#sorry oscar in advance

[lucithornz]

omg I just checked tags on ao3 and I have actually written something so bad no one else has touched it. . . fuck

[snailpebbles]

Simple Misunderstanding- OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Best Friend! reader

Summary: You couldn't both be this stupid right..? Oscar is telling you you're dating, but he never even asked you out.

Pure fluff, absolute idiots in love <3

⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚

You and Oscar have been best friends since highschool when he (not surprisingly) was on the verge of failing Physics from missing so many tests. Since those tutoring sessions you've been inseparable.

You've always had a thing for him, which you would deny until your death that hopefully takes place beside him, Bicentennial Man style. The problem is.. he's a world famous Formula One driver and you're what? Still studying for your degree? No, you could never deserve this sweetheart of a man. Even if you style his hair most days and he rubs your back to help you fall asleep. Just friendly things.

Now we're brought to your current predicament.

"What're you doing..?" Oscar mumbles out in confusion as you begin to lift your head from where it rested on his chest. You freeze on the spot, peering up at him from below his chin.

"Uhm.. getting up?" You whisper for no real reason, suddenly feeling like a caught child. Oscars eyebrows furrow and he pushes your head back down while muttering a quiet yet firm 'no'.

"Wha- what do you mean 'no'?" You scoff, feeling more akin to an annoyed teen now. You go to lift yourself up properly but now his arms, previously wrapped around your waist and rubbing your back, are anchoring you down.

"Stay." He simply says, his eyes closing as he plans to return to his half asleep state. Those plans are interrupted as your hands wiggle down to tickle his sides. He yelps and releases you on instinct, which you take as a chance to launch out of bed.

"What are you doing??" Oscar groans, groggily sitting up now with a petulant pout. You return the question, hands on your hips as you stare at his sleepy form.

"I'm trying to cuddle my girlfriend." Oscar huffs, crossing his very muscular arms. Silence stretches between the two of you, making Oscar actually open his eyes fully to take in your extremely shocked expression.

"What's that look for?" He asks, reaching for your right hand in a need to hold some part of you. You let him as you're still trying to understand what exactly he just said and if he's on drugs.

"Girlfriend?" You choke out, your mind going a million miles per hour as you sputter, matching your racing heart. Oscar raises his eyebrow at you like you're an idiot.

".. Yes. You're my girlfriend? For quite some time now?" He chuckles, standing up now. His arms wrap back around your waist as he smiles fondly at you, you. Are you dreaming? Maybe your heart is giving out.

"Since uh, since when am I your girlfriend?" You stammer in disbelief, his expression shifting to mirror yours. His head tilts in confusion, squinting at you.

"Did you hit your head or something?" He murmurs, lifting a hand to jokingly check your scalp for any bumps. By this point you must be burning up with how warm you feel.

"We're not dating." You manage to get out finally, Oscars hand pausing mid caress. It slides down to cup your cheek, his mouth now downturned.

"Yeah we are- we've been together for months now." Oscar shrugs, squishing your face in his hands. He shakes your head side to side and you laugh, placing your hands over his as you ask what he's doing.

"Trying to shake those screws back into place." He teases, rolling his eyes.

"I think I should be doing that to you. You've never asked me out before, so where did this come from?" You chuckle, not able to feel that stressed in his presence and especially not when he's cradling you like you're a precious diamond. (Which to him, you are). Oscar laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

".. I have to ask??" He mumbles, making you snort in laughter. Your head drops, forehead pressed to his shoulder as your own shake in silent giggles. Oscars face, neck, and ears are bright red at this point as he stammers, trying to save face.

"Yes! You have to ask! How did you even think otherwise?" You snicker, rolling your eyes affectionately at your oblivious boy. Oscar smiles in embarrassment, looking off to the side. Though it isn't long before his eyes are drawn back to the irresistible sight in front of him. You're practically glowing with an unrealized joy, your subconscious recognizing your returned feelings.

"I just assumed cause you- well-" He sighs, groaning at his own stupidity. A grin spreads across your face and you tap his cheek, bringing his focus out of his head.

".. I don't know." He finally admits, pout returning full force. It's a beautiful sight to see the typically stoic or calm Oscar looking so flustered, just for you. It sends a thrill down your spine that you're quickly becoming addicted to.

"We've never kissed or had sex, or honestly anything besides cuddling!" You exclaim, very glad to have such fantastic teasing and blackmail material that will last you years to come. Just wait until Lando finds out.

"I thought you wanted to take it slow, so I never initiated anything." Oscar explains, his cheeks a delicious shade of red. You have to take a moment to appreciate the sight and snap out of the daze it puts you in.

