Helloooooooo! How are you? I hope you are doing good now or at least better since request are open. I. Am so happy for you that you spoken up about the situation that you have at work and now you can work in peace. So ii wanted a request for Oscar Piastri, so like maybe the reader had a previous experience with sex, not specifically with SA but like the other person was too much rough with her and didn't like really listened to her and only done for himself and his pleasure. But now she is with Oscar and she kinda had difficulty to open about it even tho she feel safe for the next step of the relationship (not absolutely inspired by my life right now but anyway), like with oscar they take their time, maybe the first time not going all the way like discovering eachother Oscar often checking on her something like this if it possible. If not and it makes you uncomfortable then don't even take in consideration this request I hope you have a wonderful day love you💗
Knuckle Velvet - OP81
Summary: Your previous relationship has left you scared to open up to Oscar. But he shows you exactly how you deserve to be treated.
Warnings: Mentions of previous relationship trauma, smut, 18+, takes place after Oscar’s Melbourne race loss.
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: This is for all those reading who are learning to love again. This request really got to me as someone who has always had this in the past. You're not on your own.
The hotel room was quiet, apart from the distant hum of the city beyond the floor to ceiling windows. After the day you’ve both had, you half expect Oscar to be angry – but he’s calm, the way he always is. He never sulked or had a bitter edge. It was just his steady presence, the kind that makes everything else less chaotic.
You sit on the end of the bed in one of his hoodies, the one especially made for his home race weekend. It’s far too big on you, the sleeves bunching at your wrists, the heavy hem cradling your frame. He’s sat across from you on the leather sofa, still in his clothes from earlier, hair still messy from the cap he was wearing. He watches you with his soft brown eyes, like he’s trying to read every small shift in your expressions.
You’ve been here before, your hands tangled in his hair, him kissing down your neck as both of your hearts hammer against ribcages. But tonight feels different. Like the air is heavier, in the best kind of way. You want more than this. You want him. But the words catch somewhere in your throat, tangled up with memories of hands that didn’t pause, or didn’t ask, that didn’t care if you were okay. Everything left you quiet afterwards, second-guessing your own voice and every decision you’ve ever made.
Oscar always notices though. There were three things in life you could bank on – death, taxes and Oscar noticing something wrong just by the way you breathe.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and even. “You’ve gone quiet. Talk to me?”
You swallow, fingers twisting in the hoodie strings. “I–I want to. With you Osc. Tonight. But I um–” You stop, your cheeks burning crimson. “I’m nervous. Not because of you, but because of what happened before.”
He didn’t push, he didn’t find something to say to fill the silence. He nods once, slowly, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just admitted. Then he moves, carefully, raising slightly from the bed as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Before?” He echos gently.
You take a small breath, “the person I was with before…he–well, he didn’t really listen. Or care about me. He was rougher than I wanted him to be. I would just disappear for the time.”
You watched as his jaw ticked, just a flicker, but his eyes still stay soft. “I’m sorry that happened to you, I promise you that you will never experience that again.”
You glance at him. Surprised at how easy it felt to actually say it outloud. “You make me feel safe, Osc.” you admit. “That’s why I think it’s scary, because I want this to be perfect.”
He reaches for you slowly, palm up, waiting for you to decide. When you slip your hand into his, he laces your fingers together. His thumb stroking over your knuckles in lazy circles. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to be real.”
Oscar leans in again, slow enough that you could pull away at any moment. The kiss is gentle at first, your lips brushing his, almost testing. When you finally sigh into it, he deepens it, just a fraction before his hand reaches up to cup your cheek so gently, like you’re made of glass.
You shift closer, needing more contact, needing to be close. He lets you set the pace, the rhythm. When your hands slide under his t-shirt, tracing the lean lines of his chest, warm skin and faint scars from racing, he lets out a small hum against your mouth. But he doesn’t rush to pull anything off yet, “is this okay?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “More than okay.”
Piece by piece, clothes come off. Not frantic, more delicate than that. He gently presses kisses into your collarbone, across your shoulder and pauses every few kisses to check you’re okay. When your breath hitches at a particular spot on your neck, he lingers there a little longer, repeating every press until you lean in closer.
You learn him too, fingers tangled in his hair, tracing down the freckles across his back, over the defined lines of his stomach. His body responds, shuddering when you move lower, but his hands stay careful, asking before he moves somewhere new.
Your bodies become bare, skin against skin, tangled together until cold hotel sheets. But he stops the moment he feels your body tense, holding you tightly with his forehead pressed against yours.
“We don’t have to go any further tonight,” he whispers. “This was already perfect.”
You shake your head, smiling despite the nerves. “I want to…just slow. Talk to me.”
Oscar just nods. His eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters to him. He shifts so he’s hovering above you, weight braced on one forearm, the other hand sliding down your side in the lightest touch possible. Like he was afraid you might shatter if he presses too hard. His palm settles on your hip, thumb brushing back and forth in soothing arcs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice barely above a breath. “Tell me if it all gets a bit too much.”
Your head begins to spiral, the echoes of a past life creeping in. Hurry up. Why do you always make things so complicated.
But the thoughts dissolve as Oscar kisses you again. Slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.
He moves lower, his lips tracing a path down your throat, over your collarbone again, pausing to press a kiss to the curve of your breast. When he takes one nipple into his mouth, gentle and warm, sucking softly, your back arches instinctively. His other hand cups the other breast with gentle fingers, worshipping you. Every so often, his head would tilt up to check on you, his eyes searching for yours.
“Still okay?”
“Perfect,” you whisper, voice trembling slightly.
He continues downwards, kissing the soft skin of your stomach, the dip of your hips, until he finally settles between your thighs. His hands slide under your knees, lifting them carefully, spreading you open like he’s handling something scared. None of it was rushed or impatient; it was reverant. He presses a kiss to the inside your thigh, then another, working his way closer to your entrance.
When his mouth finally finds you, it’s impossibly soft. Tongue flat and slow, circling your clit with patient strokes that make your breath hitch and your fingers anchor into his hair. He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Pure devotion locked to you, eyes flickering up to watch your face the entire time.
You tug lightly at his hair when the feeling grows too intense in the most perfect way. “Oscar, please. I want you inside of me.”
He lifts his head immediately, lips glossy and eyes dark. “Are you sure? We don’t have to, I just want to make you feel good.”
“I’m sure,” you say, leaning to cup his face. “I want all of you.”
He kisses his way back up your body, settling between your thighs again. You feel him, hard and warm, pressing against your folds. His hand reaches down, guiding himself with one hand while the other strokes your cheek.
“Look at me, baby,” he whispers. “Keep your eyes on me.”
