#get your love back in melbourne | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrspiastri · 2 months ago

Text

✩ jam biscuits 🍪

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: fluff, sickeningly sweet oscar and a slight, super little bit of angst :D

wc: 13.3k words (don’t even joke lad)

an: need to stop placing myself as y/n when i write for oscar omg

It was the first week of December, and summer had already begun in Queensland, with warm mornings, sunny afternoons, and some moderately humid evenings. Y/N had spent her first two semesters at Griffith University and had loved every minute of it.

Sure, transferring as an international student in her third year of uni wasn’t exactly ideal, but she managed to adjust amazingly and had made some amazing memories and friends after just a little less than a year.

Mae was Y/N’s first friend, and they met after the former had to knock on the latter’s door to ask if she had an extra tampon she could borrow. And cut to now, the two were basically inseparable.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to just relax and actually enjoy your break. Especially with the very limited days off we get from uni.” Mae chided as she tried squeezing in a third pair of shoes onto her carry-on.

“Well, I can’t afford the plane tickets back home, and besides, I’m already going back in April!”

“So what are you going to do, just sit here for the next two months? In this tiny, slightly dusty, and very lonely dorm room? All by yourself?”

“I don’t really have any other choice, Mae.” Y/N stated, as she held out her friend’s shorts for her to pack.

“Then why don’t you come with me?” Her friend questioned.

“Where, Melbourne?”

“Yeah! You’re completely unoccupied, plus it’s with me! Mum has been dying to have you at home since you first met her!” Her friend grabbed her hands in an attempt to convince her.

“I don’t know; it’s the holidays, and I don’t want to intrude on your time with your family.” Y/N sighed, still very keen to spend the summer with Mae.

“Nonsense! They’d all love to meet you. And besides, you’re like family to me. So it won’t be weird.”

Knowing there was no way out of this and also eager to not ring in Christmas alone, Y/N agreed to fly back to her friend’s home city. In a way she wasn’t as nervous about it; she’d already met Nicole and Tim multiple times, and she’d spoken to Hattie and Edie on FaceTime multiple times. And quite frankly, she loved Melbourne with its beautiful beaches, sunny people, and amazing nightlife.

Four days later, while the two were seated on their flight home, Y/N was already busy reading the in-flight magazine, and Mae was texting away furiously on her family group chat.

“We’re about to take off soon, think you could put the phone away?” She teased.

“I wish, but as usual this idiot needs to make things difficult for us all.” She got a reply.

Y/N was about to ask who she was talking about, but before she could, Mae began her rant.

“I mean, you’d think he’d have planned this better, and I booked the tickets so early! He only had to schedule them on the same day as mine and at the SAME AIRPORT, and now he’s gone and messed it up for everyone!”

“Who are we talking about?” Y/N calmly asked her friend, who was close to foaming at the mouth.

“Oscar, who else would be such an idiot?”

Hearing his name made Y/N drop her magazine onto her lap.

“Oscar’s coming?” She tried to hide the nervousness in her voice.

“Well, of course; he hasn’t got any racing left to do now, does he?”

Mae continued speaking, well until takeoff, and then she fell asleep on Y/N’s shoulder, holding onto her arm like a koala hanging onto a tree branch.

Y/N, however, didn’t sleep a wink during the whole duration of the flight; the only thing floating in her mind was the newfound information she had just received.

Oscar was coming. Oscar. Oscar Piastri. Mae’s brother. Nicole’s son. Oscar. Formula 1 star Oscar. The same Oscar, she had a slight crush on. Well, not slight; embarrassingly large would be a better word.

She’d met him only once, at the Australian Grand Prix that year. It was very difficult for her to pretend she wasn’t bothered by him, because, truth be told, everything about him was difficult to ignore.

He met her, and like the polite gentleman he was, shook her hand and introduced himself. He made sure she ate something at the McLaren hospitality. He asked her about where she was from, her hobbies, and how many siblings she had, and she asked him how fast his car went and whether he was more of a chocolate person or a more vanilla person. He also shared a look of mild annoyance with her when his team whisked him away for the driver’s parade.

After his disappointing result on Sunday, she hadn’t seen him at all. She and the family came back home, ate their dinners and went off to an early sleep. He reached home late at night, and before he could say his goodbyes, Y/N and Mae had taken off for the airport.

Now after almost a year, they would meet again and would be living in the same house. It wasn’t too weird to imagine seeing him, especially because her crush on him had basically vanished. The girl convinced herself that it was just her meeting a handsome, polite, funny guy after years and naturally being attracted to him. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t abnormal. It was okay.

She repeated those three sentences in her head over and over again, till they landed in Melbourne.

🪻🪻🪻

The afternoon sun was warm and bright when Mae and Y/N stepped out of Melbourne Airport. The December heat felt different here, less humid, more dry; and there was a comforting familiarity in the way the light touched the tops of gum trees and danced across the asphalt. Tim was waiting in the car park, waving enthusiastically at the sight of them.

“G’day, girls!” He called, striding over and pulling Mae into a one-armed hug, then offering the same to Y/N. “How was the flight?”

“Uneventful,” Mae replied, yawning as she shoved her suitcase into the back of the car. “She didn’t sleep at all,” she added, nodding toward Y/N.

“Excited to be back in Melbourne?” Tim asked with a grin, looking at Y/N through the rearview mirror once they were on the road.

“Absolutely,” she said sincerely, watching the familiar streets fly by outside. “It’s really lovely here.”

By the time they reached the house, it was well into the afternoon, and the air smelt faintly of freshly mown grass and barbecues somewhere in the distance. The front door flung open before Mae could even knock, and out tumbled Hattie and Edie, talking at a volume that could only be described as “excited shrieking”.

“Y/N!!” Edie shouted, throwing herself at her sister’s best friend in a flying hug that nearly knocked her off balance.

“You’re finally here!” Hattie added, squeezing in from the side, her hair bouncing with the effort.

Inside, the house looked exactly how she remembered it: cosy, lived-in, and full of warmth. Nicole emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and smiling brightly. “There she is! My fourth daughter!” She pulled Y/N into a hug, then stood back to take a proper look at her. “You’re glowing. Queensland’s been good to you, huh?”

“Very good,” Y/N replied, feeling something inside her relax in a way it hadn’t in months.

Just then, the distinct sound of claws clicking against the wooden floor interrupted the moment, and in bounded Basil, floppy-eared, tail-wagging, and as chaotic as ever.

“Basil!!” Y/N crouched down and let the dog barrel into her, nearly knocking her over in his excitement. “You remember me, huh?”

“He definitely remembers,” Tim chuckled, hanging his hat by the door. “You’re the only guest who lets him sleep in their bed.”

“Guilty as charged,” she grinned, ruffling Basil’s fur as he whined happily and flopped onto his back for belly rubs.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a comfortable haze of chatter, catching up, and helping Nicole prep for dinner. The girls sat out on the back deck with lemonade while Basil napped in the shade, and Mae kept flipping through Spotify trying to find the “right vibe” for a summer evening.

As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the backyard, Nicole called out from the hallway.

“Girls, I’m heading to the airport to get Oscar! We should be back by six, so keep an eye on the roast, will you?”

Y/N felt her heart skip, just slightly. Mae was still scrolling on her phone, unmoved. “Tell him not to whine the whole drive home.”

Nicole rolled her eyes fondly. “He’s not that bad.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Y/N found herself staring out at the orange-hued horizon, feeling a strange flutter in her chest. It was fine. Everything was fine. She wasn’t nervous. She didn’t care that Oscar was coming. She didn’t even like him anymore.

Right?

She shook her head and went to baste the roast.

It was a little past six when the front door opened again, the soft creak of the hinges followed by Nicole’s unmistakable voice floating into the living room.

“We’re back!”

From the kitchen, Mae shouted, “Try not to crash into the furniture, superstar!”

The house erupted with the kind of excitement only reserved for a long-awaited homecoming.

“Oscar!!”

Basil bounded after them, nails skidding comically on the hardwood floor as he barked joyfully. Even Tim put down his beer and strolled over, smiling wide.

Y/N stayed where she was, half leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, a tea towel in one hand, still warm from drying the plates. She could hear the chaos, the laughter, the enthusiastic chorus of “you’re finally home” and “how was the flight?” and “do you have any gifts?”

And then, Oscar stepped into view.

He was dressed casually, in a plain white tee and black joggers, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, tugging a suitcase behind him, and looked exactly as she remembered him. No, not exactly. A little more tan, maybe. His hair was longer, a bit curlier. But the smile he gave his sisters was the same one that had made her stomach do something weird the last time they met.

He hugged Nicole first, then gave an affectionate smack on the shoulder to Hattie and Edie; he was still their annoying older brother after all. Tim ruffled his hair affectionately, and even Mae looked up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes and say, “Nice of you to finally show up.”

It wasn’t until the commotion settled slightly that he looked past them and saw her.

Y/N.

She hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorway, still holding that tea towel like she needed something to do with her hands. Her navy blue tank top clung lightly to her frame, and the grey sweatpants sat comfortably on her hips. Her hair was shorter than the last time he saw her, cut just below her shoulders now, a little frizzy from the heat, a little messy in the best way.

His heart did something. A flutter. A jolt. Something in between.

Because she looked different.

She looked even prettier than before.

He didn’t say anything right away, just took a step forward with a slightly dumbfounded smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes lingered, not in a weird way, just long enough to take it all in. The way her gold necklace glinted under the light. The soft flush of her cheeks. The way her lips curved up slightly, like she didn’t know whether to say hi and possibly intrude on their little family reunion.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice quieter than it had been a second ago.

Y/N smiled back, just a little. “Hey.”

And for a second, it was like they were the only two people in the room.

Then Basil barked, loudly and unnecessarily, jumping between them like a fuzzy exclamation mark, and Mae shouted from the couch, “We saved you a plate, Oscar. Don’t make us regret it.”

Oscar blinked, tearing his eyes away from Y/N just long enough to answer, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But even as he sat down at the table, greeted with a roast dinner and overlapping questions about Monaco and racing and airport delays, his gaze flickered back to her. Still leaning in the doorway. Still watching him.

Dinner in the Piastri household was as lively as ever. The table was overflowing with food, laughter, and the kind of chaotic joy that came with a full house. The roast smelled incredible, the salad was freshly dressed, and the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, just the way Y/N remembered from the last time she visited. There was a warm hum of voices, dishes clinking together, and the occasional shout from one of the girls trying to be heard over the rest.

Y/N followed Mae into the dining room, clutching her glass of water and scanning the table quickly. Her first instinct was to sit next to Mae, hoping for the comfort of a buffer between her and any potential awkwardness. She picked up her pace just slightly, trying to reach the chair before someone else did.

But Hattie, quick and always one step ahead, slid into the seat before Y/N could get there.

“Beat you,” Hattie said smugly, already reaching for a bread roll.

Y/N’s eyes darted around, searching for another spot. Nicole was already seated at the head of the table with Tim on her left. Edie had claimed the seat next to her dad. Every chair was taken except for one.

The one right next to Oscar.

Mae caught her eye from across the table and smirked. “Guess you’ll have to brave it.”

Y/N forced a small smile and tried not to let her nerves show. “Guess I will.”

She took a quiet breath and slid into the chair beside him, keeping her movements calm and collected. Her heart, however, was anything but calm. She could already feel the warmth of him beside her, close enough that their elbows might brush if they were not careful. She focused on unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap like it was the most important task in the world.

Oscar turned to her, offering a friendly smile. “Hey again.”

His voice was soft, a little different from the boisterous way he had been talking to his sisters moments ago. She glanced at him and smiled back, her voice a little quieter than usual.

“Hey.”

Dinner began in full force as plates were passed around and everyone dove into their food. Nicole asked Oscar how his flight was, Tim jumped in with a question about something racing-related, and the girls were all chatting about school, their upcoming summer plans, and who had stolen whose sandals last week.

Y/N relaxed into the rhythm of the meal, laughing at the girls’ stories and chiming in now and then. It was warm and familiar, and for a moment she forgot that sitting right next to her was the same guy who had casually made her stomach flip with a simple smile.

It was only when things had quieted slightly and everyone was focused on eating that Oscar turned to her again.

“So,” he said, picking up his fork and turning toward her just a little, “how’s uni been treating you?”

She looked up at him, a little surprised he had remembered. “It’s actually been really great. I finished my first year at Griffith last month.”

“That’s on the Gold Coast, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, not too far from the beach. The weather’s incredible, but it’s full of tourists most of the time. And if I have to see another surfboard-themed smoothie shop, I might scream.”

He chuckled, the kind of quiet, genuine laugh that made her stomach do a tiny somersault. “Sounds like a bit of a postcard dream. But I guess anything gets old if you live in it long enough.”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling. “But I’ve managed. And Mae’s been great. She’s helped me settle in a lot.”

Oscar gave her a teasing look. “Is she behaving herself? Not talking through your lectures or stealing your snacks?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “She’s mostly well-behaved. Although she does have a tendency to hog the mirror for forty-five minutes every morning.”

“I do not,” Mae called out from across the table, having clearly overheard. “You’re just too impatient.”

“You take your hair way too seriously,” Y/N replied, grinning.

“Excuse me for wanting to shine,” Mae said with a dramatic toss of her head.

Oscar leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “She’s always been like that. Even when we were kids, she’d spend an hour trying to pick out the right headband.”

Y/N giggled, biting back a laugh as she looked down at her plate.

Oscar glanced at her again, taking her in properly now. Her hair was shorter than it had been the last time he saw her. It curled slightly at the ends, soft and light around her shoulders. She wore a simple blue tank top and grey sweatpants, nothing fancy, but she still looked different. Or maybe not different. Maybe just even prettier than he remembered.

“You cut your hair,” he said gently, still studying her face.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised again. “Yeah, a few months ago.”

“It looks really nice,” he said, his voice softer now. “It suits you.”

For a moment, the rest of the table faded away again. She felt her cheeks warm, and tried to act like it was just from the heat of the roast dinner. She looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Oscar smiled and returned to his food, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was not really listening to Tim’s latest comment or Mae’s quip about the gravy. All he could think about was the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the curve of her smile, and how it was already becoming very clear that this summer was going to be a little more interesting than he expected.

And Y/N, though she tried very hard not to, caught herself sneaking a glance at him, wondering the exact same thing.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had gone quiet, the hum of the evening slowly settling into the kind of stillness that only came when everyone had finally gone to bed. Doors had clicked shut one by one. Tim’s voice had faded into a sleepy goodnight. Nicole had turned off the porch light. Even Basil had given up begging for table scraps and curled into his usual spot on the mat near the back door.

But Y/N was still awake.

She sat at the kitchen counter, laptop open in front of her, the soft glow from the screen casting a blue light across her face. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail now, and she had slipped into one of Mae’s oversized sweatshirts that almost reached her knees. The silence was comforting, broken only by the quiet tap of her fingers on the keyboard.

She was so focused that she did not hear footsteps until they were almost in the room.

Oscar padded in quietly, barefoot and looking a little dazed. His hair was a mess, slightly flattened on one side like he had tried to sleep but had given up halfway. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and grey shorts, and he looked more like a normal twenty-something guy than the Formula 1 driver plastered on magazine covers.

Y/N looked up, surprised, and gave him a small smile. “Can’t sleep?”

He leaned against the counter across from her and nodded. “Jet lag, probably. My body still thinks it’s 10 a.m.”

She closed her laptop halfway and stretched slightly. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

He tilted his head. “What about you? Burning the midnight oil?”

“Just catching up on some coursework,” she said, shrugging. “Uni break or not, some things don’t wait.”

He smiled, watching her for a moment. “You always work this late?”

“Only when the house is too loud during the day,” she said with a small laugh. “I love your family, really, but it’s like living inside a sitcom.”

He chuckled softly, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Guilty as charged.”

Y/N stood up and walked to the pantry. “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well”, she said, rummaging through a shelf, “I remember from last time that you’re not a tea person.”

“Correct,” he said, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “And coffee keeps me awake for three days straight.”

She pulled out a tin and turned to him. “Hot cocoa it is, then.”

He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, quiet but comfortable. She worked like she had done it a dozen times before, which she had. The milk warmed in a pot on the stove, and the scent of chocolate filled the air. She poured the drinks into two mismatched mugs—hers had a faded cartoon sun on it, and his said World’s Okayest Driver, which Mae had clearly planted for her own amusement.

She handed him the cup and leaned back against the counter again. “There. Chocolate and sugar. The perfect sleep potion.”

Oscar took a sip, then made an exaggerated face. “Wow. You’ve outdone yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That better be sarcasm.”

“Definitely not. This might be the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had at 1 a.m. in a quiet kitchen in Melbourne.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Glad to add that to my résumé.”

There was a beat of silence as they both sipped their drinks, the house still and dim around them. The soft buzz of the fridge and the low hum of the street outside were the only sounds.

Then Oscar looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “So… Have you got someone waiting for you back on the Gold Coast?”

Y/N blinked, a little caught off guard. “You mean like a boyfriend?”

He nodded, swirling the cocoa in his mug.

She shook her head. “Nope. No boyfriend.”

Oscar looked a little too pleased with that answer. “Surprising.”

She gave him a look. “Is it?”

“Yeah. You seem like someone who’d have to beat the guys off with a stick.”

She laughed softly, not flustered but clearly amused. “Well, either I’m intimidating or I’ve just mastered the art of being unapproachable.”

He grinned, resting his elbows on the counter. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What about you? Anyone special waiting in some glamorous European city?”

Oscar shook his head. “No girlfriend. Just me and my suitcase.”

She gave a small nod and took another sip of her drink.

There was another pause. Not awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable.

Oscar stayed where he was, leaning against the counter like he had no plans to move anytime soon. His mug sat half-full in his hands, the steam curling in soft spirals into the air. Y/N perched next to him, her bare feet dangling just slightly above the kitchen tiles, her laptop now closed and forgotten beside her.

“I still can’t believe you remember that I don’t drink tea,” he said, glancing at her with a lazy sort of amusement.

She gave him a sideways look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he said, swirling the last of his cocoa. “I just figured you’d have more important things to remember than my weird beverage preferences.”

Y/N shrugged, playing with the hem of her sleeve. “I remember little things. That’s how my brain works.”

“Dangerous”, Oscar said softly, teasingly. “Now I have to be careful what I say around you.”

“Probably,” she replied, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I have an excellent memory.”

He looked at her a second longer than necessary, then tilted his head slightly. “So what else do you remember about me?”

Y/N let out a short laugh, but there was a flicker of awareness in her eyes. “You want a list?”

“Obviously,” he said, grinning. “How else will I know what kind of impression I made?”

She pretended to consider it, taking a sip of cocoa for dramatic effect. “Alright. You always double-knot your shoelaces. You hate olives. You hum when you’re trying to concentrate. And you only ever wear black socks, even with your team kit.”

Oscar blinked, genuinely surprised. “Okay, wow.”

“You asked,” she said with a small shrug, like it was no big deal.

“I don’t even think Mae would get that many right,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s… kind of impressive.”

She just smiled again and said nothing.

A comfortable quiet settled between them for a few moments, and Oscar found himself watching her again—how the low kitchen light caught the tips of her lashes, how her sweatshirt sleeves were pulled halfway over her hands, and how calm and natural she looked in this space that was technically not even her home.

“You seem really settled here,” he said quietly.

Y/N looked up, a little surprised by the softness in his tone. “Here in Melbourne?”

He nodded.

She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not permanent or anything. But for now? It feels... good.”

He nodded slowly, watching her fingers tap gently against her mug.

“You kind of blend right in,” he added. “Like you’ve always been part of the house.”

She gave a soft laugh, looking down. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s true,” he said, not looking away. “I think Mum’s more excited about you being here than she is about me.”

“Maybe because I don’t leave my laundry in the hallway,” Y/N teased.

“Harsh, but fair.”

She looked up at him again, and this time their eyes met and held for a beat too long. Something unspoken flickered in the air between them, light but unmistakable.

Oscar cleared his throat and gave her a crooked smile. “So, no boyfriend. Great taste in cocoa. Impressive memory. Still no idea how you’re single.”

She laughed, but her voice was quiet. “That’s a very smooth line.”

“It wasn’t a line,” he said, nudging her foot gently with his. “Just an observation.”

“Well”, she said, standing up and rinsing her mug in the sink, “you might need to work on your delivery.”

