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obsessedhoneycomb · 16 hours ago

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You have no power, liebling

Toto Wolff x fem!reader

-> Toto’s masterlist

Summary: You divorced your possessive and dominant husband Toto Wolff, raising your daughter alone. As you navigate your ways through coparenting, Toto takes advantage of the fact that your daughter is longing to have her parents both at home from time to time and he slowly but surely gets to claim you again.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, powerplay, your daughter being sweetly naive, unexpected pregnancy, possessive and toxic behaviour

Word count: 2.0k

A/N: I saw some spicy post here in the morning and that inspired me to write this. Enjoy. :)

–

Toto Wolff.

The big bad boss in the F1 field. Also your ex husband, father of your four year old daughter. Possessive and controlling prick.

Divorce was hard and bad, almost got you to the lowest point of your life. But in the end, Toto decided to let you go.

Because he knew he’ll find a way back to you. To claim you quietly again. And your daughter was the assurance that led him to you.

A year after the divorce you established some kind of coparenting, you having the main priority as a mother and him because of his busy schedule could have your daughter for the first three days in a week before he left for races. Also he took her to many vacations, some in the mountains and some on his various yachts he owned.

You came back from your business trip, meeting Toto at your apartment, your daughter falling into your arms. “Oh, baby, how I missed you…”

Your daughter giggled as she clung onto you like a koala bear, nuzzling into your neck. Toto watched it with a clenched jaw, taking in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening at how good you looked in your business clothes.

You kissed her cheek with a soft smile, finally looking at Toto, but now with a sharp gaze. “Thanks for taking her to me.”

“No problem. We had a lovely time together.” Toto smiled, his gaze landing on his daughter.

Your girl took a strand of your hair and softly played with it. You could tell that something is wrong with her. “What is it sweetie?”

She looked at Toto who gave her a soft smile as if he was encouraging her. “Can daddy stay a little longer today…? I want to show him my dolls.”

You took in a sharp breath, your brows furrowed in disapproval but the look on her sweet innocent face got you weak. After a while of silence you just sighed, defeated. “Okay, fine. Just for a moment.”

Your daughter turned to look at Toto with an excited face. “Yes! Daddy, come, I’ll show you.”

And that’s how Toto ended up in your apartment, in your safe space, your daughter dragging him to her room showing him around. While you sat in the living room, shifting uneasy, slight shivers going down your spine. You could smell his darkness, how he was getting under your skin again. You knew this was his idea. That he planted it into the innocent mind of your daughter.

“Mommy! I want daddy to read me a good night story.” she stormed to the living room, already dressed in her pajamas. The thought of Toto running through your bathroom left you more uncomfortable but you put on some fake smile. “Of course.”

Toto sat in the room of their daughter, welcoming her in his arms and then tucking her into bed. After he read the story, she had her eyes heavy and she looked at him. “I love you, daddy…”

That was all he needed to encourage his plan. He brushed his finger over her soft cheek. “Daddy loves you too, liebling.”

Closing the door gently, he walked down the hallway, noticing the dim light from the kitchen and there you stood. Leaning against the counter, stiff, arms crossed over your chest with your face tight and sharp. How he loved when you’re like this. All for him to break you.

“You should go, Torger.” your voice was full of venom but there was also a hint of… fear?

He took a step closer to you and your eyes glinted with mild surprise, you thought he’d listen to you.

“I should stay. You look tired. In no shape to look after our daughter.” his voice was taunting, your mind was spinning from it as you rounded the kitchen, your gaze still on him.

“I’m pretty capable of taking care of her. Go. You’re not welcome here.” this time your voice was shaky and he smirked. He could still make you lose your composure.

With one swift move he was pinning you against the counter, his tall and strong body giving you no chance to escape. His right hand captured your throat, holding you tight but not that much to choke you. Looking down at your scared face, he was satisfied. “You let me in your safe haven, schatzi. You’re a good soul. I knew you would not say no to our precious daughter.”

Trembling, you gasped for air trying to say something but he shushed you. “No, don’t speak. You’re gonna need your breath for later.”

Your eyes widened when his other hand found its way between your legs, it was a very bad idea to wear only the bathrobe. You were so naive.

He chuckled darkly when he found out you’re wet. “Ah, ah, what do we have here, darling?”

You tried to wiggle from his grasp, but his finger slid inside you, stretching you and you almost screamed, but he was quick to shut your mouth with his large hand. Pressing his body against you more, he watched your wide eyes. “Shhh… you don’t want to wake up our princess, do you?”

Whimpering you couldn’t help but buckle your hips to his hand, he gave you exactly what you needed, what you missed.

“Toto…” you mumbled against his hand.

“You want your ex husband to make you feel good, huh? Now I am enough for you?” he taunted you, curling his fingers sinfully inside you making you a mess.