You do. The moment he starts to slide in, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the sting. He watches every flicker across your face. His jaw tight with restraint, breath heavy and voice steady.
‘Too much?”
“No,” you reply, hands sliding up his back, your nails dragging along the skin. “More, please.”
He sinks deeper, so slowly it feels like forever and yet not long enough. When he’s fully inside of you, he stills completely, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. You can feel his heartbeat hammering, matching your own.
“You feel–fuck, you feel unreal.” He murmurs. “You okay baby? Talk to me.”
“I’m perfect Osc,” you whisper, and you mean it.
Slowly, he starts to rock. Gently, shallow thrusts at first; each one measured and deep. One hand still stays braced beside your head, the other slips down between you, thumb circling your clit in the same, slow rhythm. Everything is for you.
When you start to tremble, legs wrapping around his waist, he presses his lips to your temple. “Let go for me baby. I’ve got you.”
You come apart with his name on your lips, soft and completely breathless. The waves of warmth rolling through you while he keeps moving. Fucking you through your high, drawing it out until you’re boneless and glowing. Only then does he let himself follow, burying his face in your neck with a quiet, shuddering groan, hips stuttering just once before he stills inside of you.
“You okay?” he asks again, voice rough but still gentle. His fingers start tracing lazy lines down your arm.
You nod, still catching your breath, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “More than okay.”
He kisses into your hair, holding you a little tighter. “I will always look after you. I promise you.”
And you believe him. For the first time in a long time, the thoughts of the past, the ones that used to have such a heavy hold on you, suddenly dissolve.
Finally, you drift off wrapped in his warmth, the city still alive outside. But inside, you feel something settle, like you don’t have to worry anymore.
Can Oscar save the growing distance between you two?
Where have you been?
Do you know when you're coming back?
We were too close to the stars,
I never knew somebody like you
warnings: childhood friends to strangers? to lovers, hattie's reader bff, angsts but happy ending, swearing, yearning, osc being prolly an idiot...yada yada...
a/n: this has been sitting on my drafts for almost 2 months now. I missed writting 'bout my Oskie.
support me here: ko-fi
🔊 listening to: Reflections - The neighbourhood
You don’t remember a time when the Piastri house wasn’t part of your life.
Growing up in Melbourne meant long afternoons outside, scraped knees, and parents who trusted the neighbourhood enough to let you roam free.
That was your case.
Your house and theirs were separated by a low fence you crossed at least two times a day.
Hattie was your anchor. Same age, same classes, same sense of humour. You met when you were five, both wearing the same uggly frog beanie, and decided immediately that you were best friends. Sleepovers turned into entire weekends spent together. Nicole would laugh and say she should start charging your parents rent.
Oscar existed in the background at first. Hattie’s older brother.
He was quiet, focused, independent, always building something or taking it apart. He wasn’t rude, just… in his own world, maybe shy?.
You barely interacted until one afternoon you found him sitting on the pavement with a small pink remote-controlled car, adjusting something with intense concentration.
“I love pink, does it go fast?” you asked, crouching next to him.
He glanced up, studied you for a second, noticed your scraped knee, then handed you the controller. “Try it.”
That was it. That was the moment.
From then on, you started spending time with him without even realizing it. You still went everywhere with Hattie, but when Oscar was around, you gravitated toward him.
You sat next to him during family dinners. You listened when he talked about racing, even when you didn’t understand half of it.
He never talked down to you. Never made you feel like you were too young, like you didn't get it, like you were a "girl".
You liked that.
When you were kids, it was innocent. You and Hattie shared secrets at night in her room, feet kicking and giggling, while Oscar stayed up late in his room with the sim.
As you grew older, things shifted.
You started hanging out in Oscar’s room more. Sitting on the floor while he worked, asking questions just to hear him explain things because you loved how his brows furrowed when he was focused.
He started waiting for you after school. You walked together sometimes, Hattie always 10 feet ahead, your shoulders brushing, conversations easy and natural.
You noticed things you probably shouldn’t have.
The moles decorating his face. The way he smiled when he beat his own lap time. The way his voice dropped when he was tired or grumpy. The way he always made sure you got home safe, when Hattie and you went out, even though your house was right there.
You didn’t tell anyone you liked him. Well...you did tell Hattie one night when you were both talking about boys and first kisses.
She was elated, you being like a sister to her, but you told yourself it was just a stupid crush. That it would pass.
It didn’t.
Then, when you were thirteen and Oscar was fourteen, London happened.
The announcement felt surreal.
You were the last one to know about it, of course. A conversation at the dinner table, Nicole trying to sound calm, Hattie crying again quietly beside you.
And Oscar... he didn't look up, suddenly his lap was mad interesting, he wasn’t terrified.
“It’s a big opportunity,” he said later that night, sitting next to you on the back steps. “I won’t be gone forever.”
“I know...you promise?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and he meant it. “We’ll text all the time.” You did a pinky promise, something sacred at your big age.
At first, you did.
Messages about school, about races, about stupid things you saw online. Late-night calls when the time zones lined up. You saved every voice note he sent. When you were alone, before going to sleep, you replayed them, wishing he was there.
Then his replies got slower.
Shorter. Sometimes nonexistent. He didn't reply for 6h...15h...24h...
You told yourself not to take it personally. His life was changing. Yours wasn’t. That difference hurt more than you wanted to admit.
After a while, you stopped checking your phone as often.
You never stopped watching his races.
You sat in the Piastri living room with Nicole and the girls, holding your breath during every overtake. You cheered when he did well. You defended him online when people criticized him.
You loved him quietly, painfully, from a distance.
Hattie had seen you cry over her brother more times than she would’ve liked. Every time, she held you close and whispered that everything would be okay, even when neither of you fully believed it yet.
Years passed.
When F1 finally brought him back to Australia, you went to the track with Hattie. You didn’t expect anything. You told yourself that.
But when he walked past and barely looked at you, your chest tightened.
“Hey” he said politely. “Good to see you.”
Like you were someone he’d met once at a party.
You smiled anyway. “You too. Congrats on the race.”
He nodded, already moving on.
That night, you cried in Hattie’s room like you were thirteen again.
“He’s an idiot,” Hattie said more than once, rolling her eyes as she pulled you into a hug
It stayed that way for a while. You saw him occasionally when he was in Australia. Always polite. Always distant. It was like the past had been sealed off, something he refused to open, like you were just Hattie's best friend, nothing more to him than that.
The interview in Monaco was supposed to be light, some media duty. Some personal questions as McLaren wanted to show his true colors to the fans and a little drive through the city.
“So, Oscar,” the interviewer smiled, guiding him toward a small setup nearby, “we heard you started racing very young.”
