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Oscar Piastri | Masterlist

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I Was Actually Rooting For You

: Part 16 (Lando's Version)

: Dares come with a lot of consequences, and Lando’s gotta pay the price

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…

Kika made her way up the stairs, carrying a huge blanket and a bag full of Y/n's favorite snacks. Just as she turned the corner towards her apartment door, she froze in her tracks. There, next to the door, sat Lando Norris in the same clothes he had worn to the spring fling. His eyes looked red, as if he had been crying, which made Kika scoff. How ironic it was that he was the one crying.

Hearing some rustling, Lando looked up and saw Kika standing near the staircase. As soon as he saw her, he sprang to his feet.

"Kika I-" He started.

"It's Francisca, my name is Francisca," She cut him off.

"Umm right...Francisca. I need to talk to Y/n. I have to explain her my side of the story. Could you plea-"

"You have some nerve thinking I would convince her to talk to you," Kika seethed.

She continued, "And what do you even mean by 'your side of the story'? What more could you possibly have to say? And to think I was actually rooting for you." Kika shoved past him, feeling more grateful than ever for having a key to Y/n's apartment. She couldn't imagine what would have happened if Y/n opened the door for her instead.

…

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A place for me to share my daily rants about life and everything that surrounds it. I still keep secrets but here is the outlet for little things that irritate me at most.

---

DO YOU KNOW THA LANDO SMUT WHERE HES BASICALLY SUPER INEXPERIENCED AND READER IS JUST TEACHING HIM HOW TO DO THINGS???

It’s a series

UHH NO I DON'T KNOW IT AND I COULDN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE AND I KINDA NEED TO READ IT RN SO PLEASE PLEASE IF ANYONE KNOW WHERE TO FIND IT LET US KNOW!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

UPDATE:

"Sex Education" by @unluckyhoneybee

what happens in vegas, does not stay in vegas | ch. 01

pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

summary: down in the dumps after a big loss, your brother charles decides to stay in instead of going out to party, believing his fellow drivers would keep you from doing anything dumb while out on partying on the vegas strip. that was his first mistake. the next morning his wakes up to the news that you’ve went and gotten yourself married, but who could possible be stupid enough to take advantage of charles leclerc’s baby sister?

warnings: talks about men being creeps. drinking. lando and oscar being proper gentlemen, reader's age is not specified but its mentioned she's in her twenties! reader has everyone wrapped around her finger, oscars antisocial.

word count: 5.1k (my best so far)

authors note: okay soooooo, yes i did already post the first chapter of this series, but i hated it, sorry! so i rewrote it and this was the result, i promise this version is so much better, feedback is also appreciated :) enjoy! i also wrote half this while recovering from wisdom teeth removal, so if there’s any misspelling let’s just blame it on that. reblogs, comments, or feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated!

series masterlist + playlist

| next chapter ->

Charles Leclerc was a lame, little, whiny baby, loser. And you would’ve said it to his face…if he wasn’t giving you his card so you can buy drinks and souvenirs all night.

It was the Sunday of the big race in Vegas Nevada, coincidentally the first time you'd been in the States, and like any irresponsible twenty-some-year-old would be, you were more excited about the after-party then the actual race.

"Are you sure you don't want to join?" you shouted towards the hotel bedroom, you had your small setup in the bathroom, you pulled down your dress slightly and adjusted your hair before slowly stepping out of the hotel bathroom.

Charles perked up from his phone, shooting you a small smile, he had placed four in the race, something you found impressive (granted you found anything your big brothers did impressive) while he did not, hence him being a debbie downer and refusing to join you, and his fellow drivers on a night out at the Vegas strip.

"I'm sure, Piccina" Charles sat up, pushing his card towards you on the white bed sheets, "Just be careful?"

You nodded eagerly placing this card carefully into your wallet while smiling at the nickname, Piccina, meaning tiny, it had been your nickname ever since you were little, and him using it gave you the comfort of knowing he wasn't secretly mad at you for ditching him while he was down in the dumps.

"Who's going again?" Charles chimed from behind you as you adjusted yourself in the mirror.

You hummed, thinking, "I know Lando for sure."

Charles snorted, muttering, "That wasn't a question."

"I think Oscar, Carlos..." you paused, hoping you didn't hit a nerve, but he simply nodded, "Max might show up...Franco's a yes, Lance, Fernando, and maybe Pierre?" you turned to him with a smile.

Charles shook his head slightly, "Pierre's staying back with me."

You shot him a funny look, "Date night?"

Charles's laughter rang out in the room, he pulled a pillow from behind him and shot it at you, "You're not funny!"

You stood up, throwing the pillow back at him, "You sure are laughing!"

Two stood around for a few more minutes, with Charles refusing to let you leave out alone, insisting you waited for Lando to pick you up. You groaned, "He's taking forever!"

"I don't care!" he matched your tone, "Its dangerous, you could get mobbed or something."

"And having Lando is going to help that, how?" you rose a brow, and his awkward silence made you smirk in triumph.

He huffed, rolling his eyes, "He won't help with the fans, but he’ll help if some creep tries touching you."

