Summary: They've been looking for the final member of their pack for years, a ache that never fades and always exists. Only, when they finally find you, they find a version of you that has been broken. Will they be able to make you whole again?
Han’s hand never leaves yours the entire car ride.
Sat in the back with you, his thumb strokes the back of your hand in soft, gentle movements. Minho and Chan are in the front, with the latter driving.
The car is silent.
The truth was, getting you into the car had been quite the fight that morning. After Seungmin had brought you to Felix’s room, you’d finally been able to fall asleep peacefully, buried in the omega’s arms and blankets. And for a few restful hours, you’d slept, away from the horrors of your reality.
But then the sun had bled through Felix’s window and reality had settled back in.
“Come on, sunshine, it’s time to wake up.”
Felix’s voice is soft as he calls out to you, his hand gently shaking your shoulder awake. Still, despite his carefulness, you wake with a start, gasping, eyes dazed and clouded as you try to remember where you are. The room isn’t familiar and that strikes fear deep in your heart.
But then Felix’s scent floods your senses; brown sugar and cookie dough and it all comes flooding back.
Meeting his concerned gaze, you swallow thickly.
“Sorry,” you whisper, voice quiet.
Felix shakes his head, hand warm and steady on your shoulder. “It’s okay, sunny,” he reassures, voice soothing. “Did you have a nightmare?”
You shake your head. “I just… forgot where I was.”
But what you don’t say is that you’d thought you were back there.
Felix nods, but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he isn’t sure what to say.
“Come on,” he calls a moment later, moving to stand. “Chan already popped in. He’s booked an appointment with the doctor for you.”
That gives you pause.
“I can’t come,” Felix frowns, oblivious to the way you’ve frozen in place. “I have a class and Chan already told me I can’t skip it. But Han will be coming, so you won’t be alone. Minho and Channie will be there too.”
Turning to you, Felix grins wide; “I’ll have a special treat waiting for you when you get back home though!”
After that, it’s a bit of a hustle and bustle. Felix leaves with Seungmin, the two apparently both having a class, and the former gives you a big warm hug before leaving. Seungmin practically has to drag him off of you as it’s clear the boy does not want to leave you at all.
Hyunjin is also getting ready for the art class he is teaching, but he checks on your neck before leaving, making sure to change the bandage. He mumbles something about the doctor probably redressing it, but he feels better assuring it’s taken care of himself.
Changbin has to go to work and help fill in since Chan and Han won’t be coming. You’re told that the three of them own a producing company together.
And lastly, Jeongin will be staying back at home, catching up on some homework while he waits for the three of you to get back.
Only, the second everyone’s done and ready to go, you find you can’t get out of your seat.
You’d been sitting at the kitchen table for a while. Felix had leant you some more clothes, with the promise from Changbin that they’d go shopping to get you clothes of your own soon. And so you’d sat at the kitchen table, waiting, with your nerves growing stronger and stronger by the second.
And when Minho finally calls it’s time to go, you’re paralyzed with fear.
“I promise you the doctor is nice,” Han says, trying to comfort you. He sits crouched in front of you, one hand on your knee and the other holding yours. “She’s the same one I go to.”
Frowning, the question is clear in your eyes.
“For my anxiety meds,” Han explains, smiling softly. “Doctor Yoon is the nicest doctor. She is understanding and listens to your concerns. She won’t push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
You eye Minho and Chan who are standing behind Han, both looking concerned before turning back to Han.
“I-I’m not scared of doctors,” you say eventually, voice small. “I’m just afraid of what she’ll find.”
That gives the three of them pause.
“What do you mean, Y/N?” Chan asks, shaking his head at you.
Your grip tightens on Han’s hand. But you can’t find the words to speak.
Chan sighs; “I know you’re scared, Y/N. And I don’t want to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But we need to make sure nothing’s broken. I know you’re in pain, even though you’re trying to pretend you aren’t.”
“We’ll come straight back,” Minho nods. “The second we’re done.”
Han meets your eyes, “I can ask if I can come in the room with you, okay? If you want?”
You nod; “I’d like that.”
“I’m sure Doctor Yoon won’t have a problem.”
After a bit more reassurance, the boys had managed to get you into the car. You’re a bundle of nerves the entire car drive and eventually the boys realize the silence might be better for you, rather than trying to get you to talk. Still, Han’s hand never leaves yours and Minho periodically reaches back to squeeze your knee. You don’t miss the looks Chan sends you through the rearview mirror either, or the calming pheromones he sends out to soothe you.
“We’re here,” Chan announces, pulling you from your thoughts as he sends you a light smile.
So you follow the boys inside. Han instantly takes you back to the waiting area as Minho and Chan walk up to the reception desk. Once they come to sit with you and Han, the wait isn’t long.
In fact, it’s not long enough.
“Y/N Y/L/N?”
You jump at the sound of your name being called, shoulders tensing as your nails dig into Chan’s arm next to you. The alpha simply just grabs your free hand, grip gentle as he pulls you to your feet. Minho and Han follow you both.
“Chris,” Doctor Yoon greets, smiling at the alpha before sending nods Minho and Han’s way. Then, her eyes settle on you. Her scent, strawberries and cream, floods you. A beta, you realize distantly. “And it’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”
The warmth of her smile eases you, even just a little. Han was right, she was nice.
“I’ll take you back to the room now,” she explains, voice careful. “I’ve been told you’d like Han to come with you.”
You nod.
“Is there any way for all of us to come with?” Chan asks, the thought of leaving you not settling right in his chest.
“It’s best if it’s just Han and Y/N,” Doctor Yoon says, tone sympathetic. You appreciate her saying it for you. You didn’t want to hurt Chan or Minho’s feelings, or worse, make them upset with you. But you’re also not sure you would’ve been comfortable with the both of them in the room with you.
Sighing, Chan nods and then Minho is pulling the alpha back, sending you a smile before moving the two of them back to the waiting area.
Doctor Yoon does a lot of the same Hyunjin does. Sitting you down on the bed, she pulls a chair over for Han so he can sit next to you, who eagerly takes the spot, your hand finding his once again. She checks your neck first, humming to herself as she compliments Hyunjin’s work. She applies a different ointment cream than the one Hyunjin had, explaining it was made for infections like this and tells you to apply it once a day for two weeks.
Then she checks your body for the bruises. Her fingers poke and prod at you, all while you sit there, tense and feeling like you can’t breathe. But after a few minutes, she assures both you and Han that nothing is broken. She orders you to rest for the next few weeks, so your body can heal.
You nod along to all of her instructions.
And then she asks what you’d been dreading.
“I’m going to have to ask you a few personal questions, Y/N,” she explains, expression serious as she meets your gaze. “Would you like Han to leave?”
You turn to the omega. It’s clear by the expression on his face he doesn’t want to leave you alone, but he straightens and looks back at you with waiting eyes, clearly ready to do whatever is best for you.
You squeeze his hand; “I’d like him to stay.”
Doctor Yoon nods. “If at any point you change your mind, you just let one of us know, okay?”
“Okay.”
She nods, and then shifts, grabbing her notes. “Although nothing is broken or severe, the bruises on your body are concerning, Y/N.” Doctor Yoon explains, frowning. “Now, you don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with. But, has anyone ever forced you into sexual activity or touched you in a way you didn’t want?”
Her question settles in the air, echoing in the silence. You’d expected the question, had known what some of those bruises looked like. The ones the size of a hand.
You just didn’t know how to respond.
Biting your lip, your gaze falls to your lap. Han tenses beside you.
“Y/N?”
Inhaling sharply, you nod. “Someone… Someone has.”
Han’s hand tenses in yours and you can only imagine the expression on his face. You don’t have the heart to see it, already smelling the way his scent has soured faintly at your words.
Doctor Yoon doesn’t let the silence settle.
“I’ll have to inform your pack alpha of this,” she explains, waiting for you to acknowledge her words. “I won’t share anything beyond what you’ve shared with me, okay? But it’s best he’s aware. Anything beyond that is up to your discretion.”
You bite your lip; “I understand.”
“And are you experiencing any pain in your genital area?”
Again, you nod.
“I recommend we do a pelvic exam today before you leave to check your reproductive health. I’ll walk you through each step and make sure you’re comfortable.”
Meeting her eyes, you realize even if you don’t want to, Doctor Yoon knows what she’s doing.
“O-Okay.”
“The bruising is mild to severe across her entire body. Nothing is broken, but she’ll need to rest for the next couple of weeks in order to properly heal.”
Chan nods at Doctor Yoon’s words, listening carefully while his eyes remain on you in the distance. It had only been a few minutes since you and Han had walked out of your appointment with Doctor Yoon and almost instantly, the beta had requested she speak with Chan privately.
The words had instantly made Chan’s stomach twist with nerves, but he’d nodded, standing to follow her. He sends a look to Minho, to which the alpha nods, stepping towards the two omegas, neither alpha unaware of the distress coming off of the two of them. Chan makes sure to send you a warm smile before he leaves.
And even now, he won’t take his eyes off of you.
“The bite mark on her neck,” Doctor Yoon continues, looking over neck. “From what I can tell, it wasn’t completed. So it should heal. However, a bite from one of her fated soulmates would also make it heal even faster.”
Chan flushes at that, eyes finally pulling from you to meet Doctor Yoon’s waiting ones. There’s a soft, knowing smile on her lips that makes Chan flush even more.
“How’d you know?” He asks.
Doctor Yoon rolls her eyes. “It’s pretty obvious,” she remarks.
And Chan realizes that his question had been pretty stupid.
“I know it’d help her,” Chan agrees, referring to your bite mark. “I just don’t want to make her uncomfortable or worse, force it on her. She’s still pretty skittish around me and the other alphas, and I’m not sure about Seungmin and Hyunjin. The only two she seems relaxed around are Han and Felix… Still, I’d prefer she asks for it first.”
That causes Doctor Yoon to smile, nodding almost as if that’s the exact answer she’d expected from the alpha.
“I figured you’d say that. Which is why I feel comfortable sharing this with you,” Doctor Yoon continues, her tone turning serious. Chan blinks over at her and that feeling from before returns as he frowns. “Normally, I don’t feel comfortable sharing my patients' information without them present. But she’d seemed comfortable with Han knowing and this is important for you to know as well.”
Biting his lips, Chan swallows thickly; “what is it?"
“The bite mark is enough to raise suspicion but… The bruises across her body are concerning, beyond just someone physically abusing her.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are hand marks all over her body. Fingerprints across her hips and around her breasts,” Doctor Yoon explains. “When asked, she admitted to being sexually abused. She didn’t disclose further than just admitting to the sexual abuse. But there is bruising around and on her genital area. It was quite… severe.”
Frowning, Doctor Yoon sighs. “I figure it’s probably whoever attempted to mark her.”
Chan feels his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. The dread that washes over him is paralyzing. There’s also the sense of red hot anger that swarms him, beyond his control. He’d already had a bad feeling but hearing it was a completely different experience. Chan had already spent the last day since they found you holding back his anger, knowing that letting himself slip wouldn’t help anyone; least of all of you.
But to hear… to know for sure… Chan was seeing red.
Doctor Yoon, noticing the shift in Chan’s emotions, sighs. “Chris,” she calls, voice sharp in an attempt to pull the man from his own mind. “Chris, listen to me.”
It doesn’t work.
He thinks of what you’d said that morning in the kitchen. How afraid you’d been.
“I’m just afraid of what she’ll find.”
Had you thought they’d be mad? Were you ashamed? The thoughts flood Chan’s mind beyond his control, fast and rapid, not giving him a moment to think rationally. All he could think about was how someone had hurt you, someone had put their hands on you, forced you to… and he hadn’t known.
He hadn’t been there to help you — his own fated soulmate.
“Chan!”
He blinks at the sharp voice, lips parting as he turns to find Minho in front of him. The younger man’s face is set in a glare, eyes narrowed as he stares back at the pack alpha. He’d let out a bark with his voice, clearly using his alpha to grab Chan’s attention.
He’s confused, momentarily, but then he sees them. Sees you.
Chan’s eyes drift past Minho, falling on Han and you. Han is holding you close, with you wrapped up in his arms, but the two omegas look stressed and panicked. Han’s face has twisted with anxiety, which is enough to make him feel guilty, but then he finds your eyes. You’re completely broken, terrified eyes welling with tears and staring at him like you’re afraid it’s you he’s mad at.
That makes Chan snap out of it.
“Sorry,” he whispers, breathless. “I’m sorry.”
Minho turns to Doctor Yoon, “we should go. Was there anything else?”
“No,” Doctor Yoon assures, nodding at Chan. “Here. I’ve prescribed Y/N some ointment for her neck and some pain medication to help with the healing.”
Minho takes the prescription from Chan, knowing that the alpha is in no state to do so himself. Then, with a final bow, Minho is turning back to the omegas. His voice is gentle as he pulls them to their feet, promising them they’ll be home quick.
Summary: They've been looking for the final member of their pack for years, a ache that never fades and always exists. Only, when they finally find you, they find a version of you that has been broken. Will they be able to make you whole again?
Chan was the pack alpha, Minho was his second-in-command. Hyunjin was the head beta. The eight of them had all found each other in different ways, but one thing remained the same amongst them all.
Fated soulmates.
Your fated soulmates.
You’d known even before Chan had said the words. You had sensed it. Even through your distress, even after what you’d been through, your body’s reaction to their touch and their scent had been enough of a clue.
As a little girl, you’d always wondered what it would feel like when you found your fated soulmate. How you would know. Your mother had told you you just would, and never had an answer when you asked what that meant. It’s like something clicks, she’d explained. Something missing inside of you that is found.
He had tried to tell you that’s what you felt when you met him. Naive and not knowing any differently, you’d let him convince you he was right.
You don’t know how you could’ve ever thought he was. What you’d felt with him was nothing compared to how you felt now, sitting with them, surrounded by their concerned gazes but reassuring smiles. Nothing he’d ever said to you ever felt the way it did the way it did coming from their mouths. His touch had never felt as comforting as theirs did.
He was nothing like them. Beyond just being your soulmate.
Even the four alphas… your mind told you to be afraid, knowing exactly what alphas were capable of, but your heart assured you there was no need to be. That soft, faint whisper of your omega that yearned for them, needed them. Told you they were safe. That they’d never hurt you. That they’d keep you protected.
You hadn’t felt safe around an alpha in years.
“We can talk more tomorrow,” Chan says once the introductions have finished. “You should really get some rest.”
You nod, and by instinct, you find yourself asking; “where’s the basement?”
Everyone pauses, hesitating. Minho’s the first to break the silence.
“It’s down the hall, but… why would you need the basement?”
You turn to him, confused. His confused mimics right back at you; in fact, everyone is staring at you baffled. It causes you to hesitate, hands twisting in front of you. “Isn’t… that where I’m sleeping?”
The shock on his face is plain as day. The horror on the rest makes you fear you’ve said something wrong.
“O-Or wherever you want me,” you turn to Chan, unsure.
Chan blinks, pulling himself from his own shock. “We have a bedroom for you,” he says, careful to keep his voice even and calm. “Your own bedroom,” he clarifies, because something tells him he needs to. “Just for you. It’s in between Han and Seungmin’s.”
“Oh, okay,” you breathe. You can’t remember the last time you had your own bedroom, at least a nice one at that. Probably not since you were a little girl.
And so Chan leads you to the room. He opens the door for you with a smile, assuring you as you walk in and take a look at the room, that they’ll get you things to help decorate your room soon. You just nod, still too stunned at the sight of the room itself to respond. It wasn’t like the sheer size of the house had escaped your notice, but having a room, especially this large, all to yourself…
You could cry.
“We’ve had this room ready for a while,” Chan admits after a moment, having watched your reaction. You turn to him, lips parted, taking note of the shy smile on his lips. It’s quite cute. “Ready for you.”
You bite your lip, letting your eyes drift across the room once again.
You’re not sure how to respond. You never thought you’d ever find yourself here. You never thought you’d escape…
A knock sounds before the silence drags on for too long. You and Chan both turn to find Felix standing at your door, a bundle of blankets in his hands. “This is for you,” Felix beams. “For your nest.”
He makes his way in, not noticing the way your eyes have widened as he continues to explain.
“We keep lots of blankets around the house,” he explains. “Hannie and I both have our own nests in our bedrooms. We also have a communal nest in the den, but we’ll save that for when you’ve settled in more. Hannie and I regularly swap the blankets out when we want the boys to scent them for us. These blankets are clean and we can worry about getting them properly scented later, but for now I thought you’d appreciate having at least a temporary nest.”
He drops the blankets on the bed and smiles at you.
You blink back at him, lips parted but no words having left your mouth.
Chan notices, setting a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Let’s leave Y/N to it, Lixie,” Chan smiles at you. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask any one of us.”
He pulls Felix with him, who looks reluctant to leave you but listens to his alpha, sending you a smile and a wave on his way out.
They shut the door behind them and then it’s just you.
Inhale sharply, you turn back to the room, zoning in on the bed. The bundle of blankets Felix had brought to you stares back at you, mocking you. You hadn’t the heart or the confidence to tell Felix the truth. That it had been a long time since you’d been allowed to make a nest, at least a proper one and you’d never truly learned in the first place.
You were ashamed, really. You, an omega, and you had no idea how to do one of your most basic instincts. You could only imagine how Han and Felix would react if you told them…
Rubbing your nervous palms against the clothes Felix had given you, you decide you’ll give it a try. It was part of your nature as an omega, right? Surely it’d come naturally. You just had to… give it a try.
Besides, you were safe here. You had to be.
Stepping towards the bed, your movements are slow. Tentative. You move with movements that feel jarring, rocky. You have no idea what you’re doing. Not a single clue.
It’s been a few hours since Chan and the rest had come home with you in tow.
The only reason Seungmin’s awake is because he can’t sleep. He wants to be asleep. He’s tired, he knows that. His body screams at him in exhaustion, his eyes heavy and his body sore. But after tossing and turning for hours unable to sleep, Seungmin realized that such peace wasn’t going to come naturally.
So, slipping out of his room, he’s careful to be quiet, not wanting to wake anybody else up. He definitely doesn’t want to wake you up, either. And your bedroom is right beside his, which means he has to be extra cautious.
Only, the second Seungmin shuts his bedroom door behind him, he finds you, not in your bedroom, not asleep, standing in front of Han’s door with shaky hands and a trembling breath.
Seungmin frowns.
“He’s not there,” he whispers into the night, loud enough for you to hear but still quiet. You jump at his voice and Seungmin’s face twists in guilt at the sight. The second your eyes meet his own, Seungmin feels that same sharp sense of warmth flood through his entire being just like it had the second he’d seen you be carried inside by Han.
He’s sure most of the pack had felt the same. You were there fated soulmate after all, the final one. The last piece they’d been looking for for years.
Only, Seungmin hadn’t jumped at the bit to get close to you like the rest of his pack had. No, he’s been more recluse. More closed off. Not necessarily because of you, at least not directly. Just because… because he didn’t know how to approach you. It wasn’t like he didn’t want you — he did. But he’d grown comfortable with his pack, comfortable with it being the eight of them.
Sure, he’d felt that longing, that ache for you, but it hadn’t mattered much when he had the rest.
It wasn’t like he never wanted to find you, he just wasn’t in a rush. And certainly not like this. Not when you were… you. Hurt, confused, scared… Seungmin didn’t know how to help you. He didn’t have the natural instincts towards it like Chan and Changbin did. He didn’t have the eagerness that Jeongin and Hyunjin had. And he wasn’t an omega like Han and Felix were. He couldn’t understand you. Not in the same way.
And the only one he’d thought understood him was Minho. But Seungmin had seen the way the man’s eyes had softened the second Han had come walking through that door with you.
They were a pack, a team and a family of eight. Everyone loved everyone. But there were those that were just a little closer than the others. Those who just… bonded in a different way. Minho and Han were those to each other.
Han had been the one who invited Minho to the pack in the first place, and from that very first day the omega had walked in with the alpha in hand, it was clear they shared a bond no one else could understand.
The second Minho had seen Han fret over you like that, Seungmin knew any apprehension the alpha had instantly disappeared.
And so, there was him. Distant, awkward, unsure how to express himself.
Unsure how to help you.
“He’s with Minho,” Seungmin explains when he sees the frown curl on your lips. “He often sleeps with Minho in his room.”
Your face falls. “Oh.”
Licking his lips, Seungmin swallows thickly. “Are you… okay?”
You shuffle on your feet at that, your face twisting as if you’re not sure if you should say anything. You must see something on Seungmin’s face though, because in a second you’re bowing your head, rushing towards your door. “Yes, I’m okay—”
Seungmin’s body moves on his own. Stepping towards you, he blocks your path, causing you to gasp and jump back in fright. He mentally curses himself, raising his hand to portray to you he means no harm.
“I’m not…” But he stops, sighing at himself. “It’s just… It’s okay if you’re not… okay, that is. I–I want to help.”
Twisting your hands, you glance at your feet. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You wouldn’t be,” Seungmin assures, the words awkward and tense coming from his lips. But he means them. “I promise.” He adds, for good measure.
You glance up at him, finally, at that. Nervous and frightened, but your face eases when you meet Seungmin’s gaze. He’s not sure why, because he’s confident he isn’t helping you at all.
But it does.
“Felix gave me blankets to build a nest but it’s… it’s not working,” you explain, frustrated. “I’ve been trying for hours. Nothing feels right. And I-I can’t sleep. I was hoping Han wouldn’t mind me sleeping with him.”
Seungmin nods, slowly. “You don’t want to be alone?”
You bite your lip, cheeks warm and eyes embarrassed. “No.”
“Would Felix be okay? I think I saw him go in his room before bed,” Seungmin asks, figuring it’s probably another omega’s comfort you want. Chan had said you’d been afraid of him at first, and the bruises Hyunjin said he found on you… Seungmin had a sneaky suspicion that they had been inflicted on you by another alpha. And it wasn’t quite clear how you felt about betas yet either.
Even if they were your soulmates.
You nod.
“Follow me,” Seungmin says, soft and gentle. “I’ll show you where his room is.”
And so he does, all while you trail a few steps behind him. It’s not far to Felix’s room, but Seungmin is careful to move slowly, aware of your wounds. The two of you are silent as you make your way down the hall, and the second Seungmin reaches Felix’s door, he’s glancing back at you briefly before knocking on the omega’s door.
Felix opens the door a moment later. He looks confused at first, meeting Seungmin’s gaze with furrowed brows before his gaze settles on you, and Felix’s face splits with worry.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Felix asks you, opening the door fully to step towards you. You fall into his touch with ease, the tension in your shoulders leaving instantly as you whimper against him.
Seungmin stands awkwardly to the side, not sure what to do.
“I can’t sleep,” you whisper to Felix, sounding broken. “And I can’t nest either…”
“My poor baby,” Felix coos at you, brushing your hair back and pulling you into his arms. “Here. Come in. I was just about to head to bed. We can cuddle together.”
And so Felix pulls you into his room. Seungmin watches, jealous that the omega knew exactly what you needed and had done so naturally, without hesitation. While he’d spent the entire time fumbling over his words. The guilt eats at him, knowing he’d been awkward and distant.
But then, just before Felix shuts the door, you’re tugging on Felix’s clothes to stop him, head turning over your shoulder to meet Seungmin’s gaze.
You smile, small but warm, and your voice is sincere as you say: “thank you, Seungmin.”
And his heart flutters, breath catching in the back of his throat. His eyes widen and his lips part, while Felix grins at the sight, and Seungmin realizes a second later than he should that he should respond to you.
“Y-You’re welcome, Y/N.”
You send him one last smile before curling back into Felix’s arm, the omega nodding at Seungmin before shutting his bedroom door.
And as Seungmin walks back to his room, his steps are lighter, his shoulders eased. When he reaches his room and lays down on his bed, he falls asleep with a small, gentle smile on his lips as he dreams of you.
Summary: They've been looking for the final member of their pack for years, a ache that never fades and always exists. Only, when they finally find you, they find a version of you that has been broken. Will they be able to make you whole again?
Pairing: Stray Kids OT8 x F!Reader
A/N: Okay so I was absolutely blown away by the response to the first chapter!! I already have like seven chapters prewritten because I was so excited and pumped. ANYWAYS thank you guys <33 I hope you all continue to enjoy this series :)
Chapter TW. Angst, reader has injuries/bruising all over her body, that's it
“She’s our soulmate, Minho,” he’d breathed over the phone, voice low, heavy. “The last one. The one we’ve been looking for.”
Minho can still feel the shivers coursing down his back.
The second he’d gotten off the phone with Chan, he’d geared into the action. Chan had said you were hurt, so he knew he needed to grab Hyunjin first. Get the beta ready. Then, he’d have to tell the other four. Chan had said that no matter what they couldn’t bombard you when Chan, Han and Felix returned home with you.
He was sure the members had already felt their omegas and Chan’s distress faintly through the mark. He’d felt it himself. Nothing extreme enough to be concerned, he’d thought. Besides, Chan was with Han and Felix and there was never anything to worry about when their pack alpha was there. The others probably felt the same.
Only, that clearly hadn’t been the case. Telling the others was definitely going to be the most difficult part.
Outside of the whole, you actually being their last soulmate part.
He finds Hyunjin in his room, painting, with Jeongin laying back on the betas bed. They pause at the sound of Minho barging in, wide eyes falling on the alpha, and taking note of the look on Minho’s face, Jeongin instantly sits up straight.
“What?” He calls out, “what is it?”
“The mark,” Hyunjin says, shoulders tensing. “I felt Han and Felix… Did something happen to them?”
Swallowing thickly, Minho grips the door tighter, if anything to calm his own racing heart.
“They’re okay,” he settles first, knowing they’d appreciate the assurance. “But… Chan called. They’re on their way back… with her.”
He can’t find it in him to say anything more than that, even though he knows he should. Minho is usually more level headed. He wasn’t second-in-command for nothing. He kept control of his emotions, he stayed strong for the others. But there’s this… feeling that won’t leave him. It hadn’t since Chan had said who you were.
He isn’t sure if it’s nerves. He knows it’s not only excitement, not completely at least. There’s something… uncertain there.
Jeongin’s brows furrow, not understanding. Hyunjin, however, does and the look on his face makes it clear.
“Hyung found her?”
Minho nods.
“Her?” Jeongin echos, still sounds confused. “Who’s her?”
“Our soulmate. The final piece to our pack.” A new voice calls out.
All eyes snap to Changbin, the alpha making his way towards Hyunjin’s room with Seungmin trailing behind him. The beta looks off, but Minho doesn’t have the time to focus on that right now. Meeting Changbin’s gaze, the younger alpha inhales sharply.
“I can smell her,” he says. “They found her.”
“They did,” Minho breathes.
Jeongin’s eyes widen at that. “You mean…” He stares at them both, before letting his eyes meet Hyunjin who’s still sitting beside him. “We’re complete now?”
Hyunjin smiles, warm and giddy. “It seems so.”
“Inhale sharply, Innie,” Changbin grins, guiding the younger alpha. “You should be able to smell her too. She’s an omega.”
Jeongin’s lips part at that, breathless. But he listens to Changbin’s advice, letting his eyes fall shut as he breathes in deeply. Everyone’s silent for a moment, letting their youngest take his time, and then, finally, Jeongin’s lips spread into a wide grin.
“I can smell her,” he laughs, turning to them. Minho finds himself smiling at the sight, proud of the young alpha. But then, Jeongin’s face falters. He turns to Minho, confused. “She smells… sad.”
That snaps Minho out of the moment.
“Hyunjin, get your kit,” he tells the beta who instantly nods, setting his painting supplies aside and standing. “Chan warned that she was hurt. I don’t know how, but she’ll need your help.”
“On it,” Hyunjin says.
“Also, Chan said we can’t swarm her the second they get back.” Minho explains, making sure his tone is sharp and conveys how important it is that they all listen. “She’s upset, distressed. We can’t overwhelm her. Chan also explains she seemed afraid of him at first… He’s not sure if it’s just alphas or betas as well. It’s probably best we let Han and Felix take care of her at first, sans Hyunjin who will need to take a look at her.”