Oscar nodded politely, hands clasped behind his back. “Yeah. Karting mostly. Back in Australia.”
They turned a corner and he stopped dead.
In front of him was a circuit. Not karts. Not simulators.
Remote-controlled cars.
His chest tightened before he could stop it.
“No way,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Haven't been to one of these in ages”
One of the crew handed over a box, inside a car.
Pink. Bright, unmistakable pink and slightly scratched, clearly old, but still taken care of.
Oscar laughed under his breath, eyes fixed on it. “That’s… wow.”
“You recognize it?” the interviewer asked.
He nodded slowly, taking the controller when they offered it to him. “Yeah. I do.”
They let him run a few laps. His hands remembered immediately, thumbs steady, instinctive. When the car finished, he didn’t hand it back right away.
“I'v had this one since forever, won my first championship too” he said, voice softer now. He couldn't take the eyes off the car.
“Why pink?” the interviewer asked, amused.
Oscar hesitated. The answer came out honest before he could filter it.
“Someone important to me,” he said. “It was her favorite color.”
There was a pause.
“I used to tune everything pink back then,” he continued, eyes still on the car. “I told everyone it was faster. But really, I just wanted her to like it.”
He swallowed, thumb brushing over a scratch on the chassis.
Oscar smiled, small and fond, full of something that looked a lot like longing.
He handed the controller back carefully.
“Some things,” he said, almost to himself, “stay with you.”
That night, Hattie sent you a YT link. You clicked on it, thinking it was another Kpop group reacting to something, but when you saw the pink car in the thumbnail, your heart stopped.
It was loud, chaotic, full of people you barely knew. You almost left early, but Hattie convinced you to stay. You ended up outside on the balcony, needing air. At 23, you weren’t much of a party girl.
That’s when Oscar joined you.
“Didn’t think you’d still hate these things,” he said.
You snorted. “Some habits die hard.”
He leaned against the railing beside you. There was a long pause, then “I was bad at keeping in touch.”
You looked at him. Really looked at him.
“Mhmp, bet” you mumbled somewhat bitter.
“I'm really sorry” he said, drawing his arm closer to you.
“I thought you didn’t care” you said quietly looking into his eyes.
“I did,” he replied. “Too much. I just didn’t know how to be both versions of myself.”
You talked for hours.
About everything you’d missed. About how growing up felt lonelier than you expected. About how you never really stopped being important to each other, even when it felt like you had.
“I used to like you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
You laughed, soft and shaky. “Used to?”
“You were my first crush,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to say goodbye.”
Your heart ached in the best way.
“Didn’t Hattie ever tell you?” you asked, surprised.
He shook his head, letting out a quiet laugh.
“She did,” he admitted. “Tonight. At the party.”
You blinked.
“She told me you liked me back then,” he continued, voice lower now. “That you always had.”
He looked at you for a moment before adding,
“That’s why I came to talk to you. I thought you had a boyfriend… or that after all these years, you’d moved on.”
You kissed him before you could overthink it. It felt familiar. Safe. Like coming home after a long time away. He felt the same way.
His hands found your hips as you both deepened the kiss. You stopped, you didn’t want your face all over the internet tomorrow.
When you pulled back, you were smiling through tears.
“Don’t disappear again,” you said.
“I won’t,” he promised. “Not this time. Actually… I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay…?” you raised an eyebrow.
He paused, nervous
“I know it might sound crazy after so much time without talking, but… I know the connection is still there. and I've talked to Hattie about this too.”
“Now that you’ve finished university… I’d like you to move to Monaco with me. That's if you want to, of course.”
“Wow… that’s a lot Osc...”
He was silent for a moment.
“I get it,” he said, voice soft. “I just… I don’t know, I want to go back to how things were. I like you, fuck, I love you. I’d like you to be my girlfriend, but I don’t want to pressure you.”
You blink, heart racing. This. This is what you had been waiting for.
“Would you… maybe start with a date?” he added, hopeful. “Tomorrow, maybe?”
You smile, a little shy, thinking of Monaco and him. Together.
“Yes,” you say finally. “Tomorrow sounds perfect. And… Monaco? Honestly, it sounds amazing. I’d love it. But… first, I want to go back to that connection we had. The one from when we were 12 playing with that pink car. I want that to be the start.”
He grins, relief spreading across his face. “Then that’s what we’ll do. No rush. So...you still like pink?”
You laugh softly, "I do, and I loved that YT video, cute words"
"I knew you'd watch it" he looked at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky.
Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.
But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.
But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.
Warnings — 18+ Content, BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, detailed drug-addiction/past-usage, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.
Notes — Please heed the warnings and take care of yourselves xxx This one is a bit intense (a lot) at times, but it's going to make their happy ending so much sweeter.
Summary: You have been known to have quite the temper when it comes to driving. And when you, Lando, and your friends go on a road trip, they really put that to the test.
Second Person POV
Warning: swearing
Notes: requests are open!
Main Masterlist
You were on the road in Monaco for a big team dinner for F1. Lando and all of his friends wanted to go downtown since the night life was big.
It was a good hour long drive, so you all left as soon as you could to get there by evening time.
You had rented a nice Dodge Durango to hold six of the drivers, including yourself, while Max was in your car, following behind you.
You had set up the Bluetooth and everything so you and Max could call so that everybody could talk together too.
In your car, you were driving, Lando was next to you, and then it was Charles, Lewis, and George, in the middle, and in the back was Carlos and Kimi.
In Max's car, it was himself, Yuki, Ollie, Oscar, and Alex.
"Are we there yet?" Lando asked.
"Dude, we're only ten minutes in." Charles said. Lando rolled his eyes. You were focused on the road. Deadly focused.
It was getting close to afternoon rush hour, so traffic was starting to get heavy.
"What the hell are we slowing down for?" Max said over the phone.
"Open your eyes dumbass there's fucking traffic." You said annoyed. You heard light laughter coming from the back of the car.
You were slowly causing along, waiting for traffic to let up when you see Lando tense up next to you, eyes widened and everything.
"Oh my God. Oh my God! You need to slow down now!" He said, tapping his foot on the floor like it was the break pedal.
"I'm not even that close."
"You need to be able to see his bumper! Oh my, we're all dead!" He says worridly. You couldn't help but laugh, and so did the others.
"What is he freaking out again because he's not in control?" Oscar said over the phone.
"Yeah, exactly right." You say, smiling.
You wait in stand-still traffic for almost ten minutes until you finally start moving again.
You were cruising down the high-way, focusing on the road as the boys in the back were all messing around.
"Dude what the fuck. It's fucking 75!" You say. Looking at the car in front of you.