You couldn't argue with that.

Just as you were going to try and argue your way out of the door, again, a small knock rang throughout the room.

You beamed, skipping over to the door, as you opened the door, Lando snapped his head up, a whistle leaving his lips, "Looking good, Leclerc!" he cheered as stepped into the room slightly. You smiled as you gave him a slight spin.

"Thanks Lando," Charles joked, you slapped his arm slightly, rolling your eyes, "You know he was talking about me."

Charles rolled his eyes as he and Lando 'bro-hugged' while you went around the room making sure you had everything you needed.

'"Okay, I'm ready!" you cheered, walking over to the two men. Charles nodded, looking you over once more, Lando made his way out the door.

"You got everything?" Charles checked, you nodded brightly, leaning over to give him a hug, "Phone? Charger? Bandaids? Condom?—“

"Charles!" you shrieked, feeling your body heat up as you heard Lando's faint giggle.

Charles held his hands up in defense, "I don't like talking about it either, but I rather you be safe."

You groaned, taking small steps towards the door, "Yes, Charles I have everything."

Charles smiled, holding the door open for you and you stepped out and stood by Lando, "Good. And remember if you need anything, call me."

"Sir yes, sir!" you saluted jokingly.

Charles turned to Lando, "Keep her safe, alright?"

"Sir yes, sir!" Lando mocked you, Charles rolled his eyes as you and Lando burst into laughter.

"Very funny.." was the last thing he muttered before shutting the door in your face.

☾

You and Lando walked side by side in the busy streets of Las Vegas, your eyes shone brightly as you took in the new scenery. When you were younger you didn't necessarily get to travel much because all the extra money went to karting and competitions.

You never complained, even when you had to give up your own dream of being a Formula One driver so Charles could have his chance. He was a great talent, everyone in the family recognized that, and you eventually got over your silly dream.

Since that day when you were ripped apart from your passion, Charles promised he would grant every wish you ever wanted. ‘We’ll go the States and eat everything!—And I’ll buy you everything because I’ll have money from Ferrari!’ he said as he wiped your tears from your puffy cheeks. You knew he only said that because he felt it was his fault you didn’t get to live out your dream. And although you would never admit it to anyone, because it made you feel like a horrible sister, sometimes you did resent the decision made by your family— you had talent too. Why was Charles the only one who got the chance to be great?

"Never been to Vegas?" Lando's voice cut through the silence, he was carrying bags and bags of all types of items, clothes, souvenirs, jewelry, you name it. You had really gone crazy. Since you had about an hour to waste until you were all supposed to meet up, you decided to get all your shopping done early.

You had wanted to hold the bags, but Lando instead he do it, saying it was the 'gentlemen' thing to do.

"No." you breathed out with a smile, "I don't get all the hate this place gets, it's beautiful."

Lando snorted, "I've never heard that said about Vegas before."

"People aren't as deep and sentimental as me Lando, you should know that by now," you wiped a fake tear from your eye and Lando burst into laughter.

You smiled, eyeing the bags in his hands once again, "Are you sure we shouldn't take this stuff back to the hotel?"

Lando nodded, pulling the bags closer to him, "We have a private area in the club, we can put them there."

You 'oohed', "Private area huh?"

"Only the best for Ms. Leclerc," he smirked.

"Oh please," you laughed, "You just don't want anyone to record you getting wasted."

"Okay, maybe that too."

You shook your head as you and Lando crossed the street, you caught a glimpse at the club down the strip, "So who's officially going?"

"I know Oscars going."

"Because you bribed him?"

"Yes."

You and Lando both giggled, swerving in between people, "Carlos is going..." Lando eyes you carefully.

You held your hand up, "What happens with Charles and Carlos on track is none of my business...plus they're like a bipolar couple, they'll be back to charlos in no time."

Lando thought for a second before nodding, "That's why carlando is better."

You shook your head with a smile and Lando continued, "George is going, so is Alonso, Max, Franco, Yuki, and Lance."

"No Alex?" you questioned.

Lando shook his head, "He said he's taking Lily on a 'supes romantic vegas date."

You awed, before frowning, "I need a boyfriend."

Lando smirked, turning to you, "You know I have the perfect guy—“

"Lando!" you heard a familiar accent shout near you. Both you and Lando snapped your head up to see Carlos waving widely at you two, while the others pretended not to know him.

"Carlos!" Lando shouted, lifting his arms up, the multitude of bags almost smacking you in the face.

You would think they hadn't seen each other in years with the way they embraced each other, you could only watch in amusement before you felt a slight tap on your shoulder.

Turning around you came face to face with Oscar Piastri, he just got cuter each day, "Hi." he mumbled as he pulled you into a soft hug. "I didn't see you today, and I didn’t want you thinking I was being rude or avoiding you.”

"You? Rude? Never," you mumbled with a smile and he patted your back softly, "I didn't think you would make it.." you pulled back and he shot you a questioning look, "I don't mean to offend but this doesn't seem like your type of place."