Oscar watched her from where he stood, smiling to himself. “Noted.”

Y/N turned off the stove light and looked over her shoulder at him. “You should try to get some sleep.”

He stretched and nodded. “I’ll give it another shot.”

She passed by him on the way to the hallway, but he reached out gently and tapped her hand as she went by. Just once. Just a soft touch.

“Thanks for the cocoa,” he said.

She turned and gave him a small smile. “Anytime.”

Then she walked down the hall, her footsteps soft against the floorboards, leaving Oscar alone in the kitchen, still smiling into his mug.

🪻🪻🪻

The days leading up to Christmas passed in a kind of warm, slow haze. The house was always alive with the sound of laughter, soft music, and Basil’s occasional barking at whatever poor delivery person had dared approach the front door. Y/N had become an easy part of it all, drifting comfortably from kitchen tasks to movie nights, helping wrap presents or keeping Edie entertained while Nicole prepared the next day’s to-do list.

It was a few days before Christmas when Y/N stood in the kitchen with Nicole, both peering over a nearly full shopping list that had been updated and revised a dozen times.

“I can run to the store if you want,” Y/N offered, tying her hair up and reaching for the notepad. “You’ve been juggling way too much all week. I don’t mind grabbing a few things.”

Nicole gave her a grateful smile. “Are you sure, sweetheart? There’s a lot on here, and the shops are chaos this week.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll survive. I’ll just go early and get in and out.”

From behind them, Oscar’s voice drifted in, casual but firm. “I’ll drive her.”

Y/N turned slightly, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

Oscar shrugged as he reached for a glass from the shelf. “You shouldn’t have to deal with the parking and crowds on your own. Besides, I could use a break from the house.”

Nicole looked amused. “What, already tired of your family?”

Oscar gave her a look that didn’t hide the fondness behind it. “Just trying to stay useful.”

So it was settled. An hour later, Y/N found herself buckling into the passenger seat of his car, grocery list in one hand and her phone in the other. The sky was bright, the air warm but breezy, and the hum of the suburbs buzzed quietly in the background.

She glanced over at him as he adjusted the mirrors. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road as they pulled away from the kerb. “I wanted to.”

They drove in comfortable quiet for a while, the windows down just enough to let in the scent of eucalyptus and the sound of cicadas. Y/N scanned the list again and made a soft noise of disapproval.

“What’s wrong?” Oscar asked, glancing over.

“Nicole wants five different types of cheese. Who needs five types of cheese?”

He grinned. “Mum takes Christmas grazing boards very seriously.”

They made it through the first store with surprising efficiency. Y/N navigated the aisles with purpose, Oscar trailing behind with the basket and throwing in the occasional snack that definitely wasn’t on the list. She didn’t scold him for it, though—just raised an eyebrow and kept walking.

The second stop was a little shop tucked on the corner of a quiet street, where Nicole had said they’d find the last-minute decorations she wanted. The place was already picked over, but Y/N managed to find most of what they needed. Oscar wandered off to a shelf filled with novelty ornaments.

He held up a small kangaroo wearing a Santa hat. “This one feels like it belongs on our tree.”

Y/N looked up from the tinsel. “It’s horrifying.”

“Exactly. A classic.”

They left with the ornament anyway.

On the drive home, Y/N reached into the paper bag between them and pulled out a small packet of chocolate-covered almonds.

“Want one?” she asked, holding it out.

Oscar took one, then another, flashing her a small smile as he leaned back against the seat. The car was quiet again, filled with the soft whirr of the air conditioning and the distant chatter of holiday traffic.

As they drove through the winding suburban streets back toward home, the bags rustling gently in the backseat and sunlight warming the dashboard, the conversation drifted again. This time, Oscar was the one to start it.

“You know,” he said, one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting loosely against his thigh, “Christmas always felt bigger when I was a kid. Not because of the presents or anything, but just… the way the house felt.”

Y/N looked over at him, her cheek propped on her hand. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, just a little. “It was always loud. Like, properly loud. Mum would have the radio on full blast, Dad would be outside trying to hang lights in the worst spots, and Mae would be arguing with someone about tinsel. But the best part was going to Nonna’s.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “Your grandma?”

Oscar nodded. “Great grandma, actually. She lived about an hour from us. Every year, without fail, we’d drive over on Christmas Eve, and she’d have already been baking for days. You could smell it before you even got out of the car.”

“What did she make?”

He let out a small laugh. “Everything. Tiramisu, cannoli, almond biscuits that were somehow both soft and crunchy at the same time… and these little jam-filled thumbprint cookies. I used to steal like five before dinner, and she’d pretend not to notice.”

Y/N smiled at the picture of it. “Sounds like something out of a movie.”

“It kind of was,” he admitted. “The house was tiny and always packed with cousins and uncles and someone’s screaming toddler. But I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

He paused for a moment, watching the road. “She passed away a few years ago, and Christmas felt different after that. Not bad, just quieter.”

There was a silence after that, the kind that felt respectful, not heavy.

“She sounds like someone I would’ve loved to meet,” Y/N said softly.

He glanced at her, grateful. “Yeah. She would’ve liked you too. Especially if you showed up early and helped in the kitchen.”

Y/N smiled again, reaching into the almond packet and handing him another. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He took it from her fingers, just grazing her hand. “You should. Nonna was tough to impress.”

They fell into a quieter rhythm again, the car humming along and the breeze through the window stirring a few strands of hair across Y/N’s face. She pushed them back behind her ear, and Oscar caught himself glancing at her longer than necessary before turning back to the road.

“Do you ever try baking any of her recipes?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not the same though. Mum tries now and then, but even she says it’s never quite right.”

“We could try one,” Y/N offered. “If you remember the ingredients.”

Oscar gave her a sidelong look, the edge of his mouth lifting. “You want to make jam biscuits with me?”

“Sure. We’ll call it quality bonding time,” she replied, tapping her fingers on the receipt in her lap. “Though I can’t promise anything close to perfection.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You’re already winning points with the whole family. You don’t need to be a baking prodigy too.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You are.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a beat, the words settling in her chest more warmly than she expected. She turned her eyes back to the road ahead, trying not to let the small smile tugging at her lips show too much.

🪻🪻🪻

Christmas Eve at the Piastri house had a sort of chaotic charm. Nicole was buzzing between the kitchen and the living room, organising everything with a calm precision that only years of hosting could produce. The tree was glowing softly in the corner, carols playing in the background, and the smell of pine needles and cinnamon floated through the air.

Y/N had offered to help wherever needed, but most tasks had already been claimed. Mae and Edie were wrapping the last of the presents upstairs, Tim was dealing with the outdoor lights that had come undone in the wind, and Nicole had just finished the prep for dinner. That left the kitchen temporarily unoccupied and the perfect window of time for the little plan Oscar had floated earlier in the day.

“You serious about baking Nonna’s biscuits?” Y/N asked as she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, already rolling up the sleeves of her linen shirt.

Oscar was flipping through an old, slightly worn recipe book on the counter. “Very. I found her original notes. If we mess it up, at least we’ll have tried.”

“High stakes”, she teased. “Don’t worry. I work well under pressure.”

He smiled, a little crooked, then placed the handwritten card down between them. “All right, chef. Let’s do this.”

They set to work side by side, gathering ingredients, measuring flour, and cracking eggs. There was flour on his cheek within five minutes and sugar dusting the counter like snow. Oscar snuck pieces of dough when Y/N wasn’t looking. She caught him the third time and flicked a bit of flour at him in mock offence, and he responded by dabbing a smear of butter across the back of her hand.

Somewhere between chilling the dough and shaping the little rounds for the baking tray, Oscar leaned back against the counter and said, offhandedly, “You know what would go perfectly with these?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she gently pressed her thumb into a biscuit to make space for jam. “What?”

“Homemade vanilla ice cream.”

She blinked. “That’s very specific.”

He grinned. “I used to make it with my dad when I was younger. Thought I’d hate it because it was vanilla, but turns out, it’s kind of unbeatable when it’s done right.”

There was a moment of quiet as she looked at him, then smiled. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Oscar found the ice cream machine tucked at the back of a high cupboard. Y/N prepped the egg yolks and sugar while he handled the cream and milk. The kitchen turned golden in the afternoon light as they stirred the custard base together, laughing over whether it was thick enough, too sweet, or too runny. Y/N insisted on adding an extra splash of vanilla bean paste “for good luck,” and Oscar didn't argue.

As the biscuits baked and the ice cream slowly churned, they stood at the counter, licking spoons and talking quietly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever baked with someone like this before,” Y/N said after a while, her voice soft as she washed the last mixing bowl.

Oscar passed her a clean towel. “Same. It’s kind of nice.”

She nodded, drying her hands, then glanced up at him. “You look like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

He chuckled. “I usually had Dad to boss me around.”

“You don’t seem like the ‘bossed around’ type.”

“Depends on the person,” he said, eyes meeting hers for a beat too long.

And just like that, the door swung open with the cheerful jingle of keys and a gust of cooler air.

Oscar’s grandparents had arrived.

“Smells like heaven in here,” his grandfather announced, stepping into the kitchen with a loud sigh of satisfaction. “Who’s doing all the baking?”

Oscar turned with a grin. “Y/N and I made Nonna’s almond biscuits. We’re trying to do them justice.”

The older man stepped closer, peering over the trays and then at the two of them standing side by side in aprons, slightly flushed from the warmth of the oven and from something else too.

He gave a teasing smirk, eyes twinkling. “Ah, to be young and in love again. Just like your grandparents used to be.”

Y/N felt the heat flood her cheeks so fast it made her dizzy. She glanced at Oscar, who looked equally caught off guard.

From behind them, Mae’s voice cut through with a flat, “Ew. Like that would ever happen.”

Oscar shot her a look. “Thank you for the support.”

Mae smirked. “Just keeping you humble.”

Y/N laughed it off, brushing flour off her jumper, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes after that. The comment had been said so casually, and yet it settled in her chest in a way she didn’t like. Maybe Mae thought of it as a joke. Maybe she didn’t mean anything by it. But still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling as she turned back to the biscuits that if Mae ever found out about her quiet crush on Oscar, it might not be met with encouragement.

Oscar must’ve sensed the shift in her mood. He leaned closer, voice low, “Ignore her. She says that about everyone.”

Y/N smiled again, smaller this time. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Oscar quickly introduced his baking partner to his grandparents, who simply adored her even more when they found out she was best friends with Mae.

Christmas Day at the Piastri household unfolded in a way Y/N had never quite experienced before. Back home, Christmas had always meant frosty mornings, wool socks, and cups of spiced cider. But here in Melbourne, it was all golden skies, the scent of sunscreen, and the distant hum of cicadas.

She’d woken up to the sound of Nicole bustling in the kitchen and Basil’s paws clicking excitedly against the hardwood floor. Mae had dragged her out of bed half-asleep and handed her a Santa hat before she’d even brushed her teeth. The backyard had already been transformed—long tables set up beneath a shade cloth, fairy lights strung across the fence, the esky filled with cold drinks, and platters of fresh prawns, mango salad, and pavlova lined up on the counter.

It was, without a doubt, a proper Aussie Christmas.

By midmorning, the house was filled to the brim with extended family—cousins running through the garden with water balloons, uncles gathering around the barbecue, aunts clinking glasses of bubbly and cooing over Basil, who wore a little green bow tie just for the occasion.

Y/N had barely had a moment to breathe. Nicole’s sisters had taken a liking to her almost immediately, dragging her into their conversations and insisting she try their famous trifle. Oscar’s younger cousins kept offering her candy canes and showing her TikToks. And at some point, his Nonno took her aside and told her, quite seriously, that she had “the best hands for biscuit-making he’d seen since his wife”.

She laughed through all of it, genuinely enjoying the chaos, but she couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t really spoken to Oscar at all.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, carrying chairs out to the backyard, refilling drinks, and helping Mae untangle a string of stubborn lights. Each time their eyes met across the yard or the kitchen, there’d be a look, gentle and knowing, but before either could cross the distance, someone would pull one of them away again.

By the time the sun dipped low enough for dinner to be served, the sky turning lavender above the rooftop, everyone was hungry, sun-drenched, and a little sticky from the heat. The tables were filled with roast chicken, glazed ham, more prawns, and colourful salads, while bowls of cranberry sauce and gravy were passed around in between laughter and clinking glasses.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen, carrying a basket of dinner rolls, scanning for a seat.

Oscar was already at the table, but instead of being deep in conversation like usual, he was oddly… quiet. More specifically, he was guarding the empty chair to his right like it was a national treasure.

Aunt Sandra tried to sit down beside him, but he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

“By who?” she asked, lifting a brow.

He just smiled. “You’ll see.”

When Y/N finally made her way toward the table, Oscar stood up immediately.

“Here,” he said, taking the basket from her hands and pulling out the chair beside him, holding it in place as she sat down. She gave him a small, amused look but didn’t say anything, brushing her hair behind her ear as he slid the chair in.

“Smooth,” she murmured under her breath.

Oscar just gave her an exaggerated shrug. “I try.”

The moment was subtle, almost too casual to be noticed.

Almost.

Because, of course, his grandfather noticed.

“Would you look at that?” he said from further down the table, his voice warm and just loud enough to carry. “Back in my day, if you pulled a chair out like that, it meant you were trying to impress someone.”

Oscar glanced up, startled. Y/N froze mid-reach for the water jug.

The table erupted into laughter.

Mae groaned, practically sinking into her seat. “Can we not do this again?”

Y/N, cheeks burning, stared down at her napkin. Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Thanks, Grandpa,” under his breath, but he was laughing too, albeit a little shyly.

Nicole, ever the peacemaker, clapped her hands. “All right, enough teasing, everyone. Let them eat in peace.”

But the mood had already lightened, and the glances between Oscar and Y/N carried a new weight. They both focused on their plates, on the ham and potatoes and fresh salad, pretending nothing had happened.

Yet under the table, their knees brushed lightly, once, then again. Neither moved away. And even as the chatter resumed and the plates emptied, neither of them stopped smiling.

However, one thing still replayed in Y/N’s mind, like a broken record: Mae didn’t like the idea of them together, and it really freaked her out.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had quieted in that soft, comforting way it only does after a long, perfect day. Dishes were done, leftovers packed away in foil, lights dimmed one by one until only the faint golden glow of the fairy lights strung across the backyard remained.

Y/N stepped out through the sliding door, barefoot, a sweater draped loosely over her sundress. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and the air carried the gentle scent of eucalyptus and the last whispers of roast and cinnamon. She hugged her arms around herself as she crossed the lawn to the two chairs that sat under the gum tree, just far enough from the house to feel like a secret.

Oscar was already there, holding two steaming mugs in his hands.

“I figured you’d still be up,” he said, standing to pass one to her. His voice was low, warm in the still night.

“You know me so well,” she teased, accepting the cup. Her fingers brushed his briefly.

“Hot cocoa”, he added, sitting back down beside her. “Didn’t trust you not to spike anything.”

Y/N smiled softly. “Appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

They both leaned back in their chairs, sipping slowly, letting the quiet settle between them. The stars were bright above, clean and clear, and the moon hung low and heavy in the sky. From somewhere far off came the low hum of cicadas and the rustling of a breeze through the trees.

“You had everyone wrapped around your finger today,” Oscar said, glancing at her with a soft smirk.

Y/N laughed, tucking her knees up onto the chair. “I think your aunt wants to adopt me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You crushed the trifle review.”

They sat in easy silence for a while. Basil wandered out briefly, tail wagging, before curling up on the deck, content.

“You were really good with your little cousins,” she said eventually. “That little girl, Isla? She thinks you’re a superhero.”

Oscar chuckled, looking down. “She thinks I drive rocket ships.”

“Don’t you?” she teased.

“Something like that.”

There was something in his smile that lingered, gentle and almost private. Like he was looking at her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to earlier in the day.

Y/N shifted in her seat, the cocoa warming her from the inside. Her eyes flicked toward him, then away. “It’s kind of crazy,” she said softly, staring at the grass. “Just how welcome I’ve felt here. Even with everything. It’s not something I’ve always been used to.”

Oscar didn’t say anything immediately. She turned to look at him and found him already watching her.

The intensity in his gaze stopped her breath for a second. His mug rested on his thigh now, forgotten.

“What?” she asked, a half-laugh escaping her throat.

He shook his head a little. “Nothing. Just listening.”

But he wasn’t just listening. His eyes flicked over her features, soft and slow. The curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, and the way a curl of hair rested against her collarbone. She felt it, like the world had narrowed to just this moment.

Still, some part of her hesitated.

Mae’s voice echoed again, that dismissive, teasing “Ew. Like that would ever happen.” And maybe she hadn’t meant anything; maybe it was just her way. But it lodged itself somewhere in Y/N’s chest like a quiet warning.

Oscar leaned in a little, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair so his face was closer to hers. His voice was quieter now.

“Do you know how hard it was to get two minutes alone with you today?”

She blinked. “You didn’t exactly try.”

“I did,” he said. “You just had a very persistent fan club.”

That made her laugh again, and something shifted in her chest, loosening.

“I liked watching you,” he added. “With my family. You fit here.”

She felt her breath hitch a little, just barely.

“I’ve never really fit anywhere,” she murmured.

“You do here.”

She looked at him again then, fully, her features soft in the pale light. “You’re staring,” she whispered, her voice unsure, almost teasing.

He didn’t answer. He just leaned forward more slowly now, giving her time to stop him, to pull back.

She didn’t.

And then, just like that, the air between them snapped.

He leaned in without hesitation this time. His hand came up, brushing her jaw with a tenderness that made her skin burn. Their lips met, not gently, not cautiously, but with weeks of tension unravelling all at once.

It was a kiss that stole her breath.

His other hand found her waist as he leaned closer, their cocoa mugs long forgotten in the grass. Her fingers curled around the front of his shirt, tugging him toward her without thinking, only feeling. Her whole body hummed with something between relief and wanting.

The way he kissed her, it was like he’d been waiting, aching, trying to be patient for too long. It was all unspoken things and sidelong glances, bottled up until now, pouring out with the press of his mouth on hers.

When he finally pulled back, it was just enough to breathe. His forehead rested against hers, and his chest rose and fell like he was trying to steady himself.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like a confession. “Since the moment I met you. I didn’t even know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/N blinked at him, stunned, her lips still tingling, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Oscar looked at her again, and then he kissed her like he meant to imprint her into memory.

This one was hungrier. His hand slipped up, tangling into her hair, and she let out a soft sound against his mouth before pressing closer, her fingers dragging across the back of his neck. His touch was warm and steady, his lips moving against hers with a certainty that made her dizzy.

When they finally slowed, breathless and flushed, she pulled back just far enough to see his face. His lips were red, his hair tousled from her hands, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were still locked on her, like nothing else existed.

Because somewhere in the haze of it all, Mae’s voice returned. That thoughtless laugh, the sarcastic scoff. “Ew. Like that would ever happen.” And now, in the silence following the kiss, it pressed down on Y/N’s chest like a stone.

Oscar's hand was still cradling her jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath her ear. His forehead rested gently against hers, his breathing slowing in tandem with hers. He hadn’t let go, hadn’t stepped back. He still looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But her heart was thudding in panic now, not just from the kiss.

She pulled back a little. Just enough for him to notice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, brows knitting together.

Y/N took a step back, eyes downcast. “I can’t… we can’t… I’m sorry.”

Oscar blinked, still frozen in place, clearly not understanding. “Wait, what do you mean?”

She shook her head, already hating the words she hadn’t even formed yet. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, more from protection than cold. “I just… It’s not possible. You and me.”

He took a hesitant step toward her, his voice quieter now. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she whispered. “God, no. You’ve been… amazing.”

“Then why—”

“I just… I can’t explain it,” she said quickly, voice breaking. “I wish things were different, Oscar. I really do. But they’re not.”

And she turned.

She walked back toward the house with quick, uneven steps, her hand trembling as she slid the glass door open. The cocoa mugs still sat abandoned on the grass.

Oscar didn’t follow right away. He stood there in the dark, lips parted like he was about to say something but didn’t.

Y/N’s feet padded across the kitchen tiles. Her throat was tight, eyes already stinging. She didn’t stop until she reached the guest room door. She slipped inside, turned the lock, and leaned her back against it, letting the tears fall.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs. Just silent crying, like all of it had built up behind her ribs and now had nowhere else to go.