"Uhm- darling. You're only going 70" Lando says, peering over to the miles monitor.
"Yeah and it's fucking slow." You say, pointing your hand in the direction of the car.
You hear some chuckles in the background and over the speaker but you don't pay attention.
You finally get up the high-way enough to speed up and pass the car going slow. Out of the corner of your eye, you see, Lando gripping the car handle on the door.
You were cruising doing at least eighty now. The boys all kept talking to themselves, trying to get through this trip.
Your eyes were on the road, until you hear Lando open his energy drink. The one you've been trying to get for weeks but somehow he's out.
You sneakily reach your hand over and opening your palm out.
"Really? My drink?" He asks. You nod and smile. He reluctantly hands it to you and you drink it quickly before him it back to him.
"Uhm, two hands on the wheel please?" George said, leaning over your shoulder from the back.
"Would you like to drive? I'd be fucking thankful." You say.
"Someone's crabby today." Carlos said.
"No, these fucking people don't know how to drive."
"Maybe they are trying there best." Yuki said over the phone. Just then someone behind you honks slightly.
"Bitch what the fuck?" You say, looking in the rear view mirror.
"Calm down." Lando said.
"No cause if this bitch wants me to drive like Max I'll fucking drive like Max." You say.
"Me? Why me?" Max questions.
"Fucking Christ I hate people." You say. You start speeding up slightly, switching lanes to get passed people.
"Oh my God we are going to die." Kimi says.
"No... I don't think. She's - she's a good driver." Lewis stutters out.
"Oh, so you're just going to cut me off. Bitch must want a call from my insurance agent." You say, slamming your hand down on the wheel.
"Oh my. She's more angrier than Max." Oscar says. You heard him just slightly.
"Don't make me crash this car." Max says.
"Max I swear to fucking God if you crash my car, me and you will both end up in hell!" You say, catching some laughter from the guys.
"Can we stop at Taco bell?" Kimi asks.
"No." You and Carlos says in unison.
"I'm hungry!"
"Then you can get an uber if you want to stop."
"What I want to know is why Carlos said no?" Kimi asks.
"Your really going to expect a Spanish man to say yes to Taco Bell, Kimi?" You say.
"True."
"Maybe we could get some Olive Garden tonight. Or some Lasagna with beans." George teases.
"My ears!" Kimi says, covering his ears. All of you start laughing.
"Dude. I could actually go for Olive Garden right now." You say.
"They're doing that all you can eat pasta thing." Charles says, looking at his phone.
"If I could marry Olive Garden I would." Oscar says over the phone.
"You all are such a disappointment." Kimi says, looking out the window.
"Oh what the fuck." You say.
"What happened?" Lewis asks.
"This motherfucker is going slow."
"Yeah, five miles under. It's fine." Lando says.
"To you, because you like to drive like a fucking snail."
"Last I checked, I won the Austria GP and Silverstone." He smirks.
"Yeah because Oscar let you win." Charles added.
"What? No. I did it all by myself." Lando said proudly.
"Yeah, right." Oscar said over the phone.
You started venturing into the city more and more as you drove. The guys getting louder and louder making jokes and laughing along the way.
Some time had passed and eventually everyone calmed down.
"Please make a u-turn." The GPS said. You keep driving to find a spot to turn around.
"Please make a u-turn."
"Please make- Please make a u-turn."
"Oh woah, woah, she's getting pissed!" Charles wheezes.
"Bitch I'm fucking trying. This isn't fucking GTA where I can drive where ever the hell I want." You say angrily. Some of the guys in the back were chuckling to themselves.
"Here why don't I..." Lando takes your phone and cancels the GPS. "I know where we are."
"Good." You mutter.
"But first you have to make a u-turn." He smirks.
"Lando I'm about this close to shoving you out of the fucking window!"
"Oh it was only a joke, darling." He says innocently.
"Fuck off."
You hear Max laughing over the phone.
"What? Are you sad your not in first place?" You ask.
"What! N-no!"
"Yeah he is." Lewis snickers.
"I am not, Hamilton!"
"Yeah, you are. You're getting pissed." Lando laughs.
"You all just like teaming against me." Max mutters.
"At least we don't get mad if we're not in first." Kimi shouts from the back.
"Kimi? You've turned Kimi against me? How dare you!"
"Guess your just lame." Lando smirks.
"I am not lame!"
"Yes you are. You literally get home, hug Kelly, and go to bed. Honestly... if I were Kelly, I'd divorce you." You say.
"She says as Lando sleeps a whole twelve hours." Max says.
"Yeah but at least he likes her. And invites her on trips. You leave Kelly all alone with a newborn. Just not right, man." George pipes in.
"Oh shut up Russell. This doesn't involve you." Max snaps.
"Your on speaker with the whole car. Of course it involes everyone." You start. "I- you know I can't deal... with stupid ass people." You mumble.
"Me? Stupid? What about your boyfriend?" Max asks.
"Call him stupid and I will legit snap your neck in half and throw you onto the highway!"
"Yup. Got it. I'm sorry." He says.
"Boy... just get Y/n got get annoying people off your back." Charles chuckles.
"Nobody scared Max unless it's Y/n." Oscar laughs through the speakers.
"Nobody scares me." Max mumbles.
"So your saying if I were to break check you. You wouldn't be scared?" You fire back.
"I- well of course I'd be scared. You are talking about my life."
"Right. Keep digging yourself deeper, buddy." Charles laughs. The GPS finally stopped, signaling that you were at the restaurant.
"Do you need help?" Lando asks.
"With what?"
"It's all parallel parking."
You sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought. You see Lando reach over, hanging the phone up with Max as you drive. You drive almost a full block away from the restaurant and park in the small parking lot.
"We seriously have to walk?" Kimi whines.
"Walk or I'll crash the car trying to fucking park." You say.
His eyes widens as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Max parks next to you as you all get out, gathering around the back of the car.
"Hey Y/n." Max smirks.
You hold your hand out, he drops your keys and you put them in your pocket.
Oscar comes up next to you as Lando links your hand with his.
"You know... I know a great therapist. He helps with all of my anger management skills."
You stop in your tracks, the guys stop behind you. "Shut the fuck up before I throw you in a ditch."
"Please don't."
"I think you all make her have anger management issues." Kimi says.
"Thank you. See and that's why Kimi is my favorite." You say.
"Wha- what about me?" Lando whines.
"You... I don't know. sometimes you really get on my nerves. And Kimi's like my grid child."
They didn’t fall in love. They drifted toward it like gravity.
