OP: I Can’t Complain But I Will
OP: i can’t complain but i will
pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader; oscar piastri & driver!reader & lando norris; lando norris x oscar piastri
word count: 2.4k+
an: here’s a little bit of angst a little bit of fluff and me holding myself back from making osc x reader x lan a poly ship😭 disclaimer: this isn’t an accurate reflection of the events of the Hungary GP. i take creative liberties as usual! and sorry to lewis. it’s still a mercedes P3 i guess😭 also here are my thoughts on the race so nothing is misconstrued here. AND gif credit because it keeps disappearing!
I. I choked on such longing I couldn’t spit out
Oscar crosses the finish line in Hungary and it’s fine.
It’s fine.
Y’know, fine in the way where there’s this feeling in his chest. This thing gnawing at his insides. At his gut. And maybe it’s his helmet, maybe it’s the temperature, but there’s something on his cheeks. Heat. Something burning. Maybe.
His mind goes immediately to those clips he’d seen of Lando’s onboard in Miami. The shrill little giggles, the high-pitch of his teammates voice, the cheer of the crowd faintly in the background. Crackle hiss—
No one’s cheering for Oscar—
Tom is on the radio.
Oscar’s not stupid, not by a long shot. He can hear the strained quality of it, the forced cheerfulness.
Yeah. Oscar apologises before he can think twice about it. It just slips out of him. He thinks of you telling him— on a Tuesday night two weeks ago— that he needed to “stop saying sorry so fucking much, Oscar”. The way he’d been distracted by his name in your mouth. Oscar. Not Osc like he’s used to, or the occasional Oscie you’re prone to throw out. Oscar. Like you were serious.
Whatever. He says something to Tom that his publicist would be proud of. Waves at the grandstands. Tries not to think, not like this. I didn’t want it like this.
A sigh leeches out of him. Lando’s car is in his periphery and you’re trailing behind him as the three of you turn. The three of you on a podium… it’s a dream come true for him. But— yeah— not like this.
He’s in the car for too long. Helmet on his head, where no one can see his face. He’s okay, he thinks. He’s fine.
He thinks of being a little kid at Albert Park. Watching F1 in the living room late at night. Getting in a kart for the first time and feeling alive. And okay—
Yes, there’s a sour taste in his mouth. Words unsaid sitting on his tongue. But he’s starting to feel the smile tugging at his lips. The feeling is his chest starts to ease, just a little. Just a bit.
He’s looking up and there’s you and there’s Lando. You’re on opposite sides of the car, Lando’s reaching for him, for his hand. Clutching it tightly. Lando squeezes once, his helmet covered face bobs in a nod that says something… part of Oscar hopes it’s I’m sorry. Another part of him is mad that it may not be.
And you, well you have no idea the half hour he’s just had. But your hand is on his shoulder and then on the top of his helmet and you’re whacking it with a gusto he hadn’t expected. He thinks you might be crying. You keep reaching in through your visor to wipe at your eyes and it’s making Oscar feel sick. You’re crying and he’s sitting here feeling sorry for himself because the win wasn’t perfect.
Fuck.
So Oscar grins and he bears it.
He gets out of the car and he smooths it over until everything is okay again. Because that’s what he’s good at. Because that’s how he’s made it here. Oscar Piastri is a team player, sometimes more than he is anything else. And that’s okay, that’s fine for now, because one day, eventually, Oscar is going to be the reason they need to hire a team player. One day he’ll be the beating heart of some Formula One team and he won’t have to win a race because his teammate had to let him by—
That’s not Lando’s fault either. Lando is…
He’s Lando. Oscar gets it.
Oscar gets it more than anyone.
II. I am obsessive. I contain nothing but the replay
Lando is trying so fucking hard not to have a tantrum.
It’s this infuriating feedback loop where he thinks I had it and then something cuts in to say but Oscar deserved it and then it starts over again. It’s making Lando feel like shit, for losing, for being a bad friend, for jeopardising the relative peace of the team. He’s trying to temper the angry, selfish little spoiled brat voice in his head but it’s so fucking hard to keep that dog on a leash.