Oscar smiled, and you two started to make your way into the booming club, with Oscar's hand resting on your back, you made sure to greet everyone with a smile.

"It's not!" he yelled so you could hear him, while also making sure he wasn't too close to your ear. "Lando bribed me!"

You nodded, laughing, "Yeah he told me! How much did he give you?"

Oscar's face burned red—not that you could see it—"It wasn't really a..money bribe!"

You turned to him confused, but before you could ask him to clarify, you were both halted when Lando seemingly appeared out of nowhere, making you both pause.

Lando already seemed off his rocker, eyes moving side to side widely, "I'm going to get drinks!" he yelled, shoving all of your bags into Oscar's arms, who took them in surprise, "Our area is over there—" both you and Oscar turned to where he was pointing simultaneously, "Have fun okay?" he shot you two a big thumbs up before getting lost in the crowd.

You and Oscar both stood still for a moment before you slowly turned to each other, "How is he already drunk?" you asked, trying to take the bags from Oscar's hands, but he simply swerved around you, nodding up to where Lando pointed previously.

"I can take those, you know?" You yelled over to Oscar as you started climbing the stairs up to the top portion of the club, you could hear the big change in volume as you got higher.

Oscar gave you a funny look, "What type of man would I be if I let you carry these heavy bags?"

You didn't have an answer. It was a big culture shock when you realized men weren't exactly like your brothers, your brothers always treated you like gold. But once you went out to the real world, you were quick to realize that was not the norm.

Oscar took a slight peak into the bag, "What exactly did you buy?"

"Lots of things with my name on it," you laughed, taking a seat on the sofa next to the big group of drivers, who all acknowledged your existence with a smile. You watched as Oscar followed in your steps, taking a seat next to you, his knee touching yours.

"Examples?"

"You name it... license plate, shirts, bracelets, necklace."

"A true Vegas staple." Oscar nodded in approval, turning his whole body toward you.

You beamed, turning toward him as well, eager to keep to conversation going, "So...how do you feel about the race?"

Oscar laughed slightly, taking a peek behind you, "Probably a lot better than your brother."

You nodded with a pursed smile, "Probably,"

"Is that why's he's not here?"

You shrugged slightly, "Maybe. He said he just wasn't feeling it, but who knows?"

"Do you think they'll stay mad at each other for long?" Oscar's voice was now a quiet whisper, clearly trying to avoid attention.

You shook your head, "We have a flight back home tomorrow night, they'll be fine by then." you know that because you had told Charles that if they didn't fix their problem before said flight, you wouldn't be going home with them, you could not deal with that awkwardness. And Charles would do anything for you, so of course he and Carlos were going to make up.

Oscar perked up, smiling at you, "I'm going home on that flight too."

Your face lit up, "You live in Monaco now right?"

Oscar nodded bashfully, he had made the move early that year, during the ‘Leclerc-Piastri adopted son’ situation. He was very quiet about it, so he didn’t expect you to know about it—or frankly, care. “Y-yeah, I thought it would be better with all the traveling.”

“And the tax-evading.”

Oscar let out a loud laugh, no doubt catching the attention of others scattered around the room, you watched him cackle with a smile. “How are you liking it?” you asked.

Oscar sobered down slightly, a grin still present, “It’s not home…but it’s….Monaco.”

You threw your head back with a smile, “It’s better when you get past all the cars and celebrities.”

Oscar nodded, “One of my first days I went hiking," you remember seeing the picture he posted, all sweaty, your eyes widened at the memory, and you shifted flustered "It was nice."

"I can show you some better places if you'd like?

"Really?" Oscar's eyes were wide, full of excitement.

You nodded proudly, "Of course, I've given everyone here a tour of the city, I'm a great guide if I do say so myself."

The lights in Oscar's eyes diminished slightly, for a second, there, he thought he was special, he coughed awkwardly, "Oh yeah?"

You eyed the group behind you, "Since everyone here apparently loves tax evading, I've taken it upon myself to teach them about my home."

Oscar giggled slightly and you contained, raising your brow, "I'm surprised I haven't seen you around, I see George at least three times a week."

Oscar flushed, and this time he was sure you could tell, "Oh I..." he sucked his teeth, "I.. don't really leave my house."

You started at him with squinted eyes for a moment, "...Because of the fans?"

"No...no."

"Because you don't have a car?" you asked, recalling the photo of him riding a bike around the city months ago, you would've thought he would've bought a car since then, or at least borrowed one.

"I have a car."

You laughed in confusion, "Okay then why?"

Oscar shrugged, playing with the ends of his sweater, "I just don't really like to go out."

"Like ever?"

"I go to... grocery stores."

"Oh, Oscar..." you sighed, and the man jumped to defend himself.

"I play sim a lot!...and that's like talking to people?..."

You winced, "Is it though?"

Oscar sighed, looking down at his lap, "...No..."

You pursed your lips, patting his knew softly, "Its okay Oscar...I'll make sure you go out more."

Before he could respond, Lando's loud cheers emerged from the staircase, and Oscar felt your attention slip away from him.