She slid down the door, knees tucked to her chest, and pressed her palm against her mouth to muffle the sound.

She had kissed him. She had wanted him. And now she had walked away.

Because Mae’s voice still rang in her head. Like that would ever happen. Because she didn’t know what it would do to Mae if something did happen. Because she didn’t know if she could handle being the girl who ruined things.

On the other side of the door, Oscar stood in the hallway, staring at the wood between them. He could hear nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

And it hit him: whatever had just happened out there, however perfect it felt, it wasn’t just about him.

He leaned his forehead against the door once, gently. His heart ached with confusion, with disappointment, with that slow bloom of rejection that felt heavier because it hadn’t been angry. It had been sad.

Neither of them slept that night.

🪻🪻🪻

The house had shifted into a strange sort of quiet in the days following Christmas. The tree still sparkled in the corner of the living room, tinsel and baubles glittering with the last golden traces of the holiday season, but the warmth that had filled the air was now threaded with something quieter. Something heavier.

Y/N hadn’t spoken to Oscar since that night in the backyard.

Not a word. Not even a glance that lasted longer than a second.

She couldn’t trust herself to do it. Every time she even felt his presence in the same room, her chest tightened and her stomach sank. Because it wasn’t just guilt anymore. It was missing him, aching for something she’d told herself she wasn’t allowed to have. Wanting to talk to him, laugh with him, and just be near him without everything falling apart in her mind. But she knew herself too well. She wouldn’t survive another soft look or tender word from him, not when she had already chosen to walk away.

Oscar had tried, at first. His knock on her door that morning, the way he stood near her in the kitchen a few times hoping she’d say something, anything. But when it became clear she was holding back—not out of anger, but something else entirely—he gave up. Or maybe he just stopped hoping she’d let him in.

He never confronted her about it. Never pushed. That was the worst part. Because he had only ever been gentle with her, patient even when she didn’t deserve it.

So instead, they moved around each other like ghosts in the same house. Close enough to feel, far enough to pretend.

Now, it was New Year’s Eve, and the afternoon sun burnt bright and high over the roof. The windows were open, letting in a breeze that barely cooled the warmth lingering through the halls. Upstairs, the girls had started getting ready early, even though they wouldn’t be heading out until much later.

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of Mae’s vanity, curling her hair in slow, careful motions. Her lips were tinted with a soft gloss, her makeup half done. The room smelt like dry shampoo, vanilla-scented body mist, and faint anxiety.

Mae, applying glittery eyeliner in the mirror, paused and glanced at her.

“You okay?”

Y/N blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Mae raised a brow, clearly not buying it. “Tired, my ass. You’ve been walking around like a Victorian widow all week.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Mae didn’t press, but she did turn around and sit cross-legged behind her on the bed. “Alright. Then I’m officially dragging you out with us tonight. You need to dance. Or at the very least, wear something sparkly and drink something fruity.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You just want me to be your buffer again.”

“Obviously. But also, it’s New Year’s. If I have to spend it pretending to enjoy bad house music and overpriced drinks, you’re doing it with me.”

Y/N gave a quiet nod, letting herself lean into the distraction, grateful that Mae cared enough to try.

Down the hallway, Oscar sat in the living room, one leg bent under him on the couch, phone forgotten beside him as he stared out at nothing.

His ears caught the distant buzz of a hairdryer and the muffled laughter of Mae singing along to a song he couldn’t quite make out. But what he noticed more than anything was her voice. Y/N’s voice. Soft, quieter than the others, but unmistakable. It sent a dull ache through him every time he heard it, every time he remembered the way it had broken when she told him they couldn’t.

And yet, he couldn’t help himself.

He rose from the couch, walked quietly to the hallway, and leaned against the doorframe to Mae’s room, keeping out of sight.

She was sitting in front of the mirror again, now smoothing a shimmer of eyeshadow across her lids, her lips slightly parted in focus. The way she held herself had changed in the last week, shoulders more guarded, smile less easy. But she was still beautiful. Devastatingly so. And when she tilted her chin up to fix a strand of hair behind her ear, Oscar felt that familiar twist in his stomach.

God, he missed her.

It wasn’t just the kiss or the way her fingers had felt against his jaw. It was her voice in the kitchen in the mornings. Her smile when she teased him across the dinner table. The comfort of just knowing she was around.

And now she was right there, just metres away, but unreachable.

Mae laughed suddenly, tossing a sequin dress at Y/N’s lap, and Oscar stepped back quickly, careful not to be seen.

He retreated to the kitchen, hands deep in his hoodie pocket, his expression blank. When Nicole passed him a bowl of fruit to cover with cling film, she frowned softly at the faraway look in his eyes.

“You’re not going out with the girls tonight?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Not really in the mood.”

She didn’t ask why.

Upstairs, Y/N slipped into her dress and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked fine. She looked like herself. But nothing about tonight felt right. Not with Oscar staying behind. Not with his face flashing through her mind every time she blinked.

Still, she picked up her clutch, put on her earrings, and forced another smile when Mae called her beautiful.

Because what else could she do?

Some hearts break loudly. Hers was breaking in quiet.

🪻🪻🪻

 The music thumped hard enough to rattle Y/N’s chest, the pulse of the club vibrating under her feet as lights strobed across the packed dance floor. People were everywhere, laughing, shouting, drinking, and clinking glasses. Couples kissed with abandon in dark corners, arms wrapped around each other like the year wouldn’t end unless they were holding tight enough. The air smelt like perfume, sweat, and champagne.

Mae was in her element. She was already on her second drink, dancing with a group of strangers who had somehow become friends in the space of three songs. Edie and Hattie were nearby too, shouting lyrics and twirling each other around.

But Y/N just stood by the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass of soda water that had long gone flat. She was trying. She was dressed up, surrounded by music and energy and friends, trying to shake the weight that had taken root inside her all week.

It didn’t work.

Everywhere she looked, people were celebrating. Holding hands. Kissing cheeks. Whispering things in each other’s ears that made their faces light up. And all she could think about was the look on Oscar’s face in the backyard. The way he’d whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long.” The way her name had sounded in his mouth like it meant more than just a name.

She missed him.

God, she missed him in a way that felt too big to carry. But she had convinced herself there was no other way. That she had made the right choice for Mae. For herself. That nothing could come from it, not when it risked someone she loved like family.

And still, she couldn’t stop aching for him.

She set her drink down and excused herself from Mae’s latest attempt to drag her to the dance floor and moved toward the patio of the club where it was quieter and cooler. The stars blinked above in the inky summer sky, and in the distance, she could already hear people counting down the minutes until midnight.

She leaned against the railing, taking a shaky breath, wondering if it would ever stop hurting.

Back at the house, Oscar sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn beside him and some rerun playing on the TV. He wasn’t even sure what it was—some sitcom with terrible lighting and actors with too-white teeth talking about missed chances and how sometimes life didn’t give you more than one.

He’d barely touched the popcorn.

The house was too quiet without the girls around. Too still. Even Basil had fallen asleep at the foot of the couch, unmoving.

Oscar’s gaze lingered on the television, but his thoughts were miles away.

March. He kept thinking back to March.

The first time he saw her. She had been sitting under that striped McLaren umbrella, sipping water and looking a little overwhelmed by the noise of the paddock. He had walked up to her and introduced himself, and she had blinked up at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real. And then she’d laughed at one of his dumb jokes and asked him if he liked chocolate or vanilla better. It was stupid, really. But it had stuck with him.

All of it had.

Her voice. Her smile. Her ridiculous obsession with cheese toasties. The way she always triple-checked if Basil’s water bowl was full. The quiet way she listened when other people spoke. The loud way she laughed when she forgot to hold back.

He hadn’t just liked her.

He might’ve fallen in love.

And now she was out there. With someone else, maybe. At some crowded club with too many people and not enough space. Counting down the seconds until midnight, surrounded by strangers, and he wasn’t there.

He looked back at the TV. One of the characters was staring out a window, whispering something about not letting another year pass without trying.

Oscar blinked.

Then he stood up.

The keys were still on the side table. He grabbed them.

Basil lifted his head just as Oscar passed, like even the dog could tell something was happening.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he saw her. Didn’t know if she’d even let him get close. But he wasn’t going to let the year end without trying.

He started the car, heart pounding, hope rising like a tide in his chest.

She had run away from him once.

But he wasn’t letting her go again.

The club was buzzing when Oscar stepped through the doors, the thrum of bass hitting him like a wave. The lights danced across the crowd, glittering off sequins and sweat, and the air inside was thick with the scent of cheap cologne, spilt drinks, and anticipation.

He hadn’t been in a place like this in a long time; he hated how impersonal it felt, how loud, how messy, but his eyes swept over every face, every corner, every cluster of people in search of one thing. One person.

Then he saw her.

Across the room, under a gold streamer banner that read HAPPY NEW YEAR, she stood leaning lightly against a high-top table, a half-finished drink in her hand, her eyes slightly distant, like she was there but not really. Her hair had curled softly from the humidity, and the string lights overhead gave her skin a soft glow that made Oscar stop for just a second to catch his breath.

But then he saw him.

Some guy, tall and cocky in that lazy, beer-fuelled kind of way, swaggered over to her, clearly emboldened by liquid confidence. Oscar couldn’t hear what he said over the music, but he saw the way the guy leaned in too close, flashing a grin like he thought he had a chance.

Oscar’s heart sank, a strange tightness pulling across his chest.

She smiled back. Polite. Patient.

Then she gently shook her head.

The guy tried again, saying something else, maybe asking her to dance. But she just gave him that same tired smile, soft and apologetic, and held a hand up in a small wave that clearly meant no, thank you. He said something else with a shrug, but she turned away, facing her drink again, her smile fading the moment her back was to him.

Oscar exhaled, his body loosening slightly. He hadn’t even realised he’d been holding that breath.

Just then the DJ’s voice rang out through the speakers, booming and excited.

“Alright, folks, we’re five minutes out! Five minutes to midnight! Find someone to kiss, hold on tight, and say goodbye to the old year in style!”

The lights dimmed to a soft amber glow, bathing the room in warmth.

People started pairing off, couples laughing and clinking glasses, pulling each other closer. Friends gathered in circles, already starting countdowns and toasts. The energy shifted to something more tender, more electric.

Y/N stood in the middle of it all, alone with her drink, her eyes downcast.

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

He wove through the crowd, dodging people, bumping shoulders, his eyes never leaving her. His pulse thundered in his ears with every step. He didn’t care that he was wearing old sneakers or that he’d probably broken at least three traffic rules getting there. All that mattered was the girl standing there looking like she didn’t realise how much she was being missed.

By him.

As the countdown to midnight crept closer, he finally reached her, his voice quiet but sure as he said her name.

She looked up at the sound of her name, startled. Her brows lifted, and for a second her lips parted as if she weren’t quite sure he was real.

“Oscar?”

He was slightly out of breath, cheeks tinged pink from the rush, hair a little windswept. He looked completely out of place in a room full of sequins and stilettos, wearing a black tee and jeans, holding the weight of too many unspoken words in his eyes.

“I came here to talk to you,” he said, stepping closer so she could hear him over the hum of the music and the building excitement around them.

Her eyes darted around, at the crowd, at the people who were slowly gathering in pairs as the countdown ticked nearer. She shook her head, her voice strained. “You shouldn’t have come. You should go. Please.”

He stepped closer, brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Because this… this is exactly what shouldn’t happen,” she said, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because Mae—Mae would hate it. She’s your sister. She’s my best friend. This whole thing would just make everything messy and weird, and I know she joked about it like it could never happen, and I laughed too, but it’s not funny; it’s not okay. Even if I liked you—”

She froze.

Oscar tilted his head slightly. “Even if you what?”

Her mouth opened and closed, but it was too late to backpedal.

“Even if I liked you,” she repeated, quieter this time. “It wouldn’t matter. Because it wouldn’t work out. Mae matters too much. You matter too much. And I’ve already ruined things enough, haven’t I?”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded, and the weight of it pulled at both of them.

Oscar let out a slow breath. He took another step forward, close enough now that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What?”

“I don’t care,” he said again, firmer. “Not about the rules you think exist or what you think Mae might say. You think she wouldn’t want me to be happy? Or you to be? You think she wouldn’t understand, eventually, that two people who care about each other might be worth it?”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no words came.

“I’m not going,” he said simply. His tone wasn’t loud, but it was steady. Clear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oscar…” she began, but he was already speaking again, like if he didn’t let it out now, it might crush him from the inside.

“I know you said it couldn’t be anything. I know you said it wasn’t possible. And maybe it isn’t; maybe you’re right. Maybe there are rules, or loyalties, or whatever it is that made you run that night. But I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t go into another year pretending I don’t feel what I feel for you.”

She stood there frozen, mouth slightly open, her glass hanging limply in her hand.

He swallowed, hard, the emotions in his chest crowding his words. “I’ve liked you since the second I met you. Since March. Since you looked at me with those eyes and asked me if I would do a shoey if I won. It sounds stupid, but I think I knew then. And every day since, it’s only gotten worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it.”

The crowd had started to buzz louder now, the final stretch approaching, but he didn’t care.

“I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to. I want to spend New Year’s with you. Every New Year’s. And Christmas. And practically every other holiday. I want to wake up knowing I get to talk to you. I want to hear about your classes and your ridiculous overuse of Google Docs. I want to bring you cocoa when you’re working late and listen to you hum when you’re concentrating and fight over the last biscuit even though I’d always let you have it.”

Her eyes were shining now, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

“I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care what we have to work through. All I know is I don’t want to spend another year, another day, another second pretending I’m okay not loving you.”

And then, quieter, just for her:

“Because I do. I love you.”

The countdown erupted around them.

Ten… Nine… Eight…

He looked at her, really looked, like she was the only one in the room. Her eyes glistened, wide with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Seven… Six… Five…

He took a step closer.

Four… Three…

“If you tell me to walk away, I will,” he whispered. “But I’ll still mean every word I just said.”

Two… One…

The room burst into cheers.

Confetti shot into the air. Champagne fizzed. People screamed and kissed and laughed and danced.

As the clock struck twelve and the club burst into noise and glitter and the metallic scent of fireworks, she didn’t say a word.

Instead, she kissed him.

She dropped her drink onto the table behind her without even looking, stepped forward, and reached up to pull him down to her. And when their lips met, it was nothing like the soft, hesitant brush from that night in the backyard. This was immediate. Fierce. A collision of everything they had held back for too long.

Oscar kissed her like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the day they met. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as her fingers curled into the back of his neck, drawing him down further, deeper. It was like they were making up for lost time, for all the stolen glances, the almosts, the words neither of them had dared say.

She clutched at the front of his shirt, and he smiled into the kiss, only pulling back for the briefest second, his forehead pressed to hers, breathless. “Took you long enough.”

Y/N swatted at his chest, trying not to grin. “Shut up.”

He kissed her again, more playful this time, his thumb brushing along her jaw. The air around them buzzed with music and confetti and cheers, but it all melted away, like they were existing in a bubble of their own.

“I’m not letting you disappear on me again,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Good,” she whispered back, her voice trembling from how much her heart was racing. “Because I don’t think I want to.”

His hand slid down her back, teasing, familiar, and she gasped against his lips.

“You sure about that?” he teased, dipping his head to kiss the edge of her jaw, slow and deliberate.

Y/N gave a breathless laugh, tugging him back up by the collar. “I’m the one kissing you, aren’t I?”

“More than kissing,” he murmured, pressing another slow, dizzying kiss to her lips.

It was everything they hadn’t let themselves feel. All the tension and affection, the pining, the wonder of something forbidden finally coming undone in the loudest, most beautiful way.

And as confetti fell around them and strangers kissed and danced in celebration of the new year, Oscar held her like she was the only resolution he ever wanted to make.

🪻🪻🪻

The university lawn buzzed with excitement, the late-afternoon sun casting a soft golden glow over rows of folding chairs, cameras flashing, mortarboards flying, and families cheering far too loudly for their own good.

Y/N stood off to the side with Mae, both of them in their gowns and tassels, clutching their degrees and grinning from ear to ear. Their faces were flushed from the heat and from the sheer emotion of it all. They’d done it. They’d actually done it.

Oscar stood just a few steps away, surrounded by his parents, sisters, and even Y/N’s mum and dad, who had flown in a few days earlier and were now deep in conversation with Nicole about travel itineraries. Everyone had hit it off so well it felt almost suspiciously easy.

When Oscar caught Y/N’s eye, he gave her the biggest, brightest grin; lifting his camera to snap yet another picture. She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, her cheeks hurting from how much she’d been doing that all day.

Mae bumped her shoulder. “If he takes one more photo of you, I swear I’m staging an intervention.”

Y/N laughed. “He’s just excited.”

“He’s obsessed,” Mae corrected, mock-gagging. “Which, like, ew—but fine, I’ll allow it. I guess the two of you have grown on me or whatever.”

After that night, after the confetti and champagne and all the unspoken feelings finally pouring out, everything shifted. But not in the overwhelming, terrifying way she once feared. Instead, it had felt natural, like tipping over into something she had been dancing around for far too long.

Oscar had made it easy. He had been patient with her, never pushing too far or too fast. They’d taken their time, quietly and confidently building something real between the ordinary chaos of uni life and the occasional chaos of his travel schedule. He visited her on campus, brought her snacks during study weeks, sat with her on the library floor when her laptop crashed mid-assignment, and FaceTimed her from hotel rooms when he was away.

She met his friends. He met hers. She attended all the race weekends she could manage, and when Oscar ended up on the podium for each of them, she claimed it was because she was his lucky charm.

They went on little weekend trips when they could, explored sleepy towns along the coast, and fell into a rhythm that made sense to no one more than it did to them.

By April, she had introduced him to her parents. He had been nervous, visibly so, but won them over within an hour, probably somewhere between helping her mum with the dishes and chatting cricket with her dad. Her parents adored him, and even her younger sister, who never liked anyone, had declared Oscar “cool enough”.

And as for Mae, well, Mae had taken some time. At first, she had reacted with a theatrical gasp and an intense interrogation session that included far too many threats. But somewhere between seeing them steal each other’s fries and catching them watching late-night movies on the couch in matching socks, Mae slowly began to soften. Now, she tolerated their PDA with exaggerated gags and pointed stares, but she also always had a smile behind it.

From a few feet away, Oscar called out, “Can I steal the graduate for a second?”

Mae lifted her hands in mock surrender. “All yours, lover boy.”

Y/N walked over, but Oscar met her halfway, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the quieter edge of the lawn, near the rows of flowering jacaranda trees.

Once they were alone, he came up behind her, looping his arms around her waist and resting his chin gently on the top of her head. She exhaled slowly, leaning back into him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he murmured, his voice warm and soft. “I’m so proud of you.”

She felt his chest rise and fall behind her, steady and grounding. She closed her eyes, letting the moment settle between them.

“You’ve worked so hard. I’ve seen every late night, every panic spiral, and every twelve-hour study session with no breaks. You did it. And you still managed to be the most incredible person I know while doing it.”

She turned slightly to look up at him, only just, her heart swelling at the earnestness in his eyes.

“I love you,” she said, voice barely more than a breath.

His arms tightened around her. “I love you too,” he said without hesitation, without doubt. “So much.”

He kissed her softly, letting the words settle between them, and then—

“Ugh! Do you guys have to do that here?” Mae’s voice rang out from across the lawn, disgusted and familiar.

Y/N pulled back, about to laugh and move away, but Oscar grinned and said, “Oh, we absolutely have to.”

Then he kissed her again. Deliberately. With both hands cupping her face and enough drama to make Mae start gagging theatrically.

“You’re the worst!” Mae yelled through her hands. “There are children around!”

“We’re twenty-two, Mae,” Y/N called back between giggles, “You’ll survive.”

Oscar just laughed and kissed her forehead before taking her hand in his.

They made their way back to the group, where Nicole had already pulled out her phone to snap more photos and was pretending not to notice the dramatic sighs Mae was letting out, but Y/N didn’t care.

A year ago, she never would’ve imagined this. But now? Now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Her heart was full. Her degree was in her hands. And Oscar was right beside her, exactly where she wanted him.

jeepers. we’ve really done it now mr. krabs. hope u loved the req anon, and as always send any more whenever you’d like!!

