thinking about Carmen taking care of his girl sm he won’t put up with her spending any of her hard-earned money :(
After shutting your door for you, Carmen walks around the front of the car into the drivers seat, shuffling with the seatbelt as he turns the key in the ignition.
You hum to yourself in the meantime and find your lipstick in your bag—your new lipstick, a little more luxe this time, just the right shade to compliment your skin, a treat for yourself after finishing up a project at work. Just a little gift you deserved. You flip down the sun visor and open the mirror, making a pretty o with your lips to carefully apply it, stifling a smile when you feel Carmen watching.
“Where’s that from, baby?” he asks, a hand smoothing up your back.
“Hm?”
“The—the, uh—” he points to his own mouth while staring at your lips— “Lipstick, you call it?”
“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah, it’s new.” You hug his bicep, an affectionate squeeze before cradling the side of his face and toying with the tuft of hair by his ear. “You like it?”
He hums, “‘F course, ‘s pretty.”
But his smile falters, and it has you pouting.
“What?”
“Nothin’…” He shrugs. “Just don’t remember buyin’ it. You used my card, right?”
You shake your head. “No, I bought it myself. It wasn’t expensive, Carm, I promise.” Half true, at the very least.
“Yeah?” He let’s go of you only briefly to lift his hips and pull his wallet from his pocket, fishing out the wad of cash that’s accumulated there. “How much was it, baby? I’ll pay you back.”
“Carm, I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doin’ it anyway.” He counts out one, two, three twenties—
“Carmen, put that away—”
He looks up at you, raises his brows, dishes out a fourth and a fifth. “What?” He doesn’t even flinch when he folds the bills in two and leans over the console to slip them in your purse, sneaking a kiss to your cheek as he does so, just because he knows it’ll distract you. A hand on the wheel now—a veiny, tattooed hand, enough to make you drool—with the other holding your jaw, he kisses you again, the corner of your mouth to keep your lipstick in tact. “Use my card next time, you hear me? Doesn’t matter what it’s for.”
You frown. “But I feel bad . . . I make my own money, y’know.”
“You’re not supposed to spend your money, baby, you’re supposed to spend mine.” Again, he kisses you, guiding you where he wants you with his thumb and index gently holding your chin so you can’t look away. “I got you, baby. Lemme take care ‘f you.”
And, well, when he puts it like that . . . it’s not so hard to oblige.
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the set up ☆ ln4
genre: fluff, humor, parent trip vibes from oscahhh, strangers to lovers (bc of course it is), uni!reader
word count: 2.12k
Caught up in work, you find time to join your friends at the McLaren welcome dinner; meeting a certain British driver along the way. Whom you don't make the best first impression with.
req!...oscar+lily playing matchmakers? cute cute cuteeee. quick one for my lando lovers mwahhh
It takes a lot to convince you; like—a lot. Partial credit is due to your pride, but honestly, it drove your friends mad.
Let's go out and celebrate! Just a good ‘ol round of drinks. I have to study. Maybe next time.
Oh! I heard of this new place down the street where you custom make your own jewelry. Fun, no? I have enough already, thank you.
Five minutes—let’s just go grab coffee! Too tired. Go on without me.
“It’s my welcome dinner, mate. You can’t do this to me now.” Oscar’s brown eyes flicker between you and his girlfriend, to which she apologetically shrugs. Deep down, it's like she can forehear your excuse. An essay is due, your internship, helping out at your local library. There's been too many times where you’ve flaked, and they were starting to worry. The pile of clothes makes her wince as you greedily type away.
“I-I’m sorry, but I have to—”
“Reckon you don’t have anything on your agenda that is as important as you make it out to seem,” he hums. Narrowed eyes burn down, flipping your screen towards him.
Compile a series of current events…BLAH BLAH BLAH. He stops caring, already bored.
“I wish I could—seriously, Oscar—but I’m needed elsewhere.” A beat. “Lily will keep me updated! Go Mango!”
The Australian rolls his eyes, sharp eyebrows expanding with desperation. “Papaya, mate, papaya.” You giggle, mimically apologizing. The clicks continue; round eyes laser focused. He tries getting your attention once more, but you don’t look up at him at all. The driver’s girlfriend purses her pink lips, crossing her legs gingerly against the couch.
“I can help you write your paper. All of it. Just please, come with us.” Blue eyes wink back as you come to a halt, temptation swirling. “We’re your friends and we want you there. Pretty please?”
