Baby I Can Feel Your Halo
oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader
summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N.
word count: 8.4k
warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing
a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview.
i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
She’s going to kill him.
Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-
When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.
She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.
To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.
“Oscar Jack Piastri!”
Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”
“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.
When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.
It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.
She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.
Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”
He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over.
“Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.
It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”
She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.
Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.
“There we go,” she says with a small smile.
Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”
“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”
“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”
“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.
“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.
“That’s my job, remember?”
When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.
Huh?
He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.
Help me, please.
She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.
“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.
“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”
The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.
Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.
Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.
Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.
He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.
“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”
“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”
“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise.
The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“
Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door.
The cameras are not the only thing focused on him.
“So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.”
“Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.”
“No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.”
“Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.”
Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”
“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.”
Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.”
Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.”
“I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?”
“My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.”
It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own.
“I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.”
Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases.
Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought.
“You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?”
When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life.
The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.”
The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.
It’s alright, I got it.
From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.
“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”
“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily.
Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.”
The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere.
Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!”
Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!”
“Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.”
“Fair enough, fair enough.”
The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.
“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”
“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.”
“Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.”
“Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”
The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction.
“Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?”
Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.”
“What kind of things?”
“As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be.
For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”
“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously.
“The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”
“Tell me a bit more about that.”
“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”
The host nods, making an effort to understand.
“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”
“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”
“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…”
Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself.
“Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?”
“The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued.
“When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”
“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?”
Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”
“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”
“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.
“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”
The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”
“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”
“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”
“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.
“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.”
Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“
Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.
“You seem quite confident in saying that.”
“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?
“And what inspires that confidence?”
“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.
What the hell is he doing?
This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.
“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.
“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”
“Of course.”
“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.
“And how’s that?”
“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”
The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.
It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.
“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”
Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.
Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.
He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.
“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.
It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.
“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”
The studio falls silent.
“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.
Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”
Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.
Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.
And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.
“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”
The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.
“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.
“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.
A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.
“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.
“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”
Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”
Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.
“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.
“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.
Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.
As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.
“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.
“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.
Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.
Oscar looks away.
The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.
The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.
“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?
The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.
“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.
Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.
He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to.
“I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.
“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”
“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.
As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.
“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.
“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.
Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips.
For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.
Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.
As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.
Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar.
“How’s your evening?”
“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.
“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.
The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.
“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…
“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.
A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”
In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.
Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal.
Right?
Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.
Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”
She could use a night off, after all.
“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”
She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.
“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.
He was not having a repeat of this morning.
He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”
There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her.
“So, about the interview…”
Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer.
“You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.
“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”
Had he really meant all of it?
There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”
“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”
The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.
“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”
“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip.
She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.
“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..
“Right. I’ll get it ready.”
Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.
He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.
Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.
“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.
“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.
She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.
“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.
When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.
“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.
The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.
They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.
What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?
In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders.
He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.
When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.
Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.
He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.
His certainly would.
“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”
Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.
She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.
“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs.
“The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.
“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”
“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”
As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing.
“I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”
He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”
The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.
Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this.
“I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”
Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”
“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.
Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care.
She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever.
Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.
“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”
“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.
He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.
She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.
“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.
There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed.
Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.
Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.
“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.
“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.
Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.
Interesting. He files the information away for later.
Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.
“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.
Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.
“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”
That doesn’t sound right.
“I- What?”
Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.
“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”
Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.
He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.
There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.
She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.
“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.
It’s quiet.
“This is bad.”
Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.
She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.
“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play?
Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren.
As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track.
The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate.
As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.
Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”
Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.
It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.
But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.
“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before
“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”
Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-
“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.
“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”
She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”
Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.
“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?”
That’s a stupid question, you idiot.
“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.
Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.
“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.
“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”
He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.
“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.
It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.
“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.
Breathe.
And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion.
She’s going to fix this.
a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!
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Casual part 2
summary: y/n and Chris haven’t talked since the incident a couple months ago. They run into each other at a party Chris hates how much y/n is messing around with people who are not him.
warnings: Drinking,Cussing, dry humping, degrading, praise, public (?) sex , spanking
check my bio if u wanna be tagged in future fics
“Yeah, long as my bitches love me!” I sing to the mirror while I apply my blush. A lot has changed in the last couple of months. I realized I liked smoking and drinking.I cut Chris off, and with that, I haven’t talked to Nick or Matt. I still have a lot of love for them, but it’s hard to converse with someone who has the same face as my… ex. I’m not sure what to call him.