He’s trying to be okay.
He’s in the post-race room with you and he’s trying to be fine.
And okay, so he knocks the stupid second place cap to the ground in front of the camera that’s broadcasting you guys to the world. Always second. God. He’d tasted a win in Miami and it’s almost like he’s worse off for it. It’s a win or it’s nothing and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. There’s a voice in his head that’s saying, you’re just a one trick pony, Lando. Do it again and you might be worth something.
It’s making him crazy.
He bites his tongue. Turns to look at you, lounging in the third place chair like it doesn’t matter, like you’re happy to just be on the podium.
You raise an eyebrow at him, face blank but he knows what it says anyway. Be happy for him. He would be happy for you.
Fuck, and he would—
He would. Selfless and kind above all, Oscar.
Lando frowns, his back to the lens.
Your gaze flicks from him, to the hat on the floor. Pick it up, it says. Pick it up and pretend.
Lando picks it up. He’s the one who gave Oscar the position back after all. He’s his own worst enemy right now. Not you, certainly not Oscar—
Speaking of Oscar.
He’s here. He’s holding the first place cap that Lando wants to be his, he’s putting it on his head and Lando’s okay. Lando’s fine. He’s watching the race replay and seeing Max turn into your car and he’s trying desperately to look at that, pay attention to that, and not Oscar.
Because it hurts.
Not in a good way, not the way Lando looks at him sometimes and feels some yawning sun in his chest.
Instead there’s something bitter and snarling.
Some chained, angry dog on a leash.
Lando turns, goes to sit in the chair he doesn’t want to sit in, and catches Oscar’s eye. He feels the snarling thing strain, it goes to bark, to bite. Then Oscar smiles. It’s not much— it doesn’t reach his eyes exactly. But it’s effort. It’s thank you. It’s I know what that meant.
It’s enough.
III. He forgives you, dogs are like that, so loyal
You know something is off the second that you get out of the car. This isn’t what Oscar’s maiden win is supposed to look like— or it almost is, but the picture is wrong.
It’s not ecstatic, it’s not crowds chanting his name, it’s not Oscar getting out of the car like a shot and jumping into the arms of his team.
Instead, you see grim faces plastered over with smiles, McLaren engineers huddled into groups and talking in hushed tones. Lando’s sulking, you can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way people hover around him, keeping their distance a bit. You blink— there’s something in your eyes, your nose tingling with some emotion—
Whatever. You push it aside, go to Oscar’s car before anything else, before even taking your helmet off. It's you and Lando on opposite sides and whatever the case, whatever happened out there that you're not aware of, Lando's here. Lando's sucking it up.
You find out bits and pieces over the next hour, from your race engineer, from the post-race interviews, from Lando's attitude in the cool down room. The tension between them is bleeding into everything and they orbit around each other all afternoon. They can't quite look at each other, they keep making eye contact for a split second and then letting it slide away. They keep smiling these strained things at each other. Lando keeps reaching out to touch Oscar, but always at arms length. Like an apology neither of them can quite commit to.
You know it's the team that are the issue and it's also this hurt that Lando can't quite get over, and an Oscar who is trying to just be happy but needs more time to get there.
It's making your heart ache.
You've dreamt of this, stupidly enough. Oscar on the top step of the podium, that bunny-tooth grin of his spreading and spreading. Champagne and confetti. You're there, of course you're there. Lando is too. So it's painful to have that dream actualised and to realise it's not perfect— because, well, nothing ever is.
And it's fucking unfortunate.
But it's them. So it's fine.
You're baffled by that sometimes. You still hold grudges against old teammates. There are things you'll never forgive them for, wounds that will never heal. But you come back from your frustratingly long debrief and find them doubled over outside their driver's room, giggling their heads off at something. It's not perfect, there's still something between them, something in the air.
But they're trying.
And Oscar is smiling wider than you've seen in a long while.
So for Oscar's sake you push it aside—
It's always a little different away from prying eyes, away from rolling cameras, in front of which you feel pressure to act like Oscar and Lando are first and foremost your rivals. When they're gone they can just be your friends. Your boys.