They all nod, and the second Hyunjin has his first aid kid, they’re making their way towards the living room. Minho lets himself trail behind them, turning to Seungmin. The beta was still being distant, which in of itself wasn’t completely odd. Seungmin often valued his private time. But, Minho could tell — there was something else.
“You okay?”
The younger beta blinks, somehow having not noticed Minho had slowed down next to him.
“Yeah,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Yeah.”
Minho frowns. “I understand,” he says. “I feel conflicted too.”
Seungmin eases at that, just faintly. The reassurance that he had at least someone who understood his feelings enough.
You cling to Han and Felix the entire walk home.
When Chan had walked off to call the man he called Minho, Han had shifted you in his arms, moving so he was holding you. You’d whispered to him that he didn’t have to, but the omega had only shook his head, assuring you he was more than okay with keeping you close. You hadn’t argued after that, unable to deny that being in his arms had been soothing and comforting in a way you hadn’t experienced in a long time.
That, however, had caused Felix to pout, whining that he wanted to be close to you too.
Not wanting to upset him, you’d held your hand out, letting him take it. Felix had beamed almost instantly, and you found you quite liked the smile on the man’s face, especially if you were the one who caused it. You liked the feeling of his hand in yours too, warm and firm.
And so, the three of you walked home like that. Han holding you close, nestled against his chest and Felix clutching onto your hand like the second he let go of it you’d disappear.
All while Chan walked in the back, close in case of anything, with a fond warm smile on his lips.
When the four of you reach what you can only assume is their home, your nerves worsen. Your grip on Han and Felix tightens, staring at the front door with wide eyes.
Felix just smiles at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I promise you it’ll be okay.”
Han nods, assuring you of Felix’s sentiment and then Chan is stepping in front of the three of you, moving towards the door.
He chances one glance back at you, waiting. That simple gesture is enough to help ease you, even if only a little. The simplicity of taking the time to make sure you were ready was something that Chan will never know meant so much to you.
You nod, small and anxious.
The shift is instant. The faint trace of a mixture of smells you’d smelt before is suddenly strong and pungent. It wraps itself around you like a cloak, warm and safe, but firm. There’s… five different smells, you pick out cedarwood, leather, bergamot, earl grey and apples, amongst many other things. Chan, Han and Felix’s scents, warm amber, vanilla and brown sugar respectively, mix together with the other scents.
All together, it’s perfect. It’s right. But it’s a lot.
Han is the last to step in, you still in his arms, and the second he does, you curl into yourself and him, shrinking into him. Sure enough, there’s five men waiting for you, their eyes instantly on you, and you let out a soft whimper.
Han pulls you closer.
“Let’s set her on the couch,” Felix calls, squeezing your hand. He meets your gaze, smiling. “We’re gonna put you on the couch, okay?”
You nod; “okay…”
And so they do. Han is careful as he sets you down, both him and Felix on either side of you. Chan hovers in the front and you notice the other five haven’t moved, staying rooted in their spots.
You swallow thickly.
“Hyun,” Chan calls. A beta steps forward then, the one that smells like bergamot, with long shoulder-length dark hair and sharp features. “I want you to look at her first. Once we know she’s okay, we’ll do introductions.”
Hyun nods, and then the beta is turning to you. He smiles, gentle and careful, but there’s something sparkling in his eyes as he crouches in front of you.
“I’m Hyunjin,” he introduces himself, slow and careful. “I’m gonna take a look at you and make sure you’re not hurt. Is that okay?”
Biting your lip, you nod.
“Let’s get her in the bathroom,” Hyunjin says, turning back to look at Chan. “For privacy.”
Chan nods, “I’ll find her a change of clothes. Maybe Felix has something?”
The omega nods from your side, standing and letting go of your hand; though he seems reluctant to do so. “I can take a look.”
Hyunjin stands, “the bathroom is just down the hall.” He explains to you.
You follow the direction he’s pointing, and lean back into Han.
“Would you like Han with you?”
You glance from Han and then back to Hyunjin, the decision made before you even realize it. “If that’s okay…” You trail, speaking for the first time. There’s a soft chorus of gasps that echo around the room the second you do, and you hug yourself tighter.
“Of course it is,” Hyunjin smiles, snapping out of his reverie and nodding at Han. The omega helps you to your feet, letting you curl into his side as he leads you down the hall to the bathroom.
Hyunjin shuts the door gently behind him as Han guides you to sit on the counter next to the sink.
“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Han smiles, big and wide, sending you a thumbs up. “Jinnie here knows what he’s doing.”
“I know enough,” Hyunjin corrects, turning to you. Coming to a stop in front of you, Hyunjin’s expression is stern as he meets your gaze. “If your wounds are bad, we’ll have to take you to a doctor.”
You nod, small.
“Let’s take a look at your neck first.”
It had been the wound Minho had warned him about, relaying what Chan had said. His stomach was still twisted in knots at the mention of someone forcefully trying to mate you, but that feeling only worsens when he sees the wound for himself. Twisting his lips, Hyunjin peels back the collar of your shirt, frowning at the sight.
Han is eyeing him, but Hyunjin isn’t sure what to say. And with the shame flooding your face right now, Hyunjin doesn’t want to make it worse.
So, he silently starts cleaning the wound. You watch as he asks Han to wet a cloth for him, before the beta turns to you, hands careful and delicate but deliberate as he cleans your wound. He leans close as he does, looking closely, though you’re not sure why.
It isn’t until he grabs some antibacterial cream that Hyunjin speaks.
“This might sting,” he warns.
Han grabs your hand and you hold onto it appreciatively.
It does. The second Hyunjin begins to dot the cream across your infected skin, the sting is immediate. You tense at the sensation, tensing, but are careful not to move. You don’t want to anger Hyunjin.
Hyunjin finishes by bandaging the wound. You watch him the entire time, taking in the twist of his lips and the anger in his eyes. His scent has soured faintly too. It makes your heart ache and your stomach tight with nerves, fearing you’ve upset the beta.
“There,” Hyunjin says, pulling back with a small smile. “I’ll keep an eye on it but the infection should wear down soon.”
Biting your lip, you glance at your lip.
“Will it go away?”
Your voice is small as you ask.
Hyunjin glances at Han, the omega frowning back at him,
“I can’t tell if the bite was complete,” Hyunjin finally says, voice level and careful. “If it wasn’t, it’ll heal and fade over time. If it was…”
You don’t say anything in return.
Hyunjin sighs.
“Where else does it hurt, Y/N?” Han asks, stepping towards you. “You said earlier it hurt everywhere.”
Turning to the omega, you nod. “It does.”
That catches Hyunjin’s attention. There doesn’t seem to be any bruises or injuries that he can see outwardly, so that leaves only under your clothes.
“Y/N,” Hyunjin calls, “I need to check under your shirt. Can you lift it for me?”
Your eyes widen with fear at that, shoulders tensing and back straightening.
Hyunjin is quick to assure you. “I just want to make sure,” he assures you. “I promise you I won't do anything else.”
You’re still not sure. Staring back at Hyunjin, you look for some trace of insincerity in his gaze, but you find nothing. There’s patience in his eyes as he stares back at you, and when you turn to Han, he’s just smiling reassuringly at you.
“O-Okay.”
So, with shaky fingers, you grab the hem of your shirt and slowly pull it up to your chest. You feel vulnerable bearing yourself like this with two men you’ve just met, but try to calm yourself with small reassurances. Han was a fellow omega and he wouldn’t do anything to you, if anything, he’d been nothing but sweet and compassionate to you. And he seemed to trust Hyunjin.
Hyujin was a beta too. Less dangerous, less demanding than alphas.
You were safe.
The second your shirt is fully lifted, Hyunjin and Han both gasp.
“Y-Y/N…” Han calls, voice a low tremble.
Turning to him, you frown, confused.
“This is…” Hyunjin starts, voice trailing. “How have you even been walking?”
You turn to the beta then, taking in the horror in his eyes. Glancing down at yourself, your lips part, hesitating.
The second Hyunjin walks out of the bathroom and into the living room, he’s bombarded with questions.
“How is she?”
“Does she need to see a doctor?”
“Where is she?”
He blinks, staring at his pack members in surprise. Most of the questions had come from Chan, Minho and Changbin. Jeongin was hovering close and Seungmin was standing further back, arms crossed, watching but silent.
Hyunjin sighs.
“Han and Felix are helping her change now,” Hyunjin explains, gesturing behind him. “I dressed and cleaned the bite mark on her neck. I couldn’t tell if whoever did it to her completed the mating bite or not. With any luck, they didn’t and it’ll heal. But that’s not the most concerning part.”
Chan’s eyes flash. “What is it?”
“Hyung,” Hyunjin breathes, turning to his pack leader with fear in his eyes. “Her entire body is covered in bruises.”
“What?”
“Whoever did it was smart, careful,” Hyunjin sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Kept the bruises hidden so no one else would see. I don’t even know how you guys got her here, they’re that bad. It’s out of my expertise, she needs to see a doctor.”
Sighing, Chan nods. “Okay, we’ll take her tomorrow. It’s too late today and she probably needs some rest.”
Hyunjin nods, trying to settle the race of his heart and the anger coursing through his veins. When he’d seen your body, it had taken everything in him to control his reaction. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you more, especially given how skittish you already seemed. He’s only thankful Felix had returned with some clothes for you when he had, allowing the two omegas to take care of you in a way he wouldn’t have been able to.
Not when all he wanted to do was murder the person who had hurt you.
Please remember that almost everyone around you is traumatized. I didn’t understand this when I was younger. I wondered why people acted so strangely and irrationally. Maybe all children wonder this. The author Robert Anton Wilson said (paraphrasing), “We have never seen a completely sane adult human.” No one makes it out of this life alive. It’s not their fault. Mercy, kindness, forgiving — these are what makes one human. They are other names for love. People break in the strangest of ways.
“Under the present brutal and primitive conditions on this planet, every person you meet should be regarded as one of the walking wounded. we have never seen a man or woman not slightly deranged by either anxiety or grief. we have never seen a totally sane human being." — Robert Anton Wilson
Summary: They've been looking for the final member of their pack for years, a ache that never fades and always exists. Only, when they finally find you, they find a version of you that has been broken. Will they be able to make you whole again?
Pairing: Stray Kids OT8 x F!Reader
Chapter TW. Angst, reader has injuries, that's really it
Word Count: 2,360
Tag List:
If you'd liked to be tagged, please let me know!
Series Masterlist - Next - Previous
Chapter 1 - The Pull
Even now, it stings.
Sitting there, alone, on that bench, with the sun setting behind you and having no idea where it is you’ll be sleeping that night, all you can feel is the pain radiating from your neck. You don’t feel the tears streaming down your cheeks or notice the way your body trembles.
You don’t notice the three men standing at the other side of the park either.
“She’s upset, hyung.”
“I know,” Chan sighs, the sour scent you’re letting off invading his senses. It’s the only thing he can focus on. It’s enveloping him completely, and he knows that it’s upsetting the two omegas in front of him as well. Felix’s face has twisted in despair, not willing to take his eyes off of your figure and Han has curled into himself in an attempt to protect himself.
Chan swallows thickly.
“Do you think…?” Han starts before letting his voice trail. He doesn’t have to finish, though, because all three of them know what it is he’s asking.
A simple walk late at night at the request of his two omegas had turned into something else the second they’d caught wind of your scent. The park was almost entirely empty. There was a man with his dog, two girls laughing and a group of teenage boys doing something they probably shouldn’t be. But other than that, it was just them. And you.
Chan had started to pick up your scent a while ago, even before reaching the park, but had shrugged it off as nothing. His senses had been a bit off recently, he figured either his rut was approaching or he was just under the weather.
It definitely wasn’t nothing.
“She definitely is,” Felix breathes, still staring at her. His lips have parted and there’s a dazed, sort of distant look in his eyes. “We need to help her.”
Chan agrees. His alpha has been screaming at him to help you the second he laid eyes on you.
He just doesn’t want to scare you.
“We need to go slow,” Chan warns, making sure his tone makes it clear there’s no room for argument. Han shifts, and Felix nods, agreeing with him. “She’s upset. I don’t want to scare her more.”
Han hesitates; “why would she be scared of us? We’re her—”
“It doesn’t look like she’s even aware we’re here,” Chan cuts in, sending a sympathetic glance Han’s way. “Let’s just be cautious, okay?”
They both nod.
“Are you alright?”
The voice startles you. It’s loud, louder than it actually is, reverberating in your head as you jump, frightened eyes glancing up only to meet three concerned pairs. The one who asked stands in the front, dark short hair and dark brown eyes, and beautiful. Even in your haze, you recognize his features, but all of that fades to the back when you realize what he is… an alpha.
His scent surrounds you. Wraps its arms around you and clings on. You don’t notice the sweetness of it, the warmth, all that you can focus on is that he’s an alpha.
You pull back, a whimper leaving your lips, scrambling out of the bench as fear takes hold of you and traps you.
The only thought registering in your mind is that you need to get away. You move without thinking, without a plan, simply desperate to get as far as possible. You need to get away and fast. Alpha means bad, alpha means…
“Hey, hey, it’s okay! It’s okay!”
The voice is different this time. Deeper. For the first time, you notice the two other men standing with the alpha. You take notice of their scents as well, the same sweet tang to it as the man’s before, only this time you notice the sweetness because your wolf whispers to you; omega.
Omega, like you.
Omega’s are safe. Omega’s understand.
Freezing where you’re standing, you turn to both of the omega’s, focusing in on the one who’d spoken.
He’s got shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes. There’s a dust of freckles across his cheeks, and the only word that comes to mind is kind.
He smiles gently when he notices you’ve stopped, hand held out towards you. His palm faces you, vulnerable, inviting. His eyes are soft, reassuring, and he takes a small, tentative step forwards, almost as if desperate to reach you.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, “what’s your name?”
And you stare back at him, blinking. You can’t understand the feelings swarming through you, settling in the pit of your belly. Can’t understand why these three men’s scents are so much stronger than anything you’ve ever smelt before. Why their voices can reach you when everything else has drowned out to the background. It’s not just the two omegas. Now that you’ve stopped and come to your senses, the alphas smell sweet too; smells… safe. Which makes no sense.
Alpha’s aren’t safe.
“Mines Felix,” he says when it’s clear you won’t say anything on your own. He holds his other hand against his chest, before gesturing to the other omega there. “This is Han.” Your eyes fall to the darker-haired man, taking in the way he smiles at you, soft and unsure, hands twitching at his sides. “And this is Chan,” he points at the alpha.
Your eyes turn to the alpha last, unable to stop the way your heart races at the sight of him. Only, when your eyes meet his, you notice he’d taken a step back since your outburst, almost as if in respect to you. There’s hurt in his eyes but he still smiles, small and gentle, when your eyes meet his.
“I-It’s okay,” the darker-haired omega calls out, Han. You turn to him, lips parted, eyes wide, and he takes a step towards you. You take note of his chubby cheeks and the gummy smile he sends you. “We won’t hurt you. We just want to help you.”
Letting your eyes drift across the three men, you feel yourself calming. It’s almost beyond your own control, an instinctual response. Your omega heels, head bowing, and it confuses you immensely. But it’s soothing too and your omega is whispering to you, soft, reassuring and relieved, that you’re safe.
So, swallowing thickly, you let your hand fall in the blond-haired omega’s hand.
Felix beams the second your hand touches his, and it feels like electricity courses through your entire body the second you do. His hands are soft, too. He’s gentle as he pulls you towards him, and then Han is coming to your other side, looking relieved.
Chan hovers back. Close, an eye kept on the three of you, but not shrouding your space.
“What’s your name, pretty?” Felix asks again, squeezing your hand reassuringly.
“Y-Y/N,” you breathe, unable to hide the tremor of your voice.
“Y/N,” Han repeats, grinning that gummy smile again as he reaches for you. Your eyes follow his hands but you don’t flinch, letting him brush his fingers across your cheek and wipe your tears away. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
There’s a pause, before your eyes instinctively flicker back to the Chan.
“It’s okay,” Felix smiles, sensing your apprehension. “Chan’s our pack alpha. He can help you.”
Felix says the words with such conviction, not an ounce of doubt in his tone as he smiles at the man. A glance at Han tells you he believes the same. And every one of your instincts is telling you that they’re right. Now that you’ve calmed enough to see sense, the sweet tang of his calming pheromones that he’s sending to you is intoxicating, blinding. It’s everything you want.
All three of them smell like everything you’ve always wanted.
But the ache of your neck and the fear still clawing at your throat holds you hostage, reminding you why you’re afraid of alphas.
At Felix's words, Chan steps towards you. He’s slow, deliberate, showing you his hands so you know he means no harm. He continues to pump out calming pheromones, a soft, gentle smile curling on his lips.
There’s patience in his gaze. Warmth. Not an ounce of anger or annoyance. You expect there to be, there should be — you’d ran from him, you’d turned your back on him. Any other alpha would’ve been furious with you.
But Chan isn’t.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says instead, voice soft, a low purr.
It makes your stomach flutter and your heart race. Not in fear.
You’ve never felt this way before.
“Your neck…”
Snapping out of your daze, your eyes fall on Han, noticing the way his own have widened. You follow his gaze, your hand immediately falling to your neck when you notice that’s where he’s staring to cover the red and infected bruise from sight.
“Oh my god,” Felix breathes, sounding horrified. His hands cover his parted lips, and he turns to Chan.
The alpha is already looking at you, switching from meeting your eyes to staring at the hand covering the evidence of your wound. He hadn’t caught sight of it before you’d covered it. His lips thin and he steps towards you again, shifting so he’s directly in front of you. Part of you wants to run, but you don’t. You stay in place, letting him take Felix’s and Han’s place as he reaches for you.
“Can I see?” He asks and your eyes widen.
You would’ve expected him to look without asking. For him to take your hand and pull it away, regardless if it made you uncomfortable or not. Force you to bare your embarrassment in front of all three of them.
Instead, he stays still until you slowly, hesitantly nod.
His hand wraps around your wrist, that same rush of electricity, his touch gentle, and you let him guide your hand away from your neck. Your cheeks warm and you turn away, embarrassed, as the three of them stare at the permanent reminder of what was done to you.
Using his free hand, Chan pulls back the collar of your shirt, taking in the first time the blood and dirt that stains your clothes. His chest tightens, frowning, as he desperately tries to keep his emotions in check. He can already sense Felix and Han’s scents souring, along with your own, and he can only imagine how the others are reacting at home through their marks.
He needs to keep the situation under control.
But nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight of your neck when he sees it. Han’s gasp had been justified. The nape of your neck, right above your collarbone, was a mix of red, purple and blue. The bruising was severe. However, what caught Chan’s attention the most was the set of teeth marks dug in your skin, lining a circle, the shape of a mouth. There was dried blood in the cracks and the wound had swollen up.
A marking bite.
Whoever had done it hadn’t taken care with it, had been rough, selfish. And they weren’t your fated soulmate. So you’d rejected it; probably both because of instincts and given how afraid you seemed, also because you hadn’t wanted it regardless of anything.
Chan’s eyes turn back to you, noticing the way you’ve twisted your eyes shut in shame. You’ve turned away from the three of them too, humiliated and terrified.
Swallowing thickly, Chan pulls away, gently letting your shirt fall back in place to cover the wound. He takes note of the fact that the shirt is all you have, and instantly pulls off his own hoodie, wrapping it around your shoulders. You jump at the touch, tensing, but the moment his familiar scent envelops you and your eyes fall back on Chan’s gaze, soft, understanding without a single trace of anger, you ease.
The second Chan steps back, Han is pulling you into his arms. For a third time, that electricity shoots through you. You expect it this time, even enjoy it. Besides, he doesn’t give you time to pull away even if you wanted to, and Chan has half the mind to scold the omega for overwhelming you. But then he takes note of your scent, of it calming you, and the way you ease into Han’s touch.
He smiles softly.
“You poor thing,” Han breathes, holding you close.
Felix comes to your other side, brushing your hair behind your ear. Chan’s glad he’d taken both the omegas with him.
They’d know how to soothe you best. Especially since him being alpha had frightened you at first, and you still seemed wary of him.
“Hyung,” Felix calls, voice low, whining. “We should take her home. Get her dressed. Have Hyun look at her.”
Chan nods, but before he says anything, he turns to you.
You peer at him from Han’s shoulder, the omega having refused to let go of you.
“We’re gonna take you to our home, okay? Can you walk? Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize following three men you just met back to their home was anything but a good idea. Yet, you find yourself pliant in Han’s arms and enjoying the touch of Felix’s strokes. And when Chan asks if you’re hurt anywhere else, you don’t want to lie.
Nodding, you grip onto Han tighter. “It hurts everywhere,” you whisper.
Han holds you tighter as Felix lets out a whimper.
Chan inhales sharply.
“Our pack… one of our betas. He’ll take a look at you. And if need be, we’ll take you to a doctor too.”
You nod, swallowing thickly.
Chan turns to Felix, “I’m gonna call Minho, let him know and warn the rest. Can you make sure she’s good to go?”
Felix nods, turning back to you as Chan turns away, pulling out his phone.
“You’re gonna love our pack, Y/N,” Felix smiles brightly at you, trying to ease the stress he can feel radiating off of you. He figures the best thing to do would be to keep you distracted. “We’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Han nods against you. “Won’t let anything bad ever happen to you again.”
Synopsis: You see Peter at a party years after your messy breakup and some truths come out
Masterlist
“How long do we have to stay?”
“It’s a party, Peter. It’s not going to kill you to be away from your apartment for one night.” Ned sighed as he pressed the button for the 13th floor in the elevator.
“It might.” Peter said out of the corner of his mouth.
“You need to get out more, dude.” Ned told him. “You’re starting to become Boo Radley, when really, you should be Jay Gatsby.”
“You never read either of those books.” Peter pointed out.
“No.” Ned agreed. “But I Sparknote-ed the shit out of them enough to know that you are becoming a homebody. And everyone knows that is the first step to becoming a serial killer who wears suits made out of unsuspecting women.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Peter answered sarcastically.
“Just try to have fun tonight, okay? I won’t make you stay that long. But I want to see you taking to some people.” Ned requested as they walked into the apartment where the party was being held.
“But you’re the only person here that I….” Peter trailed off as the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. He stared ahead and felt the rest of the world fade away as his eyes landed on you for the first time in four years. You were leaning on a counter in the kitchen with a red solo cup in your hand and a lightness to you he hadn’t seen since the early days of when you were together. The music that had been playing when he walked in became a dull thump that Peter felt in his chest. You hadn’t caught his eye yet, too busy laughing at a story a girl he sort of recognized was telling you.
Your hair was different. Your clothes too. But there was something still distinctly you about you that brought Peter back to a place he didn’t know he still knew how to get to.
“Peter, I am so sorry. I didn’t think she’d be here tonight.” Ned said, pulling Peter back into his body. He managed to tear his eyes away from you, only once he processed what Ned had said.
“You didn’t…uh, is she…do you guys still talk?” Peter asked Ned with an undertone of betrayal.
“No, dude. I haven’t spoken to her since high school.” Ned assured him. “But I know she’s friends with Harry’s girlfriend. I just didn’t think they were close enough that she’d be here.”
“Oh.” Peter said quietly as his attention returned to you. He wanted to turn around and leave before you saw him, but it was too late. Harry, the host of the party, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen to greet him and Ned.
“Hey. Glad you guys made it.” Harry said as he pulled Ned into some handshake-hug hybrid.
“Thanks for having us.” Ned replied. “This is my friend-“
“Peter?” Your voice pierced him like a sword. Harry stepped to the side when he heard your voice, giving you a perfect view of Peter. He stared at you like he was staring down the barrel of a gun, unsure of what his next move should be.
“Oh, you guys know each other?” Harry asked as you departed from your kitchen counter and walked into the living room.
“We all went to high school together.” Ned answered right before you enveloped him in a hug. He shot Peter an apologetic glance before returning the hug.
“Ned. It’s so good to see you.” You said as you squeezed him.
“You too.” He answered quietly but genuinely. “It’s been too long.”
“I had no idea you all knew each other. What a small world.” Harry laughed as you and Ned pulled out of your hug. Your eyes slowly went back to Peter, taking their time as if you hoped he wouldn’t be there anymore by the time you looked his way. He was frozen in time as he stared back at you, taking it all the ways time had changed you since he saw you last.
“Um, is there something else?” Harry chuckled awkwardly when the uncomfortable silence between you and Peter became prolonged uncomfortable silence. Peter stayed quiet and let you decide how much information you wanted to share.
“Peter and I used to date.” You said without taking your eyes off of Peter. Harry’s girlfriend, Sadie, had joined the conversation at some point, but you and Peter weren’t sure of when.
“Wait, you two dated?” Sadie asked as she leaned on Harry’s arm. “I can’t see that.”
“Neither could he. Probably why we didn’t work out.” You said out of the corner of your mouth. Peter absentmindedly touched his lips, realizing he may have developed his habit of doing that from you. You laughed at your own joke, but you were alone in that. Your face fell when you saw how uncomfortable everyone else looked, so you looked down into your cup and took a long sip.
“Wow. Thanks for fucking up the vibe, guys.” Harry said after a minute. “Drinks, anyone? Or perhaps a blow torch to melt the ice between you?”
“That would be great, thanks.” You smiled tightly.
“I’ll be right back with that.” Harry said before heading towards the kitchen. Sadie squeezed your shoulder before walking off with him.
Peter turned to look at Ned, but no longer saw him standing next to him. He looked around the room and could see Ned absolutely cutting it up at a game of Just Dance through the open door of one of the bedrooms. Peter was fearful to turn back around because he knew that meant it was now just the two of you. Before he could psych himself out, he whipped around to face you. You were sizing him up, noticing the way his hair had grown out and how he’d lost his remainder of his teenage features.
“Well, this is a surprise.” You said to break the silence. You took another sip of your drink without breaking eye contact with Peter.
“It’s really good to see you. I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again.” Peter heard the sound of his own voice before realizing he was speaking. He had played out the moment he saw you again in his head a million times, but this version was something he hadn’t written in his mental scripts.
“Yeah, that was heavily implied by the post-it you left on my computer.” You said with a tight lipped smile. This response surprisingly put Peter at ease. It helped him to know where you stood, since the way he ended things left him completely unaware of how you felt about the breakup. He left a post-it note for you to find when you woke up three years ago and had zero communication with you until this moment.
“I’m so sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of things that happened between us. I was such a dick to you.” Peter continued, feeling like once he started to pour out all these bottled up feelings, he was not going to be able to stop.
“You said it.” Was all you said before taking another sip of your drink. Peter touched his back pockets and then the pockets of his jackets, looking for something to fidget with. He settled on toying with the zipper of his jacket while he search for the right words to say.
“Do you think we could talk?” He asked in a quiet voice. “Somewhere more private?”
“I don’t really think you and I have anything left to say to each other.“ You answered. Your tone wasn’t harsh, just honest. Peter began to chew his lips and felt his chance to make things right slipping away.
“I think I have a lot of things left to say to you, actually.” Peter said with an awkward chuckle.
“Then maybe you should’ve sprung for a bigger post-it.” You shrugged.
“Please.” Peter said softly. “Just one conversation. Maybe we could go outside or something?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.”
“What?” Peter frowned, feeling like he had heard that once before.
“That’s what your note said.” You reminded him. “On the same kind of yellow post-it we would use it remind each other to run the dishwasher. I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.”
“That’s not….thats all I wrote?” Peter asked in embarrassed disbelief. He had left in such heightened state of emotions that night that he couldn’t remember the exact wording he had chosen.
“You don’t remember?” You asked him, seemingly more amused than upset.
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Wow.” You said sarcastically. “And here I was thinking we both would know it by heart. Guess it’s just me.”
“That’s awful. Oh my God. You should’ve found out where I was and dropped an anvil on my head or something.” Peter replied, unexpectedly making you let out a dry laugh.
“Hey, I still can.” You reminded him. He felt himself dare to smile the slightest bit.