I get up and look through my closet. As i’m looking through my dress I find an all familiar looking hoodie. Fresh Love. I stare at it for a couple seconds and sigh. “Casual.” I scoff.
(flashback)
He takes off his shirt, leaving him in just his pajama pants, and gets into bed. He holds me in his arms and kisses my head. I hear him sigh, assuming he closed his eyes to sleep. His arms are wrapped around me, and I can’t help but think about everything that has happened. As I stare into space memories are flooding back. What am I doing? Letting him hold me and kiss me after what he told me earlier. “Chris.” I tap his arm. “Hmm” he whines. “Chris I want to go home.” I say with my eyes watering. Tears threatening to come out if I blink.
“What? Why?” He says in his tired voice. “You really hurt my feelings, Chris.” I’m avoiding eye contact so he doesn’t know i’m a blink away from crying. He sits up and sighs out of frustration. “What do you want from me, y/n?”
“I want you, Chris. How are you going to tell me everything we’ve done meant nothing to you?” He takes a deep breath as if he’s trying to stop himself from whatever was going to come out of his mouth. “I’ll tell Matt to take you home, he’ll pick you up to get your car in the morning.” That’s it? I stand up putting on a random hoodie and sweats. I stare at him waiting for a ‘just kidding’ or ‘i’m joking’ but it never comes. “I hate you.”
(end of flashback)
I ordered my Uber and put on my heels while I waited. I’m wearing a short, tight leopard print dress with knee-high heel boots. I look at myself in the mirror to make sure I look okay. I nod satisfied that everything came out good. I get a notification that my Uber is outside.
“For y/n?” I give him a smile and nod. Fuck he’s fine. I get in the backseat and buckle up. We don’t speak, but I catch him staring at me in the mirror. Sinful thoughts flood my mind. I squeeze my thighs together feeling how soaked i’m getting. Get it together y/n. I think to myself. “You headed to a party?” I nod “Yup.”
I look through my bag and pull out a mini vodka bottle. I twist the top and open my mouth to pour the liquid. He looks at me while biting back a smile. “You know I could get you in trouble for that?” I look at him and see he’s already looking at me through the review mirror. “Yeah? Wanna get me in trouble?” I ask him flirtatiously.
“Mhm. Want to teach you a lesson about drinking in strangers' cars.” I swipe my teeth with my tongue. “Come show me what happens to girls when they break the rules then.” He smirks at me and shakes his head. We’ve arrived at the party and I see cars filling up the parking spaces. He parks and unbuckles his seatbelt. I smile while biting my lip excited for what’s about to happen. He opens his door and joins me in the back.
“Wanna find out what happens to bad girls?” I bring my hand to his hair and start twisting it. “Mhm.” He sits me down on his thigh and grabs both my wrists, holding them behind my back. He smashes his lips on mine, desperate to taste me. He moves my hips, so I grind on his thigh, making me moan and giving his tongue access to my mouth. His jeans are pressing on my clothed clit. He guides my hips to start dry-humping his thigh. He takes the top of my dress and lowers it exposing my tits.
“So perfect.” He tightly grabs my left tit and slaps it. “Mm fuck.” I start grinding faster ready for any sort of release. “You like being slapped around?” I nod unable to give him a verbal answer. My head thrown back, my mouth opened and eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth while looking up at me taking my nipple into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around and biting down. Profanities leaving my mouth. The knot in my stomach starts forming letting me know how close I am. “Keep doing that I’m so close.” He grips my hips keeping me in place and stopping the friction.
“W-what?” He grips my hair, forcing me to look up. “You think bad girls get to cum?” I shake my head no. “Words,y/n,” he says. “No, they don’t get to cum.” He leans closer and starts kissing my neck. “Please let me finish .” He lets go of my hair so I can look at him. I grab his shoulders and start the rhythm again. “Please? I’ll be so good for you. Let me show you how bad I need you.” He starts sucking on my neck, assuming he is leaving hickeys.
I feel his hand grip my tits again. He uses his thumb to play with my nipple. It doesn’t take long for that feeling in my stomach to come back. “Such a good fucking girl getting off on my thigh.” I nod relentlessly getting closer to my orgasm. “Fuck i’m close.” He grips my hips making me go at a faster pace getting to my climax quicker.
