Eyebrows meeting in a frown as a expression of disgust took over. You were about to speak but before you could say a word, the man before you stretched.
It was annoying how his muscles flexed under the soft light in the apartment halls.
"What a great question to ask when my neighbor is half-naked, making noise and making this hell hot night of the summer more of an insufferable experience!" You snapped. Your hair that you let down was making your neck sweat. You also ran a hand through your hair, eyes shifting down to only find his handsome face again.
"You're complaining?"
"What do you think?" You scoffed. "Keep the music volume down or I will make you realize you're messing with the wrong person." A warning was a warning. You were ready to hiss until he extended his hand out with a charismatic smile.
"Lando Norris," he said. "Waited for a warmer welcome than getting yelled when it's almost midnight." You watched Lando's lips curl into a sweet smile before you could let the bitter words out of your mouth. Somehow, the tone of his voice made you calmer. Made your heartbeats less stressed.
You tilted your chin up, a quiet attempt to show your attention wasn't elsewhere. "Y/N/L/N." You've thought about giving your undercover name but well. Lando looked harmless. Even a little smile was enough for you to think he was adorably innocent. "We'll get along good as long as you keep the volume down."
"Oh, don't doubt it." He winked before watching you leave. For a moment, you felt his smile fade into something more dark and suspicious. But when you turned around, the door was already closed.
"Please don't get in the way, Norris." You managed to murmur to yourself before getting in your own apartment.
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Three days passed fast,
The weather was hotter than ever. Your sweet neighbor bought you some ice cream and acted cute enough to prepare you a card that had a whole paragraph of how he was sorry. Even two stickmans were sketched. One was bowing their head down, apologizing when the other had their arms crossed. You said you forgave him and never saw him after that day. Maybe he went on a vacation.
Lucky guy.
There you were again, in a big building that looked fairly like a facility for a brand but no. Inside was much darker and covered with the smell of blood. Blood was like a perfume scent there.
"Welcome back, Miss Agent." The man who lead the dark business and ruined many, many, many lives greeted you. He was rather ugly with the sharp grin and the annoying voice. Eugh…
"Thanks."
With a comfortable sitting position, he handed you some papers, sliding them across the table. "We want you to gather information, then kill the enemy spy of another 'underworld' agency." The words were too casual. You just managed to nod before your hands reached to hold the documents.
Sliding out a paper, your breath caught, body froze and sight blurred.
It was him.
Lando. Lando Fucking Norris.
With his green eyes, handsome face and pretty smile. Your heartbeats were fast. What did you feel? Shock? Maybe you were surprised? No.
"Got it, boss." You smiled, the smile didn't give the cold and professional 'I got this' message. It was rather a tight smile of a woman who just got bad news up their ass.
It was scary.
Very scary.
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Lando was supposed to be at a glorious place where a celebration took place in.
This night.
This day.
You didn't think of wearing a wig. It was like a masked ball. But you could've always remember the green eyes you saw twice or thrice. The glint in them was not easy to forget. Your mask was a basic one that had holes for your eyes to see but made people wonder more about your facial features. Hair down like usual.
A white dress with a high slit, the fabric was satin. Enough beauty to make people stare. The cut of the top of the dress showed off your collarbone. Your heels, white, red underneath. The perfume was something that didn't bore the nose much. It was gentle, like your looks but bitter at the start like your personality.
Your steps were confident as you made your way to the curly haired man. A little crowd of girls and women trying to grab his attention. "Norris."
"Oh, you. Hey, you!" Lando was dressed in a suit that fitted him just perfectly. "What are you doing here?"
"I might ask the same." You frowned as you watched the girls around him walk away. Maybe Lando did not see you frown but he did see the questioning and suspicion behind your eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line before he murmured something you couldn't hear. "What?"
"Oh, I was just saying I was minding my own business," he said. "And you should do the same." The words came out in a rapid breath. His greens avoided your eyes as if he regretted the words he said just now. The action made you even more suspicious.
He knew that you knew he was an enemy, to you.
He did nothing to hide it.
The cold metal of the gun that you slipped somewhere near your leg and hid so well pressed against your bare skin. A quiet reminder of that you could actually shoot him quickly and finish this job early. You couldn't. Your hands trembled when you even thought about it.
You scoffed, "Hiding something, Norris?" you said.
"How could I hide anything from a person I bought ice cream for?"
"It's a special thing for you?"
"Kind of."
You shook your head with a low chuckle before you looked away. Now, Lando was the one who looked at you. You felt the warmth of his gaze and the sharp consequences of this warmth. "Maybe we should go to the terrace to get some, uhh, fresh air?"
"Could be good." You agreed.
He let you lead the way.
You were too sure that he would be hesitant to kill you if you were a target. But you didn't know how many times he pulled out a knife out of his pocket and raised it to stab your back but hid it again.
Maybe he didn't want to be your enemy.
The soft breeze hit your face as you stepped into the terrace. Your hair swayed, eyes locked into the buildings below until you heard the sharpness of a knife being pulled out. Your hand reached for your gun but you gave up. Simply turned around and raised your arms. Eyes locked into the greens that stared at you. His mask on the floor. Your mask was still on. The sharp point of the knife looked at you.
He was close enough to stab but mentally—emotionally—so far away from stabbing you.
You stared down at the knife. Hands raised, mind working faster than a puma running after their prey. Figuring out your escape route.
"Is this it?" You asked. "You dropped your mask quicker than I thought, Norris."
Lando let out a low sarcastic chuckle before speaking, "You have a gun." he said. "You could've shot me inside and then could've run. You're stupider than I thought you'd be." The bitter words was not a dagger. It was a foolish attempt to make you sad.
You knew he could do better.
But he wasn't trying.
"It's foolish of you to think I'd leave evidence behind me."
"Im not foolish."
"Oh, you are." Your expression was cold. The whole time, he knew. The whole time, you knew. He didn't do anything about it. You didn't do anything about it. Maybe because you or him didn't see each other as a target until the task that dropped like a powerful bomb. Continuing your words, "You are too early and Im too late." you said.
"Im right in time."
When you felt he was about to lunge forward to do the first stab, you did your trick.
You jumped. Or simply, let your self fall away from the ceiling.
"Oh, fuck! Y/N!" Lando yelled. As if he was panicking over the fact you'd actually die. It was a simple trick. Just hold into the bar of the ceiling you jumped from. Shift your position and hide your hand to let them feel you died or disappeared. It hurt your arm.
You waited until Lando left the terrace. You listened to his every step, his breath, his little murmurs as if he tried to calculate you really jumped or fooled him. The breath hitch and the quiet 'no' when he heard a sharp thud that was just a grocery bag a lady dropped. "My arm-" You whined. Letting out a low sigh escape your lips before you left the building and did your best to hide your presence in the dark streets.
Walking to the motorcycle you parked in a narrow alley.
All you saw was his eyes.
All you saw was a blurry vision when you rode the motorcycle.
A sharp pain hit you, feeling a hot liquid running down your head, arms, legs.
And then...
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!."
TO BE CONTINUED
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