“You’re being unreasonably civil with me considering the circumstances.”
“Well, if you had shown up before we played that last drinking game, this conversation would be going a lot differently. But lucky for you, I’m too drunk to remember just exactly how much I hate your guts.” You replied, making the smile fall right off his face. Hearing that you hated his guts was painful, even though he knew he deserved it.
Before Peter could respond, a guy a full foot taller than him bumped his shoulder and pulled you into a hug. Your demeanor changed and you tensed up, making eye contact with Peter over the man’s shoulder. He felt his heart sink and knew his face was not hiding how he felt.
“Hey, beautiful.” The man greeted you as he pulled away. Your blank expression became a fake smile the second he could see your face.
“Hi!” You said in a tone Peter recognized as your voice when fake niceties were being exchanged. You made eye contact with Peter again and stared at each other. As angry as you had been with him, you did not want him to be in this situation.
“Sorry, did I interrupt?” The man asked when he noticed you staring at Peter.
“Kelly, this is Peter. He’s a friend of a friend.” You explained. Peter made a face for several reasons. Kelly did not seem at all phased by hearing Peter’s name, so you had clearly not told him about your relationship. That, and you had lied about how you knew each other.
“What’s up, man?” Kelly said and held out his hand. Peter panicked, not knowing if he was supposed to shake his hand or do the weird handshake hug-hybrid he just saw Ned do. He ended up doing an awkward mix of both and saw you turning your face to the side to laugh.
“Not much.” Peter answered with a similar fake smile to yours. The three of you stood in the most awkward silence of Peter’s life until Kelly cleared his throat.
“Can I get you another drink?” He asked you.
“Yes, thank you.” You nodded and handed him your cup. Once he was gone, you and Peter exchanged another look.
“Kelly?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.
“Don’t start.”
“Of Blue Book fame?” He continued, making you give him a lethal stare.
“It’s a unisex name.”
“Are you sure about that?” He mumbled, but you heard it.
“Don’t start.“ You repeated, this time with a warning finger.
“I’m not. I’m not.” Peter said and held up his hands in defense. You shook your head and looked away, but he could tell you were trying not to laugh.
“I’m not seeing anyone, if you were wondering.” He said, making you look at him again.
“Oh, I wasn’t.” You assured him, but there was a playfulness to your tone. He reminded himself that you were drunk so that he didn’t read into things.
“Oh. Well, now you know anyway.”
“What a relief on behalf of women everywhere.” You replied. You turned away again, but this time, you couldn’t hide your laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Kelly Blue Book was a low blow.” You told him. “We are not rekindled enough for you to say that.”
“Does that mean we’re rekindled somewhat?” He asked, making you roll your eyes in a playful way.
“No. I’m just drunk and I have a soft spot for you.” You said like it wasn’t a big deal.
“You do?” Peter asked with softened eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off by the sound of a girl laughing loudly in the kitchen. You both turned to look and saw Kelly leaning very close to a girl to whisper something to her. Whatever he was saying must’ve been the funniest thing she had ever heard because she was slapping his chest as she laughed. You folded your lips in as if this didn’t surprise you and didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.
“He seems-“
“I don’t want to hear it.” You cut him off and walked away.
Peter was smart enough to give you space, but curious enough to make sure he always knew where you were. He stayed by Ned for most of the night, but made sure you were never out of his peripheral vision.
He saw you laughing and doing shots with your friends in the kitchen. He noticed when you were dancing to a song from a movie he had forced you to watch once upon a time. He was aware when you went to the balcony by yourself to stare at the city skyline and catch your breath. His eyes stayed on you as you got yourself another drink and came back to the living room. Your eyes went to something in the center of the room, so Peter’s followed. There he saw Kelly dancing between two girls and looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Peter looked back at you and saw that you weren’t exactly watching Kelly, but not unaware of what was happening either. Peter was glaring daggers at him on your behalf with his disdain building by the minute. One of the girls whispered something in Kelly’s ear and he nodded before going over to you.
“I think I’m gonna head out soon.” Peter heard Kelly tell you.
“Really? But you just got here.” You said with your fake smile.
“Yeah, but, uh, my friends want to meet up. He’s really upset and needs me.” Kelly told you without bothering to keep his eyes off the girl he had just been dancing with. Peter could see on your face that you didn’t believe him. You pulled him by the arm onto the balcony, rendering Peter unable to hear the rest of your conversation. He could, however, see the two of you fighting through the window. He quickly looked away when you came back in, but he could already tell you were crying. You went straight for the bathroom as Kelly went out the front door, one of the girls he’d been dancing with not far behind him.
“I’ll be right back.” Peter told Ned. He made his way over to where the bathroom was so that he could catch you on the way out. When you didn’t come out for a while, he took it upon himself to knock on the door.
“It’s Peter. Are you okay?” He asked through the door. He heard the sink turn off a few moments before you opened the door.
“I’m fine.” You said without trying very hard to convince him. He opened his mouth to say more, but decided you were probably in no mood for any form of comfort from him. You were staring at him through your tear smudged black mascara, almost daring him to try to cheer you up. Instead, he silently pulled a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to you. You looked down at it and he couldn’t sworn he saw the tightest hint of a smile from you. You took it, gave him an appreciative nod, and went on your way.
Peter kept his eyes on you for the next hour. The party was dying out, making it easier for him to keep track of you. When he saw you repeatedly opening and closing the clasp of your left earring, he knew he was running out of time.
“You heading out?” He made his way over to ask you.
“Oh. Uh, yes actually. How’d you know?”
“I saw you playing with your earrings. That usually means your social battery ran out ten minutes ago.”
“How could you possibly see that from the other room?” You cracked a smile as you asked him.
“You’re the only thing I see.” He said simply. Your teasing smile turned into a sad one and you looked away.
“So, um, I know you said you hate my guts, but I think it would be good for us to talk sometime. Do you still like that coffee shop near the movie theater?” Peter asked timidly.
“I haven’t been there since we were together.” You shook your head. Peter was about to ask why not, but he knew why not. You didn’t want to go there because you didn’t want to risk seeing him.
“Could I take you there? I just want to have one conversation. To clear the air and everything.”
“Peter, you broke up with me on a post-it note.” You reminded him. “I don’t care what you want.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. What do you want?” He finally asked.
“To get past you and go home.” You answered and pointed towards the front door.
“I’ll walk you.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need a chaperone.”
“It’s late and we’re not close to the subway. It could be dangerous.” He told you, wanting to add “and you’re wasted”, but didn’t.
“I’ll take the risk.” You said as you moved past him to get to the door. Peter made the bold move to stand in front of you to block you, hoping you would understand when you were sober.
“Don’t be stubborn. I’m walking you. I’ll walk a few paces back so you can have your space.” He stated, making you roll your eyes.
“Fine. But I’m gonna fart a bunch so you have to walk through it.” You grumbled and let him walk with you out of the apartment.
“That’s fine. Whatever you need.” Peter nodded. You stopped walking and looked at him with a smirk.
“Jesus.” You laughed. “I was joking.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He smiled in embarrassment.
Peter kept his promise and walked a few paces behind you. He sent Ned a quick text about where he had gone, to which Ned replied with several suggestive emojis. Peter rolled his eyes and put his phone away so that he could keep a close eye on you. The cold New York air felt amazing after having been in that apartment with all those people. You were stumbling a little from being intoxicated and looked over your shoulder every so often to make sure he was there. When you were about halfway home, you turned around.
“This is weird.” You said as you shoved your hands in your pockets and walked up to him.
“What is?”
“Knowing you’re behind me. I think it’s putting me more on edge than if I was walking alone. I keep forgetting it’s you and getting freaked out by the footsteps.”
“I can walk lighter.” He offered. You shrugged and kept going, with Peter taking lighter footsteps this time.
“It’s not working.” You sighed. “I still know you’re there.”
“I could go across the street?” He suggested, but you shook your head.
“Come on. Walk next to me. But don’t talk to me.” You warned him. He nodded and quickly fell into step beside you. He snuck what he hoped were discreet glances at you every now and then. It was so insane to him to be walking beside you after believing he’d never get the chance to talk to you again. Every time he looked at you, he got a pang in his heart that radiated in his whole body. And everytime he remembered the interactions between you and Kelly that he witnessed, he felt white hot anger coarse through his body.
“Just ask.” You said, breaking the silence.
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did. Just ask me what you’ve been dying to ask me.” You permitted him. Peter hesitated, then went for it.
“So, you and Kelly?”
“Oh my God.” You laughed. “Of course.”
“How long have you been together?”
“We’re not. It’s not serious.“
“Oh. So you guys just social distance and talk about unsexy things together?” He asked, making you laugh again.
“That about sums it up.” You nodded in agreement.
“Is he good to you?” Peter asked, making you give him a look.
“You’re nice to pretend you didn’t see us fighting.”You sighed. “But to answer your question, when his eyes aren’t wandering, yeah, he can be pretty nice.”
“His eyes wander from you? Not possible.”
“Very possible.” You told him. “And constant.“
“Why do you stay with him then? Why even give him the time of day?”
“It’s complicated. College can be really lonely.” You shrugged. “But he tells me that I’m pretty and kisses my head before he leaves. So it’s okay that he doesn’t see me as an equal.”
“Is it okay?” Peter asked you, making you give him another look.
“No.” You admitted. “But, you know, college can be really lonely.”
“Yeah. I get that.” Peter nodded along. “I don’t get you with him, though. I saw how he was tonight. Showing up late, leaving early, talking to other girls. That guy is an idiot. He’s not good enough for you.”
“No, he’s not.” You agreed. “But we accept the love we think we deserve or whatever the stupid tumblr quote is.”
“You don’t deserve that.” Peter stated. “Fuck Kelly, and his little blue book.”
You stopped walking and laughed at his joke before nodding to the building you were standing next to.
“Thanks for walking me. This is me.”
“Wait, you still live here?” Peter asked when he recognized the building.
“I do. But a different apartment. Remember that pipe in my bathroom?”
“That dripped hot water on your head when you least expected it? Sure do.”
“Well, it burst, so I had to move out.”
“You didn’t happen to leave the window open in the winter, did you?” He asked you, always knowing the answer.
“I still think that’s a myth.” You prefaced. “But yes, the pipe happened to explode after I happened to forget to close the window last January.”
“Totally not your fault.” He teased. “Do you like the new place?”
“Eh. It’s okay.”
“Did you hang all your sun-catchers back up?” He asked, causing you to look at him in surprise.
“I did.” You told him with a slight smile. “But one of them broke in the move.”
The fleeting image of Peter’s back being painted with rainbow light from your cardinal shaped sun catcher flashed in your mind. You blinked it away and turned your face, worried that if you looked at him too long, you’d start to cry.
“Not the frog one, right?” He asked, making you chuckle. You had bought that one together on your first trip out of the city.
“No, not the frog one. That one’s okay.” You said with a sad smile. You and Peter stared at each other for a while and he had the same longing smile that you did. You had to look away again, fearing that if you didn’t, you’d invite him to come inside.
“I should go.” Peter said to break the silence, and you just nodded in agreement. He began to step forwards, but felt like his legs were full of cement.
“I can’t move.” He told you, making you frown.
“Why not?”
“Because this might be the last time I ever see you.”
“Well, I don’t know. I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Maybe we’ll run into each other at a Best Buy or something in a few years.” You shrugged, making his heart sink.
“That makes me sad.” He admitted without meeting your eyes.
“Well, what did you expect would happen to us when you broke up with me?”
“I guess I always thought I’d get my life together and you’d…” He trailed off when he realized how stupid he sounded.
“And what? I’d be waiting for you?” You laughed dryly. “For my gallant hero to outrun his demons and come back to me? And reward me for patiently waiting and keeping my life at a standstill until he returned?”
“No. It’s not like that.” He shook his head. “I knew we were in wildly different places in our lives, and that you were going to be far better off without me dragging you down. I thought it would be some kind of a messed up favor to you to get rid of myself so that your life could go on. But I guess I thought we’d meet again one day when we were different people and…..”
“And?” You asked he he trailed off again.
“And remember why we fell in love.” He admitted, just in case this really was the last time you ever saw each other.
“It doesn’t really work like that, Peter. Life goes on. You made the decision to leave. We are different people now, but that doesn’t erase what happened.”
“I know. I know I can never undo what I did. I just…I just hope I see you sooner than a few years in a Best Buy.”
You were quiet for a minute and folded your arms as you looked at him. You stared for such a long time that Peter felt his face heat up.
“I go to the one around the block.” You said finally.
“What?”
“The coffee shop. I stopped going to the one by the movie theater and started going to the one around the block.”
“The one with the scary guy that yelled at you for taking too long to order?” He asked. “I thought you were never gonna go back there.”
“He’s pretty nice, actually. He was high strung that year because his husband had just passed. But he gave me a free scone when I came in here a few days after we broke up. He said he could tell I needed it.”
“Wow.” Peter smiled sadly. “I drove you to the point of visibly needing a scone.”
“Eh, I kinda live at that point. Don’t give yourself too much credit.”
“I won’t.” He chuckled. You smiled back at him, the first full smile you’d given him all night. Suddenly, your expression changed and the color drained from your lips. Peter was quick to hold your hair off your face as the last few drinks you’d had that night came back up. Peter blew on the back of your neck while he waited for you to be done.
“That was hot.” You groaned as you stood back up.
“It was.” Peter chuckled and timidly rubbed your back.
“You can go. The Cool Ranch Doritos I ate about to make a reappearance and I don’t want you to see that.”
“Give me your key.” Peter said and held it his hand. You dug in your pocket and placed your key in the palm of his hand. He unlocked the front door of your apartment and ushered you inside. The doritos made their reappearance in the trash can of the lobby while Peter explained your situation to the doorman.
He let the two of you up and Peter somehow found himself in your apartment. It looked pretty similar to the last one, with several cabinets open due to your habit of taking things out and walking away. Your roommate’s door was closed, so Peter quietly led you to the bathroom. He couldn’t help but look around and try to gather bits and pieces of information about your new life. The candles that you burned the most, the things you hung on your fridge, and the various trinkets you kept on your coffee table. He absorbed it all as he got you a glass of water, wondering if the brightly colored cups in your cabinets were your idea or your roommates.
“This is not how I imagined tonight would end.” He laughed numbly as he handed you the cup of water. You gave him a gracious smile and then chugged it, hoping you’d be able to keep it down. He helped you get up off the bathroom floor and leaned against the wall while you brushed your teeth.
“How did you imagine it?” You wondered. “Like, what would’ve been your ideal outcome when you realized I was at the party tonight?”
“That’s a good question.” Peter said as he thought. “I think I would just want us to be okay with each other. We had so much love between us at one time. I hate that the way I left tarnished that.”
You rinsed your mouth out and stared at him in the reflection of the mirror for a while. It seemed like you were processing something, or maybe you were just sobering up and remembering how much you hated him.
“Then why did you do it?” You asked finally. “Why a post-it note? Why didn’t you just wake me up? Or end things before I went to sleep?“
“I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you it was over.”
“Why not?” You demanded. Peter looked visibly surprised at the abrupt display of anger, making you look down at the sink in embarrassment.
“I want to say I didn’t want to see you look devastated, but I think I really didn’t want to see you look relieved.” Peter admitted without meeting your eyes. You actually appreciated his candor and smiled sadly, but still had a hardened look in your eyes that told Peter he was not yet forgiven.
“Can I ask you something?” He said in a wavering voice.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Did you ever think about me? Like, when you were waiting for an elevator or something? Did I ever cross your mind?”
Peter looked so small and fragile that you almost stepped forward and hugged him. You laughed humorlessly and nodded your head.
“Of course. Of course you did. I saw you in every pair of brown eyes I looked into since we broke up.” You admitted. That was the enough to break the dam and Peter found himself unable to contain his feelings any longer.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything. All the missed dates and calls I didn’t return. All the nights I left you waiting until you fell asleep next to the plate you left out for me. And for leaving the way I did. You deserved so much better than what I gave you.”
“Wow.” You cracked a smile. “Look who’s found his words.”
“I know they’re late. But better late than never, right?” He said with a self deprecating smile.
“Never would’ve been okay with me.”
“Really? You would’ve been okay if we never saw each other again? Even just to tell me off about how much of an asshole I was?”
“But that’s the thing, Peter. You weren’t an asshole. You were a good guy who was dealing with something I couldn’t help you with. You went about it in the shittiest way possible, but you were right to end our relationship. You clearly couldn’t be in one at the time. And I don’t think you realized that until you were writing on that post-it.”
Peter stared at you in stunned silence for a moment. It was just like you to humanize him, even after he’d hurt you in ways that changed you to your core. He looked away in shame, knowing he was nowhere near as evolved as you were.
“You could always read me like no one else could.” He said quietly.
“I thought I could. But I still don’t know what it was that you were going through. I tried to figure it out, but I never did discover the cause of the wedge between us.” You said, causing him to look back at you. You had a look on your face that brought his mind back to a picture of you he’d seen at your mom’s house. In the picture, you were just a kid, staring at the ocean with a life jacket twice the size of you. The same curious but fearful look on your face was present now.
“There was only one reason I left.” Peter said before he could stop himself. You looked at him like you were trying to decide if he was messing with you or not. Peter felt anxiety in his chest, recognizing this as the last moment you would ever see him in this way. Instead of telling you and going through the motions of you not believing him, he shot a web at a hairbrush on your floor and handed it to you. Your eyes went back and forth between the hairbrush and Peter about a hundred times. Finally, you slowly peeled the web off the back of the brush and held it up to give it a good look.
“You’re joking.” You said finally, no humor in your voice.
“I’m not.” Peter shook his head.
“Do it again.” You demanded and dropped the web into the trash. So Peter did it again, this time at your hand towel. He caught it with ease before handing it to you, which turned out to be a big mistake.
“You’re Spider-Man? You’re the fucking Spider-Man?” You asked as you smacked his shoulder with the towel. He let you hit him a few times before snatching the towel away from you.
“I am.”
“And you have been the whole time? Even when we were together?” You asked him as you visibly processed what you had just seen.
“Since before we got together.” He told you, making you start your processing all over. Your entire relationship played in your head and suddenly, all the missed dates on the night’s major crimes happened in the city made sense. You rubbed your face with your hands and sat in silence for a long time before looking at him.
“Is this why you left me? So I wouldn’t find out your secret?” You asked him in a quiet voice. Peter looked down in shame and nodded his head.
“The night I left, you and I got interviewed by the local news about our thoughts on the upcoming hurricane.”
“Oh my God. I forgot all about that.” You realized. “We were running to the bodega for ice cream. I had said I hoped we didn’t run into anyone we knew since I didn’t have my makeup on, and then we ended up on the news.”
“We did.” He smiled softly. “And in our interview, I said I was happy to have a girlfriend that buys too many blankets in case the power goes out.”
“I’m not following.”
“In that moment, I realized that if someone ever figured out my identity and wanted to hurt me, they could go after you. I called you my girlfriend on camera without even thinking about it. And all it would take is one person looking me up and seeing that video for you to be in danger. I couldn’t live myself knowing that dating you meant putting a target on your back.”
“So you threw us away because of a possibility?” You asked, sounding unsatisfied with his reasoning.
“It’s not just a possibility. Do you remember my Aunt May?” He asked you. You were about to ask what she had to do with your current conversation until you put two and two together. You did remember his Aunt May. More so, you remembered the way Peter never gave any definitive details on how she died.
“She knew about my secret and got too involved, and it got her killed. So it wasn’t just a possibility to me. It felt like it was only a matter of time before you got hurt or even worse because of me.”
“I didn’t know.” You said quietly.
“I didn’t want you to ever know. That’s why I wrote you the note on the post-it and left in the middle of the night. I thought if you hated me, you’d never come looking for me. And that would keep you safe.”
The change in perspective made the room spin slightly. You gripped the cold counter to ground yourself as your knees threatened to give out. Peter could tell you were struggling and stepped closer to you. He gently rested his hands on your waist to steady you. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and gave him a small appreciative smile.
“But what about now? Why tell me now?”
“Because you deserve to know the truth.” He said. “And it’s been so many years since we dated that we’re not gonna get back together. So there’s not really any harm in you knowing now.”
“But, just out of curiosity, does my knowing mean that now we can never be together?” You asked with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Peter’s eyebrows knit together, feeling apprehensive to read into your question.
“Why do you ask?” He asked as struggle to keep his gaze from falling to your lips. You reached up and gently ran your fingernails on his cheek, causing him to instantly melt into your touch. Peter hesitantly reached up and wrapped a hand gently around your wrist.
“Because I’m starting to forget all the reasons I cried at your hands.” You admitted to him through a sad laugh. Peter mirrored your melancholy smile and tilted your face towards his by taking your chin between his fingers. You stared into his eyes and felt his familiar magnetic force pulling you into him.
“You’re not gonna kiss me.” You shrugged with a knowing look in your eyes.
“I’m not?” He played coy.
“You’re not.” You said most assuredly. “Peter Parker is too much of a gentleman to kiss a girl when she’s drunk.”
“It’s true.” He chucked. “And it definitely has nothing to do with the entire bag of Cool Ranch Doritos I saw you house down and then puke up.“
You leaned into him while you laughed and Peter wrapped two arms around you. He held you tightly and placed a kiss on the top of your head, noting that you used to same shampoo you did when you were together.
“That’s a good call. I don’t want to kiss you when I can feel those Doritos seeping out of my pores.” You told him as you pressed your cheek into his shoulder and gently swayed with him.
“Yeah.” He chuckled softly. “But I’d like to. You have no idea how much I’d like to.”
“I have some idea.” You told him as you pulled away and unabashedly stared at his lips. Peter leaned in but instead of kissing you, he grabbed the bottle of makeup remover from behind you and held it up.
“How about I do you even better and take your makeup off for you?” He asked. You threw your arms up in celebration and profusely nodded your head. Peter found your cotton balls and gently removed your makeup for you while you sat with your eyes shut and a content smile. When he finished, he went the extra mile and did your skincare for you. He’d seen you do it enough times back when you were dating that he was able to follow it the way you did. When he finished, he scooped you up off the counter and carried you out of the bathroom.
“Come on. I’m putting you to bed so it can be the morning faster.” He told you as he brought you to the room with your name marked on the door. Your laughter rang through your room as he gently placed you in your bed. You mumbled something incoherent once your head hit the pillow, already half asleep. Peter went to leave, but you caught his wrist and tugged him back.
“Hey, Spider-Man.” You said in a playfully demanding voice.
“Yes?” Peter chuckled. You seemed wide awake all the sudden and looked into his eyes.
“Are you gonna be there when I wake up this time?” You asked him, sounding completely serious.
“I’ll be there.” He promised you with no intention to disappoint you again. You smiled at him and rested your head back on your pillow, seeming to accept his answer.
“There’s a blanket on the couch you can use. There’s a lot, actually. I still buy too many. Goodnight Peter.” You said, eyes already shutting.
“Goodnight, honey.” Peter kissed his fingers and touched them to your forehead, not wanting to overstep but unable to just walk away.
When you woke up, Peter was gone. Your head was throbbing as you stared at the empty couch with a pit in your stomach. Before your heart could fully sink, you noticed the yellow post-it Peter had left on a newly folded blanket. Your hands shook as you picked it up, but it proved to be entirely different from the last time he left you a post-it.
“Went to get coffee around the block :)” He had penned in the same handwriting he once used to leave you. You cracked a smile at his risky joke just as Peter was coming back into your apartment with keys he had taken from the bowl by the door. He had two coffees in hand and a sleepy smile on his face.
“Good morning.” He greeted you as you walked over to him. “I took a guess at your order. I hope you still like-“
You cut him off by throwing your arms around him and kissing him, bringing you a feeling neither of you thought you would ever feel again.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you were Kelly.” You smiled teasingly when you pulled out of the kiss. Peter rolled his eyes to the ceiling before pulling you into another kiss.
“You were right about the coffee shop guy. He was very nice and gave me a scone when I said the coffee was for you.” Peter said as you walked to the kitchen together. You gasped in excitement and pulled the scone out of the little bag it was in before taking a big bite.
“Hey, you’re splitting that with me.” Peter warned you and pulled you by the waist towards him.
“I’m sorry.” You said with a mouthful of scone. “I can’t. Don’t hate me.”
Tag List 🏷️
This was loosely based on “In My Head” by Nell Mescal and Sex and The City! 🍔
every week, charles leclerc walks into the same little bookshop, asking for a new recommendation. the books are good, but the bookseller might just be his favourite story.
@ yourusername
♡ 8,742 🗨️ 214 ↺ 391 ➤ 618
yourusername: new books, fresh flowers & another week in my favourite place 💐📚
view all comments
user: this shop is literally my dream
user: adding this to my monaco list 🤍
user: those flowers are so pretty
user: i'd never leave
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 1.8M 🗨️ 6,847 ↺ 42.5k ➤ 81.9k
charles_leclerc: lately.
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: reading?
pierregasly: since when do you read? 😂
↳ charles_leclerc: since always mate
carlossainz55: strange
↳ charles_leclerc: WHAT??
user: where did he get that book??
↳ user: a book shop
@ teaandbooksmonaco
♡ 32.4k 🗨️ 1,376 ↺ 3,942 ➤ 5,482
teaandbooksmonaco: helping everyone find their nex read
view all comments
user: cutest shop ever
user: WAIT IS THAT CHARLES
user: we need more yn content
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 975k 🗨️ 11,754 ↺ 46.6k ➤ 68.2k
charles_leclerc: she was right about this one
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: "she" 👀
↳ charles_ leclerc: yes the lady at the bookstore.
lorenzotl: interesting...
user: who's she??
user: WHO IS SHE.
@ yourusername
♡ 28.9k 🗨️ 2,541 ↺ 6,081 ➤ 8,372
yourusername: rainy days always bring familiar faces ☔
view all comments
user: favourite weather honestly
user: familiar faces?? 👀
user: no wait a minute...
@ scuderiaferrari
♡ 3.4M 🗨️ 15.2k ↺ 398k ➤ 166k
scuderiaferrari: race weekend essentials 📚🏎️
view all comments
arthur_leclerc: not the books again 😭
lando: what a nerd.
user: BOOK BOYFRIEND
user: WE KNOW WHERE THOSE CAME FROM.
@ yourusername
♡ 20.5k 🗨️ 4,912 ↺ 10.1k ➤ 14.3k
yourusername: my top picks this week!
view all comments
user: running to buy these books
user: i always trust yn's recommedations
user: i bet charles will read one of these.
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 745k 🗨️ 3,084 ↺ 247k ➤ 359k
charles_leclerc: thanks for the recommendation 📖
view all comments
yourusername: hope you enjoy this one :)
↳ charles_leclerc: already halfway through
↳ arthur_leclerc: brother you're down BAD
oscarpiasri: subtle
user: YN AND CHARLES FOLLOW EACH OTHER NOW
user: IM SCREAMING
@ yourusername
♡ 34.6k 🗨️ 2,485 ↺ 20.1k ➤ 40.9k
yourusername: mornings like these>>
view all comments
user: wait who's across the table
user: I'M DOING FBI WORK
user: she cropped this
arthur_leclerc: nice shoulder
comment deleted by author
user: DID ANYONE SEE ARTHUR'S COMMENT???
@ charles_leclerc
♡ 1.1m 🗨️ 32.9K ↺ 234K ➤ 398k
charles_leclerc: best recommedations always come from the right people
view all comments
yourusername: 😊🤍
arthur_leclerc: JUST ASK HER OUT.
↳ user: ARTHUR 😭😭
lando: im tired of this. he talks about her so much.
↳ charles_leclerc: do not expose me.
