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ricciardonut · 1 year ago

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okay so im crying

hey hey, please may I request prompt 10 from the first list (the loud person losing their shine etc) with reader and Oscar? Thank you!

ARE WE TOO LATE? - OP81

— cw: mentions of cheating (reader thinks oscar wants to cheat on her) — thank you for requesting babes! i hope u enjoy <3

when the loud person is losing their shine…

There’s a screeching in your ears, high pitched and off-putting. Maybe it’s the bass, or the clinking of glasses, or the people who cheer around you, screaming Oscar’s name like they hope it’ll be their last word. It makes your forehead throb, your eyes squeezing shut to block out the sound. The world sways beneath your feet, forcing you into a dance that you don’t know the steps to.

Maybe Oscar knows them.

Maybe he’s danced this dance before, with a partner who wasn’t you.

Oscar’s avoiding your gaze. He’s looking everywhere but at you.

No—

It’s foolish, stupid, reckless to think he’s cheating on you.

But it’s not impossible.

Not with the way he laughed with that one girl, when he accepted a drink from another. And perhaps you’re overthinking it—in another life, where Oscar’s still just your best friend and some other dude’s your boyfriend, he’d tell you that you are really just overthinking it. But in this universe, he is your boyfriend and he’s not there to reassure you that he’s yours, you’re his and there’s no one else he could ever imagine in your place.

You hate the fact that you’re imagining it for him.

Someone calls out your name. Charles, who’s got a hand on Alex and a drink held tight in his other, is offering you a kind smile. They look worried, a slight grimace on Alex’s face when she takes in your paled skin—maybe it’s from too much alcohol, or because you’re tired, or because you’re thinking things that make you want to turn your stomach inside out.

“Are you okay? You’ve been—I don’t know, off?”

Less smiley, you think he means. Less cheerful, not happy enough to be celebrating your boyfriend’s first win in F1. Not happy enough. It’s not as if you even have him by your side to celebrate. He’s off drinking with someone—some driver, some guy, some girl probably.

“You’re quiet, I mean,” Charles amends quickly when you don’t respond. “I don’t think I’ve heard you this quiet in, well, a while.”

“I’m okay, Charles. Just tired. Thank you.” You excuse yourself with a kiss to Alex’s cheek and a pat to Charles’ shoulder, before you’re gliding away to another group of people, who were gracious enough to join in to celebrate.

Beautiful, composed, put-together. Ever the picture of a perfect WAG. You’re a ringmaster and Oscar’s your circus and you have to satiate the crowd’s need for more.

One guy quite literally drapes himself over your back as he tells you about “that one time with Oscar…” and another girl is picking at the hem of your dress, trailing her hand up the side of your body and commenting, “Did Oscar buy this for you? You’ll have to tell me where he got it from! Maybe you can send it to me, or ask him to do it—”

You don’t even know who the fuck she is.

You’re so tired of it all, and you don’t think Oscar even notices.

… and the quiet person’s world is crumbling down

Oscar can feel the alcohol creeping up his throat, can feel his stomach churning acids that are trying to dissolve substance-less food and he’s going to pass out if he has to stand up any longer.

You’ve spent the last thirty-seven minutes and twelve seconds on the other side of the damn room and he doesn’t know if he can take another fucking second of it. You haven’t talked to him in longer. All he longs to do is wrap you up in his arms, pepper kisses onto your face and further down south, hold onto you like he might never be able to again.

He doesn’t know why you’re shying away from him. Actually, that’s a lie.

He pushed you away first. Hoped you hadn’t realised the way he veered left when you walked into the club together, while you’d gone towards the right. That, he doesn’t know why. It felt right in the moment to leave you be and go off on his own. It felt right to his win-drunk mind to celebrate the way the other guys did. The way Lando did.

What didn’t feel right was the way he danced with that girl, got too damn close to that other one.

And now his mind reels with the consequences of the actions. With the distance and the silence. He can’t fucking bear it anymore.

When he sees a man clinging to you like a damn puppy, Oscar decides he’s had enough. He’s marching over to you, confident and fierce, exactly like how a Formula 1 race winner should hold themselves and he’s got half a mind to rip the guy off you himself.

And then you’re turning to face him and his steps falter, like Eros’ arrows have pierced him straight in the chest and he’s rendered speechless, stunned. Because you’re looking at him. You’re giving him the attention you’ve denied him, that he’s denied himself all night. It’s like the tides have stopped turning and your gaze is the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.