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri f1 #f1 fluff #f1 requests #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #op81

995 notes · View notes

astrologerdevanand · 2 years ago

Text

#face reader in melbourne #spiritual healer in melbourne #psychic reader in melbourne #best indian astrologer in melbourne #daily horoscopes and astrology in melbourne #get your love back in melbourne #love spell services in melbourne #astrologer #vedic astrology in melbourne #astrology

0 notes

pandithgangagharji · 1 year ago

Text

#Get Your Love Back in Melbourne

0 notes

harrysfolklore · 5 months ago

Text

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by oliviarodrigo, lando and 2,107,399 others

yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

view all comments

username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

view all comments

username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

view all comments

shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

liked by username1, username2 and 6,974 others

f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

view all comments

username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

view all comments

username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter and 1,389,647 others

yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

view all comments

username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

view all comments

shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

view all comments

username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

view all comments

shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

view all comments

midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

liked by username1, username2 and 8,594 others

popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

view all comments

username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

view all comments

username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

2K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 1 year ago

Text

cherry cola ☆ op81

genre: smut, humor, yearning, tiny bit of fluff, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, experienced!oscar, sub!reader (for a while!), dom!oscar (for a while!)

word count: 8.5k

After a painful break up, Oscar finds himself head-to-head with an enticing girl, filled with pure innocence. Also known as, his parents secret weapon, and his worst temptation.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...f!receiving, fingering, brief mentions of masturbation, face riding, missionary sex, doggy style

inspired by cola, lana del rey !

cherry here!... hellooo anons, long time, no see haha sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully this makes up for it, somehow? formal apology for my last post too while we're at it. though this fic is inspired by cola by lana del rey, it will not have a sour ending like past fics (iykyk). missed u all, so here ya go! enjoy :)

There is an apprehensive sensation that towers over him as soon as she walks in; shy mannered, tall, and firm with a hint of hesitation—it’s something he adores about her, but also something that has him feeling jittery. Oftentimes, her lips are his most prized possession, enjoying the way they move. All except at this very moment.

Everyone notices his bitter, broken, and quiet mood despite always laying low. He’s never been one to share his problems with others, and he most definitely was not going to start now. It should be the best moment of the season—his first win—but he doesn’t have the joy to celebrate it with anyone.

Oscar’s brown eyes are low and dull; empty. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t see any of this coming. If he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt and misery. Should he have been more attentive, a better boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be regretting his life choices. Dramatic, but true.

“How are you spending your summer break? Are you and Lily traveling?”

The Australian tries to scoff at the innocent inquiry beaming from his teammate, but he settles with a wince, not being able to hide it. “She, um…we broke up, actually.” He’s never been a religious individual—has never even set foot inside a church—but for the first time in his life, he prayed no more questions would be asked.

Lando raises his thick brows, clearly surprised by the sudden confession. Sure, they were a private couple—likely the most in the entire paddock—but he never saw this coming from Oscar and Lily. Though he only met her a couple of times, simply exchanging a kind greeting, he would’ve bet his entire Rolex collection that the couple were smitten with one another. “Ah, I’m sorry, mate.”

The rude sound of his race suit being zipped up harshly makes the Brit flinch in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it. That’s life, no?”

Costa Rica—they were supposed to go to Costa Rica. Instead, now, he sits alone on a flight back to his home country. He’s ecstatic to be sleeping in his childhood room with outdated posters hung of all his favorite drivers, but the feeling lingers.

Sprawled like a koala, humid t-shirt pressed against his skin, he tosses and turns for an estimate of five whole minutes. He should be enjoying the beach, sipping on highly sweetened margaritas, getting the worst tan of his life, but he’s here. The hot summer air in Melbourne makes him spit out a string of dirty curses that would send his mum into a coma.

The brunette might as well be an only child since not a single one of his three sisters were here to keep him company, ditching him with his parents. He loved them, of course he did, but a full house was his ideal way to spend his break. His home gym isn’t even enough to help him forget, even for a second.

“Dinner is ready, honey,” Nicole announces, peeking carefully through the crack of the door. She grins widely. “There’s even pavlova—your favorite.”

He forces a polite nod, shaggy hair dangling just above his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.” It actually takes a sum of thirty-minutes for him to jog down the stairs, a strong scent of apple expanding from his now washed hair. His dad hums as soon as he spots the McLaren driver.

“It’s rude to leave guests waiting, Oscar,” he warns with a deep voice.

The twenty-three year old assumes it’s a lame dad joke, perhaps, so runs along with it, taking a good look around the dining room. “Won’t happen again. I showered—”

“Where would you like to place the dessert, Mrs. Piastri?” a soft voice echoes down the hallway as he turns at the unfamiliar tone. You halt, caught off guard by the new presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“In my own home?” he finds himself squeaking involuntarily. The stern look that dances across his parents faces is enough for him to bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t even know why he said any of that—especially to a stranger.

They introduce you two quickly, though you’re just as fast as to say that you obviously knew about his existence. Do you follow my races? You shake your head, glossy hair shining. “I work for your parents, so…I sort of know. Plus, your sisters always talk highly about you when you’re gone.”

He blinks. “You work here?” Brown eyes flicker to his parents, confusion written all over. “What could she possibly do?”

“Oscar,” Nicole scolds. “I thought you left all the unnecessary questions back in junior high.”

Chris slides a large hand over her smaller one, calming her down just a tad bit. The older man sighs. “You know your mum, always looking for something new to do—”

“I wanted to grow a garden!” she squeals, delighted. “Like in all those magazines you get me for my birthday—oh, so lovely, honey. Only I realized, I don’t know anything about gardening.”

“And this lovely girl standing right here is a total natural. Her hands must be magic.” Oscar blushes hard at his dads choice of words. “She’s helping us out for the time being. Until we get back.”

The Australian's mouth opens, then snaps back shut, swallowing. “Get back from where?”

“Costa Rica!”

He gapes. “You’re using my tickets?”

Nicole winces. “Can’t let them go to waste, honey…”

His father butts in. “How is Lily by the way?”

The brunette groans, running his hands through his waves. “How should I know? Come on, you guys can’t be serious.” The tickets weren’t the problem; the fact that they were leaving was. He spots you awkwardly placing the pastry down onto the table. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” you quip, glad to have a reason to flee far enough away from the premises. You turn to the Piastri’s who smile fondly at your understanding. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

As soon as you rush out, the twenty-three year old turns swiftly. “I guess I’m leaving too.”

“Don’t you dare, Oscar Jack Piastri—” He fumes. “Why not? You’re all going to be gone!”

“She won’t—you are keeping her company.” She’s not asking; she’s demanding. Staring back in shock, the McLaren driver avoids eye contact, fidgeting like a kid at their first day of school. His mum stands up, makes her way over, and pecks his soft cheek. “She’s a sweet girl. She won’t be a bother—she’s just down the hallway.”

That’s where Lily would always stay back when they first started their relationship; too afraid of making a bad impression on his parents. He found it adorable. He rolls his eyes and releases a heavy breath. “Fine.” He stares out the glass window, focusing on where you patiently sit on the wooden bench, delicate hands pressing your dress down against your thighs. “Fine...”

The following morning, his parents wake him up at the crack of dawn, bidding goodbye. It comes as a total surprise, thinking he had a few more days left with them, but no. He’s barely registering any of it before they whisper inaudible nonsense and scurry out of his bedroom.

After some debating, he changes and decides to go on a quick run. The sight of Ms. Alleck watering her burnt grass makes him smile as he sets off. It would have been easier to not get as tired if it were a slight bit chilly, but it’s blazing hot. He cuts it short, dashing back home and immediately serving himself a glass of cold water.

“You’re up early.”

The brown eyed boy jumps in sudden surprise. Standing in a pastel yellow sleeping gown, you grin brightly. Long lashes lay flat, nose pinching rosy pink, and breath minty. “Yeah, my folks sort of woke me up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Oh.” You pout. “They left already?”

“You knew?”

“Yup. They mentioned it last night before bed.” A beat. “I hope me staying here isn’t making you uncomfortable…it’s just that they offered, and—”

“It’s not.” Lie. “Make yourself at home.”

Not much is seen or heard from him for the majority of the day; occasional glaces coming here and there. They put you in an uncomfortable spot yesterday—you had been working on the garden for a year now, damn it—but their son's demeanor took you by surprise. The pictures and stories were something you relied on as the only source of getting to know him: polite, tall, and swanky—boyish.

That was so far from the truth. Oscar Piastri has grown into his body; almost appearing to be a handsome giant. Despite his warm face, his attitude is a bit snarky. He has no problem in saying what’s on his mind. And he is most definitely not a boy.

He’s a man.

“What do you say?”

“Sorry?”

He chuckles, Adam's Apple dancing up and down. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

It wasn't his intention to try and get close to you—not purposefully, at least—but he thought; why not? Who knows when his parents are coming back, when his sisters would, and he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t some snotty guy. Summer is summer, after all. A friend to spend it with sounds quite nice.

Pursing your red lips, you nod, setting your book aside. The dinner table is already set up. Chicken and rice. That’s it. Given, it looks and smells amazing, but plain. You quirk a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to eat your greens? To drive quicker?” He burns up at you teasing tone.

“I didn’t want to risk burning the house down. We’re lucky I was able to get even this done.”

“Very well.” The refrigerator opens, colorful veggies staring back at him. You grin, slow and easy. “I’ll take care of it. It’s only fair, roomie.”

Oscar left home a few years ago, migrating to the United Kingdom for work, so it had been a while since he had stepped foot in his backyard. He faintly remembers his pirate treehouse, his sisters’ Barbie’s cluttered inside. It was a bone-chilling sight for baby Oscar back then, but now, the paint is chipping off, the wood looks a lot weaker. It’s a nostalgic feeling.

The new additions are stunning. A bunch of healthy flowers beam back at him and he swallows when he realizes he can’t name a single one. Waxflowers, Calamint, Dahlias, Peonies, Carnations, California Poppies. One by one, he admires with an open mouth. “They’re beautiful.” He turns to you with a proud smile. “You’ve done an excellent job.”

Pink feathers onto your already blushed cheeks, biting back a cheesy grin. You had decided to eat out on the bench, choosing to enjoy the now fresh air. Still humid, but less than before. The scent of coconut sunscreen makes his whiff constantly. “So…Costa Rica?”

He winces. It was too soon to talk about the situation, but something in your calm voice makes it easier to spit it out even though you probably already heard from his parents. All of a sudden, your savory carrots taste like complete shit. “T’was supposed to go with my girlf—my ex. My ex-girlfriend.”

You pout, sorrowfully. “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to…I had no clue.” And it’s genuine. Guess his parents weren’t complete traitors.

“Tell me—how long have you been working on fixing the garden?”

“Since last summer,” you hum, chewing down on a piece of grilled chicken. “This is the first time I have actually stayed here, though. Your parents are sweet. As soon as they heard that you were coming back home, they insisted I kept you company.”

Sharp jaw clenches and he scoffs. You simply blink back innocently. Then, he notices it. The way it reflects against the yellow ray of the now setting sun. He knows what it is, so he doesn’t ask. Too busy staring off into the distance, you place your plate down. “Let me show you a few other things I’ve been working on.”

There’s row and row, further into the open area; every twist and turn makes his brows raise up higher, impressed by the noticeable updates. Coming to a halt, he spins his head around, brown locks hitting his temples. “Since when do we have a cherry tree?”

You beam, orbs shining with excitement. “Since last summer!” you repeat, cheerfully. You pick one, handing it for him to try. An embarrassing moan erupts once the sweet nectar slides down his throat. “Good?”

“Bloody amazing.” Every compliment makes you squeal with delight. “My mum is actually allergic to cherries, so how…”

“She was actually the one who brought it up. Said she knew how much I loved them, and that I deserved a little something for flourishing her garden. I couldn’t deny the chance to do so.” You bite down on your lip, sheepishly. “They are my favorite.”

Reaching for one makes him look away as soon as your dress rises up, soft legs poking through. Bare feet press against the wet grass as you tippy toe. He mustered a fake cough, but as soon as you bite down onto the bloody fruit, he clicks into a trance.

Plump lips; thick and juicy. Long lashes fluttering shut against your glossy cheeks. That could have been because of the summer heat, but it affected him just the same. The familiar sensation of attraction rushes to his cock as he stands stiffly—but also loosely. He was loose. So fucking loose.

Something hits his cheekbones and it rips him away from his drooling. A singular seed now lays by his feet; indicating what you had done. A crinkled, wobbly smile shines back at him, hands nervously flattening your dress back down. The Australian jokingly lunges towards you as you squeal, backing away.

“You were disintegrating! I had to get your attention one way or another!”

Oh, you definitely got his attention. Giving you one final scowl, he stops his steps. “Everything—all of it—it’s great. Thank you.” The wind picks up and you shiver. “...for doing this for my parents.”

Neat hair flies against the breeze, covering your eyes for a minute. Pushing it aside, you scrunch your nose faintly. “Anytime.”

Technically, what you’re getting paid for was to watch over the beloved yard; that’s all. But you offer to do more. Mow the lawn? Paint the chipped wall? Wash the windows?

“God no, darling,” Oscar’s mum laughs through the end of the line. “You are doing enough already. Please. Relax.”

But you can’t. Nibbling on your thumb, you brush the counter, strolling past countless family portraits. A smile slips when you spot a toothless Oscar. “I insist.”

So, here you are; decluttering the attic. After a bit of bickering with Nicole, she eventually gives in and asks for a favor. Clean and tidy the small room. Easy peasy.

“Ouch,” you hiss when a nail digs through your skin, gore immediately pouring out of you like a waterfall; you squeak. Just then, a certain brunette peeks their head through the entrance.

“Oh good, it’s you. I thought we had an intruder.”

Raising a skeptical brow at him and the thin duvet, you quickly take it from him, pressing it down to ease the bleeding. “Holy crap, are you okay?” In one motion, he steps closer to you, analyzing the injury with worried eyes. You groan.

“It’s only a little cut. No biggie.” But the way your face is slowly losing color lets him know that your words aren't true. Brown eyes flicker, searching for a spot to sit, but everything about this is crowded. You were just about to start tidying; the mess was still there. Crouching onto a tiny stool, he takes a seat, somehow still towering over you. Or at least that's what it felt like, because suddenly, you felt suffocated.

His long legs are spread as you stand between them, hand out towards him as he winces at the brutal cut. “Ah—that’s pretty deep.” He gags when he notices the underneath flesh. You suppress a giggle. “We should go to the ER.”

You scoff, ripping away from his grip, tripping over a box. Regaining your balance, you drape the cloth over your hand once again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back.”

After rinsing your hand with alcohol, covering the wound with the largest bandaid to ever exist, and balling your eyes out, you make your way back up. The Australian is drenched in sweat, huffing and puffing. “Got it,” he pants. Confused, you tilt your head to the side, but that’s when you pick out the nail in the palm of his hand. You blink, too bewildered to make sense of how he retrieved it without the help of a hammer. “I also found lots of old trophies. Extremely bittersweet.”

“Why’s that?” you hum, kneeling down next to him, reading through the labels. Each makes you more and more dazzled.

A minute passes by. “Because I grew up.”

“That’s…sad.” Shrugging, he digs for more. He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Dear G—I forgot this even existed!”

Oscar’s 81 Things To-Do During the Summer [List]

Learn how to bike.

Learn the Australian National Anthem (Sophie will be beautifully impressed)

Get better at being more outgoing (Mum is worried)

So on and so forth. “You were an extremely creative lad. Eighty-one things to do…eh.” A tongue click. “Possibly buy a pet dragon?”

He cringes. “Not all were realistic. I actually never really got around to it. Mainly added, if anything.”

Crimson red flashes. “I, um, I could tell.”

69. Oscar Piastri, you know what I mean.

The brunette chokes on his saliva, yanking it away as fast as he can. Standing up to his full height, he rolls up the piece of paper and points towards the exit. “I think I should, um…yeah. See ya.”

“Yeah.” He dashes off. “See you…”

Eighteen-year old Oscar was a horny bastard. But every guy that age is, so it’s not really fair to feel bad about his list. The writing is obviously his, but the things jotted down made him almost feel like it wasn’t. Blowjobs? Hand jobs? What was he thinking?

And then, there was you—a curious cat. He had to be a virgin; he just had to. Why else would he be embarrassed? You weren’t one to judge, though. You knew nothing about the sexual world, having never partaken. The thin band wrapped around your ring finger is enough proof.

And no—you weren’t married.

It would have been absolutely diabolical to mention sex in your household growing up. Being Roman Catholics is no joke, believing religiously to wait until marriage. You never had a problem with that; you would wait. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know what any of the common terms meant. Sort of.

Only now—for the first time in your life—there it was.

Temptation.

The McLaren driver was no newbie. He has had his fair share of experiences; before Lily, with Lily. He knew just about anything and everything. His good-boy act was no facade. At times he didn’t like that about himself, but it’s who he was. Obeyed the rules. Never crossed the line with anyone he wasn’t romantically linked to. And yet…

There you were.

The flowers were perfect; only needing to be watered. The cherry tree was much more…complicated. The chances of animals recklessly hunting for the sweet fruit was high, the chances of the red drupes rotting also was. Therefore, you spent most of your time there.

Maybe you were avoiding him; you told yourself you were already horrified at the dirty thoughts taking over like the plague. And perhaps he was doing the same; he had only been locked in his room for the past three hours.

Golden hour. With your hands on your hips, you squint, admire the polished drupes, tickling with water. Walking back to the bench, you lay down, picking up on your reading, occasionally taking sips from your Cherry Cola.

Pacing the small bedroom, Oscar mutters to himself. Maybe she didn’t read all of it. Maybe she doesn't know what it means. Yeah—he was exaggerating. Clicking his window open, he gasped for needed air. As soon as he spots you reading, he grunts.

White skirt brushes down your smooth legs, challenging the sun to see who shines the brightest. Lips wrap around the glass bottle, puckering in the slightest. And he wonders; would you taste as sweet as the cool beverage?

He’s a grown man; an adult. There’s no need to be uncomfortable. Sex was a part of everyone's day to day life. He was the one making it a bigger deal than it actually was. Still, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, perched perfectly onto the bridge of his nose.

“Is it any good?”

His voice makes you flinch, dropping the book flat on your face. A tiny groan rings through the air. Flashing him a weak smile, you sit up straight, fixing your clothes. “Want one? There’s plenty in the fridge.”

He had noticed, of course he had. Never in a million years did he think he'd see his refrigerator stocked up with the sweet drink. He never cared enough to ask who they belonged to; figured they would just expire.

Wavy hair swings back and forth when he shakes his head. “Gotta keep in shape.” I see, you murmur, loopy eyes peeking over at him, taking another gulp. The sizzling feeling is utterly childish compared to what he’s making you feel. The burning sensation between your legs is annoying and painful, you almost want to plead for help. “I meant the book, by the way.”

“No!” You laugh, nervously. “I mean…it’s alright?”

After he stormed off and left you a breathless puddle, you biked and biked—until you hit the local bookstore. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, simply browsing, but as soon as you reached the section of Erotic Literature, you stopped.

So many—many—wrong choices. Still, humiliated, you paid and fiercely ran out. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for reading what you’re reading; had to be. And Oscar asking questions wasn’t helping. Licking your berry lips, you swallow a thick layer. “What have you been up to?”

Fuck, he moans, large hand sliding up and down his cock; more and more pleasure intensifying. Your tiny dresses. Your short skirts. Your angelic face. The way your lips would separate before every sentence. Your sweet scent that would have normally given him a headache, but instead made him chase after you like a dog.

Finishing all over his thighs, he shudders. White liquid never looked more sinister than at this very moment. After changing, he paces the room with regret.

Pushing the frames further into his face, he hums. “Oh, you know. Just… cleaning up my room.”

It’s been a week in a half now and you’re happy to announce that you have fallen into a routine. While Oscar did his daily workout, you would make breakfast. While you worked on the garden, he cooked dinner. Though, he was unbeknownst over the way you would drool over him when he would walk out the door; a compressed shirt hugging his built body tightly, arms begging to be kissed. You were unaware of the way he would rub his face in desperation when you walked out, banging his head purposefully against the cabinet; the way you would skip out with your book and infamous drink, or how you would prettily tie up your hair before you even got started.

It was a mess.

A mocking mess.