↳ user: LMAO not lando outing him
@ yourusername
♡ 74.8k 🗨️ 5,985 ↺ 20.5k ➤ 42.5k
yourusername: every good story starts somewhere 🤍 @ charles_leclerc
summary oscar and yn are childhood best friend but fans want them to be together
pharmacy student x oscar piastri
series masterlist ⋆ masterlist
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri not the home race i wanted but it's always good to visit australia🇦🇺
tagged yourusername
view all comments
user we love you (mclaren do better!!)
user not u tagging them😂
user omg someone give him a spiritual cleansing or something 🙏🙏
user that second pic😂 looks a 100% real
user wait who is the girl????
user yn, his childhood best friend!!
user they are so cute<3 i love that they maintained their friendship after so many years
user i know🥺 he posts her every time he visits
yourusername your welcome for helping you with your workout 💪
oscarpiastri so that's what they are calling it these days🤨
yourusername yes!☺️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername "a pharmacist is just an educated drug dealer" i joke as my eyes blur from all the hours i spent studying
view all comments
friend lol same girl i am extremely tired😭😭 i need exams to be done
yourusername me too but we are almost there!!
yourusername i am prescribing myself a gilmore girls sized coffee and keep going
user imagine looking this beautiful while stressed with uni i could never
user we stan an educated queen
oscarpiastri you got this✊
yourusername thank you osc<3
user she calls him osc too??🥺
user you didn't know?? you HAVE to watch that video mclaren posted last year where she and lando are fighting about it😂
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername uni dump & supporting my boy from afar 🫶🫶
view all comments
user they are adorable
user is it wrong if i say i ship it?
user girl join the club we've been here YEARS
user ynoscar nation rise🙋♀️
user she calls him my boy and you want me to believe they are not in love???
user me when i am delusional
user they are just friends let's not make it weird
user how am i making it weird if they are posting as if they are dating😭
user WHERE? they are literally not omg do none of you have friends?
user whatever i will come back to this when they hard launch
user sure🤡
oscarpiastri i can't wait to see you
yourusername getting on the plane rn<3
user wait is she visiting for the gp????
user and his bday is soon too🤭
user oh my god i love them
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri posted a story
facetime buddy
story replies
↪user calling her buddy as if she's not the love of your life, you are not fooling anyone
↪user just kiss already
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
piastriupdates oscar and yn at the japan gp
view all comments
user they are in love.
user please god let oscar have a good weekend🙏 i can't take it anymore
user heart eyes piastri🥺🫶
user my mind can't process the fact that they are not together like i am sorry but that's a long-term relationship
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername japan gp in papaya
tagged mclaren, oscarpiastri
view all comments
user her face card is Unreal
oscarpiastri was that pic of me really necessary?
yourusername yes🫶
user lmaooo
friend sorry to be annoying but i have a question about your notes😩🙏 when you have a minute please explain it to me bc i feel like i don't understand anything and i am panicking
yourusername call me babe! i studied on the plane, so it's fresh in my mind. don't panic we can go over it<3
user she is GORGEOUS if oscar is not going to date her i will
user back off she's mine🤺🤺
user no way, i loved her first
hattiepiastri i think oscar loved her first🤭
user JFJFKDKD HATTIE WHAT
user is this— is this confirmation?
mclaren you are pharmily yn🧡 ♥︎liked by author
yourusername THE PUN JWJFKDJ ily mclaren (but the car better work this weekend 🔪🔪)
mclaren yes ma'am we'll try🤝
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri p2 and then an amazing birthday week! thank you all for your love❤️
view all comments
yourusername YES OSC P2 LETS GOOO so proud of you🫶🫶🫶🫶
user the way she was smiling during the podium ceremony>>
user and how he searched for her?? they are so in love
user yn in that first pic: "you are doing amazing sweetie!!" ♥︎liked by yourusername
user two weekends where he didn't get to race, yn shows up and he gets a podium... i am just saying
user i like your theory keep going-
user you cannot convince me this is not a soft launch
user this is practically a hard launch
user you belong on the podium🙏🙏
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername happy birthday to the one who has been with me through it all💖 so glad i decided to befriend you when we were little because now i can say i know a formula 1 driver
view all comments
user lmaooo the caption
user not them sleeping at school 😂
user wake up!! baby oscar and baby yn pics just dropped!!
user how did she convince him to do facemasks lol
oscarpiastri thank you yn❤️
oscarpiastri i am so glad we met too🫶
user 🥺🥺🥺
user he's the softest boy ever i love him
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
piastriupdates oscar was seen at an airport
view all comments
user he looks so good😩😩
user where is he going? does he have any sponsor's event we don't know about?
user and if i say this us bc yn is graduating this week what then🤭
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
oscarpiastri she's officially a pharmacist!! but i knew that already because she always makes everything feel better. i love you❤️
view all comments
user user I TOLD YOU SO
user okay perhaps you were right...
user THANK YOU
user congratulations yn👏🎉
user WE GOT CONFIRMATION
lando congrats yn!! oscar, how does it feel dating someone smarter than you?
oscarpiastri pretty good ngl 🤭
user hard launch🥺🥺
yourusername i'm addicted to you and there’s no cure (i would know lol)
By the way it's like. Really fucked how society's thoughts on epilepsy is just "get over it." Seizures can cause permanent brain damage. Seizures can kill people. Seizures hurt like hell. Allow me to reiterate that seizures can kill people. And you're just gonna casually put flashing lights, a common trigger for seizures in your advertisement, in your animation meme, in your edit, on your billboards, without even thinking about putting a simple disclaimer? That's unbelievable. Your little anime edit could deadass cost a life and you're not gonna put a warning because it's "inconvenient" or "people like that shouldn't be on the internet" (ableist) (the problem exists outside the internet also). Or you'll give insufficient ones like putting it in the captions or only giving like one second before the flashing lights appear, meaning that the trigger's already in motion before anyone who needs the warning can read it and save themselves from literal physical danger.
We need to start commenting under other people's posts about how to properly warn for flashing lights and eyestrain. We need to be emailing and calling companies about their possibly triggering advertisements that could induce seizures. We need to stop tolerating ableism and start speaking up for the more vulnerable.
Also, stop putting epilepsy warnings. That's like saying "warning: schizophrenia" on a post including unreality or "warning: dyslexia" on a post with a typing quirk. First off, the disability mentioned isn't the only group of people that this could trigger. Second, it doesn't truly get the message across and instead makes it worse for those with the disability-- scrolling through the epilepsy tag on Tumblr should get you to view the content of other epileptic people, but no, you just get a bunch of flashing lights and eyestrain, even though you could instead tag for, oh I dunno, flashing lights and eyestrain.
Anyways this Disability Pride, and for every month that comes after, think about epileptic people and others who are triggered by flashing lights/eyestrain. Happy pride to those who experience seizures too frequently due to the unaccommodating and ableist societies we live in!
Oscar wants you more than any stupid song could ever say, really.
masterlist ✩ pairing: oscar piastri x best friend!reader
wc ✩ contains: 1.9k ✩ fluff, friends to lovers, small mentions of alcohol
🍵: lets all suspend our belief that olivia's album came out last year see request
✩ ✩ ✩
see replies ⬇️
user1 ive shipped them since he was in like f3
user2 wait they go back that far??
user4 yess girl, they’ve been besties foreverrr
user8 theyre dating i thought??
user6 noo :(
user5 shes soooo fine i need her
user3 theyre such bi panic lol
user7 especially the ones where theyre all silly before her friend points out the fans taking pics
user1 YESSS and shes taking pics on her camera
user8 praying they see the light of day
user4 petition for yn start a jpeg account loll
oscarpiastri and yourusername added to their story!
[oscar’s caption: she made me wear eye patches 😔] [your caption: he’s hidingggg 🐝]
story replies:
yourusername you literally asked for them
oscarpiastri i asked what they WERE
oscarpiastri big difference
yourusername just admit that you love being skincare queen
oscarpiastri a what now?
yourusername don’t play
yourusername and i know you used my topicals back at yours
oscarpiastri oh
oscarpiastri maybe don’t leave your random shit in MY bathroom then
yourusername it was expensive u ass
oscarpiastri i’ll get you more 😇
yourusername …
yourusername you are forgiven
oscarpiastri i’m not hiding im just shy
yourusername there’s like a million people at every race
yourusername fym ‘shy’??
oscarpiastri they don’t count
yourusername and i do?
oscarpiastri yep
yourusername so ur only scared of my camera?
oscarpiastri only because i know you’ll post me when im barely decent
yourusername i think you always look good osc
yourusername thats why
oscarpiastri oh i look good?
yourusername don’t get smug. i take it back now
oscarpiastri you can’t ;)
Long ago, you learned a good party after a win, especially with the team you lived and breathed almost as much as Oscar, was never something to pass up. Even with music blasting throughout the building and pounding within your chest, and sweat dripping unless you were stood directly under the AC, it was still the best place to be on a Sunday night.
As soon as everyone got to the club, Oscar had been swept away by fellow drivers and mechanics. It was not long until they were chanting his name throughout the entire room. You knew they’d get carried away but he needed to unwind so you found your place somehwhere in the crowd and chanted alongside half of the city. Oscar had promised to find you later on and that he did.
About an hour or maybe even two hours into partying hard, your friend emerged from the crowd with the largest spread of smile you hadn’t seen on him since his first win.
He stumbled right into you at some barstool, reeking mostly of tequila and faintly of cologne. Usually, he only sounded tipsy by this point in the night, so you knew there was something doing heavy lifting in his system.
His boyish smile slipped into something serious when he saw you speaking to a man.
“Man of the hour, how ya doing?” He said to Oscar, holding his hand out.
Oscar ignored the hand to slide his around your waist, and it sent shivers down your spine. You two were always a little more touchy than normal friends, and you always credited it to being so close, always knowing what the other was thinking and whatnot. Your body still went rigid and you truly had no idea what to do.
“Osc, this is, uh, sorry what did you say your name was again?” you gave the man a bit of an awkward chuckle as you felt Oscar’s fingers grip a little tighter.
“William.” The man replied. Then, he glanced between the two of you, smoothly pulling his hand back to the counter where his drink was. “Congrats on that win, mate.”
“Thanks, mate.” Oscar rasped through his teeth. “Maybe you should leave her alone now, yeah? A bit too old don’t you think?”
The man’s face tugged into a small scowl followed by a smug smile, “Well, I think she’s old enough to make her own decisions.”
Oscar wobbled on his feet, prompting you to wrap an arm around his warm torso. He tried to take a step towards the man but just as he did, he slid off his barstool then disappeared into the crowd.
Oscar turned towards you, you who was already looking up at him with pinched eyebrows. “Wanna take a shot with me?”
“You’re wasted,” your face softened at the soft beaming face of his.
Oscar leaned down into the crook of your neck and whined, “Come on, just one?”
His breath felt good— and it felt right, on your neck. He took up space exactly where you wished for him to for years. Melting right into him wasn’t an option for a club in the middle of Monaco but you wanted it to be. Your hand came to his hair, not letting it tangle but it felt nice for the moment.
“We drove your car here, idiot,” you reminded him while stroking the nape of his neck from an awkward angle. He stood up, removing himself from you as he pat his jeans, eventually coming up with his car keys. “Thanks.”
All that training surely had not gone to waste, you knew it whenever you did gym days together and he ditched his shirt for efficiency or something. But the deadweight of a man holding onto you until you had gotten him in the passenger of his sleek, black McLaren, was not anticipated enough.
Thankfully, his apartment building wasn’t far from the club but the traffic in the tunnel made it seem like forever.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty all focused,” Oscar slurred. He fidgeted with your phone which he grabbed from the console and sighed, “You’re the only one I trust. I just love you so much, you know?”
With eyes glued to the road and hands gripping the steering wheel, even though traffic hadn’t moved in a good couple minutes or so, you responded calmly, “What?”
The man’s slumped body in the passenger seat shifted, turned from the window, “I love you.”
“I, uh, I love ya too, Osc.” You replied.
“No, like, I love love you.”
His accent was smooth and sweet when slurring out his confession, and it sent heat practically everywhere in your body. It bloomed within your chest and nestled itself right between your racing heart and rib bones. From the passenger seat, he called your name in a singysongy way, and when you turned just slightly to look over, his eyes were half lidded and plastered to you.
“You’re so drunk.” You remarked, smirking, hoping to joke your way out of it.
“Not that muchhh.” He whined and almost reached across the console but stopped himself.
Once you got him out of the car and into the elevator, he had only sobered up enough to stumble his way to the couch. He was cute like this, always was. You couldn’t help but giggle when he almost missed the landing, flopping head and shoulders first onto the suede cushions.
You walked into his mess of a bedroom to grab a couple blankets and an extra pillow, knowing his throw pillow were nothing to compare. When you walked back down the hall, he was already sound asleep, or so you thought. With a comforter in hand, you placed it over him, smiling to yourself.
Oscar’s face like this was overtaken with softer features. His jaw wasn’t tight like in all those post race interviews and he wasn’t making some confused face at you for dipping your fries icecream. If you wanted to, you swore you could’ve counted every freckle that danced around his face and arms and legs. Sometimes you tried to.
“Stay…please?” Oscar mumbled out, pleading like he once sounded all those years ago in school.
You nodded softly, kissing the crown of his head and leaning back the recliner that sat just next to the couch.
You awoke to an empty flat. No Oscar, no faucet running in the bathroom, not even the TV to keep you company. It feels cold and empty without him there, and you’re almost never in his place alone so now it just felt weird. He left a small note stuck to your phone.
Be back soon ;)
You wondered where he went but you were glad he was okay, even if there was gnawing feeling in your chest, worrying if he had regretted the night before. It wasn’t like him to just up and go, not without trying to wake you up at least. After waiting around for over half an hour for him to respond to your frantic texts, you got up and headed to the kitchen.
His pantry was always fully stocked with a variety of snacks, a perk of a man who traveled constantly and barely had time to cook at home. He always had your favorites from pop tarts to candies that he heard you say you liked once at 17 and suddenly there was never a jet ride without ‘em.
You smiled down at the bag, grabbing a couple gummies to chew on while cracking not one but three eggs into the sizzling pan coated in oil. The new song you were obsessed with, spilled into the kitchen all the way from his bluetooth speakers in the living room. You were listening to it on repeat, stepping around the kitchen, spatula in hand and treating the tiled floor like a personal karaoke stage.
As the lyrics to ‘stupid song’ by Olivia Rodrigo tumbled from your mouth, barely the correct ones, you hadn’t heard the door open nor click shut.
Oscar had been peering around the corner from the hallway for a good couple minutes before you spun, eyes open wide and mouth gaping at the man staring you down. He had a boyish grin spread across his lips and his hands were full with a colorful bouquet and a bag.
You dropped the spatula and reached behind you to turn off the stove with frantic hands.
“Uh, how long have you been standing there?” you awkwardly spit out.
“Long enough to remember how good you sound when no one’s looking,” Oscar replied.
The embarrassment burning your cheeks quickly drained, being replaced by annoyance as you turned around, back facing the Australian.
“Can’t believe you actually came back,” you grumbled while dishing the eggs from the pan.
You heard shuffling and suddenly Oscar’s voice was a lot closer than before.
“I’m sorry for leaving. I honestly had no idea how to face you after last night and I didn’t want you to think I didn’t mean it,” he replied.
You turned around and faced him, having to look up only slightly, “Did you? You know, mean it?”
Truly, you hated the slight tears that fell the instant his softened brown eyes met yours. Trying to blink them back was absolutely useless. Oscar’s hand came to your jaw and his thumb swiped at the rolling droplets.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I am, I swear.” His voice was low and gentle, which wasn’t new to you but it felt different now. “I love you so much, you have no idea. I should’ve said something more than the note, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
He stepped to the side, revealing a box of muffins from your favorite bakery and the same bouquet you’d first seen him just minutes prior.
That was when you lunged into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck. He stumbled backwards just a bit before crashing his lips into yours. Oscar's lips were soft, a bit sweet with the same gummies he’d obviously taken along, but most importantly, they were all your own.
He slid his tongue against yours after biting down on your lip and practically inhaling you entirely. He wanted every inch of you memorized, so his hands went everywhere from your back to your waist and finally your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. You hooked your legs on his hips, wrapping them around him without breaking the kiss. It deepened, and with that, his groans against you travelled with his lips down your neck. He couldn’t get enough of you as you whispered your love back to him over and over until he was satisfied.
A little while later, you were eating your now shared breakfast at the table, talking about all the times you almost confessed but held back. Oscar thought it was ridiculous given the amount of time it actually took him to say something and how he wished he would’ve been slightly more sober.
“How’s the eggs?” You asked, leaning back into him and shifting on his wide thighs.
“They’re decent, I’m mostly distracted by the view at the moment though,” he gravely hummed in approval and pressed a kiss to your neck.
“Just decent?”
“Yeah, fine, they’re amazing.” He conceded with an eye roll. Oscar kept a tight grip on your waist to anchor you to his lap and quite a comfortable one at that.
liked by yourusername, mclaren, lando, and 427k others
oscarpiastri did i mention i love spa?
alexalbon mate when did you get a cat?
oscarpiastri couple months ago
alexalbon ???
yourusername sorry albono
alexalbon you’re both blocked
userlol he loves spa yet most of this post is either yn or a pic she took
user2 lol he loves her so bad
user4 the paris pic THEYRE SO CUTE
yourusername you’re such a slob jesus
oscarpiastri im organized
yourusername you call sauce everywhere organized?
lando what no piggyback ride just bc im not named yn?
oscarpiastri 😕
user8 lando what do you know 🤨
user3 WHATS THE CATS NAME
user5 yourusername pls pls spill
user9 if i could climb that man’s back i would too yn
charlesleclerc that cat looks familiar
maxverstappen what does this even mean
charlesleclerc they are not slick as the kids say 😃
maxverstappen you’re not even 30
user7 ok but who’s ‘wolloam’
user8 her ex maybe?
user7 i don’t even think she has an ex remotely close to that name
user9 could be an inside joke?
user7 whoever he is, he woke up possesive oscar lmao
liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, nicolepiastri, and 829k others
yourusername the cat’s name is honeybee btw 🐝
oscarpiastri you free on sunday?
yourusername better question is are you??
oscarpiastri for you ;)
user2 slide 5? #NEEDTHAT
user3 osc is mad lucky
user2 first slide oh my heart
userlol the flowers are the same from when they were seen in the car omggg
user5 a real man iktr
alexalbon whyd yn name it that ?
oscarpiastri because she wanted to 🤷♂️
user9 ‘bc she wanted to’ 😭😭😭
nicolepiastri hope you didn’t find any sharks while diving
oscarpiastri yn made me pet one actually
yourusername and he didn’t even cry!
oscarpiastri 😐
yourusername love you!
user1 i love them so bad
pairing: carlos sainz x fem!driver!reader
order: double espresso + classic burger
client: @hannahmotors10
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f1updates
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f1updates 🚨 POST-RACE: The media pen is heating up! Carlos Sainz and Y/N are currently debating their respective strategies on live television after their intense battle for P2.
💬 Y/N: "If Carlos had actually looked at the track evolution instead of his steering wheel dash, he’d know the overcut was the only logical choice."
💬 Carlos: "The overcut was a gamble. My undercut was mathematical. She just got saved by the backmarkers."
user They are both literally their own race engineers at this point. Ferrari and Mercedes mechanics are just standing there while Carlos and Y/N argue about tire deg curves 😭
user Enemies to lovers trope but it’s just two stubborn Formula 1 drivers aggressively flirting by screaming about telemetry data
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replies
user LANDO NORRIS YOU ARE DOING THE LORD'S WORK!
user That is not the body language of two people who hate each other...
user "Analyzing drag coefficients" is absolutely the F1 driver equivalent of "Netflix and chill."
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Fan-Cam Transcript
(A grainy, zoomed-in video taken from a balcony above the Monaco circuit. The audio is muffled but subtitled by lip-reading fans.)
Carlos: (Stepping in front of Y/N, forcing her to stop walking. He rests one hand on the Armco barrier, effectively boxing her in.) "You’ve been avoiding me since we got out of the car on Monday."
Y/N: (Looking up at him, arms crossed defensively, but leaning into his space) "I haven't been avoiding you. I’ve been in the simulator. Unlike you, I actually have to work for my pole positions."
Carlos: (Smiling, a slow, devastating smirk. He leans down, his voice dropping.) "Liar. You ran the sim data I sent you, didn't you?"
Y/N: (Her cool facade cracking, a faint blush visible even on the grainy camera) "I was verifying your math. It was... acceptable."
Carlos: (Reaches out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Y/N's breath visibly catches.) "Acceptable. Right. So if I tell you that my strategy for this weekend involves taking you to dinner on Friday night... will you verify that math too?"
Y/N: (Uncrossing her arms, her hands coming up to lightly grip his forearms) "During a race weekend? That’s terrible strategy, Sainz. What about focus?"
Carlos: "You are my focus."
user THE LIP READING TIKTOK. THE HAIR TUCK. THE "YOU ARE MY FOCUS." I AM IN THE ICU. 🚨🚑
user I’m sorry but Carlos using the word "strategy" to ask her out is the most on-brand, disgustingly cute thing I have ever witnessed
charles_leclerc Can someone please tell Carlos and Y/N that the entire grid can see them flirting at the Nouvelle Chicane? We are trying to do a track walk here 🙄
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Free Practice 2
user THEY ARE FLIRTING OVER THE OPEN TEAM RADIO CHANNELS NOW. THE DISRESPECT TO THEIR ENGINEERS LMAOOOO.
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f1tea
liked by user and 899,092 users
f1tea The paddock’s newest power couple? Carlos Sainz and Y/N arriving for a late dinner in Monaco. The tension from Barcelona seems to have entirely vanished… or evolved 🇲🇨✨
user "Just wait until you see the downforce on this dress." SHE WAS NOT JOKING. Carlos looks like he has forgotten how to breathe, let alone how to drive a Formula 1 car
user RIP to the rest of the grid. If these two actually team up and combine their brainpower, we are looking at the most dominant era in motorsport history
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Post-Race Debrief
The noise of the Monaco harbor—superyacht horns, thumping bass from the after-parties, and the lingering roar of the crowd—was muffled behind the heavy glass doors of Carlos’ hotel suite.
The two beautifully heavy Monaco trophies sat unceremoniously on the edge of the coffee table. Carlos’ P1, Y/N’s P2.
Y/N was curled up on the sofa, still in her Mercedes gear, scrolling through an iPad. "I still say if we hadn't hit backmarkers at lap 50, I could have overcut you. My mediums had at least three more optimal laps in them."
Carlos emerged from the bedroom, having finally changed out of his fireproofs into a comfortable white t-shirt and sweatpants. He walked over, gently plucking the iPad out of her hands and tossing it onto the cushion next to her.
"You couldn't have," Carlos said softly, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa and leaning over her. "Because I was matching your delta perfectly. I knew exactly what you were doing. I wasn't going to let you bait me twice."
"You only matched my delta because I taught you how to read the thermal drop-off properly," Y/N shot back, though the argument lacked its usual bite. She tilted her head up to look at him, an undeniable fondness softening her features. "You're welcome, by the way."
Carlos chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He rounded the sofa and sat down beside her, immediately pulling her into his side. Y/N went willingly, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Okay, smooth operator," Y/N murmured, tracing the sponsor logos on his shirt. "What’s the strategy now? We dominated the race. We beat everyone else by a pit stop. What’s the next move?"
Carlos shifted, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. The intense, calculating look he usually saved for the starting grid was entirely focused on her.
"The next move," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, "is acknowledging that we are officially a package deal. You do the tire calculations, I handle the aerodynamics..."
"And we make the rest of the grid miserable?" Y/N asked, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Exactly," Carlos agreed, his gaze dropping to her lips. "I told you. We are unstoppable together."
He closed the distance, kissing her with the same precision, passion, and perfect timing that had won him the race. It was slow and deliberate, leaving no room for argument or analysis—just the absolute certainty that they had finally found exactly what they were looking for.
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user "WE COMBINED OUR DATA" IS THE MOST UNHINGED WAY TO ANNOUNCE YOU ARE DATING. I LOVE THEM 😭🏆
Description: Bad date after bad date, and a roommate with a bad habit. What’s a little touching between friends?
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Warnings: porn with plot (fingering, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, begging, clark is whiny and a little pervy, dry humping, cum play(?), big dick!clark yet again, they get a little freaky with it), jimmy olsen is a rascal
Word Count: 7.5k
a/n: and they were roommates!
“Honey, I’m home,” Clark sang out as he snuck in through the window.
He grinned, his cape settling and a bit of dust still coating his hair that he shook out near the windows, much to your dismay. He always promised he’d clean it up, and kept that promise about sixty percent of the time. You watched him, only half amused by his greeting. He pouted, though he’d deny it if you dared call it out.
“You always laugh at that,” he stated, hands on his hips.
You merely groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions where you sat. Your hands went to cover your face, legs tucked up under you.
“Is there something wrong with me?”
Clark raised a single brow, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “Excuse me?”
You groaned, dropping your head on his shoulder. Either something was wrong with you, or literally everyone else. You were certain of it. You’d attempted once again to date someone. Last time, a girl talked about her ex the whole time. Before that, someone else had been very adamant about splitting every bill to the exact cent. Tonight, you’d given a chance to a guy who seemed a little insecure on the dating app you’d found him on. That was your mistake. He appeared normal enough at first. Maybe not totally your type, but you were always willing to give someone a chance if you thought you might at least have a compatible personality and a similar sense of humor. This dude had neither.
“Once again, I give a chance to some loser on a dating app. Once again, I get fucked,” you huffed out, cheek smushed to Clark’s shoulder. “And not in a fun way.”
His ears went a little red, but they always did when you spoke like that.
He’d found you through Jimmy a couple years ago. You were an old friend from high school who was looking for a reliable roommate, and Clark, at the time, could certainly use someone to help ease the load of his bills. Metropolis wasn’t cheap for an up-and-coming reporter. You were sweet, funny, and according to Jimmy, extremely reliable. Clark found out that you could also be a bit of a mother hen, which he was more than happy to be on the receiving end of. He liked coming home to someone who cared about what happened to him. Especially when that someone made him blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings and liked to go bowling with him on Tuesday nights.
But, you were never one to be terribly shy. Years later and he was still a little squeamish when you’d swear like a sailor or talk about your sex life. He didn’t want to think about you like that. At least not in front of you.
When he was alone, though, it was a bit of a different story.
Of course, he felt guilty about it every time it happened. But he could only take so much, and it's not like he was one to date around or get his fix with a girl he doesn’t know all that well. He tried hard not to, but sometimes you’d discuss your latest escapade or walk around in nothing more than your cute little panties and a t-shirt and he would suddenly find any excuse to run to his bathroom. He didn’t always touch himself! No, that would be rude. Sometimes he just took a freezing cold shower, or he’d just stand there and think of his Pa talking about one of the cows giving birth or Steve eating a meatball sandwich. That usually got rid of it fast.
But, every now and then, he just couldn’t help himself. He’d scurry off to his room for a while, and try his best to see how quickly he could make himself finish. His record was two and a half minutes. No more than a casual bathroom break. He would be quite proud of it if it weren't for the overwhelming shame and guilt that followed for jacking off to the thought of his roommate.
He gulped, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “What happened?”
“I’m never dating a man with zero confidence ever again.” You patted his thigh, pretending you didn’t notice how he tensed from the contact. You thought it was sweet how shy he seemed to be. “Go get dressed and I’ll give you the run-down. You’re gonna dirty up our couch in your little get-up.”
He snorted a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t you ‘yes, ma'am’ me.”
He just got up, smiling to himself. You watched him go, that giant of a man. Part of you almost wanted to just ask him to bed you. Maybe not date, you weren’t sure you were exactly his type. But god… if it wouldn’t totally fuck up your roommate situation, you’d have tried getting in his pants the first time you’d met him.
You still remembered it.
When Jimmy had told you that he had a friend from work who was looking for a roommate, you didn’t expect 240 pounds of bumbling gorgeous. He blushed when you said hello, told you he’d cover three quarters of the rent while you got your bearings after your last roommate had put you out to couch surf, and could hardly look you in the eye after you’d made an extremely mild flirtatious comment. You may or may not have casually asked Jimmy if Clark was single after that. Jimmy shoved you and told you to leave the poor guy alone.