"Well how about you ask me out then now, hm?" You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek that short circuits his brain and yours. The goofiest grin spreads across his face and he drops to one knee, grasping your hand in his.

"Will you, my dearest love, do the honor of allowing me to be your boyfriend?" Oscar asks dramatically, taking a moment to swoon. Seeing him at such an angle, regardless of his stupidity, you still need to drink in the sight of the brunette boy on his knees. For you. Asking you out after years of pining.

God it is beautiful.

"Hmm.. yeah, sure." You shrug, feigning nonchalance even though you're internally squealing. Oscar stands up, putting his hands on his hips in a sassy display. He grins, a mischievous grin which you quickly realize is not something you wanna see.

"Oscar no-" Your sentence barely gets out before you're tackled on the bed, face being peppered by soft kisses. It tickles, giggles erupting from your lips as he murmurs incoherently against your skin. You're a mess of limbs, your leg is already going numb, and you've never been happier as your hands inch up to play with his hair.

"You're missing." You manage to say in between giggles and over the top kissing noises from the boy on top of you. He finally relents, holding himself up on his forearm beside your head.

"Oh really? Wanna show me where to go?" Oscar murmurs, his breath fanning across your awaiting lips. You mumble some teasing jab about boys always needing directions, making him tickle your sides to shut you up.

"Okay, okay I give up!" You laugh, pushing at his hand. He stops tickling you and as soon as you've caught your breath, his lips are on yours. They're warm, slightly chapped, and oh so perfect. He kisses like you're the finest food on Earth and it's his last meal. Both of your heads feel fuzzy as you pull away for some air, noses bumping and mutual giggles filling the silence.

"So.. wanna go back to sleep?" You suggest, the very short yet aggressive emotional rollercoaster exhausting you once more. Oscar nods eagerly, head collapsing to rest in your neck where he occasionally kisses the skin his lips can reach. A warm feeling spreads over you as you tug the blanket across your tangled bodies, dozing off into the most restful sleep of your life.

[millionmaggots]

dear malevolent fandom!!!

the collaborative malevolent christmas radio project i've worked on with some vv lovely fellow fans is coming soon! basically, it's a bunch of in-universe songs, ads, news segments, etc, inspired by the benevolent special from last year :)

collaborators include:

@zil-street @creekschaoscorner @izzybutt @nerdfaerie @autumn-doodles @hungry-hyena @dandelionbomb @rotflea @lunaescribe @nukuome @asthecrowtries @its-atlas69 @lissymax @marixmoon0702

[emmagnetism]

Why is it giving….👇?

[georgiasbrainstuff]

⚠️Warning⚠️

I am listening to sad songs and reflecting on the Australian GP. I fear some sad boy Oscar edits are on the way.

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

I'm not even 15 minutes into rewatching Interstellar and I think there is a chance my imagination is running wild again . . .

I have at least half a loose fic plot already hELP.

[standgrand]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60845713/chapters/158707600

Jon didn’t interrupt right away, giving Lando space to speak even as he wrestled with his own rising frustration. He could see it, Lando was spiraling, burying himself under the weight of his own expectations and brushing off the very real gravity of what had happened. But when the younger driver finally muttered, “It’s been five days, and it wasn’t even a heavy crash,” Jon froze.

His eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, he simply stared at Lando, stunned. Then, with a sharp inhale, his expression hardened.

“Lando,” he said, his tone firmer now, cutting through the younger man’s self-pity like a whip. “Do you even hear yourself? Have you seen the footage of that crash?”

[stripedstarsblueflags]

If you could do 9 and 17 from the dialogue game for loscar it would be amazing (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

I read your another one with sargebon and it's dknfkskdnsjks *explodes from emotions*, please write more🙏🙏🙏

i swear i didn’t mean to write 4.7k, but what did i wake up to this morning? no beta we die like williams public image

here you go loscar nation 💙🧡

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

[ruthellry]

who: @survivalxofxthexfittest (oscar)

where: ruth's apartment, #305

when: april, post ashton-imprisonment

she pours the wine cooler into one of her mismatched glasses, making use of a case that's been sitting unopened for the better part of a month which is now free game. before she hadn't drank because she'd thought herself too important, her skills too invaluable to even risk the thought of a hangover. but now, there was a second doctor/nurse team who could take over this shift as it were.

"are you sure you don't want one?" she's frayed at the edges, unable to remember the duties of inviting someone into her apartment besides warning them time and time again about the mess. but they're neighbors, and they have more to talk about than the state of her blankets on the couch. "it's blue hawaiian." she showcases the label with a small sweeping gesture, as though she's displaying the best bottle in the wexley, not something neon blue and smelling faintly of sunscreen.