This afternoon though, you aren’t flying out the door to the yard, but rather frolicking over to Ms. Alleck, ready to assist. I try my best, but they always wilt! Could it be the humidity? Laughing, you toss your hair up into a bun, messy strands poking out as you cock your head to the side. “Could be, but don’t you worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”

He had always known you were kind, gentle, soft spoken…pure. And you doing this only added to his attraction. It’s salad, spaghetti, and salmon that afternoon. Sweaty, you pant. I’m going to squeeze in a shower real quick. But you weren’t sweaty, like you believe; you were glistening.

“This is so cute,” you chirp, sitting cross cross in the old treehouse. A few spider webs make your blood run cold, but he quickly took care of it, apologizing. The brunette blushes.

“I wanted to use it one last time. Before we get rid of it.” Neat brows furrow. “It’s just that it’s old—only a matter of time before it plunges down.” “What?”

“O-obviously not now!”

After a bit more convincing, you finally relax and enjoy the way the crickets sing against the night. Small feet press against the wall, white tube socks turning slightly brown from the lack of sweeping. For a moment, he shuts his lids, breaths shallow, body loose. The high temperature almost made him feel as if he was cuddling into the warmest blanket; it felt nice.

Whoops, you mumble when hollow glass pounds against the wooden floor. He perks up at the sound, brown eyes burning with high alert. “You do shit on purpose?” he screeches when he detects scarlet blood. Wincing in pain, you curl your hand towards the hem of your dress.

“Help me,” you plead, slight annoyance written all over your face. He must’ve broken the world record of running into the house to retreat the first aid kit, and running right back to you. The way he sanitizes the skin, to the way he wraps your hand with a gauze pad, is honestly hilarious.

“What so funny?” he murmurs, attention never leaving the wound.

“Mmm. Nothing.” He snickers and you giggle harder. “It just seems as if I’m making you a professional. You ought to be ready if anyone else needs your help to treat injuries.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll tell them a certain klutz made me learn from day to night with all her clumsiness.” His voice drops, laced with concern. “Seriously though—you were just healing. You have to be careful.”

Plump lips part with the sound of his delicate voice, accent almost disappearing. Wandering eyes admire the way his brows are knitted together and orbs soften. Swallowing, you nod. “I will.”

“Good.”

The once vibrant room is now hazy and suffocating. Does he not know what kind of effect he has on you? The type of power he holds? Oscar doesn’t seem to, though, with the way he chugs down his entire glass of water. Stuck in a trance, your hand briskly reaches out for your own drink. He roars with laughter, clutching his stomach. “You just broke your bottle, you don’t have a drink anymore.” He picked up the Cherry Cola you had offered, but he had declined. “Take mine.”

You don’t put up a fight, simply allow him to open and give it to you. The sweet drink doesn’t do a great job at hydrating your foaming mouth, but it helps as a distraction. On the other hand, the brunette can’t seem to not watch the ways your lips suck in and out, eagerly. As if this were the only source of air. He shudders.

“We should probably head down…”

Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you comply, already standing up. From the floor, he has a good view of your legs; long, soft, sweetly scented. He wonders if you use honey as lotion because that would explain his urge to nuzzle his face against them. Picking up the broken glass and plates, you turn back. “Coming?”

A sigh rings through the air once, and suddenly—he’s cradling your face with high intensity and lust, molding his lips against yours. Tomato sauce stains his shirt and your dress from the plates that still remain between you two. One second, you're wide eyed, and then the next, you're allowing yourself to kiss him back.

You want to cry with how pleasant the feeling feels and he wants to scream with how much he wants to fuck you. But alas, one of you pulls away first—you can’t really tell who— and you’re both left gasping for air. Completely winded and fucked.

You both are fucked.

The treehouse comes crashing down the day after your first kiss. Yes, first kiss. You would like to blame him and say that he stole it from you, but the arousal that was dripping between your thighs last night was a clear indication that you could never actually say so because you liked it so much.

The wooden house tearing down is something you take as a sign; you’ve sinned. Okay, maybe that was a bit too dramatic, but you were honestly thinking about it. That night you dreamt of the wildest things imaginable; his pretty face in between your legs, large hands squeezing your perky breasts, fingers swirling inside your velvety walls, cock tearing you in half.

It was unacceptable.

So, while Oscar worked on picking up the tiles with a hometown buddy, you marched right over to beg for forgiveness. Kneeling down against the cushion, you say a silent prayer.

I don’t want to think like this—not when I know I can help it, but God this is getting way too out of hand. And you know I’m not like this, you know that! But he just—AGH. Maybe it’s his personality that makes him so attractive, or maybe it’s his sudden growth spurt, but please let me get a hold of myself. He’s just a friend, he’s just a friend—HE’S JUST A FRIEND.

“Would you mind keeping your words to yourself, sweetheart?” an older lady whispers, two rows ahead of you.

Pink feathers onto your cheeks. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m so sorry…”

I don’t ever ask for much, no, that’s never been necessary, but I am now. So please. Hear me when I say: Push this desire I have, far, far, far away.

If you were to say, there was a ninety percent chance that you would walk away. Not even spare him a passing glance. He would call you out on it later, but whatever—too late. Ignored you, you say? No, really I did? I had no idea, I’ll make sure to not let it happen again!

If Oscar were to say, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he would let you walk away. He didn’t need your company; he was doing just fine. But then again, that one percent tugs at him like the devil on his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re back.” Cool. Calm. Collected.

“Oh! I suppose I am.” Cool. Utter. Mess.

He grins, eyes crinkling like the leaves that hang upon the crimson tree. Signaling up, he cocks his head in deep thought. “Just finished. Cole said his uncle could shred…” A pause. “He owns a massive wood chipper.”

Blinking like a deer in headlights, you chew on your bottom lip, simply nodding along. “Sounds good? I think. No. Yes. Very good.” You wince at all the uncontrolled mumbo-jumbo. “I’m sorry I was no help, too. I had to…talk to the man up above.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. That must be why your pretty little knees are bruised.”

Your breath comes to a harsh halt, ears burning like a wildfire. The Australian just keeps his brown eyes set on the tree for a second longer before turning to face you. Quickly, you relax your muscles. “You could make up for it by helping me with something else.”

You gulp. Suddenly, your mouth is overflowing with hot saliva. “With what?”

Dark orbs glue onto your delicate figure, a slight smirk playing out. And it looks so unfamiliar, not his own, that you create a distance. And just like that, it’s gone. Vanished just as fast as it slipped onto his pink lips. “Get on.” He crouches down and your jaw drops.

“Wha—like onto your shoulders?” Rolling his eyes in a goofy manner, he nods, picks you up safely, and places you on top. You screech, dizzy by the sudden altitude. “Put me down!”

“You’re fine. Just help me reach those. Been craving them all day,” he murmurs, voice raspy. The twenty-three year old is still slightly sweaty from his hard labor, and that’s clear when you cling onto his brown locks. Other than that, you’re as high as a kite; both figuratively and literally.

You’ve known—seen—how tall and broad the Australian was, but being perched onto his wide shoulders was a sweet confirmation you couldn’t help but enjoy. “Move a bit forward.” He follows instructions, wide hands gripping onto your thighs to keep you steady. You giggle when a few fruits hit your face. “Watch it—and don’t you dare drop me.”

“Get,” he commands.

About three minutes pass by. You rip the cherries carefully, candy aroma filling the air, and plop them onto the basket. By all accounts, you’re well aware of your actions. The basket was full, now overflowing, really, and you could plant your ballet flats back onto the tall grass—but you don’t.

There’s something about feeling his touch; high electricity, shock waves nipping at your skin, soft pants. It’s pathetic how much you crave any ounce of physical touch he’s willing to give you, unknowingly.

“That should be good,” you whisper, meekly. He doesn’t respond, just swings you down as you let out a yelp. All of a sudden, you’re magically magnetic. And he wonders; if only. You hand the basket over, waiting nervously for him to thank you, at least.

“Thank you,” he feels himself saying. “What do you say we play a little game? No prize. Only bragging rights.”

“O-okay.”

A singular cherry is handed over. He grins. Can you tie a knot using your tongue? “Wait—are you being serious?”

The red fruit dissolves inside his mouth, spitting the seed somewhere far enough away. Then, the stem flips into his mouth. “Come on. I’ll give you a head start.”

With wary hands, you rip the stem away from your own drupe, fitting the thin stick into your suddenly dry mouth. He stares intently, clenching his jaw, “Go on. Ten seconds.” Quickly, your lips start to move, twisting and turning. Pouting, then sucking back in. Your low breaths become heavy after a few tries. You think you’re getting it done right, the sudden ball forming is enough for you to guess that you must be doing something correct.

The sound of his low mewls is what ends you. Doe eyes flicker up to face him, paying close attention to how his brown eyes wander up at the sky in concentration, occasionally squinting due to the bright sun. You can feel a thin layer of sweat hug you like a blanket as your movements slow down; a snail's pace compared to before.

For good measure, you fake your twists as you continue to simply admire. Too far gone, you blink hastily when he sticks his pink tongue out towards you, a stinking knot sitting nicely atop.

“I won.”

Gulp. “You sure did. Good job, Oscar.”

Long lashes flutter shut momentarily, head tossed back, sighing. “It wasn’t a fair fight. You weren’t doing anything. Other than staring at my lips.”

Flustered, you dig your hand into the bucket. “That’s not true! At all. At all, at all.” You munch harder, splitting a seed in half. You spit it out sourly. “You're just better at using your mouth than I am.”

It goes straight to his cock, your words. Opening his eyes, the brunette scrunches his nose. You’re avoiding his gaze. You’re good at doing that. A pro. But it leaves him to wonder some more. And that itself was dangerous when it dawned on him.

He doesn’t like daydreaming anymore.

“Fuck it,” he grunts, kissing you harshly, like the night before. And you thought that blew your mind, but this? This left you gasping and reaching out for him even though he was pressed right against you. You could feel him buzzing, pinching your hips against his large hands. It’s perfect.

You don’t really understand how you end up straddling him on the grass, green straining your knees as you grind harder onto him, forcing your skin to burn with each stroke. This—this—must be as good as it gets. There can’t be more, but you weren’t complaining. It was enough.

When his fingers dance underneath your dress, you halt, and everything comes crashing down. “No,” you pant. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Why is that, baby?” he mumbles, lost on sucking the side of your neck. Looking up, his straight brows drew in together with concern. “What is it?”

“It’s just that…I’m—” Why is it so hard to admit? Brushing a strand of hair away, you purse your lips. “I’m a virgin, Oscar. It’s odd, I know, but I can’t sleep with you.”

“You think I didn’t know that?’

You freeze. “What?”

His thumbs circle your thighs, gently, swooning with how soft you feel. “I figured you were. Your purity ring sort of gave it away.” You blush hard, rolling off of him, playing with the thin band.

“I wish I could do this—God, I really want to—but I can’t.”

Respecting your decision, he pats your hand with reassurance. The hot feeling remained between your legs and the pain between his. This was torture, you both know that, but what was there to do? It’s awkward for a while, that is, until he starts asking you about things that shouldn’t make you glow with happiness.

How was your day? I want to hear all about it. Do you think it’s bad to eat an entire bucket of drupes? Must be, right? In the long run? Hey, would you mind teaching me how to garden? You make it look intriguing.

That seems to do it for you. Everything you ever promised flies out the window as you climb back onto his thick lap, and this time, he’s surprised by your actions. Clumsy fingers try their best to unzip his pants, but he only stutters against your kisses. N-no, we don’t have to rush anything. I, you, we—

“Shit, o-okay,” he sighs when you finally touch him, even in the slightest. He may be touch deprived, but so were you, so how far would any of this go? Flipping you over to lay against the tall grass, he winks teasingly and that effectively makes your heartbeat quicken. “Relax, sweetheart. Do that for me, yeah? Can you?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

The McLaren drivers press a kiss on the inside of your thighs before licking them. You shiver, though try your best to even your breaths. You shut your eyes, maybe if you act hard enough, you could somehow convince yourself that this wasn’t a war itself. To see how long you’d last. No—you would last. You had to.

“I’ve thought about it.” He slips your panties down, inch by inch. “A lot, as of lately. If you would taste just as sweet as I imagined. As sweet as those Cherry Cola’s you're overly obsessed with.” And he dives in, licking your arousal clean as you pant, chest heaving up and down like an erupting volcano.

What were you supposed to feel—relaxed? In a frenzy? Most likely the latter because considering the way he was making your head spin said it all. The sounds he’s making forces you to involuntarily shut your legs around his face and his hand that now lies between you two. The stretch is a burning sensation that leaves you both gasping and moaning; it’s too much, but not enough.

More. Grinning up from in between your legs, he shakes his head full of curls, all thanks to the Aussie weather, and your dirty foreplay. “Does it feel good?” You whimper. “Good—good, baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Velvet walls clench around his long digits. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

Once your soft orbs connect to his intoxicating ones, his cock grows harder. “Okay, listen, it’s going to hurt a little bit, okay? But that’s completely normal; it’s like a…a stingy feeling. Do you understand?” I do, you pant. He grits his teeth when his calloused fingers brush against your g-spot and your head lolls back, exposing your sharp clavicle. He itches to mark you all over. “Do you want it, then?”

A zing. “Fuck, Oscar. I fucking want you.”

The brown eyed boy is all over you, kissing you up and down, gripping you tighter. It was an addiction in its truest form. For a split second, you frown when he slips out of you, but as soon as he starts unzipping his pants, you feverishly lick your lips.

It dawns on you that you aren’t scared, nervous, or anything; you’re bubbling with excitement. You watch carefully as he jerks himself off a bit, his already large girth growing bigger. How is that possible? “I’ll start with the tip.” Leaning down, he pecks your pouty lips and you smile. “Let me know if it’s too much, we’ll stop and take a break. Or do anything, really,” he adds, cheekbones flushing red.

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I swear.”

You were being skinned alive, it was excruciating pain. You know he notices it when he starts brushing your hips, hoping to comfort you in some sort of way. Heavy breaths, numb lips from biting too hard, exposed breasts arching straight for him. He didn’t know whether to enjoy this or worry.

“Breathe, darling, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go,” he congratulates, admiring your shaky breath. “You’re doing so good.”

“Osc, move…please.”

There was no more confirmation necessary that you were ready to go. His hips find motion, thrusting into you slowly. Nails scratch down his back as you moan loudly, almost yelping. “Y-you’re so big.” So, so, so, so big. “So good.”

Nearly animalistic, he releases a grunt, pounding deeper into you, getting lost with the way you hug him tightly. You mewl, pressing your naked chest against his, and he nearly slips from his hands being set on top of the cold grass, but it was beautiful torture, all at once.

From the way you tremble, to the way you look up at him, he loves it all. He realized it been too long, he’s missed this, he’s missed having a body undeaneath his, as fucked up as that sounds.

And he—he must be a saint, himself. There’s a sort of invisible halo that lightens up around him, nearly blinding you. There’s a gut-wrenching stare he’s gifting you, making your stomach churn with pleasure.

Wrapping his mouth around your sore buds, you let out a shaky sigh. Skillful tongue swirls the way one would suck on a lollipop; the heat intensifies. “Close?” But you’re not sure, you just know it feels good—ridiculously good. He must have known so, and must want to make your first experience the best you’ll ever have, because suddenly, you’re on all fours.

As he slips in and out with such ease, you grip harshly at the tall grass. You can hear the sad rips with every thrust and every tug, but how can you feel bad when he feels so good? His cock rapidly brushes the magic spot, and you’re left seeing stars. “Oh God. I feel it, Oscar, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Tell me. Describe it.”

Your jaw locks, and your arms give up, flying down towards the grass, round ass high up in the air as he continues his movements. He groans at the sight, slapping your sweaty skin. Whining, you look back at him, grinning from ear to ear. The Australian looks up at the open sky, trying his best to push back the feeling of his upcoming orgasm, but it's hard to ignore the fact that an absolute angel takes him like no other.

And an Angel you were.

“Can feel your cock, Oscar. The way it pulses—so thick, so veiny, so sweet.”

An Angel with a vocabulary of Heathen.

“God, fuck me harder, please, Oscar, please.” He’s pretty sure you’re half-gone, half-present, but it only adds to the lust he carries for you. Just then, you feel the fresh cherry pressed up against your lips. Open, he demands and you follow straight away, ripping it from its stem. You nearly choke on the seed when he suddenly speeds up, limbs and arms burning from holding upright. For a moment, you stare back with an open mouth, admiring over the way his abs contract with every brutal push.

“Now spit.” Two seeds fly out towards the grass, laying there to taunt you as you pick up on your moans, ringing through the air. If you squint hard enough, you can spot the stars that mock the daylight sky. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this does. “So pretty, sweetheart.” You swoon, feeling his arms hold you down. “Again—open.”

You’re expecting another set of cherries, thinking this might be some sort of prize, but as soon as you feel the familiar stick, you pout. No, you cry out. He chuckles. “Yes.” A pause. “You only get to come until you tie a knot.”

“You’re not being f-fair, holy shit.” Long fingers rub slowly against your puffy clit, throbbing with pain, begging to come all of his numbing girth. You clench your jaw, eyes screwed shut.

“We don’t have all night, go on. Move that pretty little mouth of yours.”

It’s a mission, it’s a task, it’s a fucking wreck. It’s impossible. You’re not that surprised, though, not when he thrusts into with twice as much force, triple speed; what a man. Loose tongue swirls at a weak attempt, but then he pinches your swollen bud, and you’re back to square one. You’re nearly there, excited to prove to him how much you wanted this and how you were able to multitask, but then he’s pulling all the way back, only his rosy tip awaiting by your entrance, and he’s coming back down, full-throttle.

It was cruel.

But two can play that game, you suppose.

You pull away quickly, he blinks, and then you’re pushing him back, sprawled on the grass. He nearly whines from missing your warm cunt, but as soon as you climb to sit on his face, he grows more and more turned on. “Go on,” you push. “Use that pretty little tongue of yours.”

Dark eyes stare up at you, enjoying the way your body moves, hips rolling, riding his face at an impressive rate. The white nectar you're willing to spill out makes him lap at an embarrassing speed, desperate to taste the sweetness.

Meanwhile, you’re gripping his hair, trying to feign indifference with the way his nose rubs against your lips, the way he keeps you in place with his watch covered hand, the other playing with your clit. It’s even, this is fair, but you still needed to reach your end.

“I’m close,” you moan, head rolling back, but jaw continuing to tick. He hums and the vibrations cause you to squeeze your legs around his face. That seems to make him enjoy this far more. Unless you show me you’ve done it, then no, you’re not coming anytime soon. Your molars grind harder, white spots forming throughout your vision. “Shut up, just—fucking stop talking.”

“What do y’know? Miss Perfection has a potty mouth.” He pokes his tongue against your hole. “Dirty girl, eh?”

With one final suck, and one soft moan, you cum all over him. The Australian is quick to lick you clean, groaning pathetically deep. Gasping, you fall from your climax, slightly twitching with sensibility as he hauls you onto his lap. You giggle when he raises a teasing brow.

“You got away with it—this time.”

“There’s going to be a second time?”

He stiffens, trying to play it cool. “Well, not anymore, you didn’t do what I asked for you to do—”

Opening your mouth, you stick your red tongue out, displaying the most perfect knot. He gapes, sticking his fingers in to retrieve it. “H-how?” A beat, sharp and accusing eyes. “Seriously, how?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, wide eyes back on for show. “I did it.”

“I…yeah, yeah you did,” he repeats in disbelief. He laughs. “You’re wickedly talented. That's an art.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, slowly, mixed with a giggle. “I tried my best for you.”

“I see that.” The brown eyed boy pinches your hip. “How was it?”

Sighing dreamily, as if napping on a cloud, your eyes twinkle. “I get it now. Why people have casual sex, I mean. It was amazing. Thank you.”

Casual, casual, casual, yes. Of course this was casual, why wouldn’t it be casual? He’s not looking to have anyone new in his life, and you’re barely understanding what any of this is, so yeah. Casual.

“Was I bad?” you ponder, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know I’m no professional, but I—”

“You were perfect,” he reassures with a soft smile. “Best thing to come around, solemnly swear.” Swatting his arm, he snickers, catching your hand. You purse your lips. “I was right,” he murmurs when his lips graze over your own. You open your mouth, waiting for more.

“About?”

“You tasting as sweet as a Cherry Cola.” Then he connects your lips, and you’re left utterly smitten. You can hardly feel him slip your ring off, but you know so when your finger feels empty since the moment you first put it on. “Guess you won’t be needing this anymore?”