I reach my orgasm and can’t help but chant profanities. My legs twitch as I finish feeling a little overstimulated. I let go of his shoulders and lay my head on his shoulder. “Fuck that felt so good.” I can feel his erection. I pull up my dress and get off his lap. He grabs my face and starts kissing me again. I reach into my bag and pull out another bottle. “Here let me get that.” he takes the bottle from me and opens it. “Open wide, princess.” I open my mouth as he pours it all into me.
“Such a good girl. Swallow for me, yeah?” I swallowed tightly, closing my eyes as I felt the drink burning my throat. “Thanks for getting me off. I’d love to continue, but I have a party to go to.” I tap his face and open the door. As I adjust my dress, I look up and meet eyes with the triplets. “Hi, guys!” I say casually. “What were you doing?” you mean who? I laugh at my joke but can’t say it aloud. “What? nothing just got dropped off from my uber.” As I say that the driver exits the back seat. Please don’t say anything I say to myself.
The boys look at me in disbelief. I see jealousy and anger in Chris’s eyes. “That was fun, mama. Maybe next time we’ll finish what we started, " he says, getting into the front seat and driving away. My eyes widen but I can’t help but laugh. “Who was that?” Chris asks angrily. I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure I never got his name.” I run to pull Matt and Nick into a hug. “My favorite triplets how are you!” I give them a kiss on the cheek. “We’re good i’ve missed you.” Nick says. Chris pulls me away from them. He signals his brothers to start walking inside.
“Pull your fucking dress down. I can see your thong.” My eyes widened, and I immediately pulled my dress down. “Were you fucking him?” God, I hate how beautiful he is. “And if I was?” I ask, challenging him. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.” He looks so serious. I can’t tell if I’m scared or turned on. “What if I told you he got me off? Would that make you mad?” His jaw is clenched. He lifts my chin so I can’t look anywhere but his face. “Don’t test me, y/n.” I slap his hand away from my face. “Don’t be mad Chris. We were just casual remember?” I walk away from him and go inside.
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Body’s are grinding up against each other. It smells like a mix of weed, sweat, and alcohol. I’m past tipsy at this point. I haven’t talked to anyone all night, but I’m enjoying myself, so that’s all that matters. One of my favorite songs comes on and I leave the bar to go dance. I’d usually be embarrassed but I have too much alcohol in my system to care. I feel someone behind me. I turn around to meet eyes with a stranger. “I’m Dean.” I continue dancing. “Yeah I don’t care let’s just dance.”
he grabs my hips and so i’m basically grinding on him. Our body’s moving in sync as we move to the beat of the music. The lights are flashing. I look around and see everyone enjoying themselves. “Didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.” I roll my eyes. I don’t want to get to know him I just want to dance. “Didn’t throw it.” I find drunk me hilarious. I see Matt dancing with a random girl. He’s smiling while his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. That girl is bent over dancing? Looks more like foreplay. Dean guides his hands all over my body.
I feel eyes on me. I look to my right and see Chris sitting at the bar, watching me like a hawk. I give him a wink and bring my attention back to Dean. I turn around to face him. Our faces are inches apart. He leans in to kiss me. He’s not bad-looking but doesn’t compare to the man in the Uber or … Chris. I hate how much I think about him. I give his tongue access to explore my mouth. I feel him bite my lower lip, and his hand is placed on my lower back. He pushes me closer to him to deepen the kiss.
I back up to go back to dancing. I regret that, I tell myself. This must be what post-nut clarity feels like. I look to my right again and see Chris chug his drink and slam the glass down. He gets up and walks over to me. “She’s taken.” Before I had the chance to protest, he starts dragging me off the dance floor. “What the fuck?” He doesn’t stop until we reach a bathroom. The bathroom has a red light instead of a normal one. He slams the door and locks it.
(A/n: if you can listen to music and read you should listen to ‘Bathroom by ‘Montell Fish’ for this scene)
I'm not sure what’s going to happen next, but a part of me can’t wait to find out. “So you’re just slutting yourself out tonight, huh?” I was taken aback, my eyebrows furrowed. “What I do is none of your business.” I poke his chest with my pointer finger. With a quick movement, he turns me around and bends me over the sink so I’m staring at him and myself in the mirror. He traces my ass with his fingers and smacks hard. “Fuck.”