"I'm back, and I bring drinks!" Lando shouted as he hurried over to the group, a tray filled with drinks in his hands. The others cheered. The drink was purple, and it seemed to be fizzling as everyone took one.

"What is this?" Lance blinked up at Lando, who shrugged, Fernando took a small sniff before pulling back in shock; the others looked at him in worry, as he coughed, waving everyone off.

"I have no idea!" Lando yelled, and the other slowly started to put the drink down, "The bartender just told me it would make us forget who won the race tonight!"

Just like that, everyone had picked their glasses back up and quickly swallowed down the drink. Georges's face went black as he rolled his eyes, taking a small sip of his drink, "Assholes.." he whispered.

☾

"You have really pretty eyes..." Oscar slurred as he watched you lay down on the couch, he sat on the floor, legs crossed over each other as he stared into your face.

You hummed, "People say me and Charles have the same eyes..."

Oscar blinked, "Charles has pretty eyes..."

There was no one left awake in the 'private' area, the men were either down on the dance floor, or asleep on the ground, such as Lance, Franco, and Yuki.

The drink had no effect at first, so everyone felt confident drinking another....and another...and another, and before anyone knew it, everyone was far gone, way far gone.

You giggled, bringing a drunken smile onto Oscar's face. You continued to giggle before your face turned serious.

You turned to Oscar with a glare, Oscar visibly jumped, "Do you have a girlfriend, Oscar?"

Gaping in shock, Oscar shook his head like crazy.

Your glare hardened, "I'm gonna need you to say it."

"I don't have a girlfriend." Oscar replied instantly.

You stared for a couple more moments before a bright grin took over your face, "Thank god!" you giggled before turning serious once more, "It seems like everyone is dating someone, and it makes me feel lonely." You quickly (with a small struggle) sat up from the couch, grabbing Oscar's hand.

“At least you don't have a girlfriend.” 

Oscar, the most out of it he's ever been, swayed side to side, “I want to be your girlfriend.” he mumbled, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to your hand. 

You giggled, throwing your head back, “Not girlfriend! Boyfriend silly…and I don't think whiny baby Charles would like that…” 

Oscar sat up straight, “I don't care what Charles thinks,” he did, he really, really, did. “He shouldn't control your life.” In any other situation, Oscar would never say anything like this, in fact, one of the primary reasons he never man up and asked you out (other than the fact that he was sure you did not like him that way) was because he wasn't sure Charles would approve. And if he didn’t have Charles’ approval, then what was the point in even trying? 

“He just thinks he knows best,” you mumbled through a frown. “He doesn't control me…does he?” 

Oscar slipped his hands away from you, moving his arms widely “No! No…I’m dumb, Charles would never control you..”

But it seemed like you weren’t listening anymore, your eyes dazed, “If Charles does control me, then I should do something to get him back..” you turned to Oscar with a glare, he knew you well, you were thinking of ways to get back at Charles..for something he didn’t even do. “For being evil…” 

Oscar laughed, shaking his head, “Charles isn't evil!” You joined him in the laughter. Before your face went blank, “What were we talking about?” 

Oscar decided not to indulge in your evil sibling rivalry plans, “You were telling me how you wanted a boyfriend.” 

You gaped, pointing at Oscar, “You're right! You know Oscar…you would be the perfect boyfriend!” 

Oscar's cheeks went pink, “I would?” he mumbled bashfully. 

You nodded proudly, “Mhm..you are very respectful..you've never stared at my ass, unlike some of the drivers..” Oscar’s mouth opened in shock with a million questions running through his mind, but you didn’t give him time to react, “And you're funny, not like joke funny,” Oscar tried to not let an offended expression take over his face, “But like expression funny. And I’m sure you’d give the best kisses…and! You look like you’d never forget an anniversary.” 

Not to toot his own horn, but you're right, Oscar had a great memory, and if it was your anniversary, he would never forget it. 

You’re face lights, “I have the best idea!” you squealed, standing up and pulling Oscar up with you, you both stumbled. You pulled on his jacket, bringing you face to face, “We should get married!” 

The grin on Oscar’s face was electric, “Yes!” he shouted, accidentally waking up Yuki, who shot up from the cuddle pile on the ground with wide eyes, you two were too focused on your own bubble to notice him.

You gasped, gripping onto Oscar tighter, “Really? You’ll marry me?” 

Oscar gripped onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth tightly, “Of course I would! I’m not stupid!” 

“Oh I have to tell Charles! He can’t miss my wedding!” 

Oscar nodded, watching with a beaming smile as you pulled out your phone, opening it up before you slowly put it down with a frown. 

“I can’t tell Charles.” your eyes unintentionally watered, “He won’t let me.” You slowly sat down on the small couch. 

Oscar slowly sat next to you, trying to hide his dimmed energy, “Don’t worry about..” he mumbled, “I can wait.” I’ve already waited six years, he thought, what’s a couple more? 

“But you shouldn’t have to wait!’ You groaned, quickly standing up, “We’re getting married tonight!” You stomped your foot, “I’ll just take lots of pictures so Charlie doesn’t miss it!” 