But suddenly he took a step back from you, leaving you needy and empty, licking his fingers from your sweet nectar. You nearly collapsed from that sight. Bastard.

“Have a good night, schatzi. See you soon.” he smirked and walked out of your apartment, the soft click of the lock made you slide on the floor shivering with tears in your eyes. This was wrong, you shouldn't feel like this by him.

–

A week later you prepared a birthday celebration for your daughter, your parents were there along with some of your friends and Toto came unannounced. Your daughter was ecstatic about her daddy being there, but you just stood there flustered and uneasy. Everything went good, Toto played his part as a doting father, everybody took his bait successfully.

You managed to separate from them, to cut a cake. Standing there, you caught a glimpse of a figure walking through the entrance of the kitchen, thinking it’s one of your friends so you look up with a wide smile only to see Toto standing there with his dark grin.

“Do you need some hand, liebling?” he purred in feign innocence, taking a few steps to your figure at the counter. You tried to keep your confidence, cutting the cake, his hand sliding down your back to land on your ass, squeezing it, causing you to whimper.

“Focus, darling. You don’t want to cut yourself, do you?” he whispered into your ear, his nose nuzzling your hair, taking in your scent.

“Toto–” you tried to protest, but his hand slid further under your skirt, feeling the lace under his touch, making him grunt in need.

“You naughty girl. You clearly planned this for daddy, hm?” he continued to tease you darkly, hooking his finger around your lacy thong pulling it to the side.

“You can’t–”

“I can, and I will.” he chuckled darkly, moving behind you, hoisting your skirt slightly up, and you heard he was unbuckling his pants. You could stop him, you could scream. But you did nothing. Because you wanted him. Needed him. You were dripping for him.

Sucking a breath in your lungs you sunk the knife into the cake at the same time he pushed his thick cock inside your welcoming folds.

“Fuck– schatzi–” he whispered into your hair, gripping your hips by the force of his large hands, halting all in inside you. You could feel him twitching inside you, poking into your cervix.

Your hand trembled, messing the icing of the cake. Biting into your lips, you tried to keep yourself quiet.

“Look at you. Lusting over your ex husband. Letting him rail you in your home, when your guests are in the next room with our daughter. I always knew you had this in you. So filthy, liebling, matching my freak.” he chuckled, thrusting into you, now you put the knife to the side, leaning onto the counter, drooling from the overwhelming pleasure you didn’t feel in a very long time.

Toto saw how he affected you, it was still the same, he had so much control over you. You were weak against his power.

A few moments later, he adjusted your thong to its place, the lacy fabric not stopping his cum leaking from your abused pussy, patting your ass gently as he straightened your skirt with his hand. “Good girl. Now…” he smiled and handed you the plate with the cake. “...we can’t let our guests wait, huh?”

–

“Mommy, you’re sick. I’m gonna call grandma.” your baby girl stood at your bed, looking at your poor form, your cheeks flushed and the cold towel resting on your forehead.

With a soft yes, she dialed your phone, but her small hand pressed the wrong number and the deep voice spoke on the other side.

“Oh. Daddy! Mommy is sick.” her sweet but worried voice filled the bedroom and you gasped in shock.

“Mommy is sick? Then I should come over, sweetheart, is that right?” He spoke calmly, very satisfied that his daughter is playing a great part in his plan.

She stood a few steps back from the bed, so you won’t be able to snatch a phone from her. “Yes, mommy needs help.”

“I’m gonna be there in a few minutes. Just stay close to your mommy.”

And he did. The entrance door was unlocked, he stepped inside the apartment, which was unusually quiet. Finding a way to your bedroom, he opened the door only to see you lying there on the bed like you could die any moment with your daughter snuggled against your side, worried.

“Daddy!” your daughter exclaimed with happiness, not moving an inch from you, while you landed your eyes on Toto’s figure. He looked so domestic, as always, in his sweatpants and Mercedes shirt. He sat beside you on the bed, placing a hand over your red cheek. With a soft hum, he looked at his daughter with a serious expression. “Darling, go to your room and play with your dolls, I need to speak to mommy and take care of her, so she’ll be better.”

She nodded, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and she disappeared behind the bedroom door.

“You don’t have to take care of me, I can do it myself.” you spoke with your voice hoarse. Toto patted your cheek again, he smiled widely. “Now, now, schatzi… It’s no coincidence that you feel sick. Don’t you think?”

You frowned in confusion, while his hand traveled down to your stomach. Then it clicked in your brain. Fear overwhelmed your weak body. No, that can’t be true.

Catching up your realization he smirked darkly. “Mhm, you finally understood, right?”

“No, it’s not possible– I–”

“I know how you’re sensitive about birth control and that you’re not taking any. So…” he rolled up your shirt a little over your stomach, only to lean down and kiss your flesh. It made you shiver, and you hated it.