“Such a bad, bad girl.” he taunts. Too speechless to say anything, I watch him through the mirror. I see him take off his belt while refusing to break eye contact. Once it’s out, he lifts my dress slowly. He folds his belt in his hands and taunts me with it. I hiss when the coldness of the leather makes contact with my ass. He takes his fingers and pulls my underwear to the side. “Spread your legs for me, princess.” I do what he says. He takes the leather in his hands and uses it to touch my wet pussy.
Once he finishes teasing me, he uses all his force to spank me with it. I grip the sink, shutting my eyes from the pain. “Fuck Chris!” I hear him laugh. He doesn’t give me a chance to recover before he hits me again. I throw my head back. A mix of pain and pleasure fills my body. “Does it hurt?” I look at him with tears swelling in my eyes.”mhm” He takes his fingers and inserts them into my folds. “Your body is telling me otherwise.” He turns me around to face him. He kneels down onto his knees. He doesn’t say a word and just flattens his tongue and licks my wet pussy. My eyes roll back and my hands grip harder on the sink
He takes the tip of his tongue to tease my clit. “O-oh my god-” he takes his two fingers and teases my entrance. He starts sucking on my clit while he inserts his fingers. My breath quickens when his fingers start fucking me at a fast pace. “Yes just like that, Chris.” I say in a whisper too overwhelmed by the pleasure. His fingers curl inside of me making me give pornographic moans. Chris's grin widens as he feels me getting closer and closer to the edge. He increases the pace, his fingers pumping in and out of me rapidly while his mouth sucks on my clit The room fills with my loud moans and the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of me.
Chris pulls out his fingers, leaving me panting and desperate. He turns me around to face the mirror, pushing my hips against the sink and spreading my legs apart. He steps back and looks at our reflection, his eyes dark with desire. "Look at yourself," I don’t say anything. Trying to catch my breath. “Look at how ready you are for me..." He runs his hands down my back, grabbing my hips and positioning himself behind me. He lines himself up with my entrance, his eyes locked onto mine in the mirror. “Please Chris I need you so fucking bad.”
Chris grips my hips tightly and slowly pushes into me. His face contorts in pleasure as he buries himself to the hilt. He leans over me, his hot breath on my neck. "Eyes on the mirror," he growls, pulling back and thrusting into me again, harder this time. “F-fuck!” I can’t help but close my eyes, too overwhelmed with euphoria. I feel his hand tangle in my hair and pull my head back. “Eyes on the mirror,y/n. Look at us.” His voice low and demanding. I pry my eyes open trying my hardest not to break contact.
Chris grins, watching my reflection as he takes me rough and hard. His thrusts are deep and punishing, filling the room with the sound of slapping skin. His eyes flick down to where we’re joined, watching as he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back into me. “Chris!” I scream out. We’ve had sex before but it’s never been like this. “Tell me how much you hate me,y/n.” I shake my head no refusing to tell him. “Come on you had no problem telling me a couple months ago.” he taunts. “Tell me sweetheart I want to hear it.” He pulls my hair and he thrusts hard into me.
He grinds his hips into me, the movement drawing a low, guttural moan from my throat. "Say that you hate me, y/n." He can see the resistance in my eyes, but also the undeniable heat between my thighs. He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You hate me...say it..." I nod giving in. “I hate you with everything in me, Chris.”
He grins darkly, his hand tightening in my hair as he pistons into me harder. "Louder," he demands. "I want to hear you scream that you hate me while I'm buried inside you.” He bites down on my neck, sucking hard as he continues to pound into me. “I- fucking hate you.” his other hand comes around and starts rubbing my clit. “Atta girl.” I start panting at the contact he’s making with my clit. “Look in the mirror… Look at how much you hate me.”
He watches our reflection his eyes dark with lust. I shut my eyes feeling my orgasm slowly approaching. “Don’t close your eyes.” He demands. “Watch us.” I force my eyes open again. He slams into me one last time, his fingers rubbing furiously against my clit as he buries himself deep inside me. “Chris! I’m cumming!” my body shaking and convulsing around him.
He pulls out of me and forces me on my knees. “Open wide, baby let me feel all of you.” He grips my hair as he guides me to his cock. He pushes himself into my mouth. His length filling me up. My eyes immediately watering as I look up at him. His pace quickens,his thrusts becoming shallower as he’s about to cum. His face contorts in pleasure as he comes undone. His grip in my hair tightens painfully. He watches me struggle to swallow his cum, tears in my eyes.