A slow-burn New Year’s Eve story told in stairwells, late cabs, too-sweet drinks, and the kind of intimacy that arrives quietly, then stays. No promises. Just the moment before something starts , maybe.
Genre: Literary romance, ambient longing, strangers to maybe, low-stakes high-intensity, wintry closeness
NSFW Warning: 18+ Explicit sex, fingering, unprotected sex, low lighting, hesitation, eye contact as dialogue, physicality without full resolution
Inspired by: Everybody here wants you by Jeff Buckley
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The hallway was warm. Over-warm, like someone had turned on every radiator and forgotten to crack a window. Tess pressed her shoulder to the wall while Kit leaned on the buzzer, grinning like she'd swallowed the moon.
"You're gonna love this place," Kit said. The door clicked. She gave it a little push with her boot and turned her head. "Okay? You good?"
Tess nodded once. Kit disappeared up the stairs.
Inside, the air carried something sweet and stale. Wine and perfume, mingled with damp wool and hair spray. The flat opened into light, amber from strings coiled along the ceiling, bouncing off framed art and the reflective backs of vinyl sleeves leaning precariously on a shelf.
A girl Tess didn’t know stepped past her, clutching a lighter and someone’s hand. Bare shoulders. White sequins. Laugh like a short, sharp bark. She left the scent of coconut in her wake.
Kit had already reached the centre of the living room, arms lifted, calling names like she owned the place. Someone cheered. Someone else spilled something. The music stuttered as a cable got kicked, then returned louder. Tess shrugged off her coat and held it for a second. No hooks. No one looking. She folded it once and tucked it onto the arm of a chair. A drink appeared in her hand. No eye contact. No label on the cup. Kit again.
"This is my best friend, Tess. She’s fun, she won’t say so, but she is. Right, Tess?"
Tess looked at the stranger Kit was grinning at. A guy with a chipped tooth and glitter on his cheek. He wore a jumper with a dog in sunglasses on the front. Tess smiled, polite, small. Her drink was cold. Sweet. Something fizzy.
Someone sat on the floor beside her ankles. He offered her a crisp. She shook her head. He didn’t notice.
Kit was already off again, half-turning to call over her shoulder, "Back in a sec, go mingle."
Tess moved toward the edge of the room, where the bookshelf stood crooked against the wall. The floor tilted slightly. Her boots felt wrong, too new for the space. A girl nearby sat cross-legged, rolling a cigarette on the cover of The Bell Jar, humming tunelessly.
Tess picked up a spine, pretended to read the title. An art book. Teeth in the margin where someone had torn a page. Music swelled again. It had changed. Something faster. People started to shout along.
She sipped the drink. The fizz burned.
A wine glass cracked against tile. No one flinched. Tess followed Kit into another room, shoulder brushing shoulder, before being spun back into a hallway dense with bodies. Kit grabbed someone’s wrist, laughing too loud. Tess lingered near the doorway.
Someone was peeling an orange in a plant pot. The light buzzed overhead, soft and uneven. A blender took up half a cupboard, and no one looked like they’d used it. Voices overlapped, a low drone with sharp bursts of laughter.
Kit turned back, held out two fingers. “Five minutes, promise. Don’t disappear.”
Tess nodded. Her sleeve caught on a door handle. She pulled it free and moved toward the back room. Two people were arguing about olives.
Past the hallway, a group sat on the floor cross-legged, knees touching, someone’s ankle in someone’s lap. One of them asked if it was okay to tell people how much you make. Another said, “Depends who’s asking.” Someone else lit a candle in an empty jar and no one commented on the flame leaning sideways.
She kept walking.
By the bookshelf again. Someone had turned the music up. A bass line crawled up through the floor. The girl with the cigarette was gone. In her place, a guy in a velvet jacket had fallen asleep with his head tilted back like he was praying.
The front door opened behind her. A new cluster arrived; glitter dusted across their collars. Someone shouted, “Lena!” like she lived in a film.
Tess turned toward the sound. A woman with bleached eyebrows moved through the crowd with a glass in one hand and a coat draped over the other. She wore something sheer with boots that reached her knees. Her perfume hit first, spicy, something warm. She smiled at no one in particular. Kit cut across the room, waving a hand.
Lena looked up, tilted her head. “You made it,” she said, and kissed Kit’s cheek twice. “I love this jumper. Oh,” Her eyes landed on Tess. “And who’s this angel?”
Tess blinked. Lena pulled her into a loose, wine-warmed hug. “Make yourself at home, babe.” She stepped back, tilted her head again. “That coat’s gorgeous. Where’s it from?”
Tess said something short. Didn’t remember what. Lena smiled again and vanished toward the kitchen. Tess looked down at her sleeves. Tugged one past her wrist. Took another sip. The drink had gone warm.
The kitchen smelled like lemon rind and stale beer. A dish towel hung from the fridge handle, damp at the end. Somewhere outside, fireworks cracked, distant and hollow.
Tess stepped around a mop bucket with nothing in it and stood by the door. Her cup was empty. Her jaw ached a little.
A guy stood by the counter, shoulders squared, face turned half away. He unscrewed the cap on a bottle and poured into a short glass without looking. No measuring. Slow pour. Tess leaned her hip into the doorway.
“That’s a serious drink,” she said.
He glanced over. Quiet eyes but controlled. His mouth twitched, maybe a smile. “It’s what they had.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t lie. You brought that yourself.”
He considered for a second. “Technically, I didn’t bring it in.”
She tilted her head. “Stole it?”
“Found it.” He lifted the glass slightly. “Want some?”
“I’m trying to keep my mistakes manageable.”
He smiled without teeth. “Fair.”
She looked past him at the counter. Two lemons. No knife. An old speaker, unplugged. A bottle of tonic with no fizz left.
“You don’t seem like a whisky-at-a-house-party guy,” she said.
“What kind of guy do I seem like?”
“Coke and lime. Pint of something cold.”
He nodded once, slow. “You work in hospitality?”
“Bookshop.”
“Close enough.”
She stepped forward, took a bottle cap off the counter, turned it once in her fingers, set it down again. He didn’t ask her name.
Behind him, someone leaned into the fridge, she hadn’t noticed him at first. Tall, sandy-haired, wearing a zip-up jacket with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. He’d been in the room the whole time, maybe. Laughing softly to himself, texting with one hand, half-listening.
Tess glanced his way, then back to the glass in Oscar’s hand.
“Are you pacing yourself,” she asked, “or going all in?”
“Trying to keep it civil.”
“That your New Year’s resolution?”
“Close. Avoid regret before midnight.”
The guy by the fridge stepped in then, tossed a lime onto the counter without looking. “You two talking about jobs?” he said, like he’d caught a punchline no one told.