“Guess not, no. Keep it.”

“Could take it to a Pawn Shop, sell it for a couple dollars…”

“Hey! Be nice, you dimwit,” you warn. “You should feel special. Stupidly special.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll cherish it.”

“Creep.”

He groans, slapping your ass as you squeal. “There’s no right or wrong answer, it seems like. Very well, let's just leave it at thanks. So…thank you for trusting me.” You blush, looking away. Awkwardly, you reach for your dress, slipping it over your head. He coughs, dressing himself before choking back a much needed chuckle. “Looks like we got dragged through the mud.”

“Ah, ew, I can’t. I need to shower.”

Reaching your end of the hallway, you press your back up against the wooden door as you sheepishly giggle when Oscar does the same. “Okay then…see you around?”

“Around town?”

“Around the house.”

“In the garden?”

“In the attic, too, maybe. It still needs a good sweep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do we still have time?”

“Before your parents get back from Costa Rica?”

“Yes.”

“Which is in—”

“A week.”

“Which is—”

“Seven days.”

“And roughly…”

“Enough time.”

“Enough time to do what?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling suggestively, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah,” you ponder in deep thought before your lips stretch out into a bright smile of your own. He raises dark brows as you scurry over with bruised knees, a muddy dress, and an exploding heart. “Yeah, okay. Just until they get back.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

6K notes · View notes

xndrpndr · 1 month ago

Text

CHANCES ARE YOU'RE ABOUT TO LOSE.

A/N: Written for a prompt by @suchsweetstories. Much love for hosting!

Cho Miyeon x Male Reader smut

3.3k words

“I already hate it here.”

“You do not.”

“Well, It’s supposed to be spring, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then why the fuck is it so cold?”

Miyeon doesn’t look up from her phone. She’s too busy squinting at a map of the racecourse. You wager she’s trying to figure out how far the champagne tent is from the betting tables. To her, those are the kinds of metrics that matter.

“It’s Melbourne,” she shrugs. “The weather changes every six minutes. A bit like your mood,” she adds cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “Feels like winter in a wig.”

“Aw,” she mocks, finally sparing you a look, giving your bicep a theatrical squeeze. “Is my big baby cold?”

You glance down at your outfit—four layers deep and still doing fuck-all against the wind. “...Yes.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she says, leaping over a puddle. “This is the perfect weather for betting.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“You heard me,” she says, flashing a grin.

“Betting.”

So. Miyeon has this habit.

And no, it’s not the gambling. That one’s more of an addiction—chronic, incurable, and one you’re practically enabling at this point. This is more like a side effect. A telltale symptom of the greater illness: the way she insists on solving every problem she has with her mouth.

Not metaphorically.

Not diplomatically.

Literally.

And you don’t mean that in the sense of persuasive debate, or even manipulation—though she’s proven time and time again she’s more than proficient in both. You mean she actually gets down on her knees, flashes those doe eyes, and opens wide like you’re playing here comes the fucking aeroplane.

Take today.

Much like how she got you to fly across the globe in pursuit of the Melbourne Cup—a four-minute loop of men in silks and tiny hats riding million-dollar livestock and whipping them into cardiac arrest—she’s now “talked” you into letting her bet on it.

You resisted, of course. But when she wants something, Cho Miyeon is an unstoppable force, and you are far from immovable object.

She’d cornered you in one of the racetrack bathrooms, leaned back against the sink, spread her legs, flaunted her hair and pouted like the tragic lead of a noir.

“Just one little bet,” she pleaded and you said “absolutely not,” and she said “pretty please,” and you said “no way in Hell,” and she said “I’ll suck your dick,” and you said “Miyeon, we’ve talked about th—oh fuck, okay, alright, Jesus Christ.”

So now you’re zipping your jeans with a sigh, running a hand through your hair and staring daggers into the man in the mirror. In addition to asking him to change his ways, you’re also asking how the fuck he lets this keep happening.

It's like you’re not even a participant in your own downfall anymore. You’re a spectator—front and centre to watch yourself make the same mistakes with the same woman in differing degrees of filthy bathrooms across time zones.

You wash your hands. Not because they need it—Miyeon did all the work this time—but because it buys you a second. A pause. A breath. A reprieve before stepping out into the light where, you know disaster, (Miyeon), awaits.

That and to ask yourself:

How the fuck did I end up here?

“The race that stops the nation,” Miyeon had declared with starry eyes about a week ago. She was lying upside-down on your couch, kicking her feet to the ceiling, tossing grapes into her mouth, and making a mess of the misses on your carpet. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound appealing.”

You sighed—as you always do when Miyeon suggests travelling half-way across the world to bring you half-way to financial ruin.

“Alright, let me get this straight,” you began, already pinching at the bridge of your nose. It’s a gesture usually reserved for tax season and Miyeon-induced headaches. So, it tracks. “Two-dozen jockey’s ride in a shambolic circle for a few kilometres—no obstacles, no jumps, no real turns—and you want to fly a dozen hours to watch it in person?”

She had obviously realised how shitty of an idea this was on paper (or at the very least it looked that way in your eyes) and decided she needed to sweeten the deal. “We can do other stuff while we’re there,” she pouted.

“Like what? Lose even more money playing ‘pokies’ instead?”

Miyeon hesitated for a moment. You could practically see the responsible answer try to claw its way to the surface. But as always, self control eluded her.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me…”

“Oh Miyeon,” you groaned. “For the love of Go—,”

“Okay fiiiiiine. We could… explore the city!” she offered. “Try a museum or two. Go to a vineyard. Maybe pet a kangaroo!”

“Those all sound awfully like things you’ll forget about the moment you see a betting table.”

She rolled onto her side, head in your lap. “Come on. I’ve never been to Australia. And the Melbourne Cup is iconic!”

“So is the Titanic,” you retorted. “Doesn’t mean I want front row seats to the sinking.”

Miyeon simply grinned. “Except instead of drowning in water, it’ll be in our newfound wealth!”

A hand went over your face, you needed to massage your eyeballs. “Let me make something very clear, Miyeon. Even if we do go, there will not be—under any circumstance—any bets placed. No chips traded. No casinos entered. No horses backed. If you so much as glance at a gacha machine, I will not hesitate to cancel every card we have.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I can live with that.”

“That includes the secret debit card you keep behind your license.”

“NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT,” she was practically screaming, shaking your shoulders like maracas.

It was your turn to grin. “Then promise me something,”

She was nodding like a puppy.

“No betting.”

Miyeon straightened like a soldier and folded an arm over her chest. “Hand on my heart,” she declared.

You nodded, almost satisfied. Obtusely unaware of the mistake you were making.

“Well,” you said, completely smug, “at least that makes your promise valid.”

She blinked. “My what?”

“We haven’t decided on going yet. The trip’s still up in the air.”

Miyeon blinked. You could see the wheels turning.

“Oh,” she said, full of sudden inspiration.

You barely had time to blink before she was crawling into your lap, lips arriving at yours. “Then maybe I should convince you,” she whispered, one hand dragging down your chest, the other already plotting its path toward your jeans.

And you, in your infinite wisdom, said nothing.

Suffice it to say: you went to bed that night very, very convinced.

She talks like she’s an expert.

Like she’s spent years refining her own scientific method. Like she’s read the stats, studied the field, hand-picked the jockeys and trained the horses herself. Like she’s here with a plan—all permutations of intentional, calculated and precise.

She has none of that.

What she does have are the very same things she always brings to the betting table: blind optimism, questionable fashion choices, and a gambling history that reads like a case study in the sunk-cost fallacy.

She’s lost money on mice, cats, dogs, vulturine guinea fowls, fantasy stocks, actual stocks, motorsports, chess, video games, tabletop games, competitive rock-paper-scissors, a crab race in busan, one underground mahjong league in Okinawa, another in Kabukicho, another in Dohtonbori, and about a dozen shogi matches with the homeless in Yokohama.

She put six-thousand dollars on the World Cup final based solely on how hot she thought the coaches were.

There was a brief but financially devastating stint with marble racing.

She’s placed money on rock skipping. Celebrity baby name predictions. Whether or not the next Pope will be left-handed.

(As well as another few dozen cases you didn't end up committing to memory. Tack on another few dozen for the times she's undoubtedly gambled behind your back.)

And yet, no matter how many times she’s been burned by Lady Luck—how many “can’t-lose” bets are lost anyway, or how many hot tips go cold the second they’re placed—Cho Miyeon simply does not quit.

She adjusts her sunglasses—not for the sun, which has yet to make a single appearance today, but for dramatic effect. Then she plants her hand on your shoulder, squares herself toward the track like she’s on a TED stage, and resumes the yap.

“And that’s the neat part,” she’s saying now, continuing on from a spout of nonsense you were lucky enough to have tuned out of, “the odds are just a reflection of the pool, right? It’s not real probability. It’s not math-math, it’s like… vibes-math. It’s what everyone else thinks is going to happen—which is already flawed because people are fucking idiots. So really, by betting on the thing no one bets on, you’re actually smarter than everyone else. It’s kind of meta if you think about it.”

You don’t think about it.

“Like, take today for example. Look at these poor, unfortunate, not-winning-shit, souls.” She scans the crowd for a moment, searching for a target. “Oh, like that guy over there? Fedora and the double Windsor? Amateur. You can tell purely by the way he’s dressed he’s betting based on bloodline and track record. Rookie mistake. That’s how you lose money. The real winners—me for example—we bet with instinct. Intuition. Gut feelings. And sometimes alcohol.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Miyeon nods solemnly, as if that makes it gospel.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, even though you’re very much not thinking anything. “You’re thinking, ‘But Miyeon, didn’t you once lose 700 dollars betting that the royal baby would be named Gundalf?’ And to that I say: yes. But also, the UK had a chance to make history. They chose George. Fucking George. Cowards.”

She doesn’t even pause.

“Or maybe you’re thinking about the crab race in Busan. Which, to be clear, I still maintain was rigged. Oh, and that sperm race in LA? You can’t convince me those weren’t tampered with. You think one swimmer wins by ten lengths without pharmaceutical assistance? Please.”

You try to interrupt.

You choose not to bother.

“Anyway, the point is—betting is about more than just numbers. It’s about story. Narrative. You have to feel the arc: that upward trajectory that comes from being overlooked. You want the underdog, but not too under. You want mystery, but not scandal. You want a horse with baggage, with a little trauma sprinkled in for spice. Something to prove is what I'm saying.”

She gestures toward the big screen showing a replay from the previous race. A horse in bright orange silks is dragging itself over the finish line, dead last.

“Not him though. Orange is the worst color. Proven fact: Bad luck. Studies show it interferes with the horse’s chi or aura or whatever. I don’t remember where I read that—a subreddit, maybe—but still. Reliable source.”

Then she spins around, squints down the stretch, and points at a brown mare doing a very unbothered trot.

“But Whispering Sheila?” she says, near reverent. “That’s a horse that gets it. That’s a horse who’s seen some shit. I mean, just look at her. Not flashy. Not showy. Just focused. Professional. She’s got the legs to take her to the end and back!”

“She was disqualified last race for biting the handler.”

“Exactly! She’s got edge!”

Miyeon folds her arms, completely satisfied, the sunglasses now fully askew on her nose. You stare at her, and consider, deeply, the cosmic imbalance of power between your ability to say no and her ability to not give a fuck.

She smiles.

“So. Shall we?”

“If I say no, are you going to drag me to the bathroom again?”

“Perhaps,” she beams.

You sigh the deepest sigh.

“Guess I have no choice then.”

Because truly, you don’t.

You’re not expecting a lot. That much is a given.

You’re standing there, arms crossed, mentally preparing yourself to watch twenty-four tiny men in coloured silk slap the shit out of their horses for a couple minutes and call it sport.

You’re also prepared to lose.

In fact, you’ve been conditioned to lose.

You are the emotionally battered war vet of betting by proxy. Weathered by half a decade of Miyeon induced headaches, panic attacks, and bankruptcy scares. So it goes without saying that you’ve long since made peace with the inevitability of financial ruin.

Which is why what happens next makes absolutely no sense.

The gates open with a clang. And then Whispering Sheila—Miyeon’s pride and joy, her bet of the century, her four-figure “hunch”—takes off like a fucking torpedo.

You blink.

Then blink again.

Your mind isn’t playing any tricks. Sheila's in front. Not just in front—she’s leading the charge like a horse-shaped war general. Her strides are long. Her form is beautiful. The wind parts for her like Moses at the Red Sea. And for the first time in her presumably disappointing life, Whispering Sheila isn’t just exceeding expectations.

She’s shattering them.

And beside you, Miyeon is absolutely losing her shit.

“She’s FLYING!” she screams, hopping up and down on the concrete. “Look at her—LOOK AT HER! Did I not say she had the legs?! I TOLD YOU SHE HAD THE LEGS!”

You don’t dare answer. Don’t dare jinx it while the impossible unfolds.

Sheila holds the lead through the turn. The crowd roars. Miyeon screams louder.

You feel it then.

Not belief, no. Not that strong.

But… suspicion. Suspicion that Miyeon might’ve—against every possible odd, against the universal laws of cause and effect, against the deeply rigged simulation that is your life—actually gotten one right.

God, are you naive.

Because just as the final stretch begins—just as Sheila is poised to make history—

She stops.

Not because she trips. Not because another horse cuts her off. She just… stops. Veers off course. Loses interest. Maybe remembers an existential crisis she was having earlier.

One moment she’s a champion.

The next?

She’s taking a scenic detour near the fence, tail swishing like she’s out for a casual trot—all while the rest of the field barrels past like a freight train.

Miyeon goes silent.

The crowd does not.

Laughter breaks out. Even the drunk guy next to you mutters a heartfelt “Jesus Christ” into his stubby.

You watch, horrified, as the horse Miyeon picked using nothing but “vibes” and a conspiracy theory about saddle colour, trots across the finish line somewhere around a full minute behind the rest of the pack.

Dead. Fucking. Last.

You don’t say anything right away.

You don’t have to.

The anger radiating off your body could power a suburban home.

Broken, shattered, hollowed, you shakily ask:

“…Did we just lose four thousand dollars?”

There’s a pause.

A suspiciously long pause.

Then, from beside you:

“Okay. So.”

You turn.

Don’t fucking say it, Miyeon.

“...I may have added an extra zero.”

So. Miyeon has another habit.

And no, it’s not the rambling, that one’s ingrained in her personality—endless, vexing, endlessly vexing, and one you always just have to kinda sit through. This one is embedded in her DNA:

After every catastrophic loss, every burnt dollar and ruined future, Miyeon’s only instinct is to fuck about it.

Biological, you’ll call it.

It’s like the humiliation hits her bloodstream, and she can’t metabolize it unless she’s writhing on your lap, hissing that she’s “so fucking stupid,” crowing that you “should punish her for it,” and then, in the same breath, telling you to “shut up and fucking choke me.” Perhaps it’s some kind of sick evolutionary adaptation. Perhaps it’s just the way her neurons have always crashed and burned together. Perhaps it’s simply a coping mechanism.

And if so, right now—back at the hotel, with her panties jammed in her mouth, your cock in her cunt, and one hand clamped around her throat—she’s coping.

Hard.

You can feel her smile against your wrist—cheek pressed there, eyes half-lidded, lashes glued with mascara and tears. Her skin is deeply flushed from effort and oxygen deficiency and maybe just a little bit of deranged satisfaction.

Her hips grind back harder.

Because Cho Miyeon doesn’t regret. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t learn.

She fucks.

Like she thinks if she moans loud enough, grinds desperate enough, takes you deep enough, the universe might reverse time. Whispering Sheila will cross the line first. The crowd will roar. She’ll be a genius again. A prophet.

A fucking billionaire.

But right now, she’s just a mess. A mess you’re making messier.

You tighten your grip around her neck. Her eyes roll. And with your other hand gripping her hips, you drag her back into you like this is a problem that can be solved through sheer physics.

She lets out a muffled scream—half pleasure, half penance. The soaked lace in her mouth dampens it, but not enough to keep the neighbours guessing. Her body’s trembling now, pitchforked between orgasm and complete oblivion.

She chooses the former.

It starts with the twitch—spine arching, legs kicking out like they’re trying to run from the heat curling up her nerves. Then, the sound, clawing its way past the gag, echoing around the room and putting a ruthless smile across your face. Her whole body convulses, clamps down, seizes up like your cock is the only thing tethering her to reality. She writhes on it like it owes her money. Like if she cums hard enough, she might get that extra zero back.

You hold her through it. Don’t ease up. Don’t slow down. You fuck her through the climax until she’s gasping through the lace, until tears are dripping onto the sheets, until every broken sob sounds like the word “sorry” in some dialect only she understands.

“Shouldn’t’ve added the zero,” she’s groaning, garbled and guilty and absolutely destroyed. “Shouldn’t’ve—shouldn’t’ve—fuck, I’m so—”

You slam into her again.

Harder.

She chokes on her words.

Good.

Let her regret it. Let her wear it. Let it bleed out of her one desperate cry at a time.

You lean down, lips ghosting her ear.

“Say it,” you growl.

She whines.

“Say what?”

You pull her head up by her hair, your other hand still a noose around her throat.

“That you’re my stupid fucking girl.”

And Miyeon, of course, barely hesitates. Because shame isn’t something she avoids.

You loosen the panties just enough for her to gasp:

“I’m your stupid fucking girl.”

Then—without even being told—she adds:

“Now ruin me for it.”

So you do.

After, it’s quiet.

She’s still breathless. Still warm. Still glowing with that dumb post-catastrophe grin like losing forty-thousand on a mare with anger issues was just a minor hiccup in an otherwise flawless plan.

And to her, maybe it was.

You brush a thumb over her temple. She nuzzles into it, half-asleep, humming like she didn’t just obliterate the budget. Like you’re not going to have to explain this on the phone with your bank at 8 a.m. Monday morning. Like she didn’t promise—hand on heart—not to gamble. Again.

And still, some pathetic part of you is already bracing for the next one.

The next bright idea. The next sugar-slick pitch from her upside-down on your couch. The next whispered “babe, hear me out,” followed by airfare, adrenaline, and another financial obituary with her name scrawled across it in hot pink pen.

You’d like to say you’ll draw the line.

You won’t.

Because tomorrow, there’ll be a new scheme.

New odds.

New disaster.

And for some inexplicable reason, you’ll be right there beside her. Wallet lighter. Heart heavier. Lips already forming the words:

“Okay, but this is the last time.”

Even though you know it’s not.

(And it never will be.)

#miyeon smut #miyeon x reader #cho miyeon smut #kpop smut #cho miyeon #miyeon #male reader #smut

593 notes · View notes

no-144444 · 9 months ago

Text

quick tweet, big problem- o.piastri

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

summary: you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! kravitz! reader

(context in case you don't know him: ted kravitz is a skyf1 presenter)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Red flag, red flag, come in,” Tom said.

Annoyance surged through him. This race was not going his way at all. He started slowing down, following closely behind Lawson. “Who’s off?”

“Colapinto,” he explained. “It’s a big one, probably a 20 to 30 minute red flag.”

For fucks sake. Oscar had told them it was too dangerous. They didn’t listen. He paid the price. Now Max was up into p2, and Lando was stuck in p5. Oscar couldn’t even do anything to help. He grunted, getting out of the car and following Tom back to the garage.

He was ushered over to his engineers, but honestly all he wanted was to see you. Being Lando’s race engineer, Oscar had seen you around the paddock in some of his first weeks and befriended you, on top of that, he’d fallen madly in love with you and asked you out 11 months ago. You two had been going out for 11 months now, and, while he could see you between the screens as his engineers and Andrea gave him advice about the race, he kind of tuned them out, too busy staring at you.

“Jesus, loverboy, just go say hi and come back, alright? We need you thinking with your head, not your dick,” Zak scoffed, finally allowing him to see you.

Quickly, Oscar rounded the corner of the desk and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on the top of yours. You didn’t stop talking to Lando, explaining the plan for the rest of the race.

“But I fucking said to stay out,” Lando whined.

“No, you told us to box you. We told you to stay out,” you explained, your voice calm.

Lando just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” then walked off to go brood somewhere else.

“Shitty weather, eh?” you mused.

“Awful,” he nodded.

“Is that sweat or rain?” you asked, feeling how wet he truly was.