Naturally, you're thudding into Oscar before he really notices you're there. Too busy throwing his head back at something Lando had said. He's still in champagne wet fireproofs as you reach your arms around his shoulders, but so are you. He smells vaguely like a wet dog and lets out a soft oft noise as you charge into him.
"Hey, race winner," you say as he threads his arms around your waist.
You put your forehead on his collarbone, close your eyes as a laugh flutters out of him. You hear it rumble in his chest as he rocks the two of you gently from side to side. It's giggly, light and joyful like the one he does when he's tipsy. But he's not tipsy, just happy you think.
"Race winner," he mumbles, low, quiet, to himself more than anything, "Yeah."
"Yeah," you whisper back.
You're like that maybe for too long. Longer than people who are just friends should be. You can hear Lando moving around behind you, asphalt grinding under his feet. His gaze prickling the back of your neck. Eventually, you pull away. You slide your hands to grip Oscar's shoulders, fingertips pressing into warm skin, lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. Accidentally, your lips land too close to the corner of his mouth, brushing against stubble and sweat. You hear something soft escape his lips, barely audible as his brown eyes bore into yours. Pupils blown large, gaze drifting momentarily down to your lips.
"Good job today, Osc," you say, trying not to let your breath hitch.
You pull away a little before he does something in the heat of the moment— and right in front of Lando, of all people. He's high on adrenaline, that's all. That's all.
"Thank you," he smiles, all teeth.
You feel hot all the way down your neck, into your chest. Hm, premature menopause, you think, rather than the obvious— which is that it makes you mega nervous to be that close to Oscar Piastri.
Lando clears his throat.
In a jerky, surprised movement you step away from Oscar, while Oscar fumbles awkwardly for his phone in his pocket. He holds it up, says something stumbling about calling his family and then takes only maybe five steps away before you or Lando can say a thing.
You laugh, just a little.
Then do a pleased little spin to face Lando.
Who seems better, lighter. At least in comparison to how he was immediately post-race. Which you’re glad to see. Especially after catching bits of his team radio from a brief conversation with George. You’re not particularly happy about it, but it’s not really your place to be upset.
“Hey,” you smile warmly.
He smiles back, tighter than you’d hoped.
You move a bit closer into his personal space, watching him carefully. It’s okay you think. He’s more subdued than usual, but you can’t see the seething thing that was under his skin earlier. That would be fine of course, he’s entitled to that, but his sake you’re glad it’s gone.
“You okay?”, you ask.
Lando nods, eyes falling closed momentarily as he hums contemplatively, “‘M okay. Happy for him.”
You nod, stepping closer to pull him into a one armed hug that’s not quite as energetic as the one you’d given Oscar before.
“Yeah,” you say quietly, pressing the side of your face into his cheek, “Upset too?”
He hums again, sighs, “Yeah. ‘Course.”
“Yeah,” because you get it,
Maybe not in these exact circumstances. But you know what it’s like. To chase a win with everything you have, to fall short after it’s been in your grasp. You understand that. So does Oscar—
Speaking of.
Oscar’s back, footsteps crunching asphalt behind you.
“They’re asleep,” he explains, “I’ll talk to them later.”
You half let Lando go, moving to accommodate the race winner into your little circle. They’re a bit weird about it, shuffling into place awkwardly, you’re not surprised after a day like today, but you persevere— wrapping arms around both of them and pulling them simultaneously down into a haphazard hug that you’re in the middle of.
Lando’s face is in your neck somehow, mumbling something about you being overbearing while his hand clutches at your waist to keep himself upright. Oscar’s arm is tight around your shoulders and your face is squished up against his chest. You squeeze tightly— let them go when it’s been a minute too long—
You can feel yourself almost getting caught up in the tangle of limbs. The warmth of your friends. The emotion of it. You think there’s something stuck in your eye again, something wet in your tear ducts.
You sniff, try to ignore it, hope they don’t see.
Then, stupid observant Oscar, “Are you crying?”