Oscar didn’t answer.
“Mate,” the guy said, grinning now, “tell her what you do.”
Oscar sighed lightly but stayed quiet. His eyes said, 'Don’t encourage him.'. He poured another splash. Tess looked between them.
“What,” she said, “you’re a magician?”
The guy snorted, slapped the doorframe with two fingers as he turned to go. “Something like that.”
His steps faded into the hallway.
Oscar took a sip.
Tess leaned against the fridge. “That your PR guy?”
“He thinks he is.”
“Does that mean you’re famous?”
He didn’t answer right away. “You think I’d be here if I was?”
She looked at the glass in his hand. “Maybe.”
He didn’t smile that time. Just watched her a little too long. She blinked, shifted her weight.
“You’re friendlier than I thought you’d be.”
“I get that a lot.”
She tapped her fingers against the fridge. The magnet near her hand said You are exactly where you’re meant to be. The paper beneath it was blank.
The glass made a soft sound when he set it down. A tiny click against the counter. Tess rested her hand on the edge of the sink. The silence wasn’t tense. It didn’t stretch. It sat between them like someone else had walked in and neither of them minded.
He opened a cupboard behind him, found nothing, shut it again without looking. She tapped her nail against her cup.
“I should probably find Kit,” she said.
He nodded. No shift in his face. Tess lingered for a second. Long enough to feel aware of it. Then she moved, sidestepping the mop bucket again, passing the counter with the half-peeled lemon and the unplugged speaker.
Out in the hallway, the heat returned. A girl leaned against the wall, thumb moving too fast through photos. Someone shouted from the bathroom. Tess walked past the bookshelf, past the guy still asleep in the velvet jacket, past the coat draped on the floor that didn’t belong to anyone she recognised.
Her boots felt louder now. The music had changed again. Brass and synth and something shaky in the vocals. She reached the corner of the living room, paused. People moved around her, glitter caught in their hair and collarbones, shoulders swaying in time with nothing.
She looked back down the hallway. Toward the kitchen. He was still there. Elbow on the counter, hand near the glass. Head turned, eyes already up. Their eyes met for half a second. Tess looked away first.
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The hallway narrowed toward the back. The light changed, yellowed, dull at the edges. A coat hung from the corner of the banister, one arm trailing low like it had given up halfway.
Tess moved past a closed door, then another, until the throb of music slipped to something thinner. Her hand found the railing. The stairwell dipped out of view, quiet and half-lit. Coats crowded the wall, some on hooks, some dropped in piles. Fur-lined, quilted, satin collars folded like paper cranes. They smelled like too many perfumes at once.
She sat. Not quite on the step, not quite on the coats. One boot propped against the riser. Her arms folded. She let her head tip back against the wall and stayed like that. A candle sat on the landing nearby. A stubby one in a glass jar. Pink wax. Vanilla or rose or something meant to be sweet. She picked it up. Turned it over once, thumb on the soot at the bottom.
The footsteps didn’t surprise her. He paused at the top of the stairs. One cup in each hand. No smile. She raised an eyebrow.
“Peace offering,” he said, holding one out.
She took it. He sat a step below her, spine straight, hands loose around the other cup. Neither spoke. The coats rustled once behind her. A sleeve shifted. Someone upstairs laughed hard enough to choke. The bass rattled the floor.
Tess ran a finger around the rim of the candle glass.
“I don’t smoke,” she said, without looking over. “If that’s what you were about to ask.”
“I wasn’t,” he said.
“Good.”
He reached into his pocket anyway. The lighter clicked once. Flame flared. He held it out. She passed him the candle. Watched him light it. He set it between them on the step. The wax tilted toward the glass, pale and uncertain.
She looked down at the drink in her hand.
“What’s in this?”
“If I tell you, it ruins the placebo.”
She let the silence settle again. No rush to fill it. The music stayed distant. The candle flickered. It smelled faintly like something meant to cover up something else. The flame leaned sideways when she breathed out. It caught the edge of his boot in a sliver of light.
He rested his elbow on his knee, rolling the cup between his hands. She could hear the liquid shift inside it.
“Where’s home?” he asked.
She paused. Not because she didn’t have an answer, but because she usually avoided the question.
“Up north,” she said. “Small town. One high street. One kebab place that closes whenever it wants.”
He smiled into the cup. “What’s it called?”
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Try me.”
She said the name. He didn’t react.
“Exactly.”
He tilted his head. ““What was it like? Where you grew up.”?”
She turned toward him slightly. “What?”
“Home. Tell me about it.”
She thought for a second. “Calm, small village, but not boring. Something new every day.”
He nodded once.
“What about you?” she asked.
Oscar tapped a finger against his knee. “Melbourne.”
She sipped from the cup. Still fizzy, still sweet. He didn’t explain what it was.
“So,” she said, “what was that like?”
He looked at her. Really looked.
“Fast.”
The word hung there. Not heavy. Not light. She reached for the candle. Adjusted its position on the stair.
“You always talk like this at parties?”
“Only when someone lights a candle.”
“Rare trigger.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The candle was burning unevenly. Wax gathered along one side, slow and soft, like it hadn’t decided which way to fall. Oscar leaned back slightly, resting one arm behind him. The cup in his other hand dangled near his knee.
Tess shifted on the step. Pulled one foot in closer, her knee brushing the hem of a coat.
“If you’re famous, you’re bad at hiding.”
“I’ve learned how to disappear,” he said. “Sometimes.”
“You don’t seem very good at it.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
She gave him a look. Not a smile, not yet. “You look like someone,” she said. “Not sure who.”
He looked down at the flame. “Is that meant to be flattering?”
“No idea. You’re still here.”
Footsteps creaked across the landing. Kit appeared at the top of the stairs, mid-conversation with someone who kept walking. She paused when she spotted Tess. Raised her eyebrows. Tilted her head. A smile curled at one side of her mouth. She didn’t speak.
Tess met her eyes for a second. Kit’s grin widened. Then she turned and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Oscar glanced up. “Friend of yours?”
“Unfortunately.”
Tess picked up the candle again. Turned it once in her palm. She didn’t set it down right away.
The stairwell felt warmer now. Or quieter, maybe. Enough for breath to sit on the air a little longer before fading. Oscar tipped the last of his drink into his mouth, set the cup upside down beside him. It rolled a little on the step before settling.
Tess still held the candle. Her thumb pressed against the cooling glass.
He glanced at her. “That your usual party move?” he asked. “Find the coats, light something on fire?”
She looked up. “It’s worked out alright so far.”
The door banged open above them. Quick, sudden. A couple tumbled through, hands everywhere, half-draped over each other. One of them knocked into the wall and laughed like it was the best joke they’d heard all year.