"sorry, i don't have much else." she didn't elaborate on the point, the explanation stood self-evident. she allowed it to sit while she swallowed a sickly sweet mouthful of the drink, which was quickly followed by a grimace. "i'm not usually a host."

[genimas]

How I think changes are represented regarding team RWBY, JNPR, STRQ

Fair warning: This post is loooong

Team RWBY- Outfit's colour pallets

Volume 2 outfits won't be in here cause I think that's a whole different problem

Ruby Rose

-Beacon Arc: Red and Black, this is the start, nothing much to say

-Mistral Arc- Atlas Arc: Add white, her mother colour, this may be because she start to follow her footsteps, do what her mother did, because she believes her mother is the perfect Huntress she needs to becomes

-Prediction: In Volume 10 she will have less white?

Weiss Schnee

-Beacon Arc- The Schnee's colour is white- it represents snow, ice, cold- and her outfit has cold blue, she got away from the coldness of her family, the ice is slowly melt

-Volume 4-5: The blue is now dominate the white, I also think this blue is...bluer than the Beacon Arc's blue, the impact her friends had left on her is so strong the ice still continue to melt even when she's back home even though it's dull and lifeless but BUT

-Volume 6: I never notice this detail until I started to think about all of this. The RED scalf, she didn't have it in Vol.4-5 because she was at home, she was under Jaques' thump again Whitley is too every time we see him he still not refuse Jaquess no red no RED on him. At the start of Vol.6 she's backs with her friends, her teammates HER FAMILY. Wow that made me kinda emotional, anyway enough rambling

-Atlas Arc: Even if she's back 'house' she's still with her real family so she still has that red on her and the blue now is more like ocean too

Blake Belladonna

-Beacon Arc: White, black and a hint of purple. At this point in time her dominant colour is black because she still in her 'From Shadow' phase *wink wink*

-Mistral Arc: This is a, kinda, special situation. Noticeably, Blake adds purple- her Aura colour- to the outfit, still not sure what this means though. But that not all, before Blake had the black to cover the white part of her outfit, but now it's the opposite, you can say she is wrapped in purity.

-Atlas Arc: Another thing to consider is the black on her outfit slowly shift into dark purple/violet-> she slowly step out of the shadow and become her real self. So the black-ish/purple-ish, maybe the black is the White Fang and after Blake's arc in Vol.4-5 it now wraps around her with the white?

Yang Xiao Long

-Beacon Arc: This is a bit hard; Yang colours, as this post points out, are brassy yellow (most likely her hair), orche, brown and black. Here's the problem, her palette doesn't change at all except in Vol.4

-Volume 4: She still has all the colour but is wrapped in grey (Mercury's colour, maybe) and if I'm right, gold can be dissolved by mercury, so that's how her defeated state is represent. Note: when she gets back on her feets, the jacket is gone

-Volume 5- Atlas Arc: The only thing I can say about her changes is that she's no longer the thrill seeker she was at Beacon and has more practical outfit choice

Team JNPR- Weapons

Jaune Arc

-Beacon Arc: Crocea Mors-The hand down weapon of his family, as he's trying to become the warior like those before him

-Mistral Arc: The shield+Pyrrha's crown thingy. The weapon is now more him, and it represent his growth at Beacon but consider himself unimportant

-Volume 7-8: Atlas upgrade. Less that destructive 'I'm not important' thought, more mature as a fight and a leader

-Volume 9: 3 words- the Ever After (and maybe also V8 final)

Pyrrha Nikos

Miló and Akoúo̱

Nora Valkyrie

-Pre-RWBY: A wooden hammer

-Beacon Arc- Atlas Arc: Magnhild-She is no longer that scared little girl back at S but a bubbly enthusiastic pink lightning 'still little' girl but with low self-esteem problem. Interestingly, no Atlas upgrade cuz her arc, changes, growth happen in V8 so

-Prediction: weapon upgrade for Nora in V10

Lie Ren

Pre-RWBY: His father dagger

Beacon Arc-Mistral: StormFlower-No longer the boy who stand by, he now actively helping people but also have problem with suppressing his feeling

Atlas Arc: Atlas upgrade. Ren has changed after his arc in V5, learn to express his emotion more yay [V9 Epilogue] and now he's one who try to keep the team together, good for him

Team STRQ- Outfit

Now is the part where I speculate the most

When we heard story about Summer and every time Ruby remebered her, she wears [pic.1] but when the tree showed Ruby the real Summer that is not perfect she wears [pic.2]

Qrow tried to be better in V7 and to signify that growth, he got outfit upgrade

Tai and Raven hadn't have their outfit changed, but those are what we saw throughout the course of the show

✨Speculation time✨ this kinda stupid so take this with a grain of salt someone pointed put that Raven's arm guards are similar to Summer's, so what if at Beacon one of them had a significant growth and that was a gift from the other *shrug*. Qrow's old outfit had a similar neck to that of Taiyang👀 no one else like that, maybe(?). I think those who changed are more likely the Branwens, yeah

[fionns-meadow]

whenever i annotate i leave notes for the author in the margins and a fun fact about me is that i have not read a book from a living author (other than brokeback mountain) in almost 8 months….