You let out an offended noise and shake your head to deny it, but instead something that’s almost a sob, but not quite, slips out—
“No,” you declare, but it’s unconvincing—
and then you’re back in the hug. All sweat and sticky champagne residue, Lando’s too-strong cologne and Oscar who smells like burnt rubber. And it’s not perfect, because nothing ever is, but it’s enough for you.
this was really cathartic for me to be honest. just needed my little driver!reader to hug landoscar after that race. needed to get some big feelings out and then needed a sweet little fluff section to make me feel better.
ALSO DISCLAIMER: this was a work of FICTION it does not reflect the entirety of what i feel about the events of the hungary gp. i am simply playing with dolls! thank you and goodbye!
More Posts from Guessyourenottheone and Others
ERASE the idea that America saved lives by dropping two atomic bombs on Japan from your minds. ERASE the idea that it was anything more than a political move to scare Russia and also to satiate US curiosity as to the true ability of nuclear weapons. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were not military bases. They were heavily populated civilian cities chosen precisely bc the U.S. wanted to see how many people an atomic bomb could kill in one go. Japan was on the verge of surrendering, the U.S. literally wanted to test out their nuclear weapons on people that they deemed disposable. That is it. If those bombs were dropped by any nation other than the US veryone involved would have been tried as war criminals.
idk why people get so upset over oscar piastri being demoted to second driver i mean first of all he killed his girlfriend second of all he literally flew an airplane into the world trade center
One year gone
One year of killing civilians
One year of bombing hospitals
One year of bombing schools
One year of destroying a whole city
One year of starving people to death
One year of making people leave their homes to live in tents
One year and still the world just watching us dying
One year thousands are missing under the rubble thousands arrested with unknown future
One year of thousands of children lost either one of their parents or both
Thousands lost parts of their bodies
I can’t imagine this will continue for a year
Fuck this world fuck everyone
josh jenkoheads unite ❤️
guess who is starting to think josh jenkinson is kinda fine
spoiler alert it’s me
yay thank you! could it be jackieshauna x reader where it's maybe no crash or pre crash? it's winter and they're all just cuddling together, reader in the middle. thank you! I'm new to tumblr and requesting things lol these are kinda fun :p
three's a crowd
masterlist
a/n: hii finally was able to get to this lollll
“ugh—“ you wake up to a shove in the back. you squint your eyes and make out dark hair.
you close your eyes and sigh, knowing immediately is was shauna who woke you up from your slumber.
“what the hell.” you grunt, your voice rough and filled with complaint, getting yourself comfortable under the covers again.
shauna doesn’t say anything and instead taps you on the shoulder a few times, imploring you to scooch over.
you sigh, but do it anyway, immediately missing the warmth of your previous spot.
a few seconds later you feel a dip in the couch and an arm encircling your waist.
and then it hits you.
"shauna!" you groan, a cough escaping you soon after.
"mm?" she hums, completely unbothered and you furrow your brows, turning around in her arm to face her.
her eyes are closed and she looks content, which makes it all the worse.
"shauna!"
she grunts and reluctantly opens an eye.
"what?" she asks and you narrow your eyes at the hint of annoyance in her tone.
"you shouldn't be here! i'm sick!" you whine, and the coughs that escape you further emphasize your point.
shauna, however, seems none too concerned and instead strokes your back until you're done.
"thanks." you sniffle.
"no-" she sighs, shifting so she's spooning you, "problem." she moves both arms so that they're wrapped around your waist and you sigh, giving up and turning around.
if she gets sick, that's on her.
you end up falling asleep for what you later believe is thirty minutes before you're rudely woken up. again.
"guys!" you hear the unmistakeable whine of jackie and you groan loudly.
you refuse to open your eyes and instead try and sleep again, ignoring jackie.
but jackie taylor is nothing if not determined.
she walks over to the couch both you and shauna are situated on and she loudly drops her bags and kicks off her shoes and socks.
shauna, who is now awake, looks too out of it to scold jackie on putting her things in the right places.
you open your mouth to say something, but at the sound of thunder, you yelp when you feel jackie's weight on you.
your eyes widen as you realize she had just jumped on both you and shauna.
you look up at her and have to hide a snicker at the way she looks terrified.