“No, Toto. Don’t–” you tried to push him away.

“Stop. You have no say in this. You’re having my baby. And I’m staying. If you like it or not. You won’t be raising our children without their father. I’m gonna take care of it legally. You have no power, liebling.” he purred, placing kisses over your belly, being already obsessed with it.

You let out a shaky breath, on the verge of your tears. You were trapped.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of you. As I always did, hm?” he smiled mischievously, cupping your cheek only to slide the towel away from your forehead to place a tender kiss there.

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@withering-daylight

#thinking about this right now #Toto Wolff

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obsessedhoneycomb · 16 hours ago

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“Osco” — that nickname made me melt 🥹

Why do I have a very bad feeling about Lando’s wellbeing? The mentions of AIDS… well… holy shit, I’m scared 😭

But also hell yeah Oscar for standing your ground and dismissing Lando’s attempt of “repayment”. Because that’s very dirty how Lando is playing with him.

Not me partially disappointed when Oscar has a girlfriend. But, well, everybody was there at some point in their life back then… 🤭

I adore and love how it’s well written, it’s like a soft feather touching your skin as you read through it, delicately touching the itch in your brain that needs to be scratched.

🧡🧡🧡

Keep Passing the Open Windows (ln4/op81) —July 13, 1989

Series Masterlist | Read on Ao3

↳ Series Summary: Oscar meets Lando at LiveAid in 1985. For twelve years thereafter, they are pushed to the limits of how much they are willing to give and take for each other. ↳ Pairings: Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri, George Russell x Alex Albon (background) ↳ Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Oscar reached for another bowl with a sudsy hand, pulling the china under the bath of hot water in the kitchen sink to drown it with the sponge. He scrubbed the remnants of the ice cream from inside, splashing himself with the soapy water in the process, dripping down the front of his shirt. Above him, the kitchen lights buzzed in warm fluorescent.

The window above the sink was cracked open, letting in the faint sounds of late-evening city traffic and a cool breeze that rustled the lace curtain. From the adjacent living room, Oscar could hear the low murmur of the television where Jo had half-fallen asleep on the couch, her feet curled up beneath her and a blanket tossed haphazardly across her lap. She could never make it through an entire movie without falling asleep.

His new flat—though smaller than the one he’d shared with Logan—was much nicer. Parting ways with his longtime roommate hadn’t been easy, but both of them had stepped into new chapters of their lives. Oscar now lived in a cosy one-bedroom tucked closer to the centre of London, conveniently near work. He shared it with his girlfriend of just over a year, Jo—Joanna, to payroll—whom he’d met at work not long after returning from Australia. She was an independent and lively soul, someone to keep him on his toes but never to push him too far adrift. They saw each other constantly—at home, on the commute, at work. Frankly, it was a miracle they hadn’t killed each other.

But it was getting pretty serious between them—serious enough that Oscar had gone to stay with her family over the Christmas holidays. They were nice folks, but definitely the more hippie sort, which he didn’t quite get. Jo, thankfully, felt more normal. He’d been relieved to return to London after the trip…and even more relieved that she didn’t share in her parents’ free-spirited ways—or their taste in decor. It felt easy to live with her and a domestic, partnered life seemed to settle up Oscar's loose ends.

It was comfortable.

Honestly, life was giving him all he could have asked for: a comfortable home, a caring partner, and a well paying job. Sebastian had even promoted him to manager at the record store which came with a pay raise and a keyholder position. He and Jo shared the responsibility of manning the store on the days that Sebastian wasn’t working and many of the younger employees jokingly referred to them as the ‘king and queen’ of Reckless Records. Oscar thought that was a bit ridiculous.

Lando was still around—he was always around—but after their Australia trip the year before and everything had ensued, there seemed to be a block of distance perfectly wedged between them. They still spent time together and Lando had met Jo a good handful of times too, but their lives were taking them on very different paths. Oscar was on the straight and narrow, working towards financial independence, wanting to start his future, settle down. Lando had seemingly thrown himself back into the club scene, finding his passions in fleeting lovers and substances passed around under neon lights.

They never talked about it—not what had happened in Australia, not what had shifted after. Maybe that was for the best. They were still friends. Just older. People change, priorities shift. That was life.

Oscar had just reached, elbow deep, into the murky, soapy water of the kitchen sink to pop the drain when the phone rang. It was late—well past midnight—and he hurried to dry his hands off so he could answer the phone before its shrill ring woke Jo. The kitchen drain slurped down the dirty water as he pressed the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was a muffled sound through the line. Scuffling? Something shifting.

Oscar tried again, “Hello?”

“O-Osc…” came the shaky, hiccuped voice from the other end.