“Both,” he sighed. He knew there were about forty cameras on the two of you. Moments between you two that the public saw were few and far between. You liked it that way. He liked it that way. Privacy was something he essentially gave up when he became a public figure, but that didn’t mean you had to. “How’s Lando doing?”

“He’s just pissed away his chance at World Champion,” you took a deep breath, leaning into him. “And I’ll be the one he screams at during the end of the race. I’ll be the one having to explain it to Zak, and I won’t get home until probably tomorrow. And my dad is staring at us.”

Oscar groaned. “Fucking hate dealing with this shit.”

You nodded. “Me too. But at least there’s no race for two weeks.”

“We’re off to Melbourne,” he reminded you. “Have to do the family rounds, since we’re engaged,” he beamed. Over the last break, Oscar had proposed. It was the happiest moment of your lives (closely followed by Oscar’s win in Baku), and now you were on your way to visit his extended family for the first time. Since he’d met most of your family (especially considering Ted Kravitz was your father and Oscar met him before he met you), it was only fair that you make the trip and meet his.

Before that though, you had to get through today.

“You’d better go chat with your engineers,” you took your hands off his. “Zak is giving me dirty looks.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want to.”

You chuckled. “Go,” you urged him. “If you get higher than p9 I’ll give you a kiss at the end of the race.”

“Good deal,” he pondered. “Or I could just kiss you now,” and with that, he pressed his lips to yours quickly, before running off to his side of the garage.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Lando was an idiot, but he was Oscar's idiot, so you didn't kill him. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up, whether it be your dad, you, or Oscar. You didn't suspect it would be Lando, though. You did enjoy watching Oscar shout at him though. That was pretty funny.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

2K notes · View notes

luvth0t · 1 year ago

Text

RIDICULOUS ━ L.N

in which lando can longer cope with you laughing at the mere idea of being with him, and you realise it wouldn’t be that ridiculous. but it may be all too late.

warnings; nswf, smut, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, lando in the friend zone, implied that reader is a year or two older than lando, little bit of angst, choking, soft dom!lando, silly reader, overstimulation i guess, lotta praise, oral, fluff at the end if you squint

lando was infatuated the moment he met you.

it took a while to realise how strongly he felt, considering he met you at arguably the most chaotic time of his life.

his first year in f1, carlos his teammate; meaning you were around every race from the start, to this day.

he wanted his own photographer after a mere few interactions with you, but quickly realised he only cared about photos because you were the one occasionally taking them.

carlos signing for ferrari meant lando was losing two people; his teammate and you. his friend.

he’d jokingly asked you to jump ship, work for him instead. if only you knew how serious he was being.

you never looked at lando the way he looked at you. he was like a friends annoying little brother, one you couldn’t help but pity and adore.

he made you laugh, was fun to be around. a change from the personality’s you would come across in the paddock. it was no shock to you that carlos built a bond with him ━ as did you.

since joining ferarri you didn’t see the brit as much as you’d like, not that carlos’ new teammate was a let down. charles was lovely. you didn’t feel invasive taking shots of the pair of them.

but you still kept it touch. occasional group outings, dinners and celebrations. you weren’t oblivious to the way he always made time for you. but you were naive to the deeper meanings.

his flirtations were nothing of concern, to you it was a running joke. amongst many of you; you didn’t think lando actually wanted anything from you beyond platonic.

he could handle rejection. but being laughed at? he could only cope for so long.

“he begged me to invite you tonight,” carlos’ words were teasing, directed towards you yet his eyes rested on lando; out for dinner with a few other team members from mclaren carlos hadn’t caught up with in a while.

melbourne was one of your favourite races for this very reason, having to get here so early meant you had time to catch up with those in the paddock away from the craziness.

lando’s eyes lifted from the menu he was reading; scoffing immediately, already prepared to jump on the defence ━ not giving you a chance to speak.

“i was making sure you hadn’t forgotten anyone, y/n included.” lando corrected, flashing you a grin in the midst of his explanation, one you mirrored.

“i’d like to think my presence would be a given,” you huffed back at carlos; and lando felt a fool for allowing his heart to jump at the prospect of you also defending him.

“of course it is. just saying, lando was set on making sure you’d be here.” carlos smirked; eyes now on his own menu, pretending as if he wasn’t attempting to stir the pot.

“he misses you,” an engineer spoke up from besides lando, nudging the british driver who could only roll his eyes; not at all unfamiliar with being targeted with such banter. he copped it a lot worse when you were all on the same team.

“mhm, misses me. not carlos.” you grinned; practically bragged ━ nudging carlos this time; you’d grown a talent it seemed for redirecting the topic of conversation. trying too at least, and the way lando smirked made it clear he appreciated your efforts.

he’d nodded as well, confirming your words. in no way ashamed to admit he missed you more than the spaniard, while it didn’t seem like there was any truth to his words with the playful smile on his face; the assumption couldn’t be any closer to the truth.

“if you miss her so much you should go out for dinner just the pair of you,” carlos challenged quickly; earning an eye roll from yourself and a small giggle at the idea ━ oh the shit show that would be, you and lando out for dinner. you could read the headlines now.

lando caught the way you laughed, you however missed the way his eyes snapped to you in the moment. the way his smile faltered, merely from watching you completely dismiss and laugh at the idea of spending just a single dinner with him alone. what’s so funny about that? could it really be the most absurd idea? no matter how many times you reacted in such a way it always stung.

he recovered almost instantly however, like he always does.

“wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, know you don’t like to be left out.” lando mused; earning another laugh from you ━ one that was music to his ears, hearing you laugh at his jokes was always enough to have him holding his chin a little higher.

“oh i’d be more than happy to see you finally get out of the friend zone.” carlos regretted his words the moment they left his mouth, catching the way lando’s smile fell and jaw tensed ━ quickly realising his teasing may have gone too far.

your lack of reaction killed lando more than carlos’ words did, the way you barely battered an eyelash ━ completely unbothered while he sat here trying to not pop a blood vessel. he wanted to defend the relationship or friendship you had, but there wasn’t much to defend.

because carlos was right, he was painfully stuck in the friend zone.

“how much longer till you realise these jokes got old two years ago?” you sounded awfully unbothered as your gaze remained on your menu, only looking up when another engineer spoke up.

“it’s just a joke?” he’d asked in full seriousness, eyes flickering between yourself and lando. he wasn’t on carlos’ side of the garage, always working on lando’s side. he barely interacted with you; only heard things through the grapevine.

“obviously.” you spoke as if it was…obvious, and the laugh you let out would’ve softened the blow of your words had lando not already heard this a thousand times.

“ah, ah, ah. don’t forget about silverstone.” carlos simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut; bringing up the night where everyone was convinced you and lando spent the night together.

which would be valid if you actually had, but you hadn’t. you went home together purely because you both were tired. he dropped you at your hotel room, didn’t even come inside. somehow no one believed either of you when you squashed their suspicions that ‘lando’s wish had finally come true.’

“don’t be ridiculous.” you scoffed, shaking your head ever so slightly. lando’s silence would’ve been deafening if others weren’t jumping in to speak, and maybe you would’ve noticed his lack of input if you spared him a glance.

he was managing to muster a fake smile, it was almost painful. any amusement he was clinging too had vanished, wanting the conversation to be over with.

“it’s not ridiculous.” carlos huffed; and lando almost wanted to nod in agreement. thank him even. because it wasn’t ridiculous, he didn’t think so at least. it made sense to him. you made so much sense to him.

“it is.” the nail in the coffin, lando couldn’t keep smiling anymore. you sounded oh so certain, all the while the smile hadn’t left your face. “come on now,” you added in exaggeration at carlos’ unconvinced face.

lando wasn’t sure what you said next, he didn’t want to hear it. he couldn’t figure out why hearing all of this was suddenly unbearable, but before he knew it he was not so subtlety excusing himself ━ something about getting another drink, before standing up and bee lining to the bar.

the abrupt departure didn’t halt anyone else’s movements, conversations continuing and carlos joining in a debate with his cousin and his old mclaren press officer; while your attention got stuck on lando’s full glass ahead of you.

he didn’t need another drink.

you watched as he weaved through the crowds, the way he failed to smile at anyone he passed by; the tension clear in his jaw; it almost appeared as if he was scowling.

it was funny, because your first thought was if you offended him. but you couldn’t figure out what possibly could have; it was laughable how unaware you were of his feelings.

“i’ll be back,” you excused yourself, standing up and following in lando’s directions without any hesitance; a slight frown on your face as you dodged people left and right to get to the bar.

you weren’t sure why the prospect of upsetting him upset you so much, but the sudden urgency to check on him was too powerful to ignore.

“rude to not offer a girl a drink you know?”

lando’s eyes only shifted towards you for a mere couple of seconds when you made your presence known. he could count on one hand the amount of times he wished to be alone when you were near, but this was one of them.

he was drained, unable to fake any more smiles or shrug off any more comments. blame it on the jet lag.

“apologises,” he hummed; not offering you another glance which had your suspicions confirmed, your furrowed brow showing concern not that he could see. his blue eyes were focused ahead on the busy bartender.

“you good?” you internally cringed as the words left your lips, unable to figure out a way to address the sudden mood without sounding overbearing or overstepping.

you watched as his shoulders tensed; as his eyes strategically continued to avoid you, only making the pit in your stomach feel deeper, as if it could swallow you whole.

“peachy.” his sarcasm was clear, and while it would usually be a relief it wasn’t laced with the usual humour. it was blunt, dismissive ━ and if you had any doubts left about being the reason for him running off, they were now squashed.

“did i say something━ did carlos say something?” the questions stumbled out of your lips in concern, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “i’ve tried to tell him to lay off with the jokes, it’s stupid i know.” you began to ramble.

lando finally let his gaze land on you, and the sight of your sympathetic eyes and worried frown had him feeling guilty. which was ridiculous, but suddenly he felt an urge to reassure you he was fine. that you hadn’t said anything.

but you had.

“it’s not the jokes,” lando cut you off; hands running over his head, even letting out a laugh at how pathetic he sounded. he was going to continue, explain it further; but he stopped himself.

he couldn’t. it was a can of worms that must remain shut.

you stood in silence for a moment, under the impression he’d keep speaking. but he didn’t. leaving you with no explanation; just further confusion.

“no?” you hummed; eyebrows raising. “because i totally get if it is. it’s ridiculous how they keep going on━” you were rambling again, trying to make the situation better. attempting to ensure he felt heard, that he could speak to you about what was bothering him.

so oblivious to the fact you were just digging yourself a deeper hole.

there was that word again; ridiculous.

“is it? is it really that ridiculous?” lando couldn’t stop the question from flying out of his mouth; only now turning to properly face you; in time to catch the dumbfounded look on your face from his question.

it took a few moments to try understand what he meant, coming up short as you stared at him clueless, lips parting to try come up with something to say but falling short.

“is what?” you mumbled, suddenly all confidence was gone. almost scared to hear the answer; purely because you recognised the doubt and regret illustrating his face.

but lando had nothing else to lose, you’ve rejected him in front of everyone else without realising. what’s once more?

“us. dinner us two, having gone home together in silverstone. this?” lando sighed out like it was obvious, hands waving between the pair of you.

because to him it was so obvious. the amount of times he’s almost asked you to join him for a meal, just the pair of you.

maybe if he had you’d see what he saw.

silverstone meant so much to him, having expected nothing from you but he thought about the taxi ride back to the hotel more than he’d like to admit. he could’ve sworn you’d been flirting with him that night.

he even thought it would’ve been the start of something.

optimism was a curse however, because stupidly lando thought perhaps after finally expressing his feelings that maybe you’d reveal your hidden reciprocation. that maybe you were scared like him.

but instead all he could see was shock. and confusion. and fuck, was that sympathy?

“what?” it was a weak response, but all you could muster. you were attempting to find any other explanation for his words, to figure out what he could be implying.

lando had to laugh, shaking his head as he faced the bar again; hands running over his face as you quickly realised he was being fully serious.

“it’s not━ we’ve never━ i mean it would be weird.” word vomit, you didn’t know what you were saying; usually so careful with your words you knew the moment lando looked at you in shock and offence you’d be haunted by that very sentence. “not weird━ but,” you attempted to fix your mistake, eyes screwing shut.

another laugh from him beat you to it however.

“ridiculous. i got it,” lando spoke through a breath, sounding incredibly defeated which had your stomach dropping.

you struggled to find words to assure him, still attempting to process what he’d just told you. you hadn’t ever looked at him in that way. he was always just… lando.

“lando…” you trailed off with a frown, only now starting to realise the position you both were now in.

the awkward tension was growing quickly and you’d never despised something so quickly. you refused to let this be the bitter end to your friendship.

“it’s fine. just drop it.” lando huffed, standing up straight; eyes finding yours once more. he didn’t want you to feel bad, he’d accepted long ago that his chances of you feeling the same were slim.

you can’t apologise for how you feel.

“no we should talk about it,” you disagreed, so much concern and care in your eyes it almost made him sick. he didn’t need that from you. and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about how he’d spent years pining over you.

he’d kept it secret for a reason, to avoid this.

“i’ll pass,” lando hummed; the half smile he mustered up did little to comfort you as he licked his bottom lip and glanced around the room. “i’m gonna head up,” he cleared his throat.

you’d gone to express your dismay with such thing, but he was walking off before you could get another word out; left alone at the bar dumbfounded and suddenly in need of a drink.

it would be quite sad to admit that one revelation could change your whole weekend. but it did.

you’ve never had trouble sleeping, in fact the jet lag usually knocked you out. yet you’d spent the best of your time in melbourne thinking through every word lando said. looking back on every damn interaction the two of you shared.

you felt like an idiot. because suddenly it made a lot of sense, what you failed to realise in the moment fell together piece by piece.

an insight into his intentions for the effort he’d put into the friendship over the last couple years was eye opening, and while you were unsure as to how you hadn’t assumed such thing sooner, you found yourself asking the question how it made you feel.

you’d be lying if you didn’t have a few moments of giddiness as you recounted certain times. how he drove you home from pre-season testing one time because you didn’t feel well. how he always got you flowers for your birthday.

suddenly your mind was consumed with the thought of lando every waking second. from the moment you entered the paddock on thursday you were looking for him. which didn’t make sense considering you had plans to avoid him.

you didn’t want to make things worse than they were. but for some reason he was the only thing on your mind, to the point it was becoming an issue as you tried to go about your work.

not once in your career had you been pulled up on anything, so when carlos questioned if you were okay friday afternoon ━ claiming you had been slacking, you knew you were fucked.

there’s no way you felt the same. surely not.

you had to stand by what you said. it’d be weird?

he was lando. annoying lando who couldn’t grow a speck of facial hair and flinched at the sight of fish.

except saturday, when you finally laid eyes on the driver again, it was cruel slap in the face of reality when you realised that was almost 5 years ago. you’d both changed. lando had changed.

you almost spiralled when you found yourself admiring the driver. had his mclaren top always been so tight around his biceps? had his skin always been so sun kissed? not to mention the way his curls sat atop his head.

you suddenly felt insane. you’d never looked at him in that light, never thought what if. but his confession had you a mess of thoughts, one’s you had to run away from. causing you to spend the rest of the weekend hidden away in ferrari’s hospitality.

you could only hide for so long, carlos had won ━ which was enough to get your mind off of the british driver for a whole 4 minutes until they were up on the podium together.

work was your priority however, but you couldn’t help but notice just how nicely lando photographs. you only ever focused on carlos, considering he paid your wage. but as you took shots and shots of the pair interacting before and after the podium from afar you couldn’t help but note how lando was practically glowing.

your head was a mess, and as you now stood in a random club in melbourne, you had no idea what your next move was.

you couldn’t exactly deny going out to celebrate when carlos had won. so your next wish was that lando simply wouldn’t be in attendance.

but he was, and your eyes hadn’t left him all night.

still having not spoken for days, you couldn’t shake the urge to congratulate him. yet for some reason you were scared, you didn’t trust yourself. fearing you’d say something you’d regret. which was a foreign feeling. lando was usually the easiest person for you to talk too.

however you could only stand in the corner with a drink as your only company for so long. a sudden wave of confidence washing over you, or more so desperation to stop being so childish, causing you to down your drink before setting off towards the british driver.

it was when you were only a few metres from him that you realised you should probably have a game plan, and if he hadn’t locked eyes with you there was a high chance you would’ve backed out. turned around and walked away.

instead you were left to improvise.

“good job today,” you smiled widely when you got into ear shot; unable to shake the tightness in your chest, feeling suddenly out of breath as if you had sprinted over here.

lando appeared much more relaxed than he had last time you spoke. which made sense. he’d put it on the podium, why wouldn’t he be in a good mood?

“thank you,” the driver grinned, unable to be stumped when he was still running high off adrenaline. plus, he figured you would pretend the other evening never happened. which he would happily take.

your script ended there however. you had no idea what to say. or where to look, since when was eye contact with lando hard?

“impressive from carlos,” lando managed to fill the silence, and you could feel the relief at the fact he’d saved you from creating an awkward silence.

“yeah, yeah i know. very proud of him. i’ll never complain about pain again.” you spoke through a dry laugh; one he mirrored, your lips pursing as you attempted to think of something, anything, to fix the mess you found you guys in.

to apologise for your rudeness? to explain your mindset? to just talk. you needed to talk to him, for your own sanity.

“look i just wanted━” you finally built the courage up to speak, but were interrupted as a blonde woman slid next to lando’s side, handing him a drink while doing so.

it shouldn’t have shut you up so quickly, but it did ━ eyebrows raising as you attempted to figure out how to respond to the image in front of you. one you’d never seen before actually.

“line was long,” the girl hummed in explanation, and you only just caught lando’s sorry eyes as his attention turned to the girl next to him.

he would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the lifeline that was the blonde he’d just met 20 minutes ago. he did not need to hear your reasonings as to why you should just remain friends, not tonight.

“i’ll um, i’ll talk to you later.” there was no way you’d try get your words out again, not when you barely spoke up the first time. yet for some reason, you’d hoped lando had insisted you could speak now.

instead left to watch as he nodded and offered you a small smile; practically sending you off on your way.

embarrassment was the one word to describe how you felt as you made your way to the nearest booth, attempting to hide away and let the darkness swallow you whole.

apart of you felt you should be grateful, maybe being interrupted was a saving grace. god knows what you were about to say, you definitely didn’t. but right now you found yourself in the same position as you were 5 minutes ago.

it felt selfish. lando had practically admitted to having feelings for you, that’s what you gathered at least, and you’d been unaware for years.

you’d been slightly uncertain in your feelings for five days and you felt as if you were losing your mind. you had no right for an explanation really, but you needed something. attempting to decipher everything to do with the main man of mclaren was giving you a headache.

although your vision became a bit clearer as you sat and watched him interact with the girl who’d placed the drink in his hands.

it suddenly made sense why you hadn’t seen him like this before. his attention was always on you, his efforts and time focused towards you if you were in arms reach.

which you couldn’t help but feel grateful for as you sat and watched your new personal hell.

you didn’t want to label it as jealousy. because that would be ridiculous, but it was beginning to be hard to watch the way lando whispered in her ear and grinned widely as he earned a laugh or two from the girl.

were you mad at the sight or mad at your own reaction? you weren’t sure. it felt wrong, to feel so strongly when only a few days ago you’d laughed in his face about the prospect of being with him.

what was it they said about you only want what you can’t have?

“it should be illegal for you to be sitting here moping after i’ve won.” carlos’ voice snapped you from your thoughts, being met with the driver who slid into the booth opposite you, a sheepish smile forming on your features.

“i’m not moping.” you huffed, leaning back in your seat ━ attempting to look and feel relaxed, allow your tense shoulders to loosen, glancing back to lando once more before your attention was on the driver ahead of you.

“you have been all week.” carlos disagreed, eyebrow raising as you frowned; not having a reply because he was right. and suddenly you felt horrible.

“i’m sorry━ that’s the last thing you need with the couple weeks you’ve had,” you sighed, head falling into your hands. it was as if you suddenly couldn’t do anything right.

you missed the way carlos smiled, having looked at the direct reason of your problems moments prior.

“don’t apologise.” carlos dismissed, assuring you it was fine; and when you peaked up through your hands, the smile he was flashing you was enough to put your mind at ease. “i’m assuming lando said something.”

there it was. lando. again. back in your head. as if you ever got him out.

you only sighed, head falling back this time as you now stared at the ceiling. of course carlos knew.