Oscar’s light returned, he accepted the hand you held out for him, “Let’s go get married, Oscar!’ you cheered, leading him down the club stairs.

Yucki watched you two leave, his face full of confusion, he groaned, laying back onto the ground while rubbing his eyes, “Married? Charles is going to kill him.” 

​☾

“I still can’t believe you let the little princess go out without you,” Pierre mumbled through his bites of popcorn. 

Charles rolled his eyes, grabbing another handful of the cornels, “She doesn’t have to be with me all the time, she’s growing up and wants to go out alone.” 

“Okay…but with Lando?” 

“Lando wouldn’t dare touch her. He knows I would throw him into the barriers.” 

Pierre and Charles were lying in bed, a popcorn bucket lay in the middle of them, while a french romance movie played in the background. 

Pierre nodded after a pause “You know who I’m worried about?” 

Charles leaned over to look at the man, “Who?”

“That Australian creep.” 

Charles furrowed his brow,”...Daniel?’

Pierre shot him a look, “No, not Daniel. Oscar.” 

Charles shot up with a choked laugh, “O-oscar?” he threw his head back with a loud laugh, “O-oscar?” 

Pierre watched him with an unamused face, waiting for him to sober, which took longer than you would think. 

“Oscar?” Charles shook his head with a smile as he laid back down, “No..Oscar…” he giggled, “No.” 

Pierre scoffed, “You underestimate him..I’ve seen it,” Pierre’s eyes unfocused, “He is always staring.” 

Charles shrugged, throwing up a kurnell before catching it in his mouth, “Piccina is pretty…people always stare.” 

Pierra shook his head sharply, “No…Oscar stares like he is trying to read her mind or something.. I’m telling you Charles, he is creepy.” 

Charles waved him off, “Trust me. Oscar is the last person who would do something to piccina.” 

​☾

“I still think this is a bad idea..” Lando slurred as he took off his shirt lazily. 

Max nodded in agreement, pulling up his suit pants, “Mhmm..” his head rolled back as he giggled, “Charles is going to blow up,” he made a boom sound.  

“At least Oscar finally grew his balls and asked her out...” Lando giggled, looking over to where you and Oscar stood near the chapel. Oscar was adjusting your veil while you played with his tie. 

“Does it count if they're both drunk?” Max asked. 

Lando thought for a moment, “Maybe..” 

After dragging Oscar down to the dance floor, you two found Max and Lando, who you both let know of your plans to get married. You only needed one of them (to be a witness) so you could legally get married. But they both insisted on joining you. 

You and Oscar were going all out (as out as you could be with a notice of maybe forty minutes) and that included a dress, veil, and suits for Oscar and the groomsmen (Max and Lando)

“You look gorgeous..” Oscar sighed, gazing down into your eyes. 

“You look good too,” You giggled, tightening and untightening his tie. Maybe it was the nerves of doing something so taboo, but you needed something to fidget with. 

“Are you sure about this?” Oscar asked, looking behind as the Elvis priest started to set up his whole thing. 

“Yeah..” you sighed. In another situation you would’ve never even brought up the conversation of you being lonely, much less getting married in a Vegas chapel, but you were completely out of it, and to be fair, so was Oscar, Max, and Lando. 

Speaking of which, the two groomsmen made their way over to you, and patted Oscar on the shoulder, “It’s time.” Lando sang slightly, pushing Oscar to stand on the side of the Elvis priest. Lando followed after him. 

Max grinned down at you, giving you, “You ready?” he giggled. 

You beamed, wrapping your arm around him as ‘here comes the bride’ started playing softly.”Sure am!” 

​☾

There was something so scary about waking up in a room you didn't recognize.

The light was blinding, and it just made your hangover headache ten times worse. You groaned, squinting as you slowly sat up from the unrecognizable bed.

Panicked, you looked around the room–it was trashed, with bottles of wine, and bed sheets scattered everywhere. In terror you looked down at yourself, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of your clothes still on your body. It was not your clothes, fitting at least five times too big, but still, you took that as a good sign.

Slowly you inched off the bed, and there you noticed there was someone else in the bed, face down, with his arms sprawled out. It was a man. You panicked for a moment, he couldn't be dead, could he? 

Carefully, you walked around the bed and squatted to take a look at who it was, the sight made your stomach churn, "Oscar?" you whispered to yourself.

What were you doing in Oscar Piastri's room of all places?

Omg, had he kidnapped you? You laughed to yourself. No, it was more likely that you kidnapped him.

Shaking your head, you decided to leave, the horror it would be if anyone caught you leaving Oscar’s room, the media would go crazy, you’d have to figure this all out later. You stared at him for a small second before making your way to the room, accidentally crushing a piece of paper that lay on the ground.

You winced, turning to make sure the sound did not wake Oscar up, it didn't. With a sigh of relief, you tiptoed out of the room, missing the wedding dress that was neatly hung on the door. 

As you stumbled through the hotel hallway, you felt all kinds of dirty. Yes, you still had clothes on, but that did not necessarily mean you two didn't do anything. Yikes. You just prayed that Charles hadn't heard anything about this.