Oscar could recognize Lando’s voice anywhere. He could especially recognize his drunk voice anywhere. By now, late-night calls like this barely fazed him. Most of the time, he humoured Lando just enough to pacify him, gently encouraging him to get home safely. He figured tonight would be no different—or so he thought.

“Hi, Lando,” he greeted casually, “You alright, mate?”

There was a small groan, then he choked out a strained, “No…kinda? Fuck…”

His voice didn’t sound quite right, something was off. Oscar shifted in place, switching the phone to his other ear, “What’s going on?”

“M’sorry,” Lando slurred, “M’bleeding.”

Oscar’s heart dropped.

“Bleeding? What do you mean? Are you hurt?”

There was a dull thud through the line as if Lando had slumped drunkenly against the wall of the payphone. He groaned again, small and timid, “Yeah…these…these bastards jumped me. Can you come?”

Oscar glanced over to Jo still asleep on the couch where he had left her after the movie ended. She looked so peaceful, waiting for him to help her up and coax her into bed and kiss her goodnight. Lando whimpered through the phone.

“Yeah,” Oscar exhaled, “I can come. Where are you?”

Earl’s Court was the centre of the universe for the gay community in London in the 80s. It had a multitude of gay bars within the neighbourhood and a sense of inclusive camaraderie that was hard to find anywhere else in that decade. Lando had lived there for as long as Oscar had known him, cramped into a two-bedroom flat with George and Alex, and always making the most of the nightlife. It was a comfortable and safe neighbourhood most of the time. Of course, one could never be too careful.

When Oscar pulled up out front of Copa’s that night, it didn’t appear much different than any other night. Perhaps a bit slower, given it was a Thursday, for God’s sake, but still lively, still noisy. Even at such a late hour, the neighbourhood was alive with moustached men in tight leather pants or checkered shirts, coloured bandanas hanging out of the back pockets of jeans, Doc Marten boots scuffed up on the sidewalk.

He remembered Lando telling him that sometimes celebrities would visit Copa’s; that once he’d seen George Michael with his own eyes and another time he heard from someone else that Freddie Mercury once stopped by. The community of Earl’s Court was good about that; they respected the privacy of celebrities. If one was seen in one of the gay bars, the other patrons paid them no mind. Everyone was just human.

Until you got jumped, apparently.

Oscar parked his car on the street and, ignoring the wandering eyes of passers by who were staring at his oversized hoodie and loose fitting jeans, he started looking for Lando. He called his name a few times down the darkened sidewalk, passing beneath street lamps and shadows before looping back around. He had told him on the phone to stay where he was but leave it to drunk Lando to wander.

Oscar soon found him down the side street lined with residential townhomes, sitting on someone’s front steps. His head was hung low, almost between his knees, limbs folded inwards and body slumped against the railing until at first glance you might have thought he was dead.

Oscar crouched in front of him and set his hand on his shoulder, calling him with a quiet, “Lando?”

Lando lifted his head like it weighed fifty pounds and the first glance of his face in the shadowed street lights had Oscar swallowing back a gasp. Blood was smeared and drying down the front of his face, dripping from his nose, his broken lip, and staining down the front of his white button up shirt. The buttons of his shirt looked as if they had been ripped clean off and the fabric was hanging loosely open, revealing the purpling bruise on his stomach that he was clutching with one hand. His jeans were torn, revealing his scraped knees, denim caked in blood and dirt and spilled alcohol and he was missing one of his white Adidas sneakers.

“Oh, Lan…” Oscar sighed as he crouched in front of him and reached up to pick a twig out of Lando’s matted curls.

Lando’s face contorted into what might have tried to have been a smile, slurring out a meek, “S’okay. Y’should see the other guy.”

Oscar barely flinched at Lando’s attempt of deflection with humour. He was all too used to it by then.

Instead, he stood up and offered out his hands, “Come on, let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

Lando’s hands were trembling when he set them in Oscar’s and he winced heavily as he was pulled to his feet. Right away, Oscar was looping an arm around him, supporting his weight, helping him stumble towards his car little by little. Lando still held his hand against his bruised stomach, limping on one leg, looking like a right mess if Oscar had ever seen one. It ached his heart right down the core.

Getting him into the car took a bit of effort, all careful manoeuvring and quiet curses. Lando flinched with every shift, but eventually, they managed. Once he was buckled in and breathing somewhat steadily again, Oscar slid into the driver’s seat. For a moment, they just sat there. The street was quiet. The air between them was still.

Then Oscar turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbled to life, and he pulled away from the curb.

Lando’s voice was meek, “Joie was okay with you leaving?”

Oscar didn’t mention how she hated being called that—Lando always said it anyway. He picked his battles. Instead, he answered, “She’s asleep. I left a note.”

Lando hummed and leaned his head against the window. As he drove, Oscar could see the way the street lights danced over his face, glistening on the damp blood along his bottom lip. Lando tongued at it.