The McLaren rookie thinks it has to do with his girlfriend's cute pout, but that is so far from it. It was well known that Lily Zneimer had a wicked talent for conducting a killer research essay. From her resources, to her dialogue. It’s astonishing how smoothly it gets done too. With her, it’s a guaranteed pass. Now that was what you needed.
Berry lips twist back and forth for a second before stretching out. “Touch up on globalization effects in different cultures and we have ourselves a deal.”
-
The paper was coming along so perfectly that you almost wanted to cry. Your eyes buzz with excitement as you jot down a row of bullet points, conversing with Lily before settling on what to write.
“This is not what I had in mind when you both made this stupid pact,” Oscar groans for the millionth time as he passes by, spotting you and his girlfriend crouched down on a table; computer, notebook, pencils, index cards, books—everything—in hand.
“Mate, this is worth half of my grade,” you shriek; jotting a few more possible ideas. Finally, your dazy orbs connect back onto him. “As in fifty percent.” You gag. “Do you realize how terrifying that is?”
Lily shoos him. “We’re almost done anyway, darling. Go enjoy the party.” The Australian’s jaw drops and she huffs, raising her neat brows. “Go, go, goooo.”
Despite his girlfriend and his best friend ignoring him, he has a splendid time. He curses beneath his breath when a large hand sprawls against his back. Lando laughs. “Don’t worry, my date ditched me too,” he teases, blue eyes sparkling against the fuzzy lights. The rookie sighs plainly.
“I wasn’t ditched—'' He angles his head to face back to where you and the dirty blond hunch over, whispering, attention drawn onto the bright screen. A few people even go as far as to try and take a peek, probably thinking you were working on anything McLaren. “Yeah, uh, I guess you could say I was ditched.”
His teammate rubs his watch a couple or times, nothing but music lingering between them. No one really speaks up until Lily delicately makes her way. Oscar tilts his head politely. “Done?”
“No quite yet, but she has it all under control.” She faces the British driver with a sheepish line formed between her pink lips. “Hello, you must be Oscar’s new teammate.” A beat. “I’m Lily.”
“Lando,” he can feel himself proclaiming. “I thought she was Lily…” A lousy fingers points over to you. They both let out a weak chuckle. That’s my friend from back home, Oscar confirms. Her and Lily are super close, too. She beams, light blush feathering her full cheeks.
All of a sudden—the Australian sparks up. “Come; let me introduce you two.”
The twenty-four doesn't really have anything better to do; business convos that have him apologizing profusely, cameras being shoved straight into his face, girls who never get the hint. “Sure.”
First thing he notices is the faded scar that hugs the bridge of your nose. It's almost completely gone—and he really shouldn’t even be able to spot it—but it's there, almost a glassy color that shines back at him. He notices how quick you are at typing; navy blue, fingers flying at a constant speed. He’s impressed. Or the way you barely spare him a glance.
“Don’t be rude, he’s talking to you,” Oscar hissed as he and Lily tower over you like a strict parent duo. You can distinguish the panic that laces through her when you didn’t first respond, too worried at making a bad impression, even if it wasn't her leaving it behind.
“Of course, I…um, I’m sorry—shit!” The laptop blinks back at you as a warning before settling in its death. A groan slips by, hands pressing harshly against the keys, then the screen. Nervously, you look up at Lily, biting your bottom lip. “What do I do? What should I do? What should I do?”
“Charge it when we get back,” Oscar advises, still waiting for you to greet the older McLaren driver. Lando stands back amused. “As I was saying—”
“It’s due at midnight, dimwit!” It’s eleven-fifteen exactly. “I need to find a charger.”
“O-okay, lets just all calm down.” Lily turns to her boyfriend. “You always carry one with you, let her borrow it.” He winces. Only during races, sweetheart, not an important event. She rubs her temples, curly hair running against the wind. “Let’s just calm down!” she screeches.
“Not helping,” you wail. “That’s it—I’m leaving.”
Oscar is quick on his feet, already tugging you to stay firm. “We haven't even gotten to the speech!” A familiar fire rushes through your orbs, burning him along the way. I don’t give a shit about that right now! I need to turn this in.
“I’m sure Charlotte has one,” a friendly voice slides in, leaving you three to turn and face it. Lando awkwardly shrugs. “She’s really well organized, you know her. I’ll be right back.”
“Can I go with you?”
Blue eyes shift over, surprised to hear you speak. Anxiously, you bounce up and down against your heels. He gulps. “Of course.” He turns back to the Australian, who is busy comforting his girlfriend as if it was her grade on the line. “I’ll be right back.”