"let me in!" she hisses and you groan once more, scooting closer to shauna, basically pressing shauna to the back of the couch as jackie scoots in right in front of you.
you're in the middle of the both of them, practically being sandwiched by them as you have a really bad cold.
"guys..." you whine, coughing once more. both jackie and shauna immediately comfort you, shauna rubbing your back as jackie gives you a tissue that you blow into. "i'm sick!" you protest, but they don't seem to care.
"and that's really awful, sorry baby." jackie mutters to you, moving hair off your forehead and stroking your head.
"it'll be even worse if i get the both of you sick too!" you say weakly, a pout on your face.
"maybe that way we can finally kiss you." shauna murmurs as she gets comfortable once more and you gasp.
"shauna!" you say affronted, but she merely hums, reaching over your waist and laying a hand on jackie's side.
you look at her in shock and disapproval as she basically gives the 'go ahead' for jackie to win and stay right beside you.
"if i get either of you sick..." you trail off and both of them hum.
another sound of thunder comes from outside and jackie tightens her hold on you, spooning you.
you sigh, giving up and just resting against the couch cushion, not surprised it can fit all three of you.
the three of you had bought it with cuddling in mind so there are no worries one of you will fall off in the night.
you close your eyes and sigh, feeling warm and content with both jackie and shauna surrounding you, allowing you to finally go to sleep comfortably.
(you'd rather be sick for a month straight than to admit to either of them just how well you sleep with them pressed up against you. that's something you'll take to the grave.)
777.
ln x fem!reader
in which lando has a wild week in vegas
on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol
posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍
inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic
warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit
5k words
lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.
the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.
it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.
they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember.
everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.
everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.
he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.
by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.
a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.
suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.
lando couldn’t look away from you.
you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.
from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.
things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.
but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.
his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.
internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.
“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.
lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.
“you’re on.”
he lost.
every. single. game.
numbers were never lando’s thing.
it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.
the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.
he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.
it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.
the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.
“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.
he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.
it seemed he’d finally met his match.
you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.
your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.
slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.
happy fucking birthday.
lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.
you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.
“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.
lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.
he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.
lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.
and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.
when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.
you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.
lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.
lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.
fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.
you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.
he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.
and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.
lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.
with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.
your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.
he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.
lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.
apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.
lando remembered everything.
the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.
your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.
the way you gave as good as you got.
he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.
warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.
lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.
is this how he made people feel?
waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.
he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?
hope breeds eternal misery.
his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.
lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.
just like he usually was.
it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.
when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.
-
“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.
lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.
“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.
“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”
“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.
“bullshit.”
“woke up alone.”
“oh.”
“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.
“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.
“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”
“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”
lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.
he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.
the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.
carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.
lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.
there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.
just who were you?
lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.
you fucking winked.
he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.
but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.
had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?
every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.
the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.
lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.
okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.
he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.
lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.
fate had other plans.
lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.
“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.
as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.
“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.
what the actual fuck were you doing here?
lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?
“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.
lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.
“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”
“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.
well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.
“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.
“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”
“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.
“maybe i’ll see you next year.”
lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.
this would be the drive of his fucking life.
lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.
media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.
he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.
a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.
sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.
lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.
kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.
“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”
-
hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.
lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.
he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.
all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.
lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.
you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.
lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.
the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.
lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.
he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.
you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.
lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.
the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.
“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.
lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.
“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.
“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.
“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.
“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.
lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.
the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.
when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.
“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.
“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”
“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.
-
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❝ SO LONG, MONACO ❞
MASTERLIST!
pairing . . . charles leclerc x reader
◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . use of y/n (once, i think), cursing, a whole load of angst, charles is an asshole, rushed ending, barely proofread.
◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . you love monaco, but it has run its course just like your relationship has.
◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am obsessed with ttpd, i don’t care what anyone has to say, it was a masterpiece and i will not take criticism about it. this is based on so long, london i really recommend listening to this while reading, or just listening to it in general if you need a good cry. i have been writing this for months now, so i hope you guys like it and please dont mind the ending it was the best i could do 😔💙
[ word count: 3,4k ]
You walked through the streets of Monaco, mystified by how bright the city looked even in the night. The street lights were enchanting to witness, and the chatter of people made you appreciate the small country even more. So private, yet so lively, like a hidden spot you had loved so much you just had to make it your home.