[brklynvannn]

You can hear it in the silence • Landoscar

Chapter 9 out now.

Lando stares at him, caught between that alcohol fueled boldness and a barely there hesitation.

Oscar can see it. That crease between his brows.

He’s beautiful, Oscar thinks.

Not for the first time but the words don’t get to leave his mouth because Lando leans in and kisses him.

Oscar’s hands are in his hair instantly, fingers tangling in those damp curls, and Lando groaning into his mouth. Oscar is climbing into his lap like he belongs there.

[astral-projects]

kinda obsessed with the oscars starting so early like yes let's wrap this shit up already we should do this every year

[makesometime]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Characters: Zolf Smith, Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Background & Cameo Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship (more tags on ao3) Series: Part 10 of Year of the OTP - Zoscar Summary:

It’s mid-morning when the first message comes through. Zolf glances enough to see Oscar’s name on the alert and then promptly turns the phone over. He’s meeting with Sasha, and Oscar is a menace. It’s for the best.

It’s probably the only sensible decision he makes all day.

[meadowscarlet]

BARCELONA’S SWEETHEART | OP81

✩ — summary: oscar develops a teensy-tiny… okay, maybe a huge (enormous, actually), crush on the younger sister of football barcelona’s talented midfielder, pedri.

✩ — oscar piastri x fem!reader

✩ — author’s note: mixed up timelines for the plot & i don’t speak spanish so i used google translate sorry in advance if it’s not accurate LMFAO

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, f1, lamineyamal, jkeey4 and 809,556 more

fcbarcelona A special visit from the grid to the pitch. Welcome, Oscar Piastri! 💙❤️🏁

View all 14,556 comments

random somebody pinch me

random OSCAR????? WATCHING A BARÇA GAME?????? this is so huge

random RIGHT MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING

random why can’t this man at least wear an fcb jersey /?/?/? this white polo shirt is stuck permanently on his body im truly cracking up

random FCB x McLaren collab when 👀

random OMGGGG he was in the VIP players zone

random DID ANYONE ELSE SEE OSCAR CHATTING WITH PEDRI’S SISTER

random I DID… i also saw fernando and their mom smiling while oscar and y/n were talking… im about to start a rumor

random i wonder what they were talking about 😭

random thank god y/n’s fluent in english but anyways they’re so cute together oh my god

random THEY AREEEE this is the first time i’ve seen so much emotion on oscar when he’s talking to someone

random bro looked too comfortable like he’s been to 5 family dinners already 😭

oscarpiastri Huge win! Thank you for having me I had a great time

random and we said oh we’re sure

random ahhh te amo oscar 😍😍😍

random this is insane

random i love this crossover soooo bad

random now we need an oscar and pedri pic together

random carlos sainz disliked this

random OSCCCCC 🧡🇦🇺

random BARÇA AND F1 YESSS 🙏🏼

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, pablogavi, ferrantorres and 234,223 more

youruser VICTÒRIA!!!!!!!! no podría estar más orgulloso 💙❤️ (victory, i couldn't be more proud)

View all 3,456 comments

random liked 👀 by 👀 oscarpiastri

random girl he also commented imejsnhsha

pablogavi hermanaa ❤️ (sister)

youruser pablitooo 🥰

random ugh their friendship is to die for

random VAAAMOOOOSS!!!