It was in this moment that you thanked Carlos Sainz, their small fight was the reason Charles didn’t go out. It was more than likely he didnt see anything.

Taking your hotel room key out of your bra (safe keeping), you turned the corner of the hotel, gasping in horror at who you saw pacing up and down your room door. Your brother, Charles.

His head snapped up at the sound of the gasp, his eyes red and swollen. He did not waste any time running over to you, his pupils were wild as he scanned you up and down multiple times, he was rambling in French, making your head spin by the sheer volume of his voice.

You shushed him, squinting, "Charles.. calm down please."

He pulled you in a tight hug, "Calm down? How can I calm down! You disappeared and didn’t answer your phone, and I have to find out through Instagram that you got married!" Pause. 

You pulled back from the hug, feeling the room spin, "What?" you whispered, although he didnt seem to hear you.

"And listen mon cœur, if you love him then it's okay. We're not mad—just, why didn't you tell us?" He looked down at you with a frown.

You shook your head violently, holding up a finger,

"No no, Charles, what are you talking about?" His sadness quickly turned to confusion, "You got married?"

Your eyes went comically wide, "What!?" you yelled, not caring about your volume.

Charles took a step back, "You disappeared all night and Max posted to social media pictures of your wedding being married. You.. don't remember?"

"No Charles I don't fucking remember!" you shouted in horror, patting yourself down for your phone, just your luck, it wasn't on you.

 "Oh my god.." you groaned, shutting your eyes."What's wrong? You don't remember getting married to your secret boyfriend?"

You looked up at your brother blankly, "Charles, I don't have a secret boyfriend."

Charles tilted his head, slowly speaking, "...Then who did you marry?"

You chose not to answer, letting him piece the puzzle together himself. 

"You got married to a stranger? What is wrong with you?”

"I was drunk!" you threw your arms up in defense.

"Oh, you were drunk!" Charles asked ironically, "I get drunk all the time and I don't get married to random strangers!"

"You act like I wanted this to happen!" You two bickered, not noticing the awkward Australian slowly making his way towards you two.

"Well, you don't seem as freaked out as you should be!" Charles shouted.

"I'm still processing this!" you whined, stomping your feet, just then you two heard a cough. You swiveled around only to come face to face with Oscar, his pale cheeks lit with fire, "Oscar," you smiled, nudging Charles.

Charles looked up at Oscar in confusion, giving him an unsure smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, before presenting two items, your phone, and a piece of slightly crumbled paper, 

You gasped, taking the phone with a smile, but before you could thank him, Charles spoke up,

"Why do you have her phone?" his voice was low, and no amusement was present.

You looked at Oscar with wide eyes, shaking your head slightly, Charles could not find out that you two had spent the night together, no way he would take that well.

With all the ruckus, you yourself hadn’t managed to piece the biggest puzzle together. Maybe if you were in a better headspace and realized that it was Oscar who you had drunkenly married, you would have stopped Oscar from even being near Charles. 

Oscar swallowed thickly, blinking, before he could even mutter a word, the paper in his hands was ripped away. The panic was clear on his face, as he tried to reach for it, but to no avail.

You watched in confusion as Oscar clearly started to panic, you glanced back at your brother who was staring down at the piece of paper with never seen before anger.

"What is it?" you mumbled, looking down at his hands, it was a certificate, you slowly read it, dreadfulness morphing quickly.

This document certifies OSCAR JACK PIASTRI & Y/N LECLERC, were united in marriage in the LITTLE LAS VEGAS WEDDING CHAPEL.

Oh shit.

Charles glanced between you and Oscar, whose mouth was pressed tightly.

"You took advantage of my sister?" Charles whispered, and Oscar's eyes widened along with yours.

"No, Charles–" you tried, but Charles had already crumpled the marriage certificate and thrown it to the side.

"You took advantage of my sister?!" Charles yelled, and the next thing you knew, Charles was on top of Oscar, his fist landing on his beautiful face. 

taglist: @stopeatread @freyathehuntress @morganalatina21 @sltwins @nichmeddar @landossainz @f1daydreamer @no-144444 @delululeclerc @weekendlusting @rifran @lunamelona @awritingtree @shimmermotorsport @sp1rl @teamnovalak @piastri-fvx @bowielovesyou @mastermindbaby @widow-cevans @anotherapollokid @nxlx96 @koibleufish @bokutos-babyowl @charlesgirl16 @mayusaatma @isotopemylove @sadiemack9 @nataliambc @bravo-delta-eccho @theseerbetweenus @woozarts @theblueblub @armystay89 @suns3treading @thisbitxhs-blog

A friend’s birthday where I got drunk intentionally because I was so sad and heartbroken. My heart was breaking as I see them talking, the girl who broke his heart. Before even reaching that place my parents fought which doubled my pain. Through alcohol I was able to numb the pain for a while.