He pulls out of my mouth, breathing heavily while wiping my chin. His face hardens, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He leans down and tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "Say 'thank you, Chris, for letting me swallow'," he demands coldly. I can feel the wetness between my thighs build up again. “Thank you, Chris” I say quietly. His smirk widens and he nods approvingly. “Such a good girl.”
He helps me up and pulls my dress down. “Sorry for being so rough with you.” sorry? “I need to sleep with more men if it means you’ll fuck me like that.” I say sarcastically. His eyes darken not finding that funny. “Let’s go back to the party.” I fix myself up in the mirror. “Alcohol isn’t good for me.” I say as fix my top.
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A/N: hope you enjoyed part two!!!! the smut is something different from my other posts i hope you liked it!! check my pinned post to find out how to be tagged in future fics!!
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BillFord Fic 2
this is the second part ig
The shack was a quite the distance away from the lab. As many questions that swelled in the scientist’s lungs, he kept silent as everyone had. He trusted his own family and they’ve been here longer than he has. He could sense their weariness of danger. This route definitely had some sound sensitive beings that would eat them alive the second they even whispered.
Soos put Dipper down and ushered him inside along with everyone else. Closing the door behind them. Ford expected him to blockade the door or at least and he gave his brother a questioning look.
“What about-“
“Oh don’t worry about that, your nephew took care of it.” Stanley cut his brother off, emphasizing the word ‘nephew’. Ford assumed he was expecting some sort of shocking reveal where he would look at him in shock. But he didn’t take into account that Ford already knows about his niece and nephew through traveling through other timelines. How would he know?
“H-hi! I’m D-Dipper! So you’re the author! And you’re… supposed to be dead. Grunkle Stan… didn’t Bill… say…” The nervous excitement in the 13-year-old’s voice vanished as it was replaced by confusion. The kind of weary uncertainty that sends chills up anyone’s back. Especially for scientists who are particularly familiar with the name ‘Bill Cipher’. Ford felt his hands begin to shake as he looked towards Stanley. When did he talk to Bill? Did he make a deal? Was Bill listening right now?
“Ford. Welcome to Weirdmagedon…” Stan sighed out with a defeated look on his face.
“He’s- He’s out?! This… wasn’t just… oh dear god…! Stanley, how did this happen?!” Ford ran his fingers through his hair as his pupils grew smaller. Stanley sighed and shook his head.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about… but first…” without any warning, Stanley smacked Ford across the face. “Where were you?! Why did- You had no right to leave me!” Ford growled and grabbed the hand that assaulted him.
“Leave you?! You pushed me into the portal Stanley! You might not even be my Stan! I’ve been trapped, traveling different timelines for over 20 years! I’ve dealt with the time police, different versions of you! Do you know how many times I’ve watched these kids die, Stanley? I had to fight your zombified version of yourself from eating me alive! You ruined my life! I-…” Stanford paused with a sigh. Did he say too much? He glanced at everyone’s expressions. He realized something. He didn’t even take into account the horrified face of his dear nephew who silently listened.
“…where’s Mabel…?” Ford felt his chest tighten up. Was she already gone? Did it have something to do with the giant floating zodiac ball? Did this hellish Timeline tear the siblings apart again? Even the questions Ford spoke aloud were left unanswered as the tension filled silence latched itself onto the room.
“Look dudes! Dudes! Hear me out- let’s play 20 questions.” Soos nonchalantly sauntered between the two and put a hand on Ford’s shoulder.
“Doo do-do. There you go dude. Just relax.” Soos led Ford to a random box of rations and sat him down on it. The action allowed the rest of the crew to view the large scratch on his back. Wendy winced.
“Oh- yikes. That doesn’t look too good… I’ll grab the med kit. You guys… uh… work things out, yeah? Cool? Cool.” Wendy excused herself from the room as everyone continued to sit in silence. After about five minutes Soos stepped in to encourage the intended conversation.
“Mr. Pines… uh… fake Mr. Pines. Why don’t you ask Mr. Pines a question…?” Soos suggested, silently urging the twins to coexist in at least semi-harmony.
“I’M the fake!?” Stanford exclaimed and angrily jolted from his box. The sudden movement was followed by a burning sensation on his wound. The man sighed irritated but sat back down to re-ask his question. “…Stan… Where’s Mabel…?” He lifted a six-fingered hand up to his face to rub his temples as the other removed his glasses. It was clear he was already assuming the worst of his niece. After a long moment of silence, the youngest in the room spoke up.