The girl clocked them both on the stairs and grinned. “Oh. You two need the room?”
Tess blinked. Her spine straightened before she meant it to. Oscar stood slowly, brushing his hand down the front of his jacket.
“We were holding auditions,” he said. “You’re late.”
The guy with the girl started to say something but she tugged him away, laughing, back into the noise. Tess rose. The candle stayed on the step. She reached up to smooth her sleeve. Oscar looked at the closed door a second longer, then turned toward her.
“Back into it?”
“Looks like.”
They walked out side by side. The coats stayed behind, carrying the shape of everyone who’d passed through.
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The room had thinned without emptying. Coats half-off shoulders, glasses half-full, someone asleep with their face against the arm of the sofa. The music pulsed brighter, something electronic with a violin underneath.
Tess leaned against the wall near the window. Her drink had gone flat. The ice had disappeared. Someone had replaced the track mid-song, and nobody noticed.
“Ten minutes!” It came from the kitchen, loud, performative. The ripple moved fast. Someone groaned. Someone sprinted for the bathroom. The lights flickered twice and stayed on.
Phones appeared. Someone pointed at the speaker like it had wronged them. A voice called out for champagne. Another shouted, “Where’s Jamie?” like it mattered.
Kit appeared through the hallway like she’d been summoned. Hair pinned up messily now, collar of her shirt twisted sideways, cheeks flushed.
“Oh no,” she said. “You’re not haunting the wall at midnight. I won’t let it happen.”
Tess looked over.
Kit pulled the cup from her hand. “That’s not a drink anymore. That’s sadness in disguise.” She set it on the windowsill, grabbed Tess’s sleeve, and tugged. “We’re doing the thing,” she said. “Grapes. Wishes. Midnight magic. It’s a thing.”
Tess didn’t move right away. Kit turned.
“Come on. You need it. Twelve grapes or twelve months of doom. I don’t make the rules.”
She was already halfway back through the crowd. Tess followed. The kitchen was louder than it had been before. Warm from too many bodies, bottle caps on the floor, sticky patches near the sink. Someone had drawn a face on the whiteboard above the cooker and written “Make Good Choices” underneath in glitter pen.
Lena stood by the counter, holding a colander like a prize.
“Twelve grapes,” she said, voice high and bright. “One for each month. One more chance per bite. It’s a Spanish thing. Or Portuguese. Or whatever. Don’t Google it, it’s sacred.”
She was handing out napkins with small green grapes, unevenly counted. Some people had five, some fourteen.
Marc leaned against the fridge beside her, arms folded, already peeling one.
“She’s been planning this since September,” he said. “Found a spreadsheet and everything.”
“I manifested it,” Lena said, kissing his shoulder, handing him another grape.
Tess hovered near the doorway. Kit pressed a napkin into her hand.
“Twelve,” Kit said. “Maybe. I didn’t count. Think fast.”
She disappeared toward the prosecco. Tess looked down at the grapes. Small, pale, a little soft at the edges, but only eleven.
Oscar was already there. Same position as before, back against the fridge, cup in hand, expression unreadable.
He glanced at her napkin. Then at her.
“Big plans?” he asked.
“Thinking about it.”
He held out a grape between two fingers. “I wished for Lena to stop saying manifested.”
“She won’t.”
“I know. How many grapes you got?”
“Eleven.”
He handed her one, without words.
Lena clapped once behind them. “Three minutes! Eat your grapes or die alone!”
Someone whooped. Someone else popped a bottle and sprayed the wall by accident. The countdown hadn’t started yet, but the air had already shifted. Laughter edged on frantic. People shouted names over the music like they were calling out lottery numbers.
Tess held a grape near her mouth. It looked more like an olive up close. She raised her eyebrow at it.
Oscar had one between his teeth.
“You’re meant to wish first,” he said.
“Too late,” she said, biting hers clean in half.
He chewed once, swallowed. “Rookie mistake.”
She took another. “What’d you wish for?”
“Shorter queues at airport security.”
She nodded. “Practical.”
He looked down at the next one in his hand. “You?”
“I wished you’d stop talking.”
He popped the next grape in his mouth without blinking. “Rude.”
They worked through them without rhythm. Tess wiped juice on the inside of her wrist. Oscar dropped a grape and didn’t go after it.
Someone shouted five minutes.
“You ever done this before?” Tess asked.
“The grape thing?”
She nodded.
He tilted his head. “No. But I’ve made worse decisions.”
She smiled, barely. Took another grape. He leaned in slightly.
“That one’s cursed. I can tell.”
The countdown started in the wrong room. Someone shouted ten, and it caught like fire. The volume peaked fast. Voices layered, some behind, some ahead. Eight. Seven. Six. Tess blinked at the last grape in her hand.
Oscar didn’t eat his. He was watching the crowd, mouth set like someone waiting for a bus that might not stop.
Three. Two.
A bottle opened too close. Champagne misted her sleeve. She didn’t move.
One.
The lights dipped for a second. Then all at once, shouting, clapping, some song blasting with a beat half a second off. Confetti fell from somewhere above the cabinets. A cork hit the cupboard door and bounced to the floor.
Someone ran past with sparklers. Someone kissed someone else and missed their mouth. The blender switched on for no reason and stayed on.
Tess didn’t look at the time.
Oscar turned toward her slightly.
Her hand brushed her hair back, slow. The grape was still between her fingers.
“What was your last wish?” she asked.
He looked at her. Didn’t answer.
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The living room had quieted to a murmur. The lights stayed on, but no one looked at them. A record played two songs past where anyone noticed. Someone lay half-asleep across a beanbag, mouth open, phone on their chest. Another sat cross-legged by the wall, eating crisps like it was morning.
Tess stood near the kitchen door, thumb grazing the rim of a chipped cup. Her boots stuck slightly to the floor when she shifted her weight. She took out her phone.
Kit where’d you disappear to? I won’t cockblock don’t worry x
She stared at the message, then locked the screen and slid it into her pocket.
The hallway was mostly coats and closed doors now. She passed the bathroom, light on, door cracked, tap dripping, and kept walking. The balcony door was ajar, curtain caught in it, breathing with the wind.
She pushed it open. Cold air bit the skin above her collar. The sound of the city sat low and steady, street-level and distant. Someone down the block shouted happy new year again. It barely carried.
Oscar was leaned on the railing. Shoulders up, coat zipped halfway. His breath visible in the winter chill. He turned slightly when he heard the door. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. She stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. The music thudded once and then dulled.
He nodded at the space beside him. She took it. The metal rail was cold under her hands. She didn’t grip it. Her fingers hovered, curled in.