---

⟡ ₒₜₕₑᵣ dᵣᵢᵥₑᵣₛ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡

thirsty thoughts (s) - @lorarri

missing piece (a) - @katebishopsbow

grid kids (series, sebastian vettel and grid) - @pucksandpower

birthday wishes (max is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @mclqren

points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting

birthday wishes (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @astonmartinii

heartbreak syndrome (mostly the grid but ex!max and eventual lewis) - @h4m1lt0ns

the grid's delight (series) - @sebscore

— ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒˢ/ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ⟡

makeup shopping with the boys (f) - @verstappen-cult

getting caught making out with the boys (sexual references) (^)

boys reacting to being called pretty (mostly f) - @ln444

dating f1 drivers (mostly f) - @hauntedrain

"where they would like to kiss you" (f) - @itsvelyria

f1 drivers and their favorite types of hugs (f) - @mirohlayo

ass or tits (s) - @youaresimplylovely

"what did you just call me" (f) - @23victoria

“i love you” (f) (^)

he takes care of you on your period (f) - @fastandcarlos

when f1 drivers dirty text you (and you pretend your dad answers) (s) - @maxtermind

fuckbuddy!f1 drivers getting jealous (f,a,s) (^)

f1!boyfriends with jealous partner (s) (^)

f1 drivers reacting to the hickeys they left on you (s) (^)

putting f1!drivers on a sex ban (s) (^)

accidently telling your f1!boyfriend you think he likes someone else (a) (^)

blind girl (f, suggestive) - @hamilando

unbreakable (a) - @amberjazmyn

how the f1 drivers would kiss you (f, suggestive) - @uluvjay

bereals with your f1 bf - @lilasamaaa

f1 boys and their moments of quiet admiration for you (f) - @itaipava

tease (s) - @hugleclerc

new year with your f1 boyfriend (f) - @jungwnies

scaring your f1 boyfriend (f) (^)

nonsense christmas (f,s) - @pha55ed

you're jealous of a baby (f) - @verstappensrealwife

flowers (f) - @merchelsea

favorite days (f) - @moonlight-records

crush chaos - @f1amour

wedding shenanigans - @no-144444

when the media says something insane (^)

— ˡᵉʷⁱˢ ʰᵃᵐⁱˡᵗᵒⁿ ⟡

king of my heart (smau) - @cieloclercs

keys to the benz (smau, sexual innuendo) - @imnameimswrld

him being a simp for you (headcannon) - @itaipava

thick and thin (f,a)- @agendabymooner

lawyer up (smau) - @monzabee

war is over (tw: brocedes mention) (f) - @pucksandpower

you're my best friend and you knew what it was he is in love (smau) - @redwinelew

lucky charm (smau) - @maplesyrupsainz

chapter 25 (smau) - @edwardslvrr

— ᵈᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ʳⁱᶜᶜᵃʳᵈᵒ ⟡

ultimate wing man (smau) - @astonmartinii

keep it private (smau) - @marlenesluv

forever kind of love (smau) - @chrisevansonly

my book worm (smau) - @lewisvinga

— ᵃʳᵗʰᵘʳ ˡᵉᶜˡᵉʳᶜ ⟡

kissing in the rain (f) - @thebearchives

forgiveness (f) - @starlost97

fan behavior (smau) - @lxclerc

it's you and me (smau) - @lecsainz

party girl two (smau) - @natailiatulls07

amour (smau) - @marlenesluv

happy tears (f) - @versairic

through the night (f,a) - @menteycorazoncito

matchmaking brothers - @5sospenguinqueen

— ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᵛᵉᵗᵗᵉˡ ⟡

just you wait sunshine (a) - @unsolvedjarin

helmet kisses (headcannons) - @forteafy

drink water, not alchol (f) - @sebscore

me and my husband (smau) - @starkwlkr

fever dream it's nothing new i wait for you (smau) (^)

cherry flavoured (rbr!seb my love) (f) (^)

miss honey (f) (^)

always an angel, never a god (!!!! EASTING DISORDER !!!) (a) (^)

come back to me (CRASH) (a)- @lucyrose191

about you (series, f)- @drvscarlett

merry christmas, please don't call (a) - @bestalbertcamuslover

— ᶠʳᵃⁿᶜᵒ ᶜᵒˡᵃᵖⁱⁿᵗᵒ ⟡

mi bonita (smau) - @harrysfolklore

nothing special (f,a) - @p1astr81

mi vida (smau) - @n0vazsq

getaway (f) - @mywritersmind

WAG in training (smau) - @5sospenguinqueen

el coqueto (f) - @theonottsbxtch

all of the boys you loved before (f,a) - @wcters

let's reconnect (smau) (^)

fan favorite (smau) - @menagerofmischief

gold rush (smau) - @afterglowsainz

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has been leaving signs for you all along—hidden flowers, colors, and initials

warnings | fluff, romance, intimate moments, emotional intensity, subtle symbolism

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You don’t know exactly when it started.

Maybe it was after that race in Monaco, when you stayed late in the paddock helping him organize a few things and ended up talking for hours. Or maybe it was before, when you lent him your jacket under the rain in Spa, and he returned it with a smile that lingered with you longer than you were willing to admit.

The truth is, one day, without warning, you started noticing the little things.

The flower came first.