“She’s trapped.” Somehow this kid could make Ford tense up like a twig or loose like water with every sentence he said. The Grunkle couldn’t help a small sigh of relief from escaping him as he looked up at Dipper, motioning for him to continue. Dipper lowered his head before going to the blinds of the Mystery shack and pulling them aside. “We believe she’s stuck in there.” Dipper explained, also bothering to show a picture of the out of place bubble with his sister’s zodiac on it. Ford nodded gazing through the glass.
“My turn.” Stan spoke up amidst the conversation. “Where were you?” Stan walked over to the fridge as he asked his question. He hooked his hand on the top of it as he shuffled through it- his hand clenching around it while the other found a soda. Stanley sighed and opened the can as he flopped into his heavenly recliner. Ford had no issue telling Stan this information… as long as he didn’t ask for details. But due to his most recent outburst, Ford doubted that he’d be asked about it soon.
“After I was… sucked into the portal I found myself back here. But it wasn’t my world. At the time I didn’t know that and messed up many timelines. It seemed that every timeline I got sucked into… it seemed to naturally want to kick me out. I call this the natural law of anomaly removal. Then I got arrested by the Time Police. I call that the unnatural law of anomaly removal.” Stanford was caught by Dipper’s excited squeaky voice.
“Oh! We know them!” Dipper exclaimed. Stanford’s eyebrows raised as he looked at Stan as if looking for confirmation. He immediately sputtered up the words sprouting up his throat and his brother did the same.
“You do?” The twins glared at each other from across the room as their voices synched up. Stanford was suddenly hit with a heart churning thought. Dipper wasn’t referring to anyone in the room when he said ‘we’. The Stan’s glares morphed into looks of pity as Dipper began to explain the encounter.
“So me and… my sister were at a fair.” Grunkle Stan made sure to cut in.
“I hosted it.” Dipper continued, not acknowledging the remark.
“And there was some guy there with a time tape measurer.” Dipper flipped through Ford’s old Journal to his added parts and showed a drawing of the tape measurer he just mentioned. “We may or may not have used it to… change the past a little bit… but the only timeline where I got what I wanted was when M- my sister lost waddles.” Ford smiled. He’s glad that the kids at least learned a lesson from this. “Oh but then the guy we stole the tape measurer from wanted revenge so we participated in Globnar.” Ford sputtered. These kids participated in the death battle!?
“Blog- what’s-a-whoosits?” Grunkle Stan asked, slightly sitting up in his recliner. This time his brother answered, pulling out his current journal.
“Globnar.” Ford corrected, “The gladiatorial combat game in Time Baby’s domain. It’s used to determine justice. If you win you get a time wish. You kids must’ve been lucky to be spared-“ Dipper immediately went to correct him.
“Oh- no. We did win.”
“You did?” Ford raised an impressed eyebrow.
“Yep!”
“Well then what did you wish for?” This question was particularly itching at Ford, if he had the chance to compete he probably would’ve wished for the death of Bill Cipher. Or maybe some other grueling fate for the interdimensional demon to suffer for all eternity.
“We gave it to Soos.” Dipper said simply.
“Well?” Ford asked, turning to said repair man.
“Oh. I just wished for the little dudes to be fixed up after getting so banged up for me on my birthday. Hehe. Oh- and this infinite slice of pizza.” Soos shrugged, taking the pizza out of his back pocket and taking a bite. Everyone nodded and shrugged in perfect agreement except for Stan.
“Woah, woah, woah. We’ve been out there risking our lives to scavenge for food- only for you to have an infinite slice of pizza in your back pocket this whole time!?” Stanley stood up and looked at Soos accusingly.
“Look dude. It was a personal pizza. It’s not my rules.” Soos took another hunk of pizza off from the slice which instantly regenerated.
“Well, can’t argue with that.” Stan sat back down.
“How did Bill get here?” Ford asked suddenly. If his twin’s chair didn’t have a back he would’ve fell off the back of it. He remained silent for a second- trying to correctly stitch his words together to soften the blow as much as possible. Sadly for Stanley, he was a terrible tailor.
“Stanley! Answer me.” Ford exclaimed, sitting up from his box again. He would’ve approached if it wasn’t for the large scratch on his back tearing through his coat. He winced and sat back down as he continued to glare at his twin.