“Where are George and Alex?” Oscar found himself asking.

“Asleep,” Lando answered simply, “Didn’t bother callin’.”

There was something to be said about Oscar being the first person Lando called in an emergency, over his roommates who were only a few blocks away. Oscar didn’t say anything.

Lando, George, and Alex lived in a two-bedroom flat that backed onto the railway tracks. It was noisy but it just meant the rent was cheap and so the three of them had stayed there for as long as Oscar had known them. Honestly, the most surprising thing of the whole arrangement was how George and Alex hadn’t yet moved out on their own as a couple. It was none of Oscar’s business, anyway.

Despite it being 1am, Lando grunted and groaned and complained the entire way up the flight of stairs into the apartment; too sober to not feel entirely pain free but also too drunk to register the importance of quiet at such an hour. Oscar fished the key out of the front pocket of Lando’s tight jeans while simultaneously holding him upright and unlocked the door onehanded.

The door creaked open into the dark flat. Everything was quiet, save for the distant rattle of a passing train and Lando’s low swearing as he stubbed his toe on the shoe rack.

Oscar grabbed his arm to steady him, whispering firmly, “Bathroom.”

He turned on a lamp in the living room on their way past to give some light as he steered drunken Lando down the hallway towards the door at the end. The bathroom light was flicked on, the door was closed, and Lando flopped onto the closed lid of the toilet and slumped himself against the sink. Oscar crouched down and fished out some towels and the first aid kid from under the sink.

When he stood up again and got a proper look at Lando in the light, he could see how black and blue his lip was and that a nasty bruise was forming under his eye. Oscar sighed and gently took Lando’s chin in his hand to carefully guide his head to the side to assess the damage. Lando winced slightly.

Without wasting any more time, Oscar got to work on cleaning him up, dampening a cloth with warm water and starting to gently dab away the blood on his face and smeared down his neck. Neither spoke, both letting the situation rest heavy on their shoulders in the cramped bathroom.

“So, what happened?” Oscar finally asked, his voice soft.

“I was freaking jumped, mate,” Lando mumbled, “Told you.”

“Yes, I got that much, thank you,” Oscar deadpanned before trying again, “How did it happen?”

Lando was quiet for a moment as if he was debating if he even wanted to share the story. Oscar didn’t press. Instead, he just kept tending to his wounds with a careful hand.

After a moment, Lando relented, “I met this bloke at the bar…”

Oscar wrung out the cloth and rinsed it before reaching for the antiseptic and cotton pads.

“He was fit and whatever. Bought me a drink. We flirted.” Lando continued dully. He flinched as Oscar gently grazed his wounds with the saturated cotton pad but didn’t protest, “He said we could go back to his flat so I followed him out. Turns out it was a set up. He had a bunch of these guys waiting outside and they jumped me in the alley. Never heard so many slurs uttered in one time in my life.”

Lando laughed but it was obviously forced, and it pulled a wince across his face as it ached the large bruise across his abdomen. He set a hand over it with a groan. Oscar’s chest burned with anger, protectiveness. How could someone take advantage of him like that? To lure him from what was supposed to be a safe space into something so horrific and cruel, something stemmed from hatred? Oscar clenched his jaw and kept dabbing at Lando’s split lip with the cotton pad.

He swallowed back everything he wanted to say and uttered, “You have to be careful with who you go home with, Lando. Not even because of this, but with the AIDS epidemic going around? I don’t want you to—”

“I’m fine, Osc. I’m careful.” Lando grumbled.

“Okay…just…I want to make sure. You see all those ads on the television and…” Oscar faded out, knowing that this wasn’t the time to have such a conversation. Lando was injured and still half drunk. His words would hardly mean anything.

Lando just blinked drunkenly up at him with a pout that could soften stone. He looked like a kicked puppy.

Oscar sighed and gently grazed the saturated cotton pad over the gash over the bridge of Lando’s nose and told himself to ignore the heaviness in his stomach.

Once he finally got Lando cleaned up and across the hall into his bedroom, he sat him down on the edge of his bed so he could start to undress him out of his ripped and soiled clothes. Lando didn’t protest as Oscar unbuttoned his jeans and he only winced as he shifted to help lift his hips so Oscar could pull them down his legs. Oscar kept his eyes low, focused on the task, trying not to notice the bruises or the way Lando’s skin was warm under his fingertips.

Sure, he and Lando didn’t always see eye to eye, their lives were so different now, but he still cared about Lando…so incredibly deeply. It killed him to see him so hurt.

“You’re s’good to me, Osco,” Lando mumbled drowsily.

“You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?” Oscar replied simply as he carefully pulled the neck of Lando’s shirt over his head.