oscarpiastri as they say, Visca el Barça

youruser hmm i think your spanish is improving

oscarpiastri i’d still want some of your lessons so i could be more fluent and all

random is this oscar trying to flirt

random here he comes world, please be kind to him

random IMJSJSHXBHWHAHAH

random most supportive sister ever 🥰😭 pedri’s so lucky to have you

random i wonder what pedri feels with all these sudden y/noscar propaganda happening 💀

pedri publicando como si no me gritaste todo el partido (posting like you weren’t yelling at me the whole match)

youruser SHHHHHHH

random I LOVE THEM 😭😭😭😭😭

random PEDRIIJSNABSHA

pedri siempre la más orgullosa. te quiero, enana ❤️(always the proudest one. love you, shortie)

youruser te amo 🪄🌟

random the switch up is killing me

liked by youruser, mclaren, alex_albon, isackhadjar and 464,556 more

oscarpiastri Hola Barcelona 👋 ready for a fast weekend

View all 11,332 comments

youruser hola 👋

oscarpiastri suddenly forgot every spanish word i rehearsed

random THIS IS GOOOLD 😭💀

random NOT OSCAR BEING DOWN BAD IN REAL TIME

random OSCAR PLEASE 😭😭😭

random no way she got oscar fumbling his language skills tears in my y/noscar eyes

random barcelona’s got a way of making u smile a little more

random probably had to do with a certain pretty gonzález sister

opeightyone Vamos 😎💪🏼💪🏼

random i have a good feeling about this weekend

random ya’ll hear me out. y/n attends the race and oscar will win this gp then they start dating and it will all be so poetic like like like

random on to something ❌ ON something ✔️

fernandoalo_oficial 🤔

random NANDO?/?/?:? what r u doing here 😭

liked by oscarpiastri, lamineyamal, raphinha, hctorforrt_ and 211,33 more

youruser could get used to this 😋

View all 8,446 comments

random the second slide… ain’t no way

random did somebody check on oscar

random girl i feel like that arm belongs to oscar..

random he’s in the likes but he didn’t comment is it over for y/noscar 🥀

pedri dios mío ¿qué es esto? (oh my god what is this)

pablogavi 😂😂😂

ferrantorres 😂😂😂

lamineyamal 😂😂😭😭

random LMDAO THEY KNOW SOMETHING

random a case that doesn’t sit right w me 💔

random THIS HAS ME YELLINGSHHSHS

youruser has added to their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, youruser, colepalmer10, ferrantorres, harrykane and 546,553 more

mclaren Welcoming some special people in our garage in Spain 🇪🇸🤝🧡

View all 12,331 comments

random did oscar like this while he was in the car??????????? LMFAOOOO

random Y/N ON THE SECOND SLIDE WE WON

random i knew she would attend today’s race 😭

random third picture is so cold 🥶🥶🥶

random barcelona’s sweetheart at the mclaren garage oscar’s plan is slowly coming together

random y/n’s so gorgeous

random right she’s unreal

random hermosa chica @youruser 🥺 (beautiful girl)

random why didn’t pedri attend with y/n like lewa ferran and eric were there but not him 😕

random he’s busy training with the national team

random some special people 🙂‍↕️ is one of your guest the special someone of ur driver 🙂‍↕️

random guys im gonna get delusional for a sec but i’d like to imagine that y/n’s wearing oscar’s mclaren jacket that’s all. thank u for listening

random here you go ❤️

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, pablogavi, paucubarsi, mclaren, _rl9 and 312,112 more

youruser i quite like the color orange 🧡

View all 11,122 comments

oscarpiastri Hola 👋

* ♥ by author

random boy if u don’t put ur phone down… the race starts soon

random IM CRYING HE’S SO UNSERIOUS 😭😭

random he’s so lame i’m so endeared

oscarpiastri i like your cap

youruser a certain aussie with a cute smile gave it to me

random JUST FUCKING KISS GOD DAMN

random oh no she’s gonna make oscar malfunction before the race

pedri te criaste con el blaugrana, no empieces a cambiar de bando ahora... 🤨 (you were raised a blaugrana, don’t start switching sides now)

youruser no seas tan dramático (don’t be so dramatic)

random “i quite like the color orange” GIRL JUST SAY YOU’RE IN LOVE

random like mama we’re tired

mclaren Barcelona’s sweetheart gracing her presence in our garage 🧡

alejandrobalde ay, crecen tan rápido 🥲 (aw, they grow up so fast)

pablogavi JAJAJA 😂

random not these boys whacking y/n i know she’s sick of them 😭😭😭

lamineyamal 8️⃣1️⃣?

youruser sí (yes)

random okay chat it’s confirmed already

liked by youruser, ediepiastri, lamineyamal, pedri, mclaren, lewishamilton and 789,445 more

oscarpiastri What an enjoyable weekend

View all 20,334 comments

random oscar dedicating his win to his sister and y/n im gonna kill myself

ediepiastri ❤️🔥

random OSCAR MOUTHING HOLA WHILE HE WAS APPROACHING Y/N TO HUG HER IS THIS THEIR ROUTINE ITS SO CUTE FUCKEJ

pedri 👏👏👏🏆

random PEDRI APPROVE????