“I opened it. But I only opened it to save you! I’ve been spending the last 30 years trying to get you back and I-“
“Stan, you were using my house as a fake museum. You read the Journals! You should’ve known the risks!” Stanford cut in with a blunt expression.
“Oh… right… the multi-timelines… or whatever…” Stanley sighed at the reminder. His brother already knew most of what had happened since he’s been traveling different universes and observing them. Stanley still didn’t totally understand what happened, but he knows that his brother knows about the basics of his life.
“Were you out of your mind Stanley? You nearly caused the end of the world! You endangered the kids! And now look where it got you! Bill is out there causing suffering to this entire town. You know or at least have some idea what that mind demon is like!” Stanford continued to rant as Stanley averted his gaze to the floor.
“It doesn't matter now.” Stanley’s eyes furrowed as he looked up to his brother- surprised that the scolding has stopped so abruptly.
“If there’s one thing I learned from traveling Timelines is that no matter what, you’re my family… and I should help you in any way I can. Dipper,” Ford turned towards his nephew, “We’re saving your sister.”
~
The room was still tense when the red head reappeared from the upper floors with a med kit. She approached Ford and handed it to him. Wendy quickly gave Ford the kit before escaping the room.
“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Ford quickly went through the supplies he was given before standing up with a wince.
“Hey- uh Ford can I talk to you for a second?” Stanley followed behind his brother like a stray, adjusting his collar.
“We just did, Stanley.” Ford said simply, his pace unyielding.
“No… privately.” Stanley elaborated.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone!” Ford exclaimed, reaching his room’s door and turning the handle.
“No- Ford that’s now-“ Stanley tried to explain, but the door was swung open anyway, to reveal Multi-Bear in a large wooden tub. He was in the middle of mid-Rubber Duck enactment of a Disco Girl concert when he noticed the two men in the doorway.
“…Multi-Bear’s washroom…” Stan finished.
“Oh come on!” Ford exclaimed, slamming the door shut. He grumbled and leaned against the wall beside the room. He used the surface as support as he sat down on the ground. The other twin observed in an odd guilty state with a pitiful look. He watched as Ford unpacked what he needed to treat his wound.
“Do… do you.. ’er… don’t suppose I could… tch, don’t know… help you?” Stan asked, feeling himself grow smaller. The other glared downwards, the way his eyes darted back and forth showed he was pondering the small-voiced question. His gaze softened at the floor, and then at Stanley.
“I suppose wouldn’t mind some… yes.” The twins smiled at each other for a minute… basking in each other’s nostalgia. Stanley was the first to break the moment, stepping behind Stanley and sitting down before pausing.
“…How do you do this again?” Ford sighed in his usual disappointment. And like usual, the fondness in the air revealed his true affection for his brother.
“I’ll talk you through it…” Ford slid the case behind himself for Stanley to use, “Use the alcohol and towel first. All you gotta do is dump it on the towel and dab it.”
“Alright… so… about what you said to Dipper…” Stanley began talking as he tended to his brother’s wound, “Just don’t make promises you can’t keep Sixer. I don’t wanna hurt the kid… y’know?” The wounded twin tensed at the nickname, taking note of his own shudder in his breath. Stanley helped Ford take off his bloodied jacket and set it aside. He didn’t seem to notice the other’s discomfort. As a kid, Ford always appreciated the fond nickname. It made him feel less self conscious about his unusual hands. Though- the time he had spent with Bill flipped his everything upside down. Even his feelings about the affectionate nickname. Stanford decided to be open with his brother. More open in general. Especially since he’d be in this timeline for a while. He’d like to believe forever… but the hope of this actually being his true timeline was slim. Whatever the case, no matter the universe, this was his brother and he wanted to make amends.
“I promise you. I fully intend on getting Mabel back. And… I appreciate the gesture Stanley… but can you not… call me that anymore? It’s… what Bill called me. I hope you understand why it can be a bit unnerving.” Ford let out a small grunt of pain as the alcohol began to cleanse his wound. Stanley shrugged. He was a lot more compliant about the request than Ford expected.
“Potato, potáta. I read yer’ journals. I know he made you a little messed up in the head for a while there. I won’t go complaining.” Stanley said simply, “Back to my first point Ford. We already have a lot going on- and we’ve been trying to get her back for a while. Last time Dipper and Wendy went on their own… they got really banged up. By FUCKING GIDEON!” In a spurt of anger, Stan hit his fist on the floor.