“you knew?” you huffed out, it clear you already knew the answer.

“everyone does.” carlos chuckled, and you wish you too could take amusement from the situation. how comforting, this whole time you’ve either appeared as an idiot or the biggest bitch.

“why wouldn’t you tell me?” you practically whined, looking back at the driver once more; watching as he put his hands up in defence and innocence.

“i thought you knew.” carlos claimed, sounding so honest you couldn’t question him ━ nor blame him. you shouldn’t have needed someone to spell it out for you. plus, you’re not sure what you would’ve done if you did know.

because it wasn’t like you were handling the current situation very well.

you had no answer, just left him to watch as you sat wallowing in self pity. you should’ve never chased him to the bar.

“he’ll be fine. look at him, moving on already,” carlos attempt to comfort you was more like a punch to the stomach ━ because you had to stop yourself from glaring at him. had to stop yourself from spitting out how that wasn’t what you wanted.

you didn’t want that at all, and that thought was suffocating. you were in no place to come to terms with your feelings, but right now they seemed to be demanding to make themselves known.

“i need air.” you huffed as you stood up, thankful that you had taken notice of the smokers exit not too far from you.

the crisp air felt like a soothing blanket, hitting your skin the moment you got outside. the balcony was empty and finally you felt as if you could breathe; allowing your arms to rest against the railing as the music became muffled and the sound of melbourne’s night life filled your ears.

it felt stupid, staring across the city skyline as if it would answer your questions. maybe the stars could align and write out a solution for you, tell you what to do.

but with every passing second you didn’t find any clarity or idea on what to do, how to feel. you shouldn’t want him. you haven’t wanted him before. it isn’t fair to suddenly feel so drawn to him after unknowingly rejecting him for so long.

but it was the reality. you’d been exposed to the idea of lando wanting you; and with every passing moment it became clear to you it wasn’t weird. it sounded fucking incredible.

the music suddenly filled your ears again, moments later becoming muffled as you became aware someone had joined you outside. it wasn’t till they spoke that you tensed up.

“it’s cold out here,” his voice was instantly recognisable, you didn’t need to look at him to know it was him.

“too hot in there.” you hummed simply in reply, feeling his presence next to you as he joined you in observing the city skyline; although you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

falling into a comfortable silence was the last thing you expected, both too scared to speak up and face the inevitable. if you could stay like this forever you would. it was the first few moments of peace you’d known all week.

“we can pretend the other night never happened. i don’t want things to be weird.” lando spoke, words so soft as if you’d break. as if he needed to be careful with you.

his whole demeanour had you frowning, turning to face him. he shouldn’t be fixing this mess, nor prioritising your feelings over his. not when both of you had neglected his for so long.

you parted your lips to disagree, to tell him that was the last thing you wanted. you wanted to talk about it. it’s all you needed to do.

but quickly you realised that was contradicting your initial thoughts.

“if that’s what you want,” you spoke through a breath; unable to understand how you still couldn’t find the right thing to say when this very conversation has been the only thing on your mind all week.

it was lando’s turn to stay quiet, you watched as he thought through what to say; practically seeing his mind tick.

“i just want to know why it’s so ridiculous to you.” lando practically blurted the question out, as if he was almost afraid he wouldn’t say it ever if he didn’t now. it’d been weighing on his mind, it killed him that he had no explanation as to why you were so against the idea of him in anyway that branched further than platonic.

and while you wanted to give him an answer, you didn’t have one.

“i don’t know.” you answered truthfully. “i never looked at you that way lando i…” you trailed off, eyes getting lost in his when you realised just how close he was. your admiration these past couple days from afar was one thing; but up close was a whole new ball park. “you were like this little kid, i don’t know,” you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

“yeah five years ago,” lando’s response was quick and blunt; even with the chuckle that escaped under his breath, it didn’t lessen the intensity in his eyes that were now pouring into yours. it was as if he’d been wanting to say such thing for years. he was challenging you.

you’d gulped at his words, because he was right and you’d only come to terms with such thing these past few days.

“yeah.” you mumbled in agreement, suddenly feeling small under his gaze; it was all so new. you’d been in this position with lando countless of times, why did you suddenly feel as if every nerve inside of you was being set alight? why did you feel as if you couldn’t dare look away from his eyes.

you could spot the moment lando realised the change in your behaviour, the way his eyes flickered across your face; his lips parting ever so slightly as he took a breath.

he recognised the look on your face, purely because it’s how he would always look at you.

“it fucking sucked you know? having to sit there while you laugh at the idea of spending the night with me. even just going on a date with me.” lando hummed, voice barely above the whisper because with the minimal distance he didn’t need to speak any louder. although if he spoke any quieter you’d be worried you wouldn’t hear him over the sound of your rapid heartbeat.

you didn’t know what to say, head tilting aside ever so slightly as you watched him take a step closer; dangerously close now yet for some reason you found yourself leaning further towards his frame ━ and the moment you let your eyes flicker to his lips you knew you were done for.

“m’ sorry,” you mumbled; eyes pouring into his once more as if that would ensure he knew you meant it, but he didn’t want nor need an apology. but god would he love an opportunity to change your mind.

it was as if you could act without thinking again the moment his hand cupped your cheek, lips pressed onto yours in a rush that had your hand moving to find a grip in his shirt.

you didn’t know how to describe it, but suddenly everything made sense as your lips moved together in perfect sync.

the moment almost came crumbling down however when lando pulled away only a few moments later, heavy breaths as his hand remained on your cheek; eyes looking down at you as if you were gods greatest gift to earth.

but as much as this felt like heaven, lando knew he couldn’t risk this just being a one time thing. he refused to get a taste of you just to be starved again.

“if you don’t━” lando barely got his words out, you had him read; could see the doubt beginning to creep in. as much as he hated being vulnerable it was almost self perseveration.

thankfully however you didn’t give him much time to worry, shaking your head before tugging him closer to you ━ reconnecting your lips with such certainty lando had no room to fear or doubt you.

it was all he needed, the lid was off and he finally could act on his wants ━ hands moving to grip your waist as he trapped you between himself and the railing, lips moving against yours without a care in the world that anyone could walk out and see.

it was as if the kiss was the answer to all your questions, suddenly it all made sense. lando made sense; you felt stupid, how had you denied yourself of such thing for so long?

your hands were tangled in his hair, his were clutching your sides for dear life ━ large hands pawing at your waist then your hips, having to stop himself from getting too greedy and travelling any further.

so caught up in him you quickly realised you needed to breathe, pulling away momentarily; yet you had no time to recover as lando only busied himself with peppering kisses on your jaw.

naturally you tilted your head back, a sigh of content escaping you as you invited him to explore more of you. and lando was not going to ignore such thing, soft kisses now pressed to the skin of your neck.

suddenly you were incredibly aware of the closeness, the way his body was pressed against yours; the cold railing behind you doing little to cool your hot skin; his knee pressing between your thighs having your eyes fluttering shut.

heaven was the only way to describe it.

but really you were on the smokers balcony of a crowded melbourne club, a reality that hit the pair of you as the door swung open and laughter and chatter was suddenly heard.

your eyes flickered to the group who appeared, lando regrettably lifting his head and glancing over his shoulder. the group was unbothered by your presence, you weren’t sure the pair of you were even noticed.

lando’s grip had tightened on your waist ever so slightly, as if you could slip away from him like the moment had.

“we should get out of here,” you spoke through heavy breaths as your eyes met his, watching as his lit up with both relief and eagerness. he only nodded, taking a step backwards as his hands ran over his now crinkled shirt.

the pair of you may had gotten yourselves together in those few seconds, but as you worked your way through the crowded club towards the exit, it was quite clear what had occurred.

the elevator ride only caused swollen lips and messy hair, and you struggled to keep your hands off of him once in the back of a taxi ━ kissing him was addictive, that’s the only thing you could think of right now.

the silence wasn’t awkward as you stumbled into his hotel room; only the sounds of quiet laughter as he struggled to find his room key. small curses escaping his mouth as he failed to move in the urgency he was currently feeling.

it was messy the way you both discarded your shoes and belongings, a few words and mumbles exchanged before he was tugging you into his chest again ━ lips once more reconnected.

the space allowed you to wrap your arms around his neck this time, body practically melting into his hold. you wanted to apologise again, explain your thoughts over the last few days, how your change of heart had occurred.

you weren’t even sure it was a change of heart; more so just now thinking about new possibilities.

but lando seemed to be the thing that could put those thoughts at bay, finally your mind was silent ━ all senses consumed with the man in front of you.

you weren’t sure which wall he’d backed you against but you didn’t care; welcoming the familiar feeling of his lips on your neck once more ━ taking the few seconds of your brain not being foggy to tug on the end of his shirt before trying to push it up his body.

he got the memo, ridding himself of his shirt and you could feel your breath get caught in your throat at the sight of his toned torso.

“what do you want?” lando’s question was matched with an intensity that almost had you squirming, his knee pushing between your thighs once more as you peered up at him.

you were suddenly lost for words, unsure how to vocalise what you wanted.

him. just him. anything he had to offer.

the feeling of his finger running up the side of your leg gave you plenty of ideas; but you were too flustered to articulate such thing.

the sight of you dumbfounded had him letting out a breathy chuckle, eyebrows raising in expectance ━ yet somehow it just had you squeezing your legs together.

“anything.” you mumbled, cheeks a tint of pink as he only smirked at your answer; you hadn’t realised how desperate you sounded. you weren’t sure you’ve ever sounded so needy.

“gotta be more specific pretty,” his grin told you he was revelling in your flustered state. how could he not? his mind was running wild with plans to have you a needy mess all for him.

the term of endearment was new, a boundary that had never been crossed in your friendship; yet it sounded so natural. what wasn’t natural was the way your heart seemed to flutter at the compliment.

“want me to touch you?” lando was almost mocking you as his hand moved to push your hair back out of your face, cupping the side of your head while doing so to ensure your eyes stayed trained on him ━ and the mere act had you falling further into submission.

it was pathetic, you were somehow able to identify such thing ━ standing here with parted lips and wide eyes, having nodded at his words almost too eagerly. you needed to control yourself, at least for now; he’d barely touched you yet.

“what do you want?” your words were no where near as confident as his, but you weren’t complaining; the confidence suited him, it only had you wanting him more.

you watched as his shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, attempting to keep your mind off his finger that was dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“want to ruin you so you’ll only ever think of me if another man touches you.” lando was honest with his answer, you hadn’t expected such words to escape his mouth. such bluntness, what sounded like a promise had your knees feeling weak ━ the idea sounding perfect to you.

but he wasn’t finished.

“want you to cum on my fingers.” he added quietly, your legs spreading ever so slightly as his hand finally ventured under your skirt. “then my tongue,” he practically chimed; head ducking down to your neck now, his hot breath fanning your skin.

thinking was only getting harder, his words were turning your mind into a puddle, much like the state of your undergarments.

“then my cock.” he concluded before paying extra attention to the skin on your neck, kissing intently as you let out a shaky breath.

attempting to process such words from him was difficult, but you were quick to figure out it sounded incredible to you.

“hm?” his hum was a taunt, head lifting to look at you once more, watching as you nodded quickly.

“please,” you practically whimpered, god you’d get on your knees and beg. lando almost groaned from the word leaving your lips alone, the way you were looking up at him with doe eyes had a grin forming on his face, one you mirrored for a brief moment.

the man couldn’t believe his eyes, a sight he’d dream of too many times was in front of him in the flesh and he wanted nothing more but to make sure you too would never forget these moments.

his lips returning to yours almost had you failing to notice the way his hand slipped under your skirt, finding your soaked panties with ease. he groaned into your mouth as he realised how wet you were, your only reply a slight tug on his curls.

light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with his fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours ━ but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.

you were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan ━ hand flying to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.

lando was watching you as if you were gods gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut ━ head falling back against the wall.

“you’re soaked baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.

“for you,” you breathed out ━ not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the driver smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.

for him. lando would never had thought that would ever be possible. if he wasn’t so focused on getting you off he’d be replaying those words in his mind again, and again.

suddenly it was becoming hard to keep quiet, strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession, causing lando’s pants to feel incredibly tight. but that was the last thing on his mind, holding you against the wall with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.

his name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so lando thought no one else should ever speak it again ━ nothing would compare to that.

“look at me.” lando’s demand was so calm you almost missed it, eyes still fluttered shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.

lando’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. so it was when his free large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that your eyes fluttered open.

his eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gage a reaction to the action which had your lips parting despite having no pressure applied. however it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.

the slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and lando could only hum in content. you were fucking perfect.

it was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly ━ eyes pouring into his as you struggled to form words.

“close,” was all you managed out; lando’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers ━ your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.

you were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.

“let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.

lando had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. your beauty truly knew no ends ━ and he was only now more eager to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.

admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer up at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.

“you’re incredible,” lando couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard.

however this time it was reciprocated, you could see the meaning behind it ━ not dismissing it as a friendly comment, instead it had your already flushed cheeks reddening further.

“you are.” you spoke like it was obvious, even letting out a small giggle ━ sounding somewhat out of breath but such thing was granted. your arms moved to wrap around his neck again, both to ensure he stayed close and because your only strength was in your arms.

your legs already felt like jelly.

he’d read the situation with ease, because suddenly his hands were hooked under your thighs ━ halting you up as your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso.

your skirt was bunched at your hips, ruined panties almost shameful. your hands spread out against his toned back, unable to help yourself from feeling as much of his flexed muscles as possible.

messy kisses were exchanged as he moved you through the hotel room, lips lazily moving against each other before your back was hitting his plush mattress.

the sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his frame as he stood at the foot of the bed ━ you quickly felt overdressed.

your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the brit.

you could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your half naked frame as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. the man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows.

he was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.

“you’re fucking beautiful.” he’d practically grumbled, your fingers finding his curls once more you could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.

“want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip ━ the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him.

he’d shushed you however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head hitting the pillow as you tried to control your breathing ━ left to stare up at the ceiling momentarily.

“i feel amazing,” lando spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking ━ your eyes flickering down, not expecting to meet his blue ones.

he looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core practically ache ━ offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.

he was quick in removing your skirt, and your panties ━ having you bare for him before he was hooking your legs over his shoulders. but his urgency seemed to still there, kisses pressed to your inner thighs instead of your glistening cunt.

“lando,” you’d whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “please,” the plea left you in desperation.

you could still feel his breath on your thighs, not where you needed him, and when you heard him chuckle lowly your eyes had to press shut to keep your composure.

“oh baby,” he dragged out; cooing so sweetly your eyes narrowed when they met his again. “needy little thing,” he commented; quirking an eyebrow your way and you couldn’t argue, only pout.

he wasn’t wrong, much to your surprise. you’d never found yourself in such position, needing and craving someone so badly. depending on someone else for pleasure was practically foreign.

“not gonna make you beg,” lando ended your torture, if you could even call it that, mouth connecting with your cunt and your jaw dropped as his tongue quickly found your clit.

you were already sensitive, back arching immediately as you moaned out softly ━ hands flying to find his curls again.

pure ecstasy was the only way to describe the feeling, his tongue working so perfectly that you were fighting to not press your thighs against his head ━ body moving with every action, his hand moving to press down on your hips and keep you in place.

your eyes caught his own for a mere few moments, seeing him look up at you however had your own eyes rolling back; too sensitive to stay cool with the onslaught of pleasure.

he was everywhere, consuming every one of your senses ━ tugging on his curls your only outlet as you moaned and shook.

you weren’t ever sure you’d be able to cum from head alone, but you were about to find out ━ pathetically close already, stomach tightening having barely recovered from your first orgasm.

you forced yourself to gaze down at him again, wanting to see his head between your thighs ━ watch the way his arms flexed as he held you in place with ease.

his tongue was flicking between your folds, then paying attention to your clit; never missing a beat, it flood over you suddenly.

you could no longer hear the sounds you were making as you came again, back arching off the bed once more ━ seeing stars, lando sure to catch the sight as you came undone for him again.

it was a blur the next few moments, not present as lando shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto his knees, but once you realised the sight in front of you it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.

“you good?” lando’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. you nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. you just wanted to feel all of him.

“perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. it was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again. you just wanted more and more, and the way lando’s hands flied to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.

you pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now ━ it didn’t take much force, he was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.

climbing into his lap your hands made quick work of his pants, unzipping them and moving all material out of the way to finally free his hardened cock.

lando moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you entered the hotel room.

he struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure.

fuck you could get used to that image.

“come on baby,” lando rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips ━ guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “fuck yourself on my cock yeah?” there was a slight smugness in his tone; the type that had you falling into submission once more, despite him vocalising your plans.

your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.

the pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.

you stilled, needing time to adjust to his size ━ and lando had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him having him content.

“you feel fucking incredible,” the driver rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.

“so big,” you mumbled; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving ━ eyes pouring into his as you began to ride him.

the closeness and intimacy would usually scare you; heck, it would normally terrify him. yet somehow it felt right, as if this wasn’t the first time between the pair of you.

your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, lando’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you ━ letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.

“fuck lando,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling ━ the sound of his own grunts and moans only adding to the pleasure.

“doing so good for me gorgeous,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. you sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow.

it wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything ━ a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.

you hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and lando didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.

you were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.

“fuck lando fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. fucking perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“take it baby.” he grunted, and you nodded so quickly as if you’d ever disappoint him, fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin ━ his thrusts harsh, not slow but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.

your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him ━ which lando made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments.

but as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.

“open your eyes princess,” he practically demanded, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes fluttering open to look at him.

his stamina was impressive, not surprising, still bouncing you on his cock as if it was nothing ━ but the way his breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.

“who’s making you feel this good?” lando’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state. your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.

“you, lando, you,” you whined out in response ━ and you felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “feels so good,” you told him ━ squeezing him as you did so.

he’d groaned at the feeling, almost having cum on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.

“want to cum again yeah? that you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.

his breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your ass as he used that as his grip of your body instead.

“wanna hear you say it,” lando grumbled ━ head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.

you were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like ━ so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said.

“too fucked out to form words baby?” lando teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. “want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.

“wanna’ cum again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “please let me cum,”

the british driver’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.

your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warm as you came on his dick ━ practically screaming his name as you did so.

lando came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more ━ only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.

you were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.

his hand moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation.

both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say. what to do. this was unexpected, to say the least.

you sat up straight after a couple minutes however, eyes meeting his ones; noticing the lack of intensity and confidence they held prior.

he was studying you as well, attempting to not spiral into a ‘what now.’

this meant a lot to him, he wouldn’t put that on you ━ that wouldn’t be fair. but you already had a good idea.

“i was wrong.” you finally managed to say what had been on the tip of your tongue, offering a small smile as his eyebrows raised in question.

he didn’t fully understand.

“about this. us. not making sense. being ridiculous.” you clarified, and the realisation washed over his features. you could feel him tense up slightly beneath you ━ shaking his head quickly.

“we don’t have to talk about it right now,” he assured in certainty. he didn’t want you to feel obligated to protect his feelings because you slept together.

which you appreciated, it was cute. he was thoughtful ━ which shouldn’t be a surprise.

“i’m not promising anything,” you clarified, dismissing him this time; you didn’t feel obligated at all. you weren’t saying you’d be his girlfriend and expected flowers when you woke up, but you needed him to know you no longer stood by what you said. you were also relieved to be able to articulate your thoughts. “but i was wrong.” you hummed.

a lazy smile spread on his features at that, acting like a catalyst for your own. a mumble of an okay and laughter was exchanged, before his lips were on yours again; a gentle kiss this time.

one you could certainly get used too.

━━

a/n: 615 days later and i’ve finally finished another fic. hope y’all r still there 😀😀

incredibly sorry for my inactivity and special shout out to everyone who has continued to support me despite the radio silence??? i love u

anyways i don’t love this but the fact i had the motivation to see it through was enough. hoping it’ll ease me back into writing and getting back up to standard, so apologises that it’s a little rusty 🫶🏼🫶🏼

what hasn’t changed is that it’s currently unedited and the ending is rushed hehe

as always feedback is always very much appreciated love u all mwahhh xoxo

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #x reader #f1 #lando norris angst #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #f1 angst #f1 one shot #lando norris #lando norris imagine

4K notes · View notes