In retrospect, he was looking out for both of you. It probably wouldn’t have ended in a signed lease as much as a single, glorious night. If you even got that far. You were certain that Clark was the boyscout to end all boyscouts. Once he’d told you he was Superman, you knew that your suspicions had been confirmed.
But agreeing not to fuck him didn’t mean you couldn’t look.
You ended up being glad you never did, anyway. He’d become a great friend in the time you’d been living together. He was courteous, kind, and you didn’t have to carry groceries a single time in over two years any time you’d gone shopping with him. He always bent to your will when it came to picking out what to watch for movie nights, and was shockingly funny when he wanted to be. It was a good deal. A great deal. A fantastic deal with a cute butt and stunning dimples.
Clark shrugged out of his suit in the privacy of his room, briefly pressing his nose to the shoulder of his suit where he could still smell your shampoo before he came to his senses. He took a fast shower, rubbing one out for good measure. He figured if he got ahead of the curve, there was less chances of getting hard out of the blue if you touched him literally anywhere. He bit into his lower lip, spilling against the shower wall with a soft sound that sounded suspiciously close to your name. But he’d never admit as much, even to himself.
He found himself on the couch with you that evening, listening intently to you spill your guts about yet another date from hell. He frowned as you recounted the man’s behavior, an arm slung around your shoulders as his face was pressed against your hair.
“Maybe you should take a break from the apps,” he mumbled after you’d finished.
You sighed. “Mm… maybe. But god, what gives? It’s not like I’m specifically seeking out true love right now. Some consistent sex would suffice, but even that is impossible.”
He coughed once, cheeks going red again. “Uh… right. Well…”
“Sorry. I know you get squeamish about that,” you mentioned with a chuckle.
“I’m not squeamish.”
“You get all blushy if I talk about sex.”
He huffed. “It’s… you just… you talk about it like–”
“See? Squeamish.” You chuckled, adjusting to look up at him.
Clark groaned, pushing you away. You laughed harder, pulling the tiniest grin from his lips.
“You’re mean to me. Just cause I don't share all of my… experiences.”
You raised a brow. “To be fair, I didn’t realize you even had experiences.”
He flushed again, hand on the back of his neck. Taking care of himself in the shower evidently didn’t prevent anything. He crossed one of his legs over the other, trying to mask what jumped up in his sweats.
“It’s not like I’m a virgin.”
“Could’a fooled me.”
He glared at you. “Be nice.”
“I’m plenty nice.”
“You make fun of me.”
“Only cause I love you,” you teased, pinching his cheek. “And cause I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a girl since you dated Lois.”
He sighed, head leaning back onto the couch. “I don’t like doing– doing that unless I really like somebody. I just haven’t found the right person in a while is all.”
You smiled, softer now. You took his hand in yours, squeezing it softly as your head found its way to his arm again.
“That’s very sweet.”
“Don’t make fun–”
“I mean it, Clark.”
He glanced down out of the corner of his eye to where you leaned against him. His thumb brushed over your knuckles gently as you both refocused to the tv that was running in the background. He leaned over, kissing the top of your head.
“You deserve better than those folks you’ve been out with lately, you know?”
“I know.”
“Mm.”
You let out a soft breath. “The last girl I was out with tried telling me she didn’t like how I kissed.”
“Oh.”
“Which is total bullshit, by the way. She said she could ‘help me figure it out’.” You rolled your eyes. “I know for a fact that I don’t need help.”
Clark just nodded once. “R-right.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever told me that before.”
“Hm.”
“Are you going to say anything else to me?” You glanced up at him with a laugh.
“I’m, uh– I’m sure you’re a very good kisser?”
You snorted. “Have you ever had someone tell you that?”
“Tell me…?”
“You can’t kiss. Or need help or whatever.”
He shook his head. “Uh, n-no?”
“You think you’re good at it?”
He flushed again, looking away. “Come on…”
“Alright, you big baby. I’ll quit asking.”
He let out a slow breath. That ended up being a long night for him once he went to his room for the night.
Weeks later, he groaned as he woke up, still a bit dazed from a deep sleep. He woke to the sound of you shuffling around the apartment, but couldn’t yet bring himself to climb out of his cozy bed. It wasn’t until he heard his door creak open that he made an attempt at opening his eyes.
“Good morning, sunshine,” you whispered, sneaking into his bedroom.
He laid there in his plaid pajama pants, washed in sunlight and tangled in his sheets. He blinked groggily as you walked in, smiling a little at the sight of you in little more than a t-shirt and panties. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to you being so… comfortable.
“You took my shirt again,” he rasped, holding out a hand as you crawled into bed with him.
You made yourself comfortable on his bed, cross-legged and taking his hand as he turned onto his back on the mattress.
“I like this shirt. It’s soft.” You shrugged, tugging lightly on the hem of his old Met U t-shirt. “Besides, if you keep throwing your clothes into my hamper, you can’t be mad when I take them.”
He just hummed once, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Guess so. I like it on you anyway."
“Flirt.”
“That was not.”
“So you think I’m ugly?”
He scoffed, eyes going wide. “Wha– I didn’t say that!”
You tried to keep it together, but his immediate defense and embarrassment was too much to handle. You chuckled a little, his features softening but still stern as he muttered your name in a scold.
“You’re so easy to rile up.” You grinned.
“You’re rude.”
“You adore me.”
He sighed, arm around your waist as he pulled you down with him. You squealed, settling yourself with your knees on either side of his hips. He intended merely to bring you a little bit closer, maybe get you to quiet down, but Clark realized too late what a pickle he’d just gotten himself into as he loosened his arm.
“Oh, geez–” he mumbled, feeling himself freeze up.
“If you wanted me on top of you that bad–”
“Quit it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned, stomach dropping as he felt his blood rush south. You chuckled for only a moment before something else caught your attention, something that wasn’t there before suddenly insistently pressing against your bare thigh.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” Clark squeaked out, eyes squeezing shut. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Not your fault.”
“It kind of is.”
“You didn’t get hard on purpose, I’m sure.”
He groaned. “Please don’t talk about it.”
“Too late, it’s touching me.”
He whined. Honest-to-god whined. His hands settled on your hips, trying weakly to push you away. You had two options in front of you, you realized: allow him to push you away and pretend it never happened, or…
You gripped his wrists, stopping him from pushing you away. He looked up at you, alarmed with his ears turning red as fast as his cheeks did.
“What are you doing?”
You just shrugged, pushing your hips back up from where he’d tried shoving you away. Clark gasped at the small amount of friction it provided to his restricted length. He breathed out your name again, though whether it was meant to be a warning or praise you weren’t quite sure. What you were sure of is that he looked really cute with rosy cheeks and parted lips, and a little dry-humping between friends never killed anyone.
“You can stop me if you really want to,” you spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper, your hips rolling against his with more purpose.
His jaw ticked, his eyes still closed. “I… I know.”
“Are you going to?”
He swallowed, hands gripping the fat of your hips with more strength, helping you along as you rocked against him again. He knew it would be reasonable to stop this. He didn’t do casual, he knew that he couldn’t. He also didn’t ever cross that line with you, despite the thoughts about you that seemed to plague his mind at any given moment. But this technically wasn’t anything, he rationalized with an extremely clouded mind. You both had clothes on, mostly. The most intimate skin contact was his hands on your hips and thighs. It was fine. He decided it was fine, so it would be fine.
“No,” he finally answered after a moment.
Your hands ran over his wrists, his forearms, his fingers. You watched him carefully as his eyes slowly blinked open, hooded and dark. He watched the way your hips, clad in those soft blue panties, dragged over the evident bulge in his pajama pants. He let out a shaky huff, groaning under his breath.
“Gosh…”
“Yeah,” you breathed out with a short chuckle, hands against his bare stomach. Your fingers traced the little happy trail that snuck from his belly button down into his pants. His stomach jumped at the contact. “This is… nice. Good bonding time.”
“Bonding?” He laughed, breathing heavily. “I, uh–um… this is a heck of a way to bond.”
You just nodded, a small sound of agreement on your lips as he took a firmer hand guiding you over his erection. You felt the flimsy material of your panties clinging to your skin, soaked in your own arousal. You were sure you’d leave a spot against his pants, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it.
Clark’s sounds grew louder, needier. His head was clouded over with want, his cock throbbing with a desire to be freed from the confines of fabric separating him from what he was sure would be a very soft, warm place between your legs. He’d thought about you a million times before, but this was the first time he could remember feeling truly, horribly desperate to be inside of you like this.
“Baby…” he groaned.
Fuck. You whined softly at the petname, your body moving against his with even more intention than you’d had a moment earlier.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped, feeling a familiar coiling in your stomach.
He smiled, dazed out. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You dragged yourself against the length beneath you, pleased to become so aware that he was just as big as you’d imagined him to be. A new buzz beneath your skin intensified as your clit caught on what felt like the thick head of his cock. You tried the same movement again, garnering the same result. Over and over and over.
Clark whined underneath you, fingers dug into your thighs. “W-wait. Wait, honey, I’m–”
“No. N-no, please, I’m so close.”
He grunted, frustrated and ready to finish as well. “M-me too.”
“Don’t quit.”
“Okay,” he rasped. “Okay. O-okay.”
“Right there, just like this.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, one arm tugging you down against his chest. His face buried in your hair, a harsh groan coming from the back of his throat as his hips rutted up against you. You moaned against his ear, cumming hard, pussy clenching and pulsing around nothing. Clark could hear your heart speed up as you finished, his own release coming only a few seconds later. He spilled into his pants, one hand on your waist, the other in an iron grip on your thigh.
You both laid there for a little while, the glow of your shared orgasm settling between you. You felt elated, cheek against his clammy bare shoulder. Clark felt… humiliated? Excited? A scary combination of both, it seemed.
“I’m… I’m really sorry.”
You breathed slow, pushing up on his chest to look down at him. “For what?”
“That was, uh…” He looked away. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“To cum?”
He mumbled your name. “Gosh. Don’t say it like that. No, I meant doing all of that. I don’t–”
“I liked it, for the record.”
He swallowed. “Me too, but I shouldn’t have.”
“Clark. Come on,” you whispered, tilting his head to look at you again. “If you liked it and I liked it, then there’s nothing wrong. It was fun. You had a good time, right?”
He gave a pouty nod. “Yeah.”
“Quit pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“You totally are. You just came and found a way to feel immediately guilty about it. You’re not Catholic, cut it out.”
“Ma did bring me to church sometimes when I was little…”
“Clark.”
He sighed, a soft smile making its way to his face. “Sorry. I– I did like it. That was nice.”
“We didn’t fuck. I think we can chalk it up to a fun activity between roomies.”
“You have an odd idea of what a roommate activity is.”
You smiled, brushing his dampened hair away from his face.
If Clark thought he was struggling with how he felt about you before, it was a whole new ballgame now. He knew he had a bit of a crush, as evidenced by the way his dick would jump to life if he thought about you too hard. But it was suddenly leagues worse.
He didn’t have to wonder what you’d sound like under him, he knew. He didn’t have to guess if you’d be soaked and warm for him, he had evidence in the form of a wet spot on the pants he’d worn that morning. You came rubbing yourself on him. He came in his pants. You got each other off. He wasn’t going to be quick to forget it.
Going into work that morning didn’t help him out at all. He was certain his cheeks were still a little pink as he stumbled into his desk chair at the Daily Planet. Evidently, he wasn’t making it all up in his head.
“Dude.”
Clark glanced up to see Jimmy staring at him pointedly. He raised his brows in question.
“Who’s the girl?” Jimmy asked, his arms crossed.
Clark sputtered. “Wha– there’s no girl.”
“Bullshit. You look like you got laid.”
“I did not–” Clark sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Why would you even think that?”
“You just look… satisfied. Too happy to be here at nine in the morning.”
“I like my job.”
“Not that much, man. Come on, Clark,” Jimmy huffed, certain he wasn’t imagining things. “I haven’t seen you like this in… ever.”
Clark bit the inside of his cheek, turning back to his computer, trying to ignore Jimmy commenting on his behavior under his breath. Jimmy didn’t often let him be for very long, though.
Clark was making an attempt to mind his business on a bench outside, quietly eating the PB&J he’d packed for himself that morning, until Jimmy found him. Clark glanced up, cheeks filled.
“Hi?”
Jimmy sat on the bench next to him, stretching out. He sighed heavily before he looked to his friend.
“You’re really going to do the whole ‘secret girlfriend’ thing again?”
Clark frowned, swallowing. “I’m not.”
“You’re really bad at lying.”
“I’m not lying. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Jimmy snorted a laugh. “So you are hooking up with someone? Of all people?”
Clark sighed, his sandwich dropping down in his limp hand. “I’m not doing that either.”
“I’ll find out eventually, you know that, right?”
Clark just took another bite, ignoring the comment. Jimmy was annoyingly perceptive sometimes. Clark often thought Jimmy should’ve been an investigative journalist when he acted like that. But, he was finally offered some reprieve when Jimmy changed the subject, talking about some plans to go out for drinks that Friday. Clark nodded along politely, not bothering to fully listen until it was too late.
He realized after Jimmy grinned and told him to bring you along that he’d accidentally nodded to going with them.
Clark showed up at home with a shy wave, and a request on the tip of his tongue.
“So…”
You looked in his direction as he washed the dishes that night, sipping wine while propped up on the kitchen counter. He was still in his button up from work, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, humming to one of your songs playing softly in the room. He looked downright delicious. You wondered if your little tryst that morning would become a welcome addition to your routine as a pair, or if Clark would try to brush it under the rug like it had never happened. You hoped for the former.
“Yeah?” You replied after a second.
He let out a small puff of air. “Uh… Jimmy asked me to go out with him and a few folks from the office on Friday, after work. He said you should come with us.”
“Oh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Is that an invitation?”
He shrugged once. “If… if you’d like to come with, I’d love to have you.”
“You half-had me this morning already,” you quipped with a snorted laugh.
He felt his cheeks warm, your name a soft, almost disapproving sound on his lips. It only made you smile further, causing him to grin back against his better judgement.
“I, uh… maybe we should talk about that. At some point.”
You raised a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he affirmed with a nod, drying his hands after putting the last plate in the drying rack. He turned to you, crossing his arms. His breath hitched a tiny bit at the way your eyes dropped to his biceps. “Um… I just… I don’t know. That was different. For us.”
“I’d say so. Not exactly dry humping our brains out on a regular basis.”
“Hun,” he huffed, the pet name slipping out easily. “I’m trying to be serious.”
“Okay, okay,” you conceded, setting your glass down on the counter next to you. “Yeah. It was… unusual for us, for sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that’s a bad thing?”
He blinked, his eyes a bit wider. “W-well, no. Not bad, just… just different.”
“Is it something you’d want to do again?” You got to the point, tilting your head in question.
“I don’t know. Maybe? But it wasn’t–” He paused, taking a breath. He had to look away, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I don’t usually do stuff like that.”
“You seemed pretty damn good at it.”
He flushed, all the way down past his collar. “I-I mean with somebody I’m not dating. I don’t do that unless I’m with somebody. This time was different.”
“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. But for the record, I had a very good time.”
“Yeah. I did too.” He nodded, meeting your eyes again. “Can I think about it? If I can do it again?”
You agreed softly with a smile. He gave you a warm hug, letting it linger a little longer than he usually would. You graciously ignored the bulge you felt against your leg again.
He acted as normal as he could, still quite obviously thinking about what you’d done together, but trying not to let it show. He couldn’t help it. He’d fantasized for so long that getting a taste felt absolutely surreal.
Friday night came, and so did his lingering gaze on your chest in the tight top you wore to go out with his coworkers. He didn’t mean to look. It was just hard not to when your breasts were pressed up the way they were.
He sat by your side through the night, sipping on a sprite and getting all of your margarita refills from the bar. He laughed at every joke you made, hardly noticing the looks between Jimmy and Cat at his behavior with you.
The moment he excused himself to go to the “bathroom”, aka he caught wind of a burning building and had to do his Super-thing, they all moved in on you.
“Seriously?” Jimmy started with a laugh.
You looked at your long-time friend, his expression bewildered. “What?”
He merely groaned, leaving it up to Lois to shake her head at you. You glanced at them all, unsure what the gossip was.
“He has that lost-puppy look,” Lois said with a short chuckle into her drink.
“Maybe a dog in heat,” Cat added in, laughing when the comment pulled a few sour looks from the phrasing. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
You sighed. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Clark,” Jimmy replied simply. “He looks like he’s actively holding back from bending you over the table.”
“You’re gross.” You snorted a laugh, sipping your drink. Little did he know.
“And you’re no better,” he quickly added. “Leaning into his side, giggling at his jokes. He is not that funny.”
“But he’s super cute,” Cat sang out with a grin.
“He’s been staring down your shirt literally all night.” Lois looked at you with a raised brow. “He is classically horrible at hiding how he feels. You can’t seriously say you haven’t noticed him falling over himself for you.”
“You guys are all ridiculous.”
Jimmy groaned. “Oh, please. I’ve known you forever, dude. And we all know Clark. Like Lois said, he is classically shit at hiding his feelings. She would know.”
“And dare I say, he’s acting even more desperate than anything I saw from him in the beginning,” she mentioned with a grin.
Cat laughed. “Oh my god. It’s so cute, come on. You two would be so sweet together.”
“She likes a big boy, too,” Jimmy noted.
“James,” you scolded.
“Just saying. You always went for the tall ones in high school. Except that one guy… Emmett?”
“Oh my god.”
“He was an interesting choice.”
“He was nice!”
Jimmy snorted, muttering under his breath, “and a freak.”
“You’re so–”
“What?” He laughed. “Don’t be like that, we’re just having some fun. Like I’m sure Clark would love to have with…”
You all looked at him as he trailed off, like he’d come to an epiphany all of a sudden.
“What?” Cat prodded first.
Jimmy smiled, which was often dangerous.
“Are you the reason he came into work the other day looking like he got some?”
You were taken off guard. Oh boy. “Pardon me?”
“You so are.”
Cat gaped. “You already climbed that?”
“No–”
“Oh, she so is,” Lois mentioned softly to Jimmy, gossiping like you weren’t sitting right there.
You scoffed, floundering. They were all out to get you, you were certain of it.
“Why don’t you all bully Clark about this instead of me?”
“We bully him every day,” Jimmy explained.
You huffed a breath, melting into your seat as they chattered on. Fortunately, your drink ran out, and you had an excuse to leave in order to grab a new one. You got up, making a beeline for the bar, and placed your order for a hard lemonade. It was time to slow down if you didn’t want to wake up hung over.
You waited for a couple of minutes before the smell of Clark’s cologne clouded your head. He always wore a little extra when you went out, and god, he smelled good as fuck when you were a bit tipsy. You looked up to see him sidling up next to you with a smile.
“Everything go okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, of course. Firefighters did a great job, I just grabbed a nice old lady and her cat. Everyone else was already taken care of.”
“Good.”
“Everything okay here?”
“Your friends are horrible.”
He furrowed his brow. “What happened?”
You chuckled. “They’re just… nosey. It’s all Jimmy’s fault.”
“Nosey?”
“Yeah.” You thanked the bartender, tipping her as she handed over your bottle. “They were interrogating me about you.”
“About me?” He crossed his arms.
Your eyes flicked to his shoulders, his arms testing the limits of that baggy t-shirt. “Mhm.”
He gulped. “What’d they say?”
“They’re trying to figure out if we’re fucking,” you stated, meeting his eyes again. “I told them no, but they have officially made up their minds.”
He let out a breath. “Gosh.”
“Yeah. Said you’re like a dog in heat who won’t stop staring at my tits.”
You laughed, but Clark blushed, shifting on his feet. Now it was his turn to let his eyes drop down. Okay, maybe they had a point about him looking at your boobs.
“They do look really nice.”
Oh shit.
You blinked, not expecting him to be so forthcoming. But, to be fair, you did rub up on him until he made a mess of his pants only a few days before.
“Huh.”
“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“Don’t fucking apologize.”
He paused, nearly pouting. “But–”
“It’s okay. Quit worrying so much, Clark,” you said softly, touching his arm. You glanced back at the table, the small group talking amongst themselves. “Come on. We should probably go back.”
He didn’t budge. “Or… maybe we can go home.”
“Oh?”
“Y-yeah.” He shrugged, trying like hell to be nonchalant. “If you want.”
You nodded, your final drink left full on the edge of the bar.
The walk back to your shared apartment was quiet, your hands brushing with every step, though neither of you made the move to do more than those soft touches. It wasn’t until you walked into your building, waiting for the elevator that you realized he was taking you home. Kind of. Did it count if you shared that home? Maybe it didn’t matter.
You both stepped into the elevator, Clark hitting the button for your floor.
You glanced over first, eyes lingering on his jaw, his hair, his ear, his lips… everything. Clark followed, his eyes flicking over your arms, stomach, chest, face, and landing back on your eyes. It was a blur. Neither of you knew who moved first, only that suddenly you were against one another, your lips locked.
His hands gripped your waist and hips, pulling you into his body. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue against his, sucking on it when he tried pulling back. He groaned, his knees feeling weaker in an instant. He whispered your name, kissing down your neck.
You let him pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He shuffled out of the elevator and towards your door, grateful that the hallway was empty. He fumbled with his keys, finally shoving it into the lock and stepping inside.
“We’re gonna, like, really do this, huh?” you breathed out, giddy as he let you back down to kick off your shoes and jacket.
He grinned, dimples poking into his cheeks. “Yeah. Gosh, yes.”
He was on you again the moment you both were freed of your outerwear, scooping you up with ease. You worked on his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It got flung somewhere in the living room. He pressed you to the wall in the hallway, tugging your top off and undoing the button and zipper of your jeans. His lips hardly left yours.
He walked again, leaving a trail of clothes behind like breadcrumbs. The moment he had you on your back in his bed, spread out on top of his sheets like you belonged there, his excitement turned to utter desperation. You watched as he pulled off the glasses he’d worn for the night and suddenly started pulling his belt loose, clearly trying to rid himself of his clothing as fast as he could. You followed suit with a thrilled fervor, shimmying out of your jeans and panties, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere unknown.
He groaned deep in his chest when he looked back to see you bare and waiting.
“I don’t deserve you.”
You chewed your lip. “You’re one to talk.”
He swallowed, your gaze burning his skin as it trailed from his chest, to his stomach, settling on his cock, bobbing and drooling, his tip swollen and aching.
“You’re so hot. Holy shit.”
His chest tightened at the rasp in your voice. He crawled on top of you, hands everywhere he could reach. He gripped your skin, lips and tongue and teeth leaving lasting marks down your neck and chest.
“Clark.”
He whined. “I wanna be in you so bad.”
“Do it.”
“N-no. Gotta get you ready first.”
You sighed in ecstasy, his fingers slipping between your legs. You let him kiss you like he needed it to live, two fingers shoved into your needy heat.
“You’re so wet. How are you so wet?” He heaved a few breaths, kisses all along your cheek.
“I was soaked the second you came out of your room before we left. You looked so fucking hot, and you smell so good, and… fuck, Clark, I wanted to choke on your cock when you put those dorky fucking glasses on before we left.”
He groaned pathetically. “You… Do you like the glasses that much?”
“You look like the hottest loser in the world with them on.”
He huffed a short laugh, though it was weak and wrecked. “Noted.”
“Let me suck it.”
“W-what?”
You pushed his hand away. “I’m ready enough. Back up. Please.”
He whined, reluctantly taking his fingers out of you. He shoved them in his mouth, eyes fluttering as he tasted you. You nearly drooled watching it. He let you push him onto his back, eyes locked on you as you took him in your hand.
“Thought you’d feel heavy,” you muttered, sucking his tip into your mouth. A broken noise escaped his chest. You slapped his dick against your tongue, the heft of him even better than you were hoping. “Fuck. Gorgeous cock.”
His hips jerked, his chest heaving. He thanked the heavens he had an abnormal ability to keep it up because he was certain that if he let himself, he would've cum all over your pretty face before you even took him.
You sucked him into your warm, waiting mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you started bobbing your head. He gasped, tiny sounds leaving him at every motion against his desperate length. You felt yourself dripping down your thighs, his cock down your throat further and further every time you went down again.
Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit, wanting every bit of him to feel cared for. But as good as it felt to suck his pretty cock, the kind of sound that he made when you moved down further caused the slick between your legs to increase even further than you realized your body was capable of.
Your lips closed around one of his heavy balls, your hand still insistently stroking him. His body tensed as he tried not to jerk hard against your face. You sucked on his full sack, alternating each side, unable to fit both in at once (even though you’d made an attempt). He nearly sobbed your name, your hand focusing on the hyper-sensitive head of his length.
You only pulled off when he physically pulled you away.
“Keep it up and I’m going to finish too fast.”
“That’s not bad.”
He huffed, a weak smile on his face. “Trust me, I’d love that any other time. This time, I want to do it right.”
You let him manhandle you, dropping you down against his pillows. He spread your legs apart, one look at how much wetter you’d become and his eyes closed for a few seconds.
“Holy c-crap.”
“What?”
He shook his head, looking back down. “You are just… dripping. Your legs are covered in it.”
“You have a really perfect dick. I got excited.”
He shuddered, rubbing your thigh gently. He knelt between your legs, draping your legs over his. He stroked himself, just staring at you. It was a minute before you made a quiet, impatient noise, finally calling him to action.
Clark pushed his flushed tip through the wetness between your legs. He watched the way your pussy glistened with arousal, his jaw slack and heart pounding. He let his heavy cock rest against your clit, slowly rutting against you just to watch the way your body jolted with the contact. He groaned, his eyes flicking briefly to your face.
“You’re so beautiful. Pretty girl. Pretty… geez,” he huffed, eyes drawn back to your pussy.
He gripped the base of his cock, tapping the blunt head against your sloppy clit, committing the sound of the wet slap to memory. He wanted to make sure he never forgot. He felt desperate. Overcome by need and the way you laid out for him, cunt on display just for him to play with. What an honor.
“Can I put it in?” he mumbled, words slurring from pure want. “Please. Pretty baby, I wanna feel you. You’re so wet. Prettiest p-pussy ever, she’s so cute. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me–”
“Yeah. Yes, Clark, please. Put it in.”
He groaned, his eyes fluttering as he dragged himself down to your opening, chewing his lip as he pressed against you. He gulped, moving forward just enough to let you swallow his head. He gasped, chest heaving.
“O-oh gosh.”
“Fuck, Clark.”
“Mm…”
He adjusted his hips, pulling your lower half up onto his thighs. Your back arched, shoulders still pressed to the mattress as he molded your body to his, letting his cock slip in further until he was fully seated in you. He practically winced, holding back with everything in him.
“Feel better than I thought you’d be,” he mumbled under his breath.
You breathed heavy, hands gripping his wrists where he held your hips as he delivered some shallow thrusts. Your eyes met his. “You’ve thought about it?”
He nodded, any of his usual guilt dissipating. “Yes. Yes, so many times. Knew you’d be perfect.”
“Shit. Here I thought you were a pure little boy scout,” you responded with a short laugh.
“M’not bad. Just… just like you. You’re so… Geez,” he trailed off, head tilting back as his hips moved against yours. “You’re just really nice and pretty. You’re so sweet to me. Couldn’t help it, I just thought about you sometimes when I… when…”
“You jerked off thinking about me?”
He whimpered. “Don’t say it like that.”
“But you did.”
“Y-yeah. I did,” he admitted, pulling you up onto his lap.
Your arms circled his neck as he held you to his chest, thrusting up into you. You tried your best to assist, weakly bouncing on his thighs, but he was Superman, after all: he could very easily move you how he wanted to. And he did. He moved you along his cock with ease until you were quivering and whining his name. He moaned weakly as he felt your teeth sink into his skin, your pussy clenching and squeezing around him. He could hardly stand it, the sound of your soaked pussy even louder after you’d finished for him. He fucked into you with strong arms locking you in place until you were feeling him pump you full of his cum, breathing into your ear like he’d run a marathon.