It was tiny. Just a brushstroke along the bottom edge of Max’s helmet, almost imperceptible. A lavender. No one else would’ve noticed it—except you. Because no one else in that paddock knew that was your favorite flower. Because you were the only one who wore lavender perfume. The only one who left dried sprigs on your desk, like a charm.

You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him from the edge of the garage, pretending to study the tires or check data that wasn’t even your responsibility. It was easier to act like you didn’t know. Like your heart hadn’t started racing over a single gesture.

Because… how do you explain it?

How do you explain that a flower on a Formula 1 driver’s helmet can make you feel so much? How do you justify that, in the middle of roaring engines and the chaos of the paddock, something so small could cut so deep?

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence. Max had thousands of fans, and his helmet design changed from race to race. You couldn’t jump to conclusions over a tiny flower.

But then came the blue.

Not just any blue. Yours. That shade somewhere between sky and mist you wore on your nails, your favorite sweater, in the notes you left Max when he forgot things. A blue that began to show up in the details of his gloves, in a stripe on his suit collar, in the curve of a signature. Subtle. Intimate.

And that’s when you started to suspect.

Then you saw the initials.

Three letters painted inside the helmet, right beside the protective foam. Where no one would see them. Where only he could look before stepping into the car.

They were yours. Your initials.

Small, precise, etched with care and intent.

And that’s when you knew. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You knew he was speaking to you in another language—one without words, one of symbols and details the world ignored but you understood.

And something in you melted.

You spent weeks saying nothing.

You didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you found out they carry your essence beneath a layer of carbon fiber? How do you face a silent, hidden confession with trembling hands of "me too"?

Because you knew. You’d known for a while. That Max looked at you differently. That his tone changed when he talked to you. That his smile was softer around you. That when your eyes met amid the press chaos, there was something between you that couldn’t be explained or denied.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until now.

That morning, you woke up with your heart racing. There was no race, just testing and simulations, but you knew Max would be there. Like always. Like you.

You grabbed your backpack, got ready with more care than usual, and left before you could talk yourself out of it. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t see what he put on his helmets. You couldn’t keep acting like you didn’t feel what you felt every time you saw him laugh, or quiet, or just being so genuinely him.

You had to face it.

And not just for him. For you.

The paddock was nearly empty when you arrived. The mechanics were focused, the air smelled of hot tires and coffee. You walked quickly, ignoring curious glances, until you reached the Red Bull box.

And there he was.

Sitting on a stool, helmet on his lap, cleaning it with those calm movements he used when he was nervous. His fingers ran a microfiber cloth over the design again and again, like he was trying to polish more than just paint.

“Max,” you called his name, firm but soft.

He looked up.

And for a second, everything stopped.

His expression shifted. From surprise to recognition, from recognition to nervousness, and from nervousness to something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Hey,” he said, lowering the helmet slowly. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed, walking toward him. “But I needed to talk to you.”

He nodded, swallowed hard. Waited.

You stopped in front of him and looked at the helmet. A new flower decorated the edge. A gentian. Your second favorite after lavender. The one you mentioned once, in Austria, while walking through the Alps.

It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

“How many more are there?” you asked, gently touching the edge.

Max fell silent. Then he sighed.

“All of them,” he replied. “Since that time in Silverstone. When you stayed with me after the crash. Since then I started to… I don’t know. Keep you there. Carry you with me.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

Max looked up. His eyes were intense, but there was a tenderness that broke you inside.

“Because you make me feel stronger.

Because when I drive, when I’m going 300 kilometers an hour, you’re the only thing that calms me. And… because I want you close. Even if it’s like this. Even if you don’t notice.”

“I noticed, Max.”

He went still.

“For weeks now,” you added, with a trembling smile. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you I feel the same.”

And that’s when his eyes widened.

Like you’d activated something in him.

Like finally, the truth could come out without fear.

“Really?”

You nodded. Stepped closer. Took the helmet from his hands and set it aside. Then cupped his face with your palms, soft and slow, afraid of breaking something sacred.

“Really.”

And you kissed him.

It was slow. It was warm. It was everything he’d been waiting for, everything you’d secretly wanted for months. His hands found your waist like they’d been searching for it all along. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

No cheers. No flashes. No ovations.

Just two people, and a tiny universe of silent love.

When you pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against yours, wearing a goofy smile you’d never seen on him before.

“I knew you’d see it one day,” he whispered.

“I didn’t just see it,” you said softly. “I felt it. In every race. In every hidden message. In every detail.”

He laughed, quietly.

“I guess now I’ll have to redesign the helmet. Add something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Max raised an eyebrow, that mischievous little-boy look on his face.

“I always wanted you to find out like this. Not in a press conference. Not with some big announcement. Just you and me. Here.”

“And a helmet full of secrets,” you joked gently.

He smiled, laughter shaky.

“You know me too well.”

“I watch you with my heart. What did you expect?”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to the pit wall.

Be there next time I go out.

I want to race knowing you’re watching. That you know.”

You held his hand tightly.

“I always knew, Max. I just needed the courage to come say it.”