youruser bien hecho, mejor chico 🤗 (well done, best boy)

oscarpiastri Mi chica (my girl)

random WAR IS OVER

random oscar speaking in spanish 🙂‍↕️ the lessons from y/n is paying off

random MY FAVE COUPLE EVER

random they just make sm sense 😭🩷

mclaren VAMOS P1ASTRIIIIII 🧡🧡🧡

random such a great weekend!!! 😍

random futuro campeón 😎 (future champion)

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, ediepiastri, lando, pablogavi and 321,132 more

youruser Hola 👋 huge win for osc congrats pretty boy 🥰 & the best weekend ever!!!!!!!! somebody pinch me (also thank u to edie for sending this pic of oscar trying to kick the ball lol)

View all 10,762 comments

random oscar piastri to barcelona here we go?

youruser let’s just stick to driving ❤️

random Y/NJDJSJSHSHHSHSHSHSH

oscarpiastri baby 🙁

random he calls her baby where’s my meds im gonna throw up they’re so 😭❤️❤️❤️😭

oscarpiastri Gracias preciosa (thank you gorgeous)

random he’s fluent now

random did anyone else see f1 putting “oscar piastri’s partner” when y/n appeared on the screen who else JUMPED

random this whole race was basically their hard launch 😭

random and people called me delusional when i was right 😒😒😒 this is so poetic

random and suddenly life is worth living 🚬

pedri bueno… si se le puede llamar lindo (well… if you can call it cute)

pablogavi 😂🥰🥰

lamineyamal el fútbol te echa de menos (football misses you)

youruser sabes que estaré allí en el partido de españa contra francia 😤 (you know i’ll be there in the spain vs france match)

pedri ¿vas a traer a cierto australiano? (are you bringing a certain australian?)

youruser obvio. ahora está atrapado conmigo 🙄 (duh. he’s stuck with me now)

oscarpiastri yes to whatever she said 😇

random this man is so whipped 😭

random there’s no saving him now i fear

oscarpiastri i don’t want to be saved thanks 👍🏻

random no way he replied to MEJDJSB

random oscar piastri winning the spanish GP in barcelona and officially dating the sister of the best spanish midfielder in the world… what prayers did he say…

random he’s living the life

random bagged the barcelona sweetheart and i had to stand up from my toilet to applaud

random girl who is going to be okay

[sevikaswifegurl]

RED FLAG!

Synopsis: What happens when he says that one of his habits is a red flag?

Word count: 2.389

Characters: Carlos Sainz, Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Kimi Antonelli and Lance Strol.

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors and promise that I will improve the templates

Inspiration: @tsunodaradio please don't curse at me, I swear I looked at your post and thought: "I have to do one like this, I need to" and I love your account, so I was inspired by it, I'm sorry if you feel "invaded" or something like that, if you feel that way let me know and I'll delete the post!

CARLOS S. (CS55)🚩 ⸻ INSTANT TEXT REPLIES

Carlos realizes something's changed when you stop replying so quickly. It’s not a huge absence — not hours, not days. Just long enough for him to notice that now, your messages sit there. Waiting.

Before, it was automatic. He’d barely hit “send” and your reply was already coming in. Sometimes you both typed at the same time, your messages overlapping. It was lighthearted, fun. He laughed, and you used to say you just wanted to make sure he never felt alone.

But after that stupid conversation — just a random night, when he made a thoughtless joke about replying too fast being a red flag — it all stopped. You smiled, but it wasn’t the same. The next morning, you took over twenty minutes to reply to a “good morning.” That had never happened before.

By the third time he notices it, he can’t pretend anymore.

You’re sitting on his bed, rubbing lotion into your hands, lost in your own routine. Carlos is leaning against the doorframe, watching you. And he says it — no warning:

“You stopped replying fast because of me, didn’t you?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, not quite following.

“You said it was a red flag.”

“I was joking.” He folds his arms, stepping closer. “But I think I hurt you.”

You take a deep breath and lower your gaze.

“You laughed at one of the only things I did without thinking. Replying to you quickly… it was never about anxiety. I just liked talking to you.”

Carlos sits beside you. Your shoulders brush.

“I didn’t want you to change that because of me.”

“I know.” You smile, just a little.

“But I thought maybe you didn’t like it as much as I thought you did.”

He takes your hand. Squeezes it gently.

“I loved it. Still do. I stare at my phone like an idiot, waiting for that ‘hey’ two seconds after mine.”

You laugh under your breath. Rest your head on his shoulder.

“Then don’t complain when I go back to being way too fast.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it, type a reply without even looking. Carlos smiles.

You’re back.