“Baby. Baby, baby, baby…” he whined, hips jerking a few more times as he babbled against your skin. “Oh, gosh. You’re so perfect, so good, honey. So good, you feel perfect.”
“Clark,” you sighed, blissed out.
He just shook in your grasp, body spent and somehow still so needy for you. He kissed up your neck, his lips moving along your skin. He nipped softly just under your ear. He pulled out of you slowly as his lips moved to your cheek, and finally to your mouth to kiss you properly. His tongue slid into your mouth as he laid you back down on the mattress, dancing along your own tongue. You kissed him back slowly, the action messy and full of want and untold affection. His hands touched your cheeks, moving down over your breasts.
“Gorgeous,” he spoke into your mouth, squeezing the soft flesh. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sighing softly when they pebbled under his touch. “I love these.”
You just smiled, watching him kiss one perky nipple as an act of reverence. His lips moved along your breast, down your stomach, his fingers slipping over your slick pussy, catching on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.
“Wanna taste you,” he whispered against your thigh.
“You just came inside of me, Clarkie.”
He grinned at the name. “I know, baby. We made a mess, I’ll clean it up. Promise.”
His smile widened as your head tilted back, a heavy breath pulled from your lips. He moved his way up, a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your pussy when he finally met her. You moaned, eyes rolling back. He slid one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up further as he licked his cum out of your fucked-out cunt. One hand gripped your thigh, the other kneading your tit, his mouth working you over. He sucked on your throbbing clit, tongue moving over every part of your soft flesh he could taste. Your hips jerked against his face. He chuckled quietly, his voice reverberated through you.
“Shit. Right there, please.” You gripped his hair, panting.
He obliged, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue scooped inside of you, his hips jerking against the mattress, already hardened again at the mixture of your flavor and his. It didn’t take long for him to have you careening over the edge again, gasping and whining, your grip in his hair tighter. He swallowed down everything you had to give him, gently licking you clean until you were begging him to slow down.
“You like it?” He looked at you with raised brows as he shifted his body to be over yours once more.
“So much. Did so good, Clark.”
He brightened at the praise, licking the inside of your mouth like he did your cunt.
“I’m ready again when you are,” he whispered against your lips.
It was a long night. A long weekend, in fact. One that ended in him deciding, while balls deep, that it would probably be a good idea to ask you out at some point.
Clark made it to work that Monday, floating on cloud nine with his head still swirling around little more than you. He smiled to himself as he stepped off the elevator, a pep in his step walking to his desk. He set down his things, scruffing his hand through his hair as he logged into his computer. He hadn’t noticed the suspicious eyes on him.
Jimmy watched him, shaking his head to himself. He let Clark have a moment, clearly elsewhere in his thoughts. But he couldn’t let him stew in love-sick peace forever.
“Dude. I could pretend I didn’t notice you looking at a certain someone like you wanted to pull her into the nearest bathroom stall on Friday night,” Jimmy stated with a sigh, noticing the way Clark’s ears turned bright red before he even turned around. “But seriously, Clark. You definitely got laid this time.”
hello! idk if you're comfortable with this type of request but can i request an op81 x heiress!/royalty! read x mv3? max and oscar are a really good duo! 🥰🥰 thank youu
The Weight of Gold - MV3 & OP81
served with: max verstappen x fem!heiress!reader x oscar piastri
sypnopsis: as the heiress to F1's most powerful sponsor, Y/N has spent her entire life trapped in a cage of expectation. But when her father announces to the press, without her consent, his sham commitment to a mega-team, Max and Oscar enter the picture. As their paths cross around Y/N, the 2 rivals forge a silent, unbreakable alliance. They don't care about appearances, paddock gossip, or the threat of losing sponsorships. They're going to help Y/N regain control of her life and they have no intention of forcing her to choose between them when things settle down.
wc: 15.6k
note: hey besties!! I finally finished this fic, it took longer than I thought and it was longer than planned too 🤣🤣 I hope it's what you had in mind for your request and if not, I'm sorry 😪 I hope you enjoy it a lot, love you all!! 😽 (P.S. I hope being the heiress of a company is what you were expecting) ring inspo
The polished, untouchable heiress was a mirage. It just took Max and Oscar two entirely different moments to see the girl trapped underneath.
For Max, it happened three months before the Monaco breakdown, during the unrelenting rain of the Silverstone weekend.
Max was in a foul mood. Free Practice 2 had been a disaster of red flags and zero grip, and he had retreated to the quietest corner of the Red Bull Energy Station to escape the frantic engineers. The hospitality area was supposed to be empty, shut down for the evening to everyone except essential personnel.
But as Max rounded the corner toward the espresso bar, he heard a sharp, very un-heiress-like string of curses.
He stopped, leaning silently against the doorframe.
Y/N was standing in front of the massive, industrial espresso machine. She was wearing a flawless, structured white blazer, looking like she belonged on the cover of Forbes, but her posture was rigid with absolute fury. She jammed a button on the machine. Nothing happened. She hit it again, harder this time.
"Come on," Y/N hissed, her voice vibrating with a raw, desperate exhaustion that caught Max entirely off guard. "Just one cup. Do not do this to me."
The machine whirred, hissed aggressively, and spat a stream of cold, murky water all over the pristine marble counter—and directly onto the sleeve of her blazer.
Y/N froze. For a second, Max thought she was going to cry. The perfect, smiling asset that her father paraded around the grid looked completely shattered over a broken coffee machine.
Instead of crying, Y/N let out a breath, grabbed a fistful of napkins, and aggressively slammed them onto the counter. "Fine," she whispered fiercely to the machine. "Be useless. See if I care."
She kicked the base of the heavy metal counter with the toe of her designer heel—a sharp, violent thud that echoed in the empty room.
A low, involuntary chuckle escaped Max’s chest.
Y/N whipped around, her eyes wide, the mask slamming back into place so fast it gave Max whiplash. Her spine straightened, her chin lifted, and the furious, real girl vanished behind a polite, deadened smile.
"Max," she said smoothly, though he could see her pulse jumping at her throat. "I apologize. I didn't realize anyone was still here."
Max didn't smile back. He didn't like the mask. He pushed off the doorframe and walked slowly toward her, his eyes locked on hers. He didn't stop until he was entirely in her personal space, close enough to smell the vanilla perfume and the bitter scent of the spilled espresso.
He reached past her, his arm brushing her shoulder, and flipped a hidden override switch on the back of the machine. The digital screen hummed to life, glowing a warm green.
"You have to reset the boiler after the cleaning cycle," Max said, his voice a low rumble. He pulled a fresh cup, locked the portafilter in place, and hit the extraction button. A perfect, dark shot of espresso began to pour.
Y/N stared at the coffee, then slowly looked up at him. The polite smile faltered, just a fraction. "Right. Thank you."
Max picked up the cup and held it out to her. When her fingers brushed his to take it, he didn't let go right away. His blue eyes dragged over her ruined white sleeve, and then back up to her exhausted, guarded eyes.
"For what it's worth," Max murmured, his voice dropping into that blunt, intense honesty he reserved for very few people. "I liked you better when you were kicking the counter."
He finally released the cup and walked away, leaving Y/N staring after him, the first tiny crack forming in her armor.
For Oscar, the realization came a month later, beneath the glittering chandeliers of a VIP gala in Monza.
The room was suffocatingly loud, packed with team principals, celebrities, and the corporate elite. Oscar hated these events, but McLaren expected him to make an appearance. He was seated at a table near the back, quietly observing the room with a glass of sparkling water, when he noticed her.
Y/N was seated three tables away, trapped in a conversation with two tech billionaires and her father. From a distance, she looked perfect. She was nodding at the right intervals, offering polite, composed smiles, and holding a champagne flute with absolute elegance.
But Oscar was a driver who made his living noticing the micro-details that everyone else missed.
He watched the way her knuckles were entirely white where she gripped the stem of the glass. He noticed that her polite smile never once reached her eyes—they looked glassy, thousand-yard-staring through the men talking at her.
Then, Oscar saw her shift her weight slightly under the table. Her foot slipped out of her towering stiletto heel, just for a second, seeking relief on the carpeted floor. It was a tiny, desperate motion. She was miserable. She was being held hostage in plain sight.
Oscar set his water glass down. He didn't overthink it; he just acted.
He navigated through the crowded tables with quiet efficiency, approaching her father's circle just as one of the tech executives was launching into a droning monologue about market shares.
"Excuse me," Oscar interrupted smoothly, his voice polite but carrying enough authority to halt the conversation.
Her father looked annoyed, but seeing the McLaren driver, he forced a smile. "Ah, Piastri. Enjoying the evening?"
"Very much," Oscar lied effortlessly. He didn't look at her father; his dark, observant eyes dropped entirely to Y/N. "Actually, I was hoping to steal your daughter for a moment. McLaren’s aerodynamicist was just debating the drag coefficient of the new rear wing, and Y/N promised she'd settle the bet."
It was a completely absurd excuse. Y/N’s father knew it. The tech billionaires looked confused.
But Y/N looked at Oscar like he had just thrown her a life raft in the middle of a hurricane.
"Of course," Y/N said quickly. She slipped her foot seamlessly back into her heel and stood up, placing the untouched champagne on the table. "Duty calls. Gentlemen."
Oscar offered his arm, a perfectly gentlemanly gesture for the cameras, and she took it. Her grip on his forearm was tight, her fingers trembling slightly.
He led her away from the tables, bypassing the aerodynamicists entirely, and steered them out onto a quiet, dimly lit balcony overlooking the Italian gardens. The heavy glass doors shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the gala instantly.
Y/N dropped his arm, turning her back to the glass doors. She let out a long, shaky exhale, her shoulders slumping as the perfect posture dissolved.
"Aerodynamics?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.
Oscar leaned against the stone balustrade, crossing his arms comfortably. "It was either that, or tell them I needed you to explain the geopolitical history of the tire blanket ban. I went with the more believable lie."
For a second, Y/N just stared at him. And then, it happened.
A laugh slipped out of her. It wasn't the polite, breathy chuckle she gave the board members. It was a real, bright, surprised laugh that completely transformed her face. The heavy, guarded look in her eyes vanished, replaced by a brilliant, unfiltered relief.
Oscar felt the air knock out of his lungs. It was like watching a completely different person step out of the shadows.
"Thank you," Y/N breathed, a genuine smile lingering on her lips as she looked at him. "I think I owed you a rescue."
"Anytime," Oscar replied softly, his eyes tracing the new, relaxed lines of her face. He filed the sound of that laugh away in his mind, making a quiet, concrete decision right then and there.
He was going to make sure she never had to fake a smile around him again.
Once Max and Oscar had seen the girl beneath the heiress, they couldn't unsee her. And more dangerously, they couldn't stop looking for her.
As the European leg of the season dragged on, a bizarre, unspoken phenomenon began to occur in the paddock. Wherever Y/N was forced to stand for prolonged PR appearances, either a dark blue Red Bull cap or a papaya McLaren jacket would inevitably appear on the periphery.
It started subtle.
In Hungary, when a gaggle of aggressive photographers cornered Y/N near the VIP turnstiles, Oscar "accidentally" stopped to tie his shoe directly in their path, creating a bottleneck that allowed her to slip away into the Red Bull hospitality suite unnoticed.
Two weeks later in Spa, it was Max. Y/N had been forced to stand in the pouring rain on the grid while her father gave an excruciatingly long television interview. Max had finished his own media duties, but instead of retreating to the dry garage, he casually leaned against his car’s front wing, angling an oversized team umbrella just enough to shield her from the worst of the downpour. He didn't look at her. He didn't speak to her. But he stood in the freezing rain for ten solid minutes until her father finally moved on.
They were orbiting her. Separately. Silently.
But it was only a matter of time before their orbits collided.
The collision happened in the sweltering, suffocating humidity of the Singapore Grand Prix.
Y/N had been running on three hours of sleep, paraded through endless late-night sponsor dinners. By Saturday afternoon, the exhaustion was radiating off her in waves.
Max had been tracking her movements since Thursday. He had seen the dark circles under her eyes that her makeup artist couldn't quite hide, and the slight tremor in her hands when she handed her father a microphone during a press event. Max's protective instincts were practically vibrating.
After Free Practice 3, Max bypassed his debrief entirely. He grabbed a bottle of electrolyte water and walked straight out the back of the Red Bull garage, intending to pull Y/N into his driver’s room the moment she stepped out of the FIA hospitality suite.
But when he rounded the corner, she wasn't there.
Max’s eyes narrowed, scanning the crowded paddock. He spotted the trailing edge of her father's entourage heading toward the Paddock Club, but Y/N wasn't with them.
Max moved with predatory focus, checking the usual hiding spots. The terrace. The media center fire escape. Nothing.
Finally, acting on a gut instinct he couldn't entirely explain, Max crossed enemy lines. He walked straight into the McLaren hospitality center.
The papaya-clad mechanics and PR reps stared at the reigning World Champion striding into their territory, but nobody was brave enough to stop him. Max ignored them all, heading straight for the private driver rooms at the back.
He didn't bother knocking on Oscar's door. He just opened it.
The blast of icy air conditioning hit Max first. Then, he saw her.
Y/N was curled up in the corner of Oscar's small, heavily air-conditioned driver room, fast asleep. She had a McLaren team towel draped over her legs to combat the chill, and her head was resting against the plush fabric of the sofa. The tense, rigid lines of her face were completely smoothed out. She looked peaceful.
Oscar was sitting in the armchair opposite her, scrolling through data on his tablet. He didn't look up when the door opened, completely unbothered by the intrusion.
"Close the door, Max," Oscar murmured quietly, finally flicking his dark eyes up to meet Max’s. "You're letting the heat in."
Max stepped inside, letting the heavy door click shut behind him. He looked from the sleeping girl to the McLaren driver, his jaw tight. The bottle of electrolyte water in his hand suddenly felt redundant. Oscar had already placed a fresh, unopened bottle on the coffee table right next to Y/N’s phone.
"Her father is looking for her," Max said, keeping his voice to a low rumble so he wouldn't wake her.
"I know," Oscar replied calmly, setting his tablet down. "I told his assistant she got called into a meeting with Zak about the branding on the rear wing. Bought her an hour."
Max crossed his arms, staring at Oscar. The territorial fire that always burned in Max’s chest flared, urging him to grab Y/N, wake her up, and drag her back to his own territory. But as he watched Oscar—who was sitting guard with the exact same lethal, quiet devotion that Max felt—the fire shifted into something else. Recognition.
"You're tracking her," Max stated bluntly.
"So are you," Oscar countered smoothly. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze locking with Max's in a silent challenge. "I saw you block that Netflix crew from her in the pit lane yesterday."
"I saw you accidentally spill your water on that creepy tech investor who wouldn't leave her alone in Miami," Max shot back.
The two drivers stared at each other in the dim light of the room, the sleeping heiress breathing softly between them. They were apex predators in a cutthroat sport, trained to exploit weaknesses and destroy the competition. Sharing was not in their DNA.
But Y/N wasn't a championship trophy. She was a girl drowning in a gilded cage. And for the first time, Max and Oscar looked at each other and realized that neither of them had the power to pull her out alone without causing a PR explosion that would drag her down with them.
Max let out a slow, sharp exhale, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He walked over, setting his electrolyte water on the table right next to Oscar's.
"Her dad’s people will start swarming this building in twenty minutes," Max said, his tone shifting from adversarial to tactical. "If you take her out the back exit, I'll go out the front and start an argument with Laurent in plain sight. Every camera in the paddock will turn toward me."
Oscar’s mouth twitched into a slow, begrudging smirk. He looked at Max, the silent rivalry transforming instantly into an ironclad alliance.
"Distraction duty again, Verstappen?" Oscar asked quietly. "Careful. I might start thinking you're a team player."
"Shut up, Piastri," Max muttered, though a faint smirk pulled at the corner of his own mouth. He looked down at Y/N one last time, his eyes softening completely, before turning back to the door. "Twenty minutes. Don't let them see her."
"I won't," Oscar promised.
Max slipped out the door, the click of the lock sealing the unspoken treaty. The grid didn't know it yet, and neither did Y/N's father, but the war had just officially begun.
-
The roar of the engines had faded hours ago, replaced by the equally deafening hum of the Paddock Club. Y/N stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, her champagne glass untouched, functioning exactly as she was trained to: as the perfect, smiling centerpiece of her family’s empire.
Her father, the CEO of the title sponsor plastered across half the grid, was currently holding court by the bar. Every time he glanced her way, Y/N knew it was an unspoken command to straighten her posture, to laugh politely at a stale joke told by a billionaire investor, to look the part of the dutiful heiress. Her heels dug into the carpet, a sharp, constant reminder of the cage she was standing in.
"If you grip that glass any tighter, it's going to shatter."
The voice was calm, pitched perfectly just under the noise of the room. Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. She allowed her shoulders to drop a fraction of an inch as Oscar stepped up beside her. He wasn't in his race suit anymore, dressed instead in his team kit that looked effortlessly comfortable compared to her suffocating silk dress.
"If it shatters, it might give me an excuse to leave," Y/N murmured, finally unclenching her jaw.
Oscar took a sip of his water, his eyes tracking the crowded room with mild detachment. He was always like this—the quiet center of a hurricane. "I could always accidentally spill this on you. Ruin the dress. Tragic wardrobe malfunction. You'd have to retreat to your hotel."
A genuine, albeit tired, smile touched Y/N’s lips. "Tempting, Piastri. But my mother would simply have a backup dress materialized within three minutes. I'm stuck here until the board members are sufficiently charmed."
Oscar shifted slightly, angling his body to subtly block the line of sight between Y/N and the group of executives her father was entertaining. It was a small, deliberate movement. An anchor dropping.
"Take five minutes," Oscar said softly, not looking at her so as not to draw attention. "Go out to the terrace. It's empty. Breathe for a second."
Y/N met his gaze briefly. His dark eyes were steady, observant. He always saw the cracks before anyone else did, noticing the exact moment she reached her limit. "Thank you," she breathed.
Slipping out the heavy glass doors onto the dimly lit terrace was like breaking the surface of the water after holding her breath for too long. The cool night air of the circuit washed over her, and Y/N let her eyes close, leaning her weight against the railing. For exactly two minutes, it was quiet.
Then, the heavy door clicked open.
"You're hiding."
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. Max Verstappen stood in the doorway, his team cap pulled low, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked entirely out of place on the VIP terrace, carrying a raw intensity that demanded space. He didn't wait for an invitation, stepping out into the cool air and letting the glass door swing shut behind him, cutting off the noise of the party completely.
"I'm not hiding," Y/N lied smoothly, straightening up out of habit. "I'm getting fresh air."
Max scoffed, a blunt, dismissive sound. He walked over, invading her personal space just enough to make the air between them feel electrified. "You're hiding, Y/N. Your dad is looking for you in there to parade you in front of the new tech sponsors."
Her stomach dropped. The mask she had just managed to peel off slammed back into place. "I should go back inside, then."
She moved to step past him, but Max caught her wrist. His grip wasn't tight, but it was solid. Grounding. He looked down at her, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding, stripping away the polished heiress persona in a second. Max knew pressure. He knew what it felt like to have a parent’s heavy expectations dictating every move, turning a passion into a prison.
"You don't have to go back in right now," Max said, his voice dropping low, losing the abrasive edge it usually held for the press.
"Max, I can't just disappear."
"Yes, you can." He let go of her wrist, instead stepping into her line of sight to the door, effectively shielding her from anyone who might look out. "I've got the key to my driver's room. The couch is terrible, but it's soundproof. No cameras. No sponsors. Just ten minutes of absolute silence. You look like you're going to pass out if you smile one more time."
Y/N looked between Max’s fierce, protective stance and the glass door leading back to the flashing lights and suffocating expectations. She thought of Oscar, standing guard near the bar, giving her the quiet excuse to leave, and Max, standing in front of her, offering a literal escape route.
"Ten minutes," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of her own exhaustion.
Max’s expression softened, just for a fraction of a second. "Ten minutes," he agreed, gesturing toward the back stairwell. "Come on."
The descent from the Paddock Club to the ground floor was a blur of concrete stairs and service hallways. Max moved with practiced efficiency, taking the routes designed for drivers trying to dodge the media pen. He stayed half a step ahead of Y/N, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the lingering crew members until they reached the Red Bull motorhome.
When Max finally pushed open the door to his driver’s room and locked it behind them, the absolute silence of the space hit Y/N like a physical weight.
There was no clinking of crystal glasses, no camera shutters, no forced laughter. Just the low, steady hum of the air conditioning. Y/N exhaled a breath it felt like she had been holding since Thursday’s press conferences. She kicked off her heels without asking, her bare feet sinking into the utilitarian carpet as she collapsed onto the small, stiff sofa.
Max watched her from the center of the room. He didn't offer platitudes or ask if she was okay, because they both knew the answer. Instead, he reached into his duffel bag, pulled out a thick, oversized team hoodie, and tossed it to her.
"Put that on," Max ordered gruffly. "You're shivering."
"It's just the adrenaline leaving my system," Y/N murmured, though she gratefully pulled the heavy fabric over her head. The contrast of the dark blue cotton over her custom designer silk dress was ridiculous, but it smelled like motor oil, clean laundry, and him. It felt like armor.
Max grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handed it to her before leaning against the edge of his massage table, crossing his arms. His blue eyes traced the exhaustion mapping her features.
"He’s suffocating you, Y/N." The bluntness was classic Max. No sugarcoating, no PR-approved phrasing.
Y/N stared at the water bottle in her hands. "It's the board, Max. Not just my father. If I don't play the game, they'll restructure the company and push me out entirely. I was born to do this."
"You weren't born to be a prop," Max shot back, his jaw tightening. "I know what it looks like when someone is pushing you until you break. If you let them, they will take everything until there is nothing of you left."
Before Y/N could process the raw, heavy truth in his voice, a sharp knock rapped against the door.
Max’s head snapped toward the sound, his posture instantly rigid. "I told my trainer I wasn't to be bothered," he muttered, stalking toward the door. He yanked it open just a fraction, ready to snap at whoever was on the other side.
Instead of a Red Bull staff member, Oscar Piastri stood in the hallway, looking entirely unfazed by Max’s lethal glare.
Oscar had his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans. "Didn't think you'd be giving paddock tours on a Friday night, mate," he said, his voice mild and unbothered.
Max narrowed his eyes, instinctively shifting his weight to block Oscar’s view into the room. "What do you want, Piastri?"
"To return this." Oscar held up a small, glittering designer clutch. "She left it on the terrace. Figured you wouldn't want her mother’s PR assistant finding it and tracking her down."
Max hesitated, and in that brief second, Oscar effortlessly pushed the door open a few inches wider, his dark eyes instantly finding Y/N huddled on the couch in the oversized Red Bull hoodie. A flicker of something territorial flashed across Oscar's usually placid expression, but it was gone before it could fully register, replaced by quiet relief.
"How did you know we were here?" Max demanded, his voice low and defensive.
"I saw you both take the service stairs," Oscar replied calmly, finally looking back at Max. "And it's a good thing I did. Her dad cornered me by the bar three minutes later asking if I'd seen her."
Y/N’s head shot up, a spike of panic piercing through the calm she had just found. "What did you say?"
Oscar stepped fully into the room, gently pushing the door shut behind him until it clicked in the lock. He walked over, setting the clutch on the small table next to her.
"I told him you looked incredibly pale, complained of dizzy spells, and that I practically forced you to go to the FIA medical center for hydration," Oscar said smoothly. He looked down at her, his expression softening entirely. "It’s a nightmare to get clearance to go in there if you aren't team personnel. Your dad isn't going to try."
Max let out a short, incredulous breath, staring at the McLaren driver. "The medical center? That buys her maybe thirty minutes before they start making calls."
Oscar turned to face Max, the height difference negligible, the contrast in their energy stark. Max was all fire and defensive tension; Oscar was ice-cold strategy.
"Exactly," Oscar said, his tone perfectly even. "So she gets thirty minutes of peace, Max. Not ten."
The tension in the small room thickened, heavy and electric. Max and Oscar stared at each other, a silent, assessing standoff between two apex predators who suddenly realized they were guarding the same territory. Neither stepped back. Neither looked away.
Y/N pulled her knees to her chest under the oversized hoodie, watching the two drivers. For the first time all weekend, she didn't feel like a pawn on a chessboard. She felt safe.
The silence in the room stretched until it was wire-taut. Max’s jaw worked, his eyes locked on Oscar with the kind of predatory focus he usually reserved for turn one on a Sunday. Oscar merely held the gaze, his posture relaxed, though the slight tilt of his chin betrayed a stubbornness that matched Max’s own.
"You can stop sizing each other up," Y/N murmured from the couch, her voice muffled slightly by the collar of Max’s hoodie. "I don't have the energy to break up a fight."
The tension snapped. Max broke eye contact first, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath as he resumed pacing the narrow strip of floor between the massage table and the wall. Oscar let out a quiet exhale, his shoulders dropping as he moved to sit on the edge of the small coffee table, placing him just inches from Y/N's knees.
"Not fighting," Oscar said softly, his eyes scanning her face. "Just figuring out logistics. You have about twenty-two minutes left before the medical center excuse expires and your mother’s assistant starts tracking your phone."
Max stopped pacing. "Turn it off."
"Max, I can't just—"
"Turn it off, Y/N," Max repeated, stepping closer. The raw command in his voice wasn't aimed at her in anger, but in fierce, unyielding protection. "If they can't reach you, they can't control you. Just for tonight."
Y/N hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her phone resting inside the glittering clutch. The screen was already lit up with half a dozen missed calls. Before she could overthink the consequences, Oscar’s hand covered hers. His skin was warm, his grip steadying.
"I'll take the battery hit for you," Oscar offered casually. He took the phone from her shaking fingers, held down the power button, and tossed the lifeless device onto the counter. "Oops. Must have died. Tragic."
A short, genuine laugh punched out of Y/N’s chest, the sound surprising all three of them. Max’s rigid posture relaxed just a fraction at the sound of it. He stepped into the space beside Oscar, leaning against the edge of the coffee table. The two drivers were suddenly a united front, a barricade of muscle and team kit standing between her and the world outside the door.
"Okay, her phone is dead," Max said, all business now, his strategic mind taking over. "But she can't go back to her family’s hotel. Her dad will be waiting in the lobby with a PR brief for tomorrow."
"I have a room booked under my trainer's name," Oscar said smoothly, not looking up from where his thumb was absently tracing a soothing pattern against Y/N’s ankle, right where the strap of her heels had dug violently into her skin. "Different hotel. Totally off the grid from the title sponsors."
Max narrowed his eyes, processing the offer. He didn't like the idea of Oscar taking her away, but he couldn't deny the logic. Max's own hotel was heavily guarded, but also heavily monitored by media. "How do you get her out of the paddock? If she walks out in that dress, even with my hoodie on, someone will recognize her."
"I can take my rental car around to the service gate behind the Red Bull hospitality," Oscar suggested. "It bypasses the main turnstiles."
"No," Max countered instantly. "The service gate is swarming with Netflix crews right now. You take her through the McLaren garage. It's Friday night, half your mechanics are already at the pub. I'll take my Honda out the front gate and create a bottleneck at the media pen. They’ll all swarm my car looking for a quote about qualifying, and you drive her out the back while they're distracted."
Oscar looked up at Max, a slow, begrudging smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Using yourself as bait, Verstappen? That's terribly noble of you."
"Shut up, Piastri," Max muttered, though there was no real venom in it. He looked down at Y/N, his blue eyes softening as they swept over her exhausted frame. "Does that work for you? You stay at Oscar’s shadow-room tonight. Tomorrow, we figure out the rest."
Y/N looked between them. Max, who was willing to throw himself to the media wolves just to buy her a clear exit. And Oscar, who was currently rubbing the ache out of her feet while quietly organizing a safe haven. The sheer weight of their combined care was terrifying, entirely foreign to a girl who was only ever valued for what she could provide.
"Why are you both doing this?" she whispered, her voice dangerously thick with unshed tears. "If my father finds out either of you helped me disappear, he could threaten your sponsorships. He’s ruthless."