There’s a sort of tension that hangs steadily—or maybe he’s the only one who thinks so—but he tries his best to push past it. Of course, he was right, and Charlotte did have an extra charger, so that’s quite nice. As if this were the one and only resource of water in a hot desert night, you immediately take it from him, plugging it fiercely.
“You don’t know how grateful I am. You’re an absolute angel.” You’re quick to pick up where you left off. If you try hard enough, you can remember exactly what you need in order to have it done in a few minutes.
“Glad I could help.”
He should probably leave, he thinks. He’s done all he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat across from you, contently closing his eyes as the sound of your keys brings him to a deep sleep. The sound of a computer shutting gently is what nudges him awake. You grimace. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more quiet.”
Lando scrunches his eyes, rubs them for a couple of minutes. “It’s alright. You done?”
“Yes. Just in time—you really saved my ass, thank you again.”
A large hand waves you off, reclining against his comfortable spot. “You’re pretty dedicated to your work,” he mutters.
“I sort of have to be if I want to graduate on time and on top of my game. All those sleepless nights couldn’t have been for nothing.”
“Well, I don’t really know you that well…but I hope you pass,” he says. “Lando, by the way—you were probably too busy to catch it the first time.” He cocks his head to the side, a cheesy grin playing out. “And the second, as well.”
You giggle, shaking his humid hand. You don’t even seem to mind. “Third times a charm, no?”
“It appears it is.”
-
The objective was quite clear; get you to leave your rotting bed. It was astounding how long you could go without getting up. You always blame it on the fact that—I’m finally done with my most important courses and I can sleep all I want—and—I never wake you up, now do I?
So, naturally, when they march into your room, flashing a phone—you curl a full brow. “What am I looking at?”
Oscar smiles. “Save his number. Right now.”
Lando Norris—winks back at you, digits causing a migraine to stir. You huff, reaching out for the blankets once again. “And why would I do that?”
Lily hums. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”
Beady eyes peek demandingly. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s really just one date—”
“What?”
“And if it doesn’t work out—”
You sit up straight and agitated. “What?”
“...then you won’t ever have to see him again?” The Australian flinches at your cold stare. “He thinks this was your idea…because I told him it was, but…” He winces harder. “Don’t make me look bad and please go!”
Lily squeals when you fling up, hunting him down your flat. “I am going to kill you!”
-
The Brit beams sweetly at you, pinching his hand a couple of times to pump his circulation that was suddenly lacking. “I’m a bit surprised you wanted to see—”
“This was all Oscar’s idea.” He blinks and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I think he does it because the third-wheel act is starting to get to him. Asshole,” you hiss at the thought of the rookie.
Lando coughs, playing with his bracelets. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here.” Now it’s your turn to stare back at him, caught off guard. He chuckles. “I take it you haven’t gone on a proper date in a while?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Nah,” he yawns. “Oscar told me.”
Pounding your fist against the table, you yelp. “That little—he wants to ruin my life, I see.” You force a tight smile. “I’ve been busy with work…and…I’m—” A flash goes off; you flinch. “A total catch. Like—total.”
Blue eyes flicker to the careful watchers surrounding the restaurant. “I don’t doubt that.”
“Good,” you respond, finally allowing yourself to rest easy. You raise a sharp brow. “Don’t you get tired of this?”
A few murmurs dance across the room, blinding lights continue. He sighs apologetically. “Right now I am. Let’s get out of here?”
You blush. “The bill…”
“My friend owns the restaurant. I’ll pay him later.” He grabs your hand. “Let's go.”
The moment you slip into his car, panic rises fast. “I don’t hook up on first dates,” you spit out. “It’s not in my nature, I-I-I would rather get to know the person—”
“Then let’s get to know one another. I wasn’t looking for anything like…that,” he whispers, timidly. His blue eyes burn against yours. “I only wanted the chance to get to know you now that you don’t have your nose pressed up against a screen.”
A kind smile. “Okay.”
The more you two converse inside his crowded vehicle, the more you find yourself giggling against the rich seat. “You’re quite the charmer, Mr. Norris.”
“Thank God,” he jokes. “It’s working.”
Another giggle erupts when you nod. You’re sure that you're flustered, burning bright red from all his pick up lines, but you don’t have the strength to look away. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk. For real this time,” you add, sheepishly.
“So am I.”
And something inside of him tells him this isn’t the last.
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