Lando was silent and obedient as Oscar guided his arms through the holes of his shirt. Oscar made sure it was sitting properly around his body, not rubbing too much against his bruised stomach. Then, in an instant, Lando was lunging forward with more energy than he should have had at that moment, and planted a kiss right to Oscar’s lips.

Oscar’s heart stumbled in his chest—just once— and then he pressed a hand against Lando’s chest and pushed him back down with a firm, “No.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Lando grasped at the front of his shirt, “let me repay you for saving me.”

Oscar shoved his hands away and, instead, pulled back his bedsheets, telling him with a curt, “You don’t need to repay me anything. Get in bed. I’ll get you some ice for your face…and some paracetamol.”

Lando grumbled under his breath but flopped down onto his back and let Oscar pull the sheets up around him. He rubbed his uninjured eye, “The world is spinning.”

“It’s always spinning,” Oscar replied flatly.

“It’s extra spinning,” Lando retorted.

“Tell me if you’re going to throw up. I don’t want to clean your vomit off the carpet.”

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Lando mumbled, already curling onto his side like a child, one hand wedged under his cheek, words half slurred still, “Probably.”

Oscar didn’t bother replying. He let his gaze linger on Lando for a moment longer, just to make sure his eyes had closed, that he was at least someone at peace, before he turned toward the door. The flat was silent, but the knot in his stomach wasn’t, his swirling mind wasn’t.

When he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him, he took a moment to pull in a deep breath. Then, he tiptoed down to the kitchen.

The lamp in the living room was still on, illuminating the small living space and giving Oscar just enough light to work in the kitchen. He had been around their flat enough to know where everything was and he helped himself to the cupboard where the medication was stored to fish out the bottle of paracetamol. As he turned on the kitchen tap and poured some water to bring to Lando, creaking of the floorboards caught his attention.

When he glanced over his shoulder, George was approaching in boxers and a forest green hoodie, hair mussed and bleary-eyed and blinking against the light. His voice was a little hoarse from sleep as he muttered, “Hey. Didn’t hear the door.”

“Sorry,” Oscar said softly, “Did I wake you?”

“No, woke up absolutely parched,” George said as he stepped past him and reached right over his head for a glass of his own from the cupboard.

Oscar stepped aside to let George fill it from the tap.

George eyed the bottle of pills on the counter, “He’s back?”

Oscar nodded, setting Lando’s water glass down beside the bottle with a muttered, “Yeah. He called me to pick him up. Looks like he got jumped.”

George’s eyes shut for a moment and he hung his head, leaning on his forearms on the edge of the countertop as the tap continued to run, “Blimey.”

“Yeah…” Oscar shifted his weight and leaned back against the counters.

“We keep telling him to be careful,” George sighed and reached to shut off the tap, “He’s been going out so much recently…six times a week, sometimes. Alex and I are getting worried. We’re not in university anymore, you know?”

“I’m worried too,” Oscar confessed.

“Now getting jumped?” George paused to take a sip of his water, staring at the kitchen wall with thoughts behind his eyes that he couldn’t quite figure out how to voice. He lowered his glass with a sorrowful, “Fuck’s sake…”

Oscar blurted out quietly, “I don’t know how you and Alex still live with him.”

George turned his attention back to Oscar, slight confusion across his features at the statement.

“You and Alex have been together for years…well before even I met you. Don’t you want a place of your own as a couple? Away from Lando and his…baggage.”

The words felt cruel on his tongue, as if he were speaking unthinkable things about their dear friend. But everything he said held true, it was fair. George’s shoulders slumped as if he, too, knew that.

For a moment, George’s lips pursed as if minding the words he were about to say. Finally, he answered slowly, gently, like he was worried he’d spook a foal, “We’ve discussed it, we want it. But we can’t leave Lando all on his own. Not when he’s like this. We’re all he has.”

“He has me.”

“Of course,” George agreed easily, “And I know you mean so much to him, really. But you have your own separate life too. You have Jo, and your record store, and a whole flat of your own. You house an independence that Lando just…he’s not there yet.”

For a moment, Oscar felt a hint of anger flare up inside up. He understood what George was saying, the kindness and compassion he felt for their shared friend, but his explanation felt belittling. It didn’t feel fair. Oscar tried to keep his voice calm as he rebutted, “He’s twenty-seven years old.”

“He’s an alcoholic, Oscar.”

The words were said so softly, so gently, and yet they felt like George had just grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed it into Oscar’s chest. Oscar struggled over his next breath.

Outside, a train blared its horn on its way thundering past the apartment complex. The water in the glass on the counter rippled.

Oscar had never considered the fact that Lando could be an alcoholic. It never once crossed his mind. But suddenly, thrust into the concept of it, the memories of the last four years flicked through his mind like pages of a magazine. Somehow, it made sense. Somehow, Oscar had been to blind to realize it. Or, maybe, deep down, he didn’t want to realize it.