Oscar shifted his weight, the heel of one boot scraping lightly across concrete. The breeze lifted a corner of his jacket, then let it fall. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Below them, the street was almost still. A traffic light blinked through empty lanes. Somewhere nearby, a bottle rolled down pavement, echoing once and then not again. She pulled her sleeves over her palms.
“So,” she said. “What do you actually do?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Motorsport.”
She looked over. “Like, drive?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
She took a second. “Oh. Wait.” He didn’t fill the silence. “Are you one of the orange ones?”
He half-smiled. “One of two.”
“Any good?”
He looked back out at the street. “Depends on who you ask.”
She tipped her head toward him. “I’m asking you.”
His mouth lifted, almost, as he shrugged. “I keep getting invited back.”
A siren passed somewhere far off. The kind that didn’t feel urgent. Just present. Background. Oscar leaned forward on his elbows. The railing creaked. Tess glanced sideways.
“Do you know Lena,” she asked, “or did you get pulled in by someone who does?”
He smirked. “I went to school with Marc. He’s dating into the art scene.”
She nodded once. “Thought so.”
The wind came in a longer gust this time. Tess blinked against it. Pulled her hair into her collar with one hand.
“I don’t really like parties,” she said.
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Everyone’s doing something,” she said. “Not in a good way. It’s like they’re holding court. Waiting to be watched.”
He didn’t argue.
“You?”
Oscar let out a slow breath. “I like parts of it.”
“Which parts?”
He tilted his head toward her. “Quiet ones. Good exits.”
She met his eyes, but only briefly. Then looked down at her boots.
“You’re not really what I expected,” she said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep proving it right.”
He looked at her for a second too long. Not smiling now. He kissed her. The kind you give someone who hasn’t decided whether to kiss you back. She didn’t move. Then she did.
When they broke apart, his eyes flicked toward the street. “Wanna get out of here?”
There was no pitch in it. No edge. Tess looked back at the flat through the glass. Bodies moving slow behind curtains, shapes and shadows and drinks with no hands holding them.
She didn’t say yes; she was already walking. He opened the door. Held it. She stepped through.
The cab smelled like pine air freshener and warm leather. The driver said nothing except for the address. Then the radio came on, low and forgettable. Something from the '80s.
Oscar sat beside her, one hand on his knee, the other on the edge of the seat between them. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t reach for his phone.
Tess watched the buildings pass. Wet pavements. Closed shutters. Streamers caught in the railings. One man walking alone with a balloon string wrapped around his wrist. The light turned amber. Then red.
She leaned her head back.
“Do you think we’ll remember this in the morning?” she said.
He looked at her. Not for long. “I will.”
She watched his profile a moment longer.
Outside, the light changed. The cab moved.
Her hand was near his now, resting palm-down. Close enough to feel heat. Not close enough to touch. She didn’t move it.
They pulled up in front of a building. Nothing special. Brick and quiet. Upstairs, one window still lit. He stepped out first, shoulders hunched against the cold. She followed, her boots catching slightly on the edge of the curb. They didn’t speak. He buzzed them in. The hallway smelled like old mail and someone else’s dinner. She stood beside him as he unlocked the door.
Inside, the air was still. He set his keys down on the table, coat unzipped but didn’t take it off. She peeled hers off slowly. Let it fall. She leaned back against the door, the click of it closing behind them catching somewhere low in her chest. Oscar set his keys on the table, barely glanced at them.
They didn’t speak. Her coat was half off one shoulder. She let it fall. He stepped forward like he didn’t want to break whatever was holding the air between them tight.
He kissed her. There was nothing careful about it. His hand cupped her jaw, his mouth warm, open. Her fingers found the hem of his jacket, pulled until she felt him shift to help her. His breath caught when she pressed closer. Her hands worked at the buttons of his shirt, slow at first. He didn’t move to help. Didn’t stop her either. When it opened, her palms slid over warm skin and the pattern of small moles scattered across his chest. She paused there. Traced the shape of one near his ribs with her thumb.
He looked away. She kissed it. That changed something. His hands found her hips. He pushed her back until her thighs met the edge of the bed. She sat. He followed.
His shirt hit the floor. She didn’t rush. Neither did he. Her dress pooled at her waist. He leaned forward, kissed her collarbone. The sound she made was low, caught behind her teeth. His mouth followed her shoulder, her chest, her stomach. Her head tipped back. His hands slid down the backs of her thighs, anchoring. Her fingers caught in his hair.
She shifted higher on the bed. He pulled off his belt without looking. She watched the line of his throat when he dragged the zip down, the way his chest moved like he was keeping himself still on purpose.
He climbed over her. Settled between her knees.
She didn’t speak.
He kissed her again, slower this time. Her hand moved between them. His hips jerked slightly when she touched him. Her thumb circled the tip of him once. His breath hit her neck. He held her wrist, waited. Her eyes were open. So were his.
She nodded.
He pushed inside. Her hands gripped his shoulders, legs tightening. He stayed there, deep and unmoving, until her breath returned. She blinked at him once. He moved.
The pace wasn’t frantic. It didn’t need to be. Her fingers pressed into his back. He caught the inside of her thigh and held. Her body curled toward him. She moaned once, quiet. His hand slid between them and she swore, hips bucking against his. He held there, circled her once more. She clenched around him, sharp and sudden. Her mouth found his neck. He gasped when she bit down, short and shallow.
He came with his forehead against her collarbone. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Neither of them moved right away.
Later, when she reached for the covers, he caught her wrist, pressed his mouth to the inside of it. Nothing in the room felt lit. The city outside the window had faded to grey.
She turned on her side. He settled behind her, one arm curled under her head, the other resting across her hip.
She didn’t ask what this meant.
He didn’t explain.
They stayed like that. Warm under covers that still smelled like detergent, her breath slowing against his forearm. His hand stayed at her waist, fingers brushing bare skin.
Somewhere outside, a bin lid clattered. A car passed. The sky lightened by degrees.
Check this page out, if you wish to submit a request! I love bringing your ideas to life, so hit me with most anything!
The Teams
╰┈➤ McLaren Formula One Team 🧡
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-> the seven times of matching each others freak | MV1 [wc: +5.4k]
-> please, bother me | MV1 [wc: +15.2k]
╰┈➤ AMG Mercedes F1 Team 🖤
-> first times | KA12 [wc: +4.4.k]
-> salt air and the rust on your door | GR63 [wc: +6.2k]
╰┈➤ Haas F1 Team 🤍❤️
-> through your lense | OB87 [smau]
I hope this page is helpful to navigate my blog! I wish you a wonderful day and joy while reading :)