Max reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The touch was impossibly gentle for a man who lived his life at two hundred miles an hour. "Let him try," Max said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I don't care about the sponsors, Y/N."
Oscar’s hand slipped from her ankle, his fingers coming to rest lightly over her knee, anchoring her to the present. "Neither do I," Oscar added, his voice a quiet vow in the sterile room. "We care about you. Now, let's get you out of this cage."
The execution of the plan was ruthlessly efficient, a stark reminder that Y/N was currently in the hands of two men who made split-second, high-stakes decisions for a living.
Max handed her a spare Red Bull cap, pulling the brim down low over her eyes. He lingered for a fraction of a second, his hands resting heavy and warm on her shoulders.
"Keep your head down. Don't look at the cameras if there are any left," Max instructed, his thumb brushing against her collarbone in a fleeting, grounding touch. He looked over her head to Oscar. "Text me when she's behind a locked door."
"Drive safe, mate," Oscar replied smoothly, picking up his car keys. "Try not to run over any journalists."
Max gave a dark, amused scoff before slipping out the door. Two minutes later, Y/N and Oscar followed.
The walk through the back corridors of the paddock was a masterclass in stealth. Oscar moved with a quiet, unhurried confidence, instinctively positioning himself between Y/N and any wandering mechanics. They slipped through the darkened McLaren garage, the sleek, papaya-colored cars sleeping under their covers, entirely devoid of the glamorous chaos they represented in the daylight.
When they reached Oscar’s nondescript rental SUV in the back lot, he opened the passenger door for her, making sure she was completely shielded before shutting it silently.
As Oscar pulled out onto the perimeter road, heading for the service exit, Y/N caught a glimpse of the main gates through the trees. It was a circus of flashing lights and swarming bodies, entirely centered around Max’s Honda. Max had parked at a ridiculous angle, blocking half the exit, and was currently leaning against his hood, casually giving a Netflix crew the most monotonous, drawn-out answers about tire degradation conceivable.
"He really does have a flair for the dramatic," Oscar murmured from the driver's seat, a hint of genuine amusement in his voice.
"He's going to get fined for blocking the exit," Y/N said, a weak smile breaking through her exhaustion.
"Red Bull will pay it. Worth every penny." Oscar merged onto the dark, quiet highway, the chaotic glow of the circuit finally fading in the rearview mirror. "You can put the seat back. We've got a twenty-minute drive."
The silence in the car wasn't heavy like the silence in the VIP suite; it was expansive. Safe. Y/N leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, the steady hum of the tires against the asphalt lulling her into a state of hazy relief. By the time Oscar navigated into the underground parking garage of a modest, off-the-grid hotel, her eyelids were heavy.
Oscar handled the logistics flawlessly. They bypassed the lobby entirely, taking the service elevator straight to the top floor. He unlocked the door to a standard, unassuming suite—no crystal chandeliers, no sprawling terrace, just a quiet room with a large bed, a sofa, and heavy blackout curtains.
"Sanctuary," Oscar announced quietly, tossing the keycard onto the counter. "I'm ordering room service. What do you want?"
"Just tea," Y/N murmured, hovering awkwardly in the center of the room. The adrenaline had completely vanished, leaving behind an ache in her bones that felt impossibly deep. She reached up to pull the heavy hoodie over her head, intending to give it back, but realized underneath she was still trapped in the suffocating, corset-boned silk dress her mother had forced her into.
She reached around to her back, her fingers fumbling blindly with the hidden zipper. It was stuck, the delicate fabric caught in the tiny metal teeth. A frustrated, choked sound escaped her throat, a sudden wave of irrational tears prickling her eyes. It was just a zipper, but it felt like the last chain holding her to the cage.
"Hey. Stop. You're going to tear it, and then your mother will definitely execute us."
Oscar was there instantly. He gently swatted her hands away, stepping in close behind her. Y/N dropped her arms, her head falling forward in defeat.
"It's stuck," she whispered, her voice dangerously fragile. "I can't get it off."
"I've got it. Deep breath," Oscar said softly.
His knuckles brushed lightly against her spine as he worked the fabric free. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness—just the steady, methodical patience of a man who knew how to untangle a mess. With a quiet click, the zipper gave way, sliding smoothly down her back.
The corset loosened, and Y/N finally, truly breathed.
"Thank you," she breathed out, stepping forward and catching the dress before it slipped off her shoulders entirely.
"Bathroom is through there. Take your time. There's one of my clean t-shirts on the counter." Oscar stepped back, giving her space immediately. He picked up Max’s discarded hoodie from the armchair and held it out to her. "Keep this. It's colder in here than it is at the track."
When Y/N emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, the transformation was complete. The heiress was gone. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy, flawless makeup, her hair was tied up in a messy knot, and she was drowning in Oscar’s soft grey t-shirt and Max’s oversized blue hoodie.
Oscar was sitting on the floor, leaning against the base of the sofa, a pot of chamomile tea resting on the coffee table beside him. He looked up, his dark eyes tracking over her bare, scrubbed face and the drowning layers of their team gear. The corner of his mouth ticked upward into a soft, private smile.
"Better?" he asked.
Y/N walked over, sinking onto the floor right next to him instead of taking the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest, her shoulder brushing against his. "So much better."
Oscar poured her a cup of tea, sliding it toward her. Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and the soft smile widened.
"Max?" Y/N guessed, wrapping her hands around the warm mug.
"Yeah. He says the media finally let him leave. He wants to know if you're asleep yet." Oscar picked up the phone, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He looked at her, his expression turning serious, yet incredibly warm. "He also wants to know if he should bring breakfast tomorrow before we figure out how to handle your family."
Y/N stared at the steaming tea. Tomorrow, the war with her family’s PR machine would begin. Tomorrow, the consequences of her disappearance would hit the paddock. But tonight, she was sitting on the floor of a shadow-room, wrapped in the protective layers of two men who were fully prepared to burn that machine to the ground for her.
"Tell him yes," Y/N said softly, leaning her head against Oscar’s shoulder. "Tell him to come over."
Oscar’s arm slipped naturally around her waist, anchoring her against his side as he typed out the reply. "Done."
-
The knock on the door came at 6:15 AM, a sharp, rhythmic rap that dragged Y/N out of a deep, dreamless sleep.
She blinked against the dim light of the hotel room. She was tangled in the sheets of the massive bed, still drowning in Oscar’s t-shirt and Max’s hoodie. The sofa was empty, but a neatly folded blanket sat on one end.
The door clicked open, and Y/N heard the low, gravelly sound of Max’s voice, followed immediately by Oscar’s quiet murmur. She pushed herself up, padding barefoot into the small living area just as Max set a cardboard tray of coffees and a white paper bag on the kitchen counter.
Max was in street clothes—dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, a Red Bull cap pulled low over his messy hair. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes speaking of a restless night, but the moment he saw her, his entire posture shifted. His shoulders dropped, and his blue eyes swept over her, lingering for a heavy, satisfied second on the sight of her wearing his oversized team hoodie.
"You look better," Max stated. It wasn't a question. He picked up a cup of coffee and walked it over to her, pressing the warm cardboard into her hands. "Oat milk latte. Two sugars. Right?"
Y/N stared at the cup, her heart doing a strange, painful stutter. "How did you know my coffee order?"
"I pay attention," Max said simply, leaning against the back of the sofa. He didn't elaborate, but he didn't have to. The idea of Max Verstappen—ruthless, hyper-focused World Champion—quietly noting down her coffee preferences during crowded hospitality meetings was enough to make her breath catch.
Oscar emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed in his McLaren kit for the day, his hair slightly damp. He walked over to the counter, pulled a pastry from the bag, and tossed it onto a napkin before grabbing his own coffee. "Morning. How's the escapee?"
"Caffeinated, now," Y/N said, offering a small, fragile smile. She took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect.
But the domestic peace shattered exactly ten seconds later.
Oscar’s phone, resting face-up on the counter, lit up with a barrage of notifications. The buzzing was violent, relentless. Max’s phone in his pocket started vibrating simultaneously.
Oscar set his coffee down, his brow furrowing as he unlocked his screen. The quiet, relaxed aura around him evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp stillness.
"What is it?" Y/N asked, the coffee suddenly turning to ash in her mouth.
Oscar didn't answer. He just turned the phone around so she could see the screen. It was an alert from a major motorsport publication, but it had nothing to do with racing.
BREAKING: F1 Paddock Royalty to Wed. [Family Company] Heiress Y/N Engaged to Tech Billionaire Richard Vance in Mega-Merger.
Below the headline was a perfectly curated, PR-approved statement from her father, expressing his "overwhelming joy" at the union of their two families. There was a photo of her attached—one taken weeks ago, photoshopped to perfection, standing next to a man who looked at her like she was a shiny new acquisition for his portfolio.
The air in the room vanished.
"No," Y/N choked out, taking a step back. The mug trembled in her hands, coffee sloshing over the brim onto her fingers. "No, we hadn't—I never agreed. I told them no."
Max snatched the phone out of Oscar’s hand, his eyes scanning the article. A muscle feathered in his jaw, tight and dangerous. "He released it to the press to force your hand," Max realized, his voice a low, lethal snarl. "Because you disappeared last night. He's trying to trap you in the spotlight so you have to come back."
"If I deny it publicly, they'll pull my shares. They'll ruin my reputation, leak stories about my mental health, whatever it takes to protect the stock price," Y/N whispered, panic clawing at her throat. She looked between the two drivers, the reality of her gilded cage slamming shut around her. "You have to go."
Max’s head snapped up. "What?"
"You have Free Practice 3 in two hours, and Qualifying after that. If my father finds out I'm with you—if the media links you to this—he will drag your teams into a PR nightmare. He sponsors half the grid!" Y/N was rambling now, moving toward the bedroom to find her discarded clothes. "I have to go back. I have to play the part, or he'll destroy—"
"Stop."
Oscar moved faster than she expected. He caught her by the shoulders, his grip firm and entirely grounding, halting her frantic retreat.
"Breathe, Y/N," Oscar commanded softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers, anchoring her to the floor. "We aren't leaving. And you aren't going back there to smile for cameras next to a man you despise."
"Oscar, you don't understand how ruthless they are—"
"I don't care," Max interrupted, his voice cracking like a whip. He stalked over, invading her space, his chest practically brushing her back as he boxed her in with Oscar. "Let him try to ruin me. I drive cars fast, Y/N. I don't give a shit about corporate politics or your father's money. You are not marrying him."
The sheer ferocity in Max’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. He wasn't just protective; he was possessive, a raw, burning fire fighting the ice in her veins.
"We have time," Oscar said calmly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders. "It's Saturday. The paddock is focused on Qualifying. You stay here today. Do not turn your phone on. Do not look at the news."
"And what happens tomorrow?" Y/N asked, a tear finally slipping hot and fast down her cheek. "I can't hide forever."
Max reached out, his rough thumb catching the tear before it could drop. The gentleness of the gesture was entirely at odds with the storm brewing in his eyes.
"Tomorrow, we win," Max said, his gaze flicking briefly to Oscar, a silent, ironclad agreement passing between the two rivals. "We handle the track today. You rest. And tonight, we figure out how to blow up your father’s empire."
The hours stretching between morning and evening were agonizingly slow. Y/N paced the length of the hotel suite, the heavy silence of the room pressing in on her. She had kept the television off for most of the day, terrified of seeing her own face plastered across the news networks alongside a man she loathed.
But when the clock struck three, she couldn't help herself. She found the remote and switched on the feed for Qualifying.
The broadcast immediately cut to the Red Bull garage. And there, standing behind the engineers, looking immaculate and furiously impatient, was her father. The commentators were already buzzing about the "wedding of the decade," casually mentioning that the bride-to-be was entirely absent from the paddock today due to a "minor illness."
Y/N felt physically sick. She watched as Max strapped into his car, his visor snapping down, hiding his eyes.
When the session started, it was brutally clear that Max was driving with a lethal, barely contained rage. He didn't just clip the apexes; he punished them. His RB21 looked like it was glued to the track, defying physics, setting purple sectors that made the commentators gasp.
Oscar, on the other hand, drove with terrifying, surgical precision. Where Max was a sledgehammer, Oscar was a scalpel. He carved through the circuit, unfazed by the traffic, entirely immune to the chaos unfolding in the garages.
They locked out the front row. Max P1. Oscar P2.
When Max climbed out of his car in parc fermé, the trackside reporter immediately shoved a microphone in his face. Y/N held her breath.
"Max, incredible lap! Your title sponsor's CEO is in the garage today celebrating a massive family milestone—any words on the big engagement?"
Max ripped his balaclava off, his chest heaving, his blue eyes instantly locking onto the camera lens. It felt as though he was looking straight through the screen, directly into the hotel room.
"I don't care about PR stunts," Max said, his voice cold and abrasive. "I'm here to race. The people who matter know where I stand." He shoved past the reporter without waiting for a follow-up, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
A few meters away, Oscar was approached with a similar question. He smiled, a tight, polite expression that didn't reach his eyes. "I think the only commitments that matter this weekend are the ones made on the track. Excuse me."
Y/N let out a shaky breath, collapsing back onto the sofa. They were daring her father to retaliate. They were drawing the fire away from her and onto themselves.
It was nearly 8:00 PM when the hotel door finally clicked open.
The heavy, metallic smell of adrenaline, sweat, and champagne immediately filled the small suite. Max and Oscar stepped inside, looking utterly exhausted.
Y/N was waiting for them at the small dining table, an open hotel notepad in front of her. She had spent the last four hours tearing apart her family’s corporate structure in her head. The panic from the morning had burned away, leaving behind a cold, sharp clarity.
Max dropped his helmet on the floor and crossed the room in three massive strides. He didn't say a word, just pulled her up from the chair and wrapped his arms tightly around her. The embrace was crushing, possessive, and exactly what she needed. Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his race suit.
"We saw him in the paddock," Max rumbled against her hair. "He looked like he wanted to murder someone."
"Let him," Oscar said quietly, walking over. He didn't join the hug, but his hand came up to rest on the back of Y/N’s neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin right at her hairline. The dual contact—Max’s overwhelming heat and Oscar’s steadying touch—anchored her completely.
Y/N pulled back just enough to look at both of them. "You two are going to get fired. Or fined. Or both. Did you hear your own interviews?"
"I meant every word," Max said stubbornly, his hands dropping to her waist, keeping her close.
"McLaren pays my fines," Oscar added with a dry smirk, his hand sliding from her neck to rest on her shoulder. He looked down at the notepad on the table, his eyes narrowing slightly at the frantic, scribbled diagrams. "What's this?"
Y/N took a deep breath, stepping back to gesture at the paper. "It's my way out. You said we were going to blow up his empire tonight. I figured out how."
Max leaned against the table, crossing his arms, all his attention zeroed in on her. "I'm listening."
"My father controls the board because he holds a 40% majority," Y/N explained, her voice steadying as the plan took shape out loud. "I have 12% in a trust that fully vested on my last birthday. He thinks I’m too afraid of the family name to ever use it against him. But if I vote my shares with the minority stakeholders—who hate this tech merger, by the way—we can block the acquisition. The engagement becomes completely useless to him."
Oscar picked up the notepad, studying her frantic math. "You have the voting power to override the CEO."
"Yes," Y/N said. "But to do it, I have to go public. I can't just quietly break the engagement. I have to humiliate him in front of the exact people he’s trying to impress. I have to call a press conference and detonate the whole thing."
Max stared at her, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of immense pride and something far more dangerous. He reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with his knuckles. "You’re going to war with them."
"I am," Y/N whispered, leaning into his touch. "But I don't know how to get a microphone tomorrow without his security shutting it down."
Oscar set the notepad down. He looked at Max, the same silent, strategic communication passing between them that had happened the night before in the Red Bull driver's room.
"They won't shut it down if you're holding the microphone in the FIA media pen," Oscar said slowly, a brilliant, ruthless plan forming in his eyes.
"Only drivers and team principals are allowed in the pen," Y/N pointed out.
Max let out a low, dark chuckle. He reached out, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder in a rare display of complete camaraderie. "Not if she walks in on the arm of the race winner. The FIA won't dare drag her out on live television if she's standing between P1 and P2."
Y/N's breath caught. "You want to smuggle me into the post-race press conference?"
"We are going to walk you through the front door," Oscar corrected softly. He stepped closer, closing the small triangle between the three of them. His dark eyes were fierce, stripping away his usual calm facade to reveal the iron beneath. "You wear the team gear. You walk in with us. And you burn his absolute house down."
Sunday morning dawned with the heavy, electric tension that only race day could bring.
The hotel suite was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Y/N stood by the window, watching the distant grandstands filling up with a sea of fans. She had swapped the oversized hoodies for something completely different: a sharp, tailored black blazer and matching trousers she had requested Oscar’s trainer smuggle out of her apartment. It was armor. She wasn't going into the paddock as a lost heiress in a silk dress; she was going in as a majority shareholder.
A warm hand settled on the small of her back, the thumb tracing the line of her spine through the blazer.
"Nervous?" Oscar’s voice was a low, soothing hum near her ear. He was wearing the team's jersey and blue jeans.
"Terrified," Y/N admitted, leaning back slightly against his chest. "If I miscalculate this, my father will freeze my assets and have me escorted out by security before I even open my mouth."
"He won't get close enough to try," Max said, walking into the living area. He was tossing an FIA VIP All-Access lanyard between his hands. It wasn't one of her father's heavily branded corporate passes; it was a personal guest pass. Max Verstappen - Guest 1.
Max stepped up to her, slipping the lanyard over her head. He didn't let go of the thick fabric strap right away, using it to pull her just a fraction closer. His blue eyes traced her sharp, commanding outfit, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
"You look dangerous," Max murmured approvingly.
"I feel like I'm about to jump out of a plane without a parachute," Y/N breathed, her hands resting lightly on his chest.
Oscar stepped to her other side, his hand sliding down her arm to briefly intertwine his fingers with hers. "You aren't jumping alone. My trainer is going to bring you to the paddock entrance with ten laps to go. You wait in the FIA hospitality suite—it’s neutral ground, your dad's people can't get in there. When the checkered flag drops, we meet you at the entrance to the media pen."
Max leaned down, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to her forehead. "We'll see you at the finish line."
Watching the race from the sterile quiet of the FIA hospitality suite was torture.
Y/N stared at the television monitors, her heart hammering against her ribs. The commentators were shouting themselves hoarse. Max and Oscar had pulled away from the rest of the grid by lap twenty, turning the Grand Prix into a two-man war of attrition. They traded fastest laps, their cars dancing on the absolute edge of grip. It was a terrifying, beautiful display of synchronized aggression.
They weren't just driving to win. They were driving to make a statement.
On lap 70, the checkered flag waved. Max crossed the line first, Oscar a mere six-tenths of a second behind him.
Y/N didn't wait to watch the cool-down lap. She stood up, her pulse deafening in her ears, and walked out the door.
The corridor leading to the media pen was chaotic, thick with mechanics, PR reps, and journalists preparing for the top-three interviews. Y/N stayed back in the shadows, pulling the brim of Max's spare Red Bull cap low over her eyes. She watched the monitors as Max and Oscar completed the podium ceremony. They barely sprayed the champagne, their faces set in grim, singular focus before they abandoned the podium entirely.
Five minutes later, the double doors at the end of the hall banged open.
Max and Oscar strode through, still in their sweat-soaked race suits, helmets dangling from their hands. The energy radiating off them was lethal. The crowd of journalists naturally parted, intimidated by the sheer intensity of the 1-2 finishers walking side-by-side.
Max’s eyes scanned the corridor, snapping to Y/N instantly. He didn't smile, but his jaw unclenched. Oscar met her gaze a second later, a subtle nod of his head signaling the start.
Y/N stepped out of the shadows.
The moment she joined them, the air in the corridor seemed to ignite. Murmurs ripped through the crowd. Y/N stepped perfectly into the space between the two drivers. Max immediately placed a heavy, grounding hand on her lower back, while Oscar stepped half a pace ahead, boxing her in from the flashing cameras.
They walked into the media pen as a united, impenetrable front.
The trackside reporter, microphone in hand, gaped at them. "Max, Oscar—congratulations. And... Y/N, we didn't expect to see you here today, especially after yesterday's incredible engagement announcement—"
"Stop," Max ordered, his voice echoing off the temporary walls. The entire pen went dead silent.
Before the reporter could recover, a furious shout broke through the crowd. "Y/N!"
Her father pushed his way to the front of the barricade, his face purple with rage. He was flanked by two massive corporate security guards. "What do you think you are doing? Get over here immediately. This is a PR disaster!"
Y/N froze, the ingrained terror of her father's voice paralyzing her lungs. But Max didn't flinch. He stepped directly in front of her, his broad shoulders completely obscuring her from her father’s line of sight.
"Take another step toward her," Max challenged, his voice dangerously soft, "and we’ll see how fast paddock security tackles a title sponsor."
"She is my daughter and the future wife of—"
"Actually," Y/N said, her voice cutting through the thick tension.
She stepped out from behind Max. Her hands were shaking, but she forced her chin up. Oscar moved subtly to her side, his arm brushing hers, a silent reminder that she was anchored.
Y/N reached out and pulled the live microphone from the stunned reporter’s hand. She looked directly into the primary broadcast camera, broadcasting to millions of viewers worldwide.
"There is no engagement," Y/N stated, her voice ringing out clear and cold. "The announcement yesterday was fabricated by my father and the board of directors to force a corporate merger without my consent."
Her father lunged forward against the barricade. "Cut the feed! Cut the damn feed!" he screamed at the cameramen. Nobody moved.
"Furthermore," Y/N continued, her eyes shifting to meet her father’s furious gaze, "as a vested 12% shareholder of the company, I am officially aligning my voting rights with the minority stakeholders. The merger with Vance Tech is blocked. The acquisition is dead."
The media pen erupted. Dozens of journalists started shouting questions, camera flashes exploding in a blinding strobe effect.
Her father stared at her, utterly ruined, the realization setting in that the daughter he had treated as a prop had just publicly dismantled his life's work in under sixty seconds.
Y/N didn't wait for the questions. She handed the microphone back to the reporter, her hands finally steady. She turned back to Max and Oscar, the crushing weight of twenty-four years of expectations completely gone from her shoulders.
Max’s eyes were practically glowing with pride. He didn't care about the cameras, the journalists, or the screaming CEO behind the barricade. He reached out, grabbing the lapels of her blazer, and pulled her in, kissing her hard and breathless in front of the entire Formula 1 world.
When Max finally pulled back, Oscar was waiting. He smiled—a brilliant, genuine, unfiltered smile—and took her hand, lacing his fingers tightly through hers.
"Ready to go home?" Oscar asked quietly, ignoring the absolute pandemonium erupting around them.
"Yeah," Y/N breathed, squeezing his hand. "Take me home."
-
The air in the glass-walled London boardroom was sterile, cold, and thick with open hostility.
It was month four of the corporate war, and Y/N was exhausted. She sat at the center of the massive mahogany table, a mountain of legal documents in front of her. For the past three hours, her father and his loyalist board members had been systematically trying to dismantle her coalition of minority shareholders through intimidation, legal loopholes, and sheer volume.
"You are acting on emotion, Y/N," her father said, his voice laced with that familiar, patronizing edge designed to make her feel like a child. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. "You are tanking the stock price with this rebellion. The Vance Tech merger is the only logical path forward. If you force this vote today, you will bankrupt the very legacy you claim to be protecting."
A few of the older board members murmured in agreement, their eyes darting nervously between Y/N and the furious CEO.
Y/N kept her face perfectly neutral, but under the table, her hands were trembling. Her father was good at this. He was twisting the narrative, making the minority shareholders doubt their alliance with her. She had the votes on paper, but if he managed to flip just two of them in this room, she would lose everything.
She opened her mouth to counter his financial projections, but before she could speak, the heavy glass doors of the boardroom swung open.
The security guard at the door sputtered, trying to step in the way. "Sirs, you can't go in there, this is a closed—"
"Move," a low, gravelly voice commanded.
The entire room went dead silent as Max Verstappen and Oscar Piastri walked in.
They weren't in team gear. Max wore a tailored black button-down, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, looking every inch a man accustomed to commanding a room. Oscar was in a sharp, dark navy suit, devoid of a tie, radiating an icy, untouchable calm.
"What is the meaning of this?" Y/N’s father demanded, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. He pointed a shaking finger at them. "Security! Remove them immediately. This is a private executive board meeting!"
Max didn't even look at her father. He walked straight past the billionaire executives, pulled out the empty leather chair directly to Y/N’s right, and sat down. He slouched back comfortably, crossing his arms over his chest, and finally leveled a dark, predatory glare at the CEO.
"Try it," Max challenged softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
The security guard nervously hovered at the door, took one look at Max’s lethal expression, and quietly stepped backward into the hallway, letting the door click shut.
Oscar, meanwhile, walked to Y/N’s left. He didn't sit. He stood just behind her chair, a silent, immovable sentinel. He reached across the table, picked up the crystal pitcher of ice water, and poured a fresh glass, setting it gently near Y/N’s right hand.
"Sorry we're late," Oscar murmured to her, completely ignoring the fifteen stunned executives staring at him. "Traffic on the M4."
Y/N let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The trembling in her hands stopped instantly. The crushing, suffocating pressure of the room completely evaporated, absorbed by the two men who thrived under pressure on a global stage.
Her father slammed his hand on the table. "I will not have my boardroom turned into a circus by two racing drivers! Y/N, tell your... distractions to leave, or I will have the police escort them out."
Y/N picked up the glass of water Oscar had poured. She took a slow sip, enjoying the absolute, horrified silence of the room. When she set the glass down, the heiress was gone. The Chairperson had arrived.
"They are my guests," Y/N said, her voice ringing out clear, cold, and dripping with authority. "And as the majority voting bloc of this company, I decide who sits in this room."
She looked around the table, locking eyes with the wavering minority shareholders. With Max sitting beside her like a loaded weapon and Oscar standing behind her like a shield, the power dynamic in the room entirely inverted. Her father suddenly just looked like an angry, desperate old man.
"Let's be clear about the Vance Tech merger," Y/N continued, pulling a sleek black folder from her stack of documents and tossing it to the center of the table. "That merger wasn't designed to save the company; it was designed to liquidate our R&D department to cover my father's personal offshore debts. The proof is on page four."
The boardroom erupted into chaos. Executives lunged for the folder, papers tearing as the minority shareholders finally saw the unredacted financials her team had spent months digging up.
Her father stared at her, the color draining from his face. "You... you stole confidential files."
"I audited my own company," Y/N corrected coldly. She didn't break eye contact with him. "Call the vote."
Ten minutes later, it was over.
The vote was a landslide. The merger was killed, and a secondary motion to remove the CEO for gross financial misconduct was passed with a terrifying swiftness.
As the executives scrambled out of the room to call their lawyers and PR teams, her father stood frozen at the head of the table. He looked from Y/N, to Oscar, and finally to Max. He opened his mouth to speak, to hurl one last threat, but Max simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany table.
"I think your meeting is over," Max stated, his tone devoid of any emotion, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.
Her father swallowed hard, turned on his heel, and walked out.
When the glass doors finally clicked shut behind the last executive, leaving the three of them alone in the massive room, the adrenaline suddenly vanished, leaving Y/N completely hollowed out. She dropped her face into her hands, letting out a long, shaky breath.
"It's done," she whispered into the quiet room. "It's actually done."
Max was out of his chair in a second. He crouched down next to her, gently prying her hands away from her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his fierce, blue eyes searching her face to make sure she wasn't breaking.
"You destroyed them," Max said, a fiercely proud smile finally breaking through his serious expression. "You didn't even flinch."
Oscar stepped around the chair, resting a hand softly on top of Y/N’s head, threading his fingers through her hair. "You were terrifying. I think the CFO actually cried."
Y/N let out a wet, exhausted laugh, leaning her head against Max’s shoulder while Oscar’s hand anchored her from above. She looked between the two of them, the men who had flown halfway across Europe on a Tuesday between race weekends just to sit silently in a room so she wouldn't have to face her demons alone.