The walk to Charles’ apartment is more calming than expected, you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pulling at a thread that is almost undone. No matter how hard you tried, there was no use in pulling him tighter when he had already pulled out of the relationship.
You were, in all honesty, tired.
You swore your back almost hurt from all the efforts you made to keep him with you. It’s like you both had settled for conformity, for the monotony of not bothering to do anything. You were together for the sole sake of how harder it would be to separate, but not because of the love you had for the other, simply because of the aftermath of breaking up after 6 years of relationship. Moving out, telling your friends and family, the whole world scrutinizing what went down when really nothing had gone down. There was nothing that could go down, to begin with.
Your relationship had become more of a commodity, one that was draining you while your boyfriend continued his life like nothing was going on. Maybe that was your problem, you simply cared too much.
And so you stopped trying to make him laugh. Stopped making those small efforts that had amounted to hundreds of gestures that went unnoticed by him. Maybe you were selfish for that, for wanting his undivided attention to things that weren’t that great. After all, he had his own things to wallow over, things that were simply greater than you.
You tried to blame Ferrari. Ferrari that always was the topic of conversation. “Can you believe they made pit so late?” Yes, I can. “Do you think I’m putting to much faith in the team?” Yes, you are. You don’t tell Charles all the things you should, you share his sadness and give him a shoulder to cry on, just to receive that small amount of affection.
His sadness gives you the taste of what once was and now isn’t. You can’t find in yourself to blame him for becoming dependent on Ferrari, because haven’t you become the same way for him?
It isn’t long before your walk is over, and you have to face the moment you want to dread, but instead there is relief that surges in your heart. A feeling you resent but equally embrace.
You step into the elevator, pressing the button for his apartment that you wonder when you decided to let everything go on for as long as it did. That is something you incriminate Charles for. Did he really think you’d be willing to stand in the rain for him forever? Eternally condemned to wallow his sadness, were you supposed to be sad for as long as he was? And for a while you did, you shared his sadness but you didn’t have much more in you to give him. There was only so much pity you could feel, so much empathy you were willing to subject yourself to.
The elevator rings, a sign that you should get off and take whatever is yours and get away from Monaco.
You put the key in the keyhole, and enter what once was your home and now looks almost like a staged apartment, ready to be shown off and sold to the highest bidder. It feels eerie, what once was so familiar is now a distant memory you’re ready to get over.
Most of the boxes are all closed and ready to be sent away, with a few things left in shelves and drawers. You remember calling your family and asking if you could stay with them a few days, you felt ashamed at how you left everything behind just to come back to it so unexpectedly.
“Chérie, you don’t have to leave. I can stay with Joris until you find your own place.” no more ma chérie, just chérie. It seemed you’d both unconsciously already made the graves for your relationship.
“This is your place, Charles. I’m not going to kick you out of it.” you smoothly respond, trying to focus on taking whatever is left on the shelf by the TV.
Your hand brushes against an old photo of the two of you. His hands around your waist, you looking up at him with a huge smile on your face, with Monaco as the landscape behind you.
“This was our place, I don’t even—” he stops himself, like it pains him to say whatever is on his mind, resigned he sighs and changes his answer, “I might have to sell this, it’s too big for just me anyway.”
The implication of his words would have sent you down a spiral a few months ago, now you don’t even reminisce on the what-if.
“Either way, I’ve already arranged a place to stay. I really don’t want to inconvenience you, this is your home not mine.” you say, and you watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes dim, but it is too late now to go back. You’re both too far gone.
“Okay, then.” he sighs, and although you’ve made peace with the end of your relationship you want him to fight for you. It is his nonchalant way of going about life that makes you mad, and what sealed the fate of whatever remains of your relationship were left.
You’ve fought so hard and for so long, you want to make him feel what you felt. Retribution comes to you in his resignation, and yet it is simply not enough for your greedy, broken heart.