OSCAR P. (OP81)🚩 ⸻ TAKING A GYM MIRROR SELFIE

Oscar never thought something as simple as a gym mirror selfie could mean so much. It was more than just a photo — it was a fragment of your day, a stolen moment between sweat and effort that he could keep and revisit whenever the distance started to weigh heavy.

He loved those pictures. Your hair tied up in any way, sometimes damp, sometimes stuck to your forehead with sweat. The soft gym lighting glowing against the foggy mirror. That crooked little smile you’d give the camera, like you were saying, “I’m here, I’m still going.”

Every photo you sent was like a secret note, a quiet reminder that even far apart, you were connected. He’d check his phone with this ridiculous anticipation, waiting for that one notification that could brighten up the middle of a long day.

Sometimes it was a classic selfie — sports bra on, elbow on your waist. Other times, a short clip of your workout, muffled music in the background, your focused eyes as you pushed through the final rep. The caption could be anything — “almost died,” “PR on leg press,” “barely surviving” — but to him, every word was a precious detail of your routine, your effort, your strength.

And then, one day, the photos just... stopped.

At first, he thought it was just a break. Maybe you were tired, or too focused on training to think about documenting every moment. But what started as a pause turned into silence. The silence became longing, and longing turned into this quiet, aching emptiness he didn’t quite know how to fix.

He missed those images the way he missed your scent when you were apart too long, the way he missed your touch after a bad day. He missed opening his phone and seeing your flushed face, that tired but proud look in your eyes, that visual proof that you were out there, pushing through, winning.

One night, after another full day, he gave in. Picked up his phone, hesitated just for a second, and typed:

“I miss your gym selfies.”

On the other end, you laughed — light, surprised.

“Really? I thought you said that was a red flag.”

He shook his head, even though you couldn’t see him.

“Red flag? Never. I love them. They're my favorite part of the day.”

You went quiet for a second, then your voice came through soft and careful:

“Then why did you say it was?”

Oscar sighed, a little embarrassed.

“I didn’t want to sound weird. I thought it might annoy you.”

“You don’t annoy me” you said, and he could practically hear the smile on your lips.

“Alright. I’ll send you a bunch of selfies. Every time.”

The phone buzzed a minute later.

There you were — hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, the gym mirror foggy behind you, a tired but genuine smile lighting up the frame.

Oscar smiled to himself on the couch, holding his phone like it was the most valuable thing in the world.

“Best thing that ever happened to my timeline” he replied, already counting down the minutes until the next one.

From that day on, the gym mirror selfies became a ritual. More than just photos, they were pieces of both your days — invisible threads that held you close through distance and time. Every picture a silent promise: that no matter where you were, you’d find each other — even if just through a screen and a slightly blurry selfie.

And deep down, Oscar knew those photos — so simple, so you — were more than just images. They were the way you stayed close, remembered, loved.

LANDO N. (LN4)🚩 ⸻ LIKING EVERY PHOTO ON HIS SOCIAL MEDIA FEED

You never really thought about it. Liking Lando’s posts was one of those small, automatic things — a reflex. He posted a gym mirror selfie, you liked it. A random selfie in his stories with a ridiculous filter, you liked it. A photo of the car, the track, a random sunset: like. Always.

It wasn’t flattery. It was just... you being there. Present. Saying everything without saying anything.

At first, he thought it was funny. He used to send you screenshots of the notifications, saying “First like as always,” or “Can’t get a second of peace with you online.” It was a joke. Affection disguised as teasing.

Until the video.

You were lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your feed, when you saw the title: “F1 Drivers Decide Their Personality Red Flags!” You clicked for entertainment, nothing more — until Lando showed up on screen, cap on, with that look like he was always on the edge of laughing.

“Red flag?” he repeated, thinking. “If you like every photo on my feed… I’ll block you.”

Your stomach twisted. Sure, he laughed after the line. But it was that weird kind of laugh — the one that comes a little late, with a half-look. And it stuck in your mind.

The next post, you hesitated. Scrolled past without hitting the heart. And then you kept doing it. One, two, five posts — no likes from you. Nothing on his stories either. No comments.

Two days later, you were both on the couch, sharing a pizza and watching some random movie neither of you were really paying attention to. He was scrolling through his phone while you queued up the next episode.

“You stopped,” he said, out of nowhere.

You looked over. “What?”

“Liking my photos.” His eyes stayed on the screen, but his voice was more serious than usual.

“You said you’d block me,” you shrugged.

He finally turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “You thought I meant that?”

“It sounded like you did.”

Lando sighed and leaned back against the couch, dropping the phone onto his lap. “It was a joke. I said it smiling.”