George had let his words settle before he spoke again, “You know when the four of us went out last month to that Greek place?”

Oscar glanced back at him, a silent indication to continue.

“Alex told me Lando had a flask in his jacket and that he took a shot in the bathroom midway through dinner. An hour with his three closest friends and he couldn’t get through it without drinking.”

Oscar thought he could hear George’s voice quivering as he spoke.

“We can’t help him until he wants help,” George said, “All we can do is be there for him the best we can.”

The heaviness of the conversation lingered around them. Oscar pulled at the collar of his shirt. George took another sip of water.

Then, George cut through the quiet with an offer, “If you want to go home to Jo, I can take him the paracetamol.”

Oscar pushed off the counter with a shake of his head and drifted over to the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen peas, “No, it’s okay. I can do it.”

“He’s lucky to have you, Oscar.”

Oscar turned back to him and offered him a meek smile and a correction, “He’s lucky to have the three of us.”

They stood for just a beat in their mutual understanding before they muttered their ‘goodnights’ and Oscar headed back down the hallway towards Lando’s room.

When he entered, Lando was fast asleep in the same position he left him in. Oscar set the water glass and bottle of paracetamol on the bedside table before carefully taking a seat on the side of his bed. Lando barely stirred, snoring quietly, unruly curls sticking up in all directions and flopped over his forehead.

Oscar couldn’t help but reach out to brush them away from his face and then leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. Gentle, tender, filled with everything he didn’t know how to say. He then rested the bag of peas against Lando’s jaw to help ease the swelling, switching every few minutes to rest it against his black eye too.

He stayed there, patiently, tending to him and watching him sleep.

Another train rumbled by.

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obsessedhoneycomb · 19 hours ago

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I’m obsessed with James

I must admit that more i see of him the more he reminds me of my first boyfriend and it starts to give me a little bit of ick 😬

But anyway I’m working on some smut Toto x reader x James, sooooo, its not that bad

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obsessedhoneycomb · 19 hours ago

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Been thinking of George bringing Laurie and Dot to the hospital to meet newborn baby Bea for the first time and my heart melted. 🥹

I've been obsessed with this ask all day and tbh this was a perfect little exercise to get me back into the writing rhythm after being burn out from work all week 🥹🩵 thank you, anon! I'm kissing your brain!

George had been running on adrenaline and far too much coffee for two days straight. The labour and delivery had been generally smooth and he was thankful they decided to go with an induction for their third and (for sure this time) final baby. It just took the stress out of waiting around and hoping she didn’t go into labour while he was away racing. Instead, the induction date lined up well between race weekends, but that didn’t make him feel any less exhausted after the fact.

As he stood in the hallway of the labour and delivery ward of the hospital, leaning against the wall, he might have sworn he was about to fall asleep standing up. It had been a long night with their newborn, the two of them trying to remember how to do it all over again since it had been four years since their last. Sleep was limited. George rubbed his eyes to try and stay awake.

Soon, however, his ears pricked to the sound of familiar voices down the hallway and he straightened up just as his parents came around the corner, herding his eldest two children with them. Lawrence—at age seven—and Charlotte—at age four—both broke into an excited run at the sight of him and George crouched down to welcome them into open arms.

“Oh, you two,” he gushed, squeezing them close, “I missed you!”

Charlotte didn’t care for the niceties as she pulled away from his hug with a simple, “Where’s baby?”

“Baby is with Mummy in the room. Shall we go say hello?” George looked between them, desperate to gauge their reactions at that moment.

Charlotte was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet and, beside her, her big brother was far more composed. He had that look on his face that he always got when he was deep in thought, uncertainty even. George pressed a kiss to his forehead as he stood back up.

After taking a moment to greet his parents with quick hugs and thank them for bringing the children, he left them in the waiting room to wait until after the baby had been introduced to the older siblings. Charlotte powered off down the hallway ahead of her father and her brother who trailed behind, even though she had no idea where she was going.

“Dotty,” George called, slowing outside one of the rooms to lure her back, “C’mere, jellybean.”

She bounded back over. He set a hand on her head as if to keep her feet flat on the floor, to stop her from genuinely bouncing.

“We have to be calm and quiet to meet the baby, alright? Nice and gentle and quiet.”

Charlotte nodded.

“So take some deep breaths and let’s calm down.”

While George encouraged excitable Charlotte to chill out a bit, Lawrence craned his head to try and peek into the partially open door of the hospital room they had stopped in front of. The name on the small whiteboard by the door read Russell in some nurse’s scribbled handwriting.

When Charlotte had finally quieted down enough, George ushered them inside.