It pisses you off how so much of your youth he got to witness, how he got all the special moments of your life and now you cannot even recognise the girl you once were. All those dreams, all that naïveté, has long since died and is now buried in Monaco.
“It’s late and I’m really tired, so tomorrow morning I’ll have them pick up and ship off my things.”
“Where are you staying?” he tries to be casual, tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but fails to do so because you know him too well. He fears you know him better than anyone ever has.
“A hotel nearby,” you easily answer,
Don’t let me go.
A beat passes, he opens his mouth and closes it shortly after, like he’s not sure what to say or how to act.
Please, don’t let me go.
“Do you need me to take you there?”
“No, I’m okay, it’s a short walk from here.”
And so you put away the few things you were holding, brushing past him like he’s a stranger in the street. You’ve seemingly packed up your whole life in a few boxes, and you feel oddly calm about it. Hopeful about the future, all resentment you could have has turned into motivation.
You seal the last open box, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. There are no scores to settle, no need for revenge, this chapter of your life has been sealed and you are ready to continue with whatever the story of your life has prepared for you.
“Text me when you get to the hotel, yes?” you pause at his words, and a part of you wants to curse him out for being the way he is, because despite everything he is a kind man. You just wish he could've been as kind to the old you as he is to the current you. And you wonder why you're given all this kindness, when you have both your feet out the door and every single remainder of your love has been tucked away. It is not fair, but nothing really is when it comes to love.
“Sure,” you say as you nod, a small smile gracing your face, though you're sure it looks close to a grimace.
You walk out of the apartment, leaving your copy of the keys on the table next to the door. As it closes, you let out a sigh and go out the same you came in, calm and collected. With the broken, bloody pieces of your heart in his hands and you with the same blue heart of his you know so well.
You don’t text Charles when you make it to the hotel.
You twist and turn in your bedsheets, not being able to sleep once again. You can't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. And so you do what you've been doing for months, you go over every step and stone of your relationship.
Although sleep doesn’t consume you, the memories do. Those unforgiving, wretched memories about the downfall of your relationship. As you lie awake, the weight of your thoughts presses down on you, each recollection sharper and more painful than the last.
You reminisce on the brighter days, filled with laughter and pure love, where every touch was like electricity on your skin and every word a promise of a future together. You recall all those moments you fought to make him laugh, to bring back the warmth that had once been effortless. But those bright memories are quickly overshadowed by the darker ones— the fights that grew more frequent, the silences that stretched longer, the love that slowly turned to resentment.
Every detail is vivid in your mind— he look in his eyes as he drifted away, the chill that settled in your bones each night he didn't fall asleep beside you. You replay the conversations, the accusations, the desperate attempts to salvage whatever was left. But despite your efforts, the spirit of the relationship was long gone, leaving behind a shell of what once was.
As the memories flood back, you feel the anger and sadness welling up inside you. You gave so much of yourself, your youth, your energy, only to be left with the empty shell of a broken dream. You think about how he swore that he loved you, yet the proof was never there.
You recall that last fight, by then the stitches of your relationship had come undone, the fabric of your shared experience torn beyond repair. There was nothing left to cling onto, nothing more than your delusion and the memories you held close to your heart.
“Mon amour, why did you stay awake? You know how long I take at the factory.” he whispers, almost cooing at you but also filled with exhaustion. Like you being awake is another burden you're placing on him, now that he has to deal with your awakened mind.
“Couldn’t fall asleep, I guess.” you answer, playing with the ends of your hair, not daring to look at him.
You watch as he places his stuff on the ground, taking off his shirt and entering the bathroom to wash his face and prepare for sleep. It is quite a shame you have no intentions of sleeping, or to let the misery you're living through go on.
“I’ll join you in just a moment,” he calls out from the bathroom, his voice muffled from the ajar door between you.
“Okay,” is all you come up with, all you can muster to respond.
The silence in the apartment grew heavy. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the room, each second stretching out into eternity.
As you listened to the sound of water running, you traced patterns on the bedsheets with trembling hands. You couldn’t