Tries to grab your attention by pawing at your arm. You just shoot him a smile, saccharine sweet and for a second, it looks normal. It’s any other smile you’ve given him, full of love and joy, and a rush of air leaves him because thank fuck, you’re not mad. You’re not mad—

And then the light hits your eyes and they’re glossed over, kind of like when you watch a sad scene in a movie and insist that you’re not about to cry, but Oscar knows better and that you’ll be sobbing in his arms in no time. He takes your arm and leads you away from the group of drunks. There’s an empty spot in the middle of… somewhere and he tries his best to shield your body with his when he dips his head down low to talk to you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers breathlessly again, and a little bit of his heart escapes back to you when his lips part. By the end of the night, he’s sure that his whole heart will be held securely in your palms. He has no doubt that you’re going to stomp on it, throw it under a moving car, chew it up and spit it out the first chance you get.

“Please, talk to me.”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What?”

“Are you. Cheating. On me?”

“No,” he sputters out, like the thought in itself is absurd. “Why would you—I would never, sweetheart.”

It’s a mercy that you don’t ask about the girls. He doesn’t think that maybe you’re just saving your own heart.

“Then why are you so… far away?” Your head is in the clouds and you haven’t touched me all night, you’re saying without words.

Because,

he’s scared. That you’ll grow tired of him, of this life and you’ll want to leave. That you’ll realise he’s nothing more than a pretty face and a racing driver, and you’ll grow bored and you’ll want to leave.

“It was wrong of me, baby. I shouldn’t have… I know it would’ve been better to celebrate with you, I don’t know why I didn’t. I was being stupid, I wasn’t thinking right.” The words spill from his lips in a flurry he doesn’t understand but he’s sure you’ll make out what he’s trying to say. Right?

You’re so silent that he wishes the club could fall quiet too, just so that he can try and hear what you’re trying to say with your lips sewn shut.

He takes a chance—takes your silence and takes a shot—and brings his lips to your cheek.

An apology.

You sigh deeply—FUCK YOU! it screams. It’s more than you! What about me? Think about me, dammit! Turning your head slightly, you brush his mouth in a cautious kiss, and Oscar wraps his arms around you in a mitigating hug.

But maybe it’s the way that you don’t melt into him like you always do, maybe it’s the absence of the little sigh of content you normally make when you bury your face into his shirt that sprouts a little inkling of worry in his chest.

It’s too far gone. Too fucking late.

—

hehehehe

@forzalando @demvnsriot @disneyprincemuke @localwhoore @vroomvroomcircuit @33-81 @lipringlrh @queen-aria-things @namgification @hiireadstuff @auggieblogs pls let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist <3

#oscar piastri

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ricciardonut · 1 year ago

Text

so… | mv1 x reader

pairing: max verstappen x reader summary: you and max have not publically confirmed your relationship, but when you run into his stream, trying to get penelope to bed - the fans suspect a few things… warnings: none !! word count: 257 (tiny) authors note: not proof read !!!

in one room, max was streaming - probably fifa, considering his ban on the racing sim at this time of night. in an other, you were desperately trying to keep penelope in bed, humming to her, telling her stories, everything to get the girl to bed.

penelope, however, just wasnt having any of it. as soon as she found an opportunity, she ran out of her room and straight into her step-dad’s gaming room, going to his side and playing with his beard, trying to get his attention on her.

not even a few seconds later, you ran into the room, “p! come on, please. maxie’s busy, come on,” you begged, arms out, not realising the stream was seeing all of this as penelope came into your arms giggling, letting you pick her up.

“i’m so sorry, maxie, she just wouldn’t gonto bed- i’m so-“ as you noticed him not turning to face her, you looked at his stream, wide eyed. the chat was blowing up as max stared at you through the screen, you staring right back at him.

you slowly backed away. continuing to stare at max through the mirrored screen until you physically couldn’t, quickly bringing penelope to her own room to get back at attempting to get her asleep.

max slowly hovered his mouse over the end stream button, “… um. well. thanks for watching,” and quickly ended it, calmly walking (basically running) to penelope’s room, blinking at you.

“… so.”

“…… so.”

and penelope chimed in, copying the two of you,

“so!”

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen

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