"Thank you," Y/N breathed, wrapping one hand into the fabric of Max's shirt and reaching up with the other to grip Oscar's wrist. "For showing up."
"Always," Oscar promised quietly.
Max pressed a kiss to her temple, pulling her up from the chair. "Come on, Chairperson. Let's get out of London. I know a place in Monaco that delivers terrible takeout."
-
The fallout from the media pen was apocalyptic, but for the first time in her life, Y/N didn’t care.
Walking out of the paddock that Sunday, flanked by Max and Oscar, felt like walking out of a burning building. They didn’t look back. Her father’s PR machine scrambled to do damage control, the board of directors convened in emergency sessions, and the global media lost their collective minds over the love triangle that had just hijacked the Formula 1 World Championship.
But behind the locked doors of Max’s Monaco apartment, the three of them simply shut off their phones, ordered terrible takeout, and finally breathed.
The corporate war took six brutal months. Y/N leveraged her shares, rallied the minority stakeholders, and ruthlessly ousted her father from the CEO position. She didn't destroy the company; she took it over. She restructured the board, tore up the toxic sponsor mandates, and rebuilt the empire on her own terms. Max and Oscar were her unwavering anchors through every vicious legal battle and grueling boardroom standoff. When she was too exhausted to fight, Max gave her his fire. When she was too overwhelmed to think, Oscar gave her his ice.
They didn't conform to anyone's expectations. They just existed, perfectly balanced, fiercely protective of the sanctuary they had built together.
One Year Later
The roar of the engines vibrating through the grid was deafening, a physical force that rattled the ribcage. The Mediterranean sun beat down on the asphalt, and the paddock was a chaotic sea of VIPs, mechanics, and flashing cameras.
It was the exact same environment that had once been Y/N’s gilded cage. Now, it was just her playground.
Y/N stood at the back of the Red Bull garage, a clipboard tucked under her arm. She wasn't wearing a suffocating designer silk dress or agonizing heels. She wore a sharp, tailored black jumpsuit, comfortable sneakers, and draped casually over her shoulders was a bright papaya McLaren team jacket. Resting against her collarbone, catching the light, was a thick gold chain carrying a small, diamond-encrusted lion pendant—a gift Max had secured around her neck before they left the apartment that morning.
She was the youngest acting Chairperson in her company’s history, the lead sponsor for half the grid, and the most untouchable woman in motorsport.
"You're supposed to be pretending to be impartial, you know."
Y/N looked up from her notes. Oscar was leaning against the engineering bulkhead, his race suit tied around his waist, an easy, fond smirk playing on his lips.
"I am entirely impartial," Y/N replied, stepping forward and adjusting the collar of the McLaren jacket she had stolen from his driver’s room an hour ago.
"Right. That's why you're standing in the Red Bull garage wearing my clothes," Oscar teased quietly. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was as grounding as ever, a quiet harbor in the middle of the grid's madness. "How were the sponsor meetings?"
"Boring. But short," Y/N smiled, leaning into his hand. "Nobody argues with me anymore. It’s wonderfully refreshing."
Before Oscar could reply, a heavy presence stepped up behind Y/N. A familiar, calloused hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against a firm chest clad in dark blue fireproofs.
"She's wearing your jacket because it's cold in the paddock," Max muttered, resting his chin briefly on top of Y/N's head as he glared playfully at the McLaren driver. "But she's standing in my garage because I qualify faster."
Oscar let out a dry, genuine laugh. "Keep telling yourself that, mate. Let's see who's faster into turn one."
Max grinned, a feral, competitive spark lighting up his blue eyes. He turned his attention down to Y/N, his expression instantly softening into something impossibly warm and exclusively hers. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, entirely unbothered by the Netflix cameras lingering twenty feet away. The media had spent months trying to dissect their dynamic, trying to figure out who was the "real" partner, before finally giving up. The truth was too undeniable to twist: they were a unit. A closed circuit.
"Five minutes to track clearance," Max murmured, his thumb stroking her hip. "Will you be on the pit wall?"
"For the first half," Y/N promised, turning her head to press a quick kiss to his jaw. "Then I'm walking over to McLaren for the second half. Try not to run each other off the road while I'm in transit, please."
"No promises," Oscar and Max said in unison.
They shared a look—the same silent, ironclad understanding that had forged their alliance a year ago in a sterile driver’s room. They were rivals on the asphalt, ruthless and unyielding, but the moment they stepped out of the cars, they belonged to the same girl.
Max squeezed her waist one last time before pulling his balaclava over his head and stepping out toward the car. Oscar gave her a soft, lingering smile, his knuckles brushing against her cheek.
"See you at the podium," Oscar promised quietly, turning to head back down the pit lane to his own garage.
Y/N stood alone at the edge of the garage as the cars fired up, the deafening scream of the engines drowning out the paddock chatter. The cameras flashed, capturing her standing exactly where she wanted to be, wearing the colors of the two men she loved, entirely unbothered by the noise.
She looked out at the glittering Monaco harbor, taking a deep, unrestricted breath.
The cage was gone. She held the keys now.
-
The Monaco apartment was usually just a high-end storage unit for their luggage between race weekends. But on a rare, rainy Tuesday in October, it was a sanctuary.
Outside, the Mediterranean was swallowed by a heavy, grey storm, rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the sleek, obscenely expensive kitchen was currently the site of a logistical nightmare.
Y/N had made a fatal error: she had suggested they cook dinner instead of ordering in.
"I'm just saying, it’s rice," Max grumbled, leaning heavily over the marble island. He was holding a wooden spoon like it was a steering wheel, staring aggressively into a simmering steel pan. "If I turn the heat up, it cooks faster. That is basic science."
"It's risotto, Max, not a qualifying lap," Oscar corrected smoothly from the other side of the island.
Oscar was wearing a dark grey apron over his t-shirt, completely unbothered by the kitchen chaos. He was currently mincing garlic with terrifying, surgical precision, the knife rocking back and forth in a perfect, rhythmic cadence. "If you turn the heat up, you burn the arborio, ruin the starch release, and we end up eating crunchy garlic paste."
"You have been adding broth for twenty minutes," Max argued, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. He abandoned the stove, walking over to where Y/N was perched on the edge of the kitchen counter.
Max wedged himself directly between her knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin heavily on her chest with a dramatic groan. "He is torturing me on purpose."
Y/N laughed, resting one hand on the back of Max’s neck, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape. With her other hand, she took a sip of her red wine. "Oscar is following the recipe. You are trying to bully the rice into submitting to your will. They require different strategies."
"My strategy is faster," Max muttered into her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin. He didn't move, entirely content to use her as a human shield against culinary responsibility.
Oscar paused his chopping, picking up a small spoonful of the simmering risotto. He walked around the island, bypassing Max entirely, and held the wooden spoon up to Y/N’s lips.
"Taste test," Oscar murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers, completely ignoring the World Champion currently clinging to her waist.
Y/N leaned forward and tasted it. The rich, savory warmth of parmesan and white wine hit her tongue perfectly. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft hum of approval. "That’s actually incredible."
"See?" Oscar said mildly, reaching out with his free hand to wipe a microscopic drop of broth from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "Patience yields results."
Max turned his head just enough to glare at the McLaren driver. "Give me that."
Oscar obliged, holding the spoon out. Max took a reluctant taste, chewing slowly. His eyes narrowed as he realized it was, in fact, perfect.
"Fine," Max conceded begrudgingly. "But I’m taking credit for the stirring. The stirring was crucial."
"You stirred it like you were trying to dig a hole through the bottom of the pan," Oscar pointed out drily, turning back to the stove to turn off the heat. "But sure. Team effort."
The three of them ended up abandoning the formal dining table entirely. Instead, they dragged a mountain of throw pillows and thick blankets onto the rug in the living room, sitting on the floor with their bowls of risotto, the rain hammering against the glass walls of the apartment.
Y/N sat cross-legged, leaning sideways against Oscar’s shoulder. Max was stretched out on his back, his head resting squarely in Y/N’s lap, perfectly content to let her feed him a bite from her bowl every few minutes while he stared up at the ceiling.
"We leave for Austin on Monday," Max noted quietly, the tension of the impending race week creeping slowly into his voice. The final stretch of the season was always brutal.
Y/N trailed her fingers lightly across Max’s forehead, smoothing out the tiny crease forming between his brows. "Monday is a long time from now. Tonight, we just exist here."
Oscar shifted slightly, wrapping his arm around Y/N’s back and pulling her closer to his side, effectively anchoring both her and Max to the present moment. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
"No press, no sponsors, no track limits," Oscar murmured into her hair, his voice a low, steady rumble that vibrated against her shoulder. "Just us."
Max turned his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of Y/N’s wrist where it rested near his jaw. He closed his eyes, leaning fully into the quiet sanctuary they had built.
"Just us," Max echoed softly.
-
The flight from Monaco to Austin was nine hours of pressurized cabin air and shifting time zones. By the time they unlocked the door to their secluded rental property in the Texas hills, the clock read 10:00 PM local time, but their bodies were stubbornly protesting that it was 5:00 AM.
The house was dark, quiet, and smelled faintly of cedar and dry Texas air.
"I am completely dead," Max announced, his voice a gravelly, sand-papered rasp. He didn't even drop his heavy duffel bag; he just unclipped it and let it fall straight onto the hardwood floor of the entryway.
He moved like a zombie toward the sprawling master bedroom, collapsing face-down across the massive king-sized bed without even removing his sneakers.
Oscar, carrying Y/N’s smaller rolling suitcase along with his own, walked into the kitchen with the slow, methodical stride of someone operating on autopilot. He set the luggage down, walked over to the fridge, and opened it. The light illuminated the exhaustion etched deep into the shadows under his eyes.
"The team stocked it," Oscar muttered, his usual sharp cadence slowed down by the jet lag. "There’s milk, eggs, and... three different types of locally brewed IPA that Max will definitely try to drink before FP1."
Y/N walked up behind him, her limbs feeling like lead weights. She didn't say anything, she just leaned her forehead directly against the center of Oscar’s back, letting her arms loop loosely around his waist.
Oscar didn't move. He just let out a long, slow exhale, his hands resting on the edge of the refrigerator door as he leaned back into her weight, anchoring her. "We should sleep," he murmured into the cold air of the fridge.
"Max is already unconscious," Y/N mumbled against the fabric of his shirt. "I think he’s wearing his shoes."
Oscar let out a quiet, breathless chuckle. He turned around within the circle of her arms, closing the fridge door and plunging the kitchen back into the soft, ambient glow of the outdoor landscape lights. He reached down, his hands cupping the back of her thighs, and effortlessly lifted her up to sit on the edge of the kitchen counter.
Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist out of habit, her hands sliding up to grip his shoulders.
Oscar stepped in close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He didn't say anything for a long time, just breathed her in, his hands sliding up her back to hold her tight against him. In the quiet, dark kitchen, away from the paddock turnstiles and the corporate contracts, the silence was expansive.
"Come here," a low, demanding rumble echoed from the bedroom doorway.
They both looked over. Max was leaning against the doorframe, looking utterly disheveled. His hair was standing up in three different directions, his eyes were half-lidded with sleep, and he had managed to kick his shoes off, but he was still wearing his dark jeans and a rumpled t-shirt.
"You're both vibrating," Max muttered, his bluntness amplified by his exhaustion. He walked over, his heavy steps silent on the rug, and wedged himself into the space right next to Oscar, his large hands immediately reaching out to grip Y/N’s hips. "Stop thinking about the data. Stop thinking about the board. Come to bed."
Y/N smiled, reaching out to tangle her fingers in Max’s chaotic hair, smoothing it down. "We're coming, Max."
Ten minutes later, the lights in the Texas villa were completely out.
The bed was a massive, tangled sea of white sheets and heavy blankets. Y/N was stuck directly in the middle. Max had claimed her left side, one of his heavy, calloused legs thrown completely over hers, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist as if making sure she couldn't escape into the night. His breathing was already deep and even, a heavy, rhythmic anchor.
Oscar was on her right, pulled in close enough that his chest was pressed against her shoulder. He wasn't as heavy as Max, but he was immovable. His hand was slid beneath the small of her back, his fingers tracing slow, abstract shapes against her skin through her t-shirt, a quiet, soothing pattern that systematically turned off the remaining static in her brain.
Y/N looked up at the ceiling, listening to the synchronized breathing of the two men holding her captive in the dark.
Tomorrow, the Texas heat would hit. Tomorrow, the Austin circuit would swarm with hundreds of thousands of fans, flashing cameras, and the relentless pressure of the championship fight. Max and Oscar would become rivals again, fighting for inches at two hundred miles an hour.
But tonight, in the quiet dark of the hill country, they were just three people who had successfully stolen their lives back from the world.
Y/N closed her eyes, turning her face into Oscar’s shoulder while Max’s grip tightened imperceptibly around her waist, and finally drifted off to sleep.
Thursday media day at the Circuit of the Americas was always a special kind of chaos.
The Texas sun beat down relentlessly on the asphalt, turning the paddock into a sweltering oven. The air was thick with humidity, the smell of barbecue from the hospitality suites, and the electric buzz of American fans who brought a completely different, wilder energy to the sport.
Y/N navigated the crowded paddock with effortless authority. She was dressed for the brutal heat in a tailored, lightweight cream linen vest and matching trousers, looking every inch the untouchable Chairperson of a global conglomerate. But the sharp corporate edge was softened by the details: she was wearing Max’s favorite pair of dark aviators, and strapped to her wrist was Oscar’s spare Richard Mille watch, the oversized face sliding down her forearm.
She had just wrapped up a highly successful meeting with the circuit promoters and was making her way back toward the center of the paddock when a rogue Drive to Survive camera crew intercepted her path.
"Madame Chairperson!" the producer called out, motioning for the boom mic operator to step in. "A quick question for the fans? The championship fight is coming down to the wire between Red Bull and McLaren. Who exactly are you rooting for this weekend?"
It was a trap of a question, designed to manufacture drama. A year ago, a microphone in her face would have sent her into a spiral of anxiety, terrified of saying the wrong thing and invoking her father's wrath.
Today, Y/N simply stopped, lowered the dark aviators down the bridge of her nose, and offered a cool, entirely unbothered smile.
"I am rooting for an excellent return on investment for my shareholders," Y/N replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "And as my company sponsors both teams, I think I'm guaranteed a win either way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a strategy briefing to attend."
She slipped her sunglasses back up and stepped around the crew, leaving them scrambling for a follow-up.
A low, familiar chuckle sounded from the shaded awning of the Red Bull hospitality suite to her left.
Max was leaning against the barrier, dressed in his dark blue shorts and a Red Bull polo. He had a white towel draped around his neck against the heat, and he was watching her with that dark, intensely proud expression that always made her pulse skip a beat.
"Very diplomatic, Madame Chairperson
"I try," Y/N smiled, stepping into the shade.
Before she could say another word, Max reached out and unapologetically dropped a massive, woven cowboy hat onto her head. It sank down, completely messing up her carefully styled hair and shielding half her face.
Y/N pushed the brim up, glaring playfully at the World Champion. "Really, Max?"
"It suits you," Max grinned, a feral, boyish spark in his eyes. He stepped into her space, entirely ignoring the cameras clicking a few yards away. He wrapped a heavy hand around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her skin just beneath the collar of her linen vest, and leaned in to press a lingering, unapologetic kiss to her mouth.
It was still surreal to the paddock—the ruthlessly private Max Verstappen openly displaying affection in the middle of a race weekend. But he didn't care. He had almost lost her to a corporate cage, and he was never going to pretend she wasn't his again.
"You're going to get sweat on her suit, mate," a calm, dry voice interrupted.
Max pulled back just a fraction, keeping his hand firmly on the back of Y/N’s neck, and looked over her shoulder.
Oscar was strolling up the paddock path, looking entirely unbothered by the Texas heat in his papaya kit. He was holding two iced coffees, the condensation dripping down the plastic cups. He walked directly into the Red Bull awning, entirely ignoring the confused looks of the Red Bull PR team, and handed one of the cups to Y/N.
"Thank you," Y/N breathed, wrapping her hands around the freezing plastic. She took a long sip, the caffeine and ice immediately reviving her.
Oscar reached out and adjusted the ridiculous cowboy hat on her head, tilting it back so he could actually see her eyes. "Good meeting?"
"Excellent," Y/N said, leaning her shoulder casually against his chest. "I terrified three different marketing executives."
"That's my girl," Oscar murmured softly, his dark eyes flashing with quiet pride. He looked at Max, the easy camaraderie settling over them. "You ready for the press conference? They put us in the same group today. They're going to try and make us trash-talk each other."
Max scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, his competitive fire instantly flaring to life. "I don't need to trash-talk you, Piastri. I'll just beat you into turn one on Sunday."
"Right. Because that worked out so well for you in Singapore," Oscar fired back smoothly, taking a sip of his iced coffee.
"That was a tire degradation issue!" Max argued immediately, his voice rising in volume.
Y/N stood between them, sipping her iced coffee in the sweltering Texas heat, listening to the two most lethal drivers on the grid bicker about brake bias and apex lines. The cameras outside the awning were desperately trying to capture the "hostility" between the championship rivals, completely missing the fact that under the shade, Oscar’s knee was casually resting against Max’s leg, and Max’s hand was still resting protectively on the back of Y/N’s neck.
They were going to go to war on the asphalt on Sunday. But the moment the checkered flag dropped, they would both come back to the exact same place.
-
Three Years Later
The F1 calendar had grown to a grueling twenty-six races, making the deep winter shutdown the most sacred time of the year.
Outside the glass walls of their secluded Alpine chalet, a heavy snowstorm was burying the mountains in total whiteout conditions. Inside, the fire was roaring, the only sound accompanying the soft crackle of burning cedar and the howling wind.
Y/N was curled up on the massive velvet sofa, swathed in a thick cashmere blanket. She was three years into her tenure as Chairperson, having doubled the company’s valuation and cemented herself as the most terrifyingly effective negotiator in motorsport. But here, miles above sea level with zero cell reception, she was completely at peace.
She turned a page in her book, blindly reaching out with her left hand to grab her mug of hot tea.
Instead of ceramic, her fingers brushed against warm skin.
Y/N looked up. Max was kneeling beside the coffee table, having silently intercepted her tea. He set the mug down, but didn't let go of her hand. His blue eyes were piercing, completely stripped of the competitive fire that usually defined him, leaving behind something impossibly raw and devoted.
A floorboard creaked softly to her right. Y/N turned her head to see Oscar standing just behind the sofa. He walked around to join Max, moving with that quiet, unhurried grace. He knelt on her other side, his knee brushing against Max’s in the tight space. Oscar reached out, his warm hands entirely covering her right hand where it rested on her lap.
The air in the room suddenly shifted. It wasn't heavy or suffocating—it was electric.
"What are you two doing?" Y/N asked softly, her heart giving a sudden, violent kick against her ribs.
Max and Oscar shared a look. It was that same silent, ironclad communication they had used in the Red Bull driver’s room years ago, the exact same wavelength that allowed them to dismantle boardrooms and coordinate on track.
Oscar turned his dark, steady eyes back to her. He reached into the pocket of his dark wool sweater and pulled out a small, midnight-blue velvet box.
"We had a logistical debate," Oscar started, his voice a low, grounding rumble that immediately anchored her racing pulse. A soft, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "Max wanted to do this on the podium at Yas Marina. I told him the FIA would fine us for delaying the broadcast, and that you would probably murder us for doing it on live television."
"It would have made a great photo," Max muttered stubbornly, though his thumb was stroking a soothing, repetitive circle into the back of Y/N’s left hand. He looked up at her, the playful irritation vanishing. "But he was right. You’ve spent your whole life being a spectacle for other people. This isn't for them."
Oscar clicked the velvet box open.
Resting inside the black silk were not one, but two rings, brilliantly designed to interlock. One band was set with a flawless, fiercely brilliant emerald-cut diamond, flanked by sharp, geometric platinum edges—Max. The other was a smooth, elegant band of crushed diamonds set in deep white gold, quietly catching the light from every angle without demanding it—Oscar.
Separated, they were stunning. Snapped together, they formed a perfect, seamless whole.
Y/N let out a shattered breath, her eyes darting between the rings and the two men kneeling in front of her.
"We don't do things the way the rest of the world does," Max said, his voice dropping into that blunt, absolute certainty he only used when he was talking about her. His grip on her hand tightened. "We don't share you. We just belong to you. And I am entirely done pretending there is any universe where I wake up without you."
"We built a sanctuary," Oscar added quietly, lifting her right hand to press a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles. He looked at her, his expression radiating that deep, unshakable calm that had saved her life more times than she could count. "We want to make it permanent. The three of us. A closed circuit."
Tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes, hot and fast, completely ruining the quiet composure she had maintained for three years. She didn't have to choose between the fire and the ice. She never had.
"Yes," Y/N choked out, pulling both of them forward by their collars. "God, yes. Give me the rings."
Max let out a ragged breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, leaning up to catch her lips in a deep, bruising kiss that tasted like pure relief. Oscar’s hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her next, slow and deliberate, a quiet vow sealed in the warmth of the firelight.
Two Months Later
The Formula 1 circus had returned, the desert sun beating down on the first official media day of the new season.
The media pen was swarming, microphones shoved aggressively toward team principals and drivers. Y/N stood near the entrance of the FIA hospitality suite, reviewing a sponsorship contract on her tablet. She was wearing a sharp, tailored black suit, completely unbothered by the chaos around her.
As she lifted her hand to adjust her sunglasses, the desert sun caught the metal on her left ring finger.
A photographer’s lens flashed. Then another. Within thirty seconds, the murmur rippling through the paddock turned into a deafening roar.
The trackside reporter abandoned his interview with a midfield rookie and practically sprinted toward her. "Madame Chairperson! Y/N! The rings on your finger—are congratulations in order? Can you tell us who proposed?"
Y/N paused. She looked down at the heavy, interlocking diamonds resting perfectly on her finger. She then looked across the paddock.
Standing outside the Red Bull garage, Max was watching her, leaning against the barricade with a ferociously proud smirk on his face. Fifty yards down the pit lane, Oscar was standing outside McLaren, a dark, incredibly smug smile playing on his lips as he held her gaze.
Y/N looked back at the reporter, offering a cool, entirely untouchable smile.
"Yes, congratulations are in order," Y/N said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of her blazer. "And to answer your question: they both did."
She didn't wait for the reporter to pick his jaw up off the floor. She turned on her heel and walked down the pit lane, leaving the entire Formula 1 world to completely lose its mind, while she went to find her fiancés.
Hi! I really love angst, so could you write a story about Oscar? When he was a rookie, he had a girlfriend his high school sweetheart and a few years later, she suddenly disappears from his life. Eventually, Oscar has to announce that she passed away from cancer or a similar illness. Afterward, he becomes very quiet, not talking to anyone, and he grieves deeply. Thank you.
The Ghost in the Garage - OP81
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!gf!reader
synopsis: during his rookie season, Oscar and his high school sweetheart, Y/N, were the paddock's golden couple—until she quietly stops showing up to races. When the tragic truth of Y/N's illness is finally announced, Oscar is left to navigate the relentless pressure of Formula 1 alone.
wc: 1.0k
The paddock had always loved the story: the quiet, fiercely talented rookie and his high school sweetheart, Y/N. During his debut season, Y/N was a constant, grounding presence. Whenever the relentless pressure of the world stage threatened to overwhelm him, Oscar only had to look for her in the back of the garage. They were young, deeply in love, and seemingly invincible.
Then, without warning, everything shifted.
It started subtly. Y/N wasn’t at the start of the European leg of the calendar. Then she missed the summer break trip they usually took. By the time the season neared its end, her absence was glaring. Fans speculated, rumors swirled, and the media prodded, but Oscar built an impenetrable wall around his personal life. He dodged questions with practiced deflection, though the dark circles under his eyes and the permanent tension in his jaw told a different story. He was racing on pure, exhausting adrenaline, sprinting through debriefs just to catch the earliest flight home.
The painful silence broke on a cold Tuesday morning.
Oscar released a statement, brief and devastatingly final. He shared that Y/N, his high school sweetheart, his anchor, and the love of his life, had passed away after an intensely private battle with illness. He explained that they had chosen to keep her diagnosis completely out of the public eye so they could spend her final months simply being together, away from the flashbulbs and the noise of the media.
After the announcement, the motorsport world rallied around him, but Oscar retreated entirely into himself. The young man who used to offer dry, witty jokes to his team or a soft smile to his mechanics vanished. In his place was someone completely hollowed out by grief.
He stopped talking to almost everyone. He would arrive at the track with his head down, hat pulled low, and headphones on, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Inside the garage, he only spoke to his engineers about the data and the car, his voice flat and completely devoid of emotion. He drove with a mechanical, almost frightening precision, pouring every ounce of his unexpressed agony onto the asphalt.
When the visor went down, he was brilliant, untouchable. But the second the helmet came off, the silence he carried with him was deafening. The team gave him a wide berth, understanding that there were no words that could possibly fix it. He was a ghost haunting the paddock, simply moving through the motions of a life and a dream he had only ever imagined sharing with Y/N.
-
The Formula 1 calendar was relentlessly unforgiving. The circus moved from city to city, continent to continent, and it did not pause for broken hearts. Oscar moved with it, a phantom haunting the motorhomes and garages, dutifully fulfilling his obligations with a heavy, impenetrable numbness.
The true weight of his reality didn't fully fracture his stoic facade until Melbourne.
It was his home race. The city was practically vibrating with energy, the Albert Park circuit lined with seas of papaya and Australian flags. But for Oscar, the streets were littered with landmines of memory. This was where he and Y/N had grown up. This was where they used to walk by the lake before the grandstands were ever built, dreaming about a future that now felt like a cruel joke.
He drove the weekend with that same terrifying, mechanical brilliance. When he crossed the finish line on Sunday to secure his first home podium, the roar of the crowd was deafening, shaking the very carbon fiber of his chassis. His race engineer’s voice cracked over the radio, praising the masterclass drive.
Oscar pressed the radio button. "Thanks, guys. Good car today," he replied, his voice a flat, deadpan monotone that completely betrayed the magnitude of the achievement.
In parc fermé, the celebrations were chaotic. Mechanics cheered, champagne was prepped, and the media jostled for position. Oscar climbed out of the cockpit, his movements stiff. He offered a polite wave to the roaring grandstands and completed the mandatory post-race weigh-ins and interviews with robotic efficiency. He didn't smile. He couldn't.
When the obligations were finally over, he retreated immediately to the quiet sanctuary of his driver room, locking the door firmly behind him.
The silence of the small room was a stark contrast to the festival outside. Oscar peeled off his race suit, his hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. He sat heavily on the edge of the massage table, staring blankly at the floor. He had done it. He had achieved the dream they used to whisper about in the dark of his childhood bedroom. And it meant absolutely nothing because she wasn't there to see it.
He reached into his duffel bag, his fingers bypassing his spare gear to find a small, zipped pocket hidden in the lining. Slowly, he pulled out a faded, instax polaroid.
It was from his rookie season. Y/N was laughing, her head thrown back, wearing one of his oversized team jackets that swallowed her frame. Oscar was beside her, looking at her not with the steely focus of a racing driver, but with the soft, unguarded adoration of a boy entirely in love.
Oscar stared at the photograph, tracing the outline of her face with a shaking thumb. The iron-clad walls he had built around his grief over the last few months suddenly began to crumble. The overwhelming pressure of the weekend, the agonizing memories of their hometown, and the hollow victory all came crashing down on him at once.
He pressed the palm of his hand against his eyes, his shoulders hitching as the first sob finally tore through his chest. It was a jagged, ugly sound, muffled by the thick walls of the motorhome. He curled inward, pressing the photograph to his forehead, letting the tears fall hot and fast.
For the first time since he had lost Y/N, Oscar didn't try to lock the pain away. He just sat alone in the quiet, letting the devastating reality of her absence completely break him apart, mourning the girl who had believed in him long before the rest of the world ever knew his name.