“You smiled two seconds after saying it. That’s not the same thing.”

He was quiet for a moment, just looking at you, like he was deciding whether the argument was worth it. Then, softer:

“I liked it. Seeing you there. Liking everything. It made me feel like you were... with me. Even when you weren’t.”

Your chest tightened. You dropped your gaze for a second, until he reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

“If you want to like everything, go ahead,” he said, with a half-smile now. “Just don’t like stuff that’s too old or I’ll know you’re stalking me.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “As if you don’t do worse.”

“I’m discreet.”

“You liked a 2016 photo of mine at three in the morning.”

“I was conducting historical research.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled out your phone. And there, curled up next to him on the couch while he laughed beside you, you opened his profile and liked everything again. One by one.

Even the dumb ones.

Especially the dumb ones.

KIMI A. (KA12) 🚩 ⸻ NOT BEING TAGGED IN A GROUP PHOTO

The photo was taken right after the movies, after a whole Saturday wandering around the mall with the group. You hadn’t thought much about it: just lifted your phone, squeezed everyone into a tight frame, and hit the button before anyone blinked.

The result? Three spontaneous smiles, Giulie’s funny pout, and Kimi in the background, half-hidden behind you, with an expression too neutral for someone who had laughed so much half an hour before.

You posted it as soon as you got home. A simple caption, basic emojis. Tagged those who had replied to your stories on the way back. And went to sleep.

The next day, his notification wakes you up.

Kimi Antonelli commented on your post: “Nice photo. Too bad not everyone was there, huh?”

You don’t get it at first. Only later, reviewing the post, you notice the absence.

You didn’t tag him.

You open the chat without thinking twice.

“It was unintentional.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Kimi, I swear.”

“You even tagged Alessandro, who barely appears.”

You laugh despite the mini panic. Because yes, Alessandro only shows a shoulder and an eyebrow — and yet he got tagged. Kimi, fully there in the background, didn’t.

“Want me to fix it?”

It takes a while. Like three minutes.

“Too late now. Delete it. It looks ugly.”

You drop your phone on the bed. He never says things directly. But you know this tone. Kimi can drive a kart at two hundred an hour, but he feels invisible in a group photo.

In the afternoon, he shows up in front of your house like nothing happened. Old sweatshirt, messy hair, phone in his pocket. But when you open the gate, he just says:

“You forgot me.”

You cross your arms. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “But still.”

You stare at each other for a long second.

Then you pull out your phone. “Smile.”

“For what?”

“For a new photo.”

“Just me?”

“No,” you answer, walking over and tugging his sleeve. “Ours.”

He hesitates but smiles — that quiet kind you’re the only one who recognizes. You take the selfie, the two of you in front of your house, with no one else left to forget to tag.

You post it right after, no filter, no caption.

And tag only him.

LANCE S. (LS18) 🚩 ⸻ TAKING A PICTURE OF THE MEAL BEFORE LETTING PEOPLE EAT

Lance realizes it the worst way possible: when it’s already gone.

You’re at a restaurant in Barcelona, and the dish that arrives is too beautiful to just let pass — one of those you’d normally turn to the side, adjust the napkin, and murmur “just a second” while looking for the best angle.

But this time, you just... eat. As if you couldn’t let it go by.

He watches for a moment longer than he should, his own cutlery still resting at the edge of the plate.

“Aren’t you going to take a picture?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You chew slowly. Give a small, almost shy smile. “You said it was a red flag.”

His fork slips slightly from his hand. “That was a joke.”

“I know.” You shrug. “But you were serious. At least at the time.”

He doesn’t answer. Just pretends the food is still too hot.

Later, with you asleep on his chest, Lance scrolls through the camera roll on your phone. Pictures of everything: your sneakers pressed against the subway, a crooked plant in Vienna, the reflection of you both in some shop window in Milan. But food... no. The last one is weeks ago — pasta with pesto and a glass of white wine. His hand appears in the corner, holding the plate for you.

He feels a silly tightness in his chest. It was just a photo, he thinks. But it was also your way of caring for things. Your way of marking what was beautiful. Of not letting it go unnoticed.

The next morning, you make pancakes. Serve two plates with cut fruit and a drizzle of honey, all simple, all beautiful your way. When you turn your back, he grabs the phone almost without thinking.

“Hey,” he says. “Hold the plate a little more to the left.”

You freeze. Turn slowly, looking at him.

“You want to take a picture?” you ask, voice low, suspicious.

Lance gives a half smile. “I want to see you do it again.”

You hesitate for a second. Then adjust the plate.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Perfect.”