Of course, the four-year-old powered ahead, as calm as she could muster, George and Lawrence trailing behind her. You were sitting on the hospital bed with an anticipatory grin on your face to welcome your oldest two, dressed in a comfy robe and your hair somewhat brushed after such a chaotic day-and-a-half. Beside you, in the hospital bassinette, lay a sleeping and swaddled newborn, just as perfect and angelic as her siblings before her had looked.

“Hi there,” you greeted them softly, holding out your arms to Charlotte who was already magnetizing towards your bedside with her wide eyes focused all on the baby beside you.

She barely offered you a caring, “Hi, Mummy” as you helped to lift her up onto the bed with you.

Lawrence, meanwhile, stayed a few paces away, stopping fully in place, with his focus, too, on the sleeping baby in the bassinet. George stopped when he did, glancing back at him, only to see the seven-year-old’s eyes shimmering with tears. He didn’t even have to say anything and Lawrence was already curling himself into his father’s side with a small sob of overwhelming emotion.

“Laurie,” you cooed with an adoring grin at your sensitive little boy.

George crouched down to his height so he could hug him properly, letting him cling onto him and bury his face in his neck as he composed him. George’s hands rubbed his back, his words soft, “Hey, buddy. You alright? Does it feel like a lot?”

Lawrence nodded and pulled away to wipe his teary eyes as he looked back at the baby, hiccuping in agreement, “My heart feels a lot right now.”

“Lots of emotions, I know,” George wiped a tear from his son’s cheek with the pad of his thumb and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Good feelings though,” Lawrence sniffled.

“Yeah?” George smiled, “That’s good.”

You spoke up from the bed, trying to restrain your wriggling four year old who was trying to throw herself at the bassinet, telling your son, “Daddy cried too. Loads.”

Lawrence sniffled out a smile, “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Like a baby.” George nodded with a fond smile of his own.

“Do you want to come meet the baby?” you offered, holding a hand out to your son to be included too.

Lawrence then joined you on the bed alongside Charlotte and George stood right close by on the other side of the bassinet. You all peered down at the sleeping baby.

“Any last guesses if it's a boy or a girl?” you asked your eldest two, one under each arm.

“Girl! I want a girl!” Charlotte declared for the nth time since you had told them you were pregnant.

Lawrence sniffled, “I dunno.”

You looked up at George, silently letting him know he could do the honours of the introduction. He didn’t take that job lightly. It was a pivotal moment.

“Well,” George said, “it is my greatest honour to introduce you to your new baby sister, Beatrice.”

Charlotte squealed so loud that the baby stirred and let out a displeased whine. Both you and George hushed her through amused laughter and your arm tightened around her middle to keep her from bouncing off the walls with excitement.

“A girl!” she rejoiced, before tumbling into a hurried plethora of ‘thank you’s as if you and George had any say in the matter yourselves.

Lawrence leaned closer to get a better look at the new baby, his eyes still a little red from his tears but the smile on his face was unmissable. He reached a hand in to rest against her swaddled body, feeling the movement of her breathing, and he whispered out a small, “Hi, Beatrice.”

George watched on fondly, “What do you think?”

“She’s so cute,” Lawrence breathed, “I love her already.”

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked.

So then you had given up your bed to the children, the two of them sitting side by side and sharing the responsibility of holding the newborn together, arms propped up by pillows for proper support. Lawrence had her upper half since he was older but Charlotte did not let that deter her from touching every part of her new baby sister she could explore.

You and George stood at the foot of the bed and just watched. You had thought your family was complete the day that three-year-old Lawrence met Charlotte for the first time, but there, now, watching those same two little ones swoon over their brand new baby sister, life never felt so complete. If only you could have stopped time right then and there and stared at that moment for years.

A sniffle from beside you had you tearing your eyes away from your children to see George wiping away tears of his own. You curled your arm around his and rested your head down against his shoulder. No words had to be spoken between you; you were feeling it just as strongly. George turned to press a lingering kiss to your head before resting his cheek down against the same spot with a content sigh. This is what complete felt like.

Over on the bed, Charlotte gave Beatrice another little pat before calling out, “Mummy?”

“Yes, my love?” you replied easily.

She pursed her little lips as she looked down at her baby sister, almost like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say what she was thinking. But then, she pointed a little finger to the swaddled newborn and said, “She got no arms.”

George let out a wet laugh from beside you, reaching up to wipe his eyes with his thumbs through the unintended comedic relief by your four-year-old.

“They’re tucked in under the blanket, Dot,” you laughed lightly.

Lawrence gave a little tug to the swaddled blanket and when it fell open, Beatrice’s little arms and legs stretched out wide. Her big siblings swooned some more. They would for a while, too, until she started to keep them up at night with her incredibly annoying crying. By then, to them, the novelty of it wore off just a little.

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#awwwwww I needed this today 🥹#george russell x reader #fics recs

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