“I’m gonna rip that kid to pieces one of these days. He’ll see what’s coming. We are only a month into this mess and barely have enough food to last everyone another one! Are you sure you can handle this?” Stanley tilted his head as he finished with disinfecting the gash.
“What’s next?” He added.
“Bandages. Take the pad- the fluffier one and grab enough to cover the wound. Then wrap the plaster around to keep it there.” Ford decided to answer Stanley’s last question before going onto his earlier concerns.
“Trust me. I can handle this. Please Stanley. I want to meet my niece. Let me help you. Help her…” Stanford sighed solemnly- before feeling a hand on his shoulder.
“Ok. I’ll trust you- one one condition: We gotta get some grub first.” Ford nodded in response and took out one of his journals.
“Great! I’ll start planning.” Ford began scribbling in his journal and muttering half to himself and to his twin. “I’m probably gonna need to know what we’re up against. I’d also like to know how Mabel even got in there- simply to satisfy my own curiosities. How did the first trial pan-out, and are there guards? What even is that giant prison of hers…?” Stanley cut off his brother’s rambles with a simple pat on the other’s shoulder.
“Relax. I’ll fill you in on details later. For now we need to focus on our ration situation. All we have left are a couple cans of brown meat and some stale snacks. Got any ideas?” Stan asked, as he began to wrap the plaster around his brother’s torso.
“There surely has to be more places to go to… What about the one down the street? The closed down one?” Stanley shook his head.
“Got stomped out by a set of teeth first week in.”
“The mall?”
“Got claimed by the oversized centipedes. Tried.”
“The pizzeria?”
“The pizza is animate.”
“My old bunker?”
“Your… oh! That thing! Now I see where you’re headed. I knew that brainiac could be used for something other than complicated plans. Now c’mon. You’re all patched up. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” Stanley stood up and held a hand out to his brother, silently asking him to do the same. Ford took Stanley’s hand and pulled himself up, gathering the access medical supplies.
“That bunker has enough rations til the next century! Well for two people… but it should be enough.” Ford began scribbling in his journal.
“Well, food is food.” Stanley shrugged and began walking down the hall. His brother followed closely behind with the extra supplies.
“You can put that in the bathroom. Let’s hope we won’t need it for a while… I’ll go grab a team to see if we can get those supplies.” Stan gave a small smile towards Ford- a small sign of appreciation. But Ford knew this was only a small token of gratitude, and that he’d still have a lot to make up.
He still could’ve saved the kids. The time police still haven’t come after him- even for messing up the timeline. The amount of times he just watched for fearing the consequences to himself is eye-wrenching. He watched them fail over,
And over
And over-
“Hey, Ford? You coming?” Ford shook his head, snapping out of his regret induced daze. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll go.” He said. He needed to start somewhere.
“Go…” Stanley processed the answer for a moment before shaking his head, “oh no buddy. I just got you back. Do you honestly think I’m gonna fall for that selfless hero bullshit just so you can run off on me again?!” Ford sighed.
“Stanley, you need to understand- I’m not just gonna let my family sit here while you’re struggling to make ends meet in some… some hellish version of this place I know caused!” His brother shook his head.
“You are helping. You’re gonna make a plan to get our niece back-“
“What? So you guys can go get yourselves killed?!” Ford continued, “Look Stanley. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You have to understand! I need… I need to fix this-“
“You can fix this by staying here.” Stanley growled.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” His brother barked. Stan huffed.
“This is childish,” he stated only because he knew what his brother said was true, “we shouldn’t be fighting like this at the end of the world…” He shook his head and turned away from his brother.
“Therefore you should stay.”
“Stanley-!” Ford decided to cross his arms and huff, he knew Stan was right on one thing. This was childish. He decided to keep his mouth shut on the topic until it arises again.
“…so… how can we just stay here like sitting ducks? How has Bill not captured you all by now?” Stanley seemed grateful for the topic change- instantly jumping on answering.
“Now, that genius was all thanks to your nephew Dipper! He found one of your freaky little spells in one of your journals… apparently he modified it or something? I don’t know. I’d talk to him about it.” Stanley walked away as Ford pondered. He couldn’t be any more proud of Dipper- he was glad that the boy wanted to protect his family… though Ford couldn’t help but wonder where that unicorn hair came from.
Next chapter finally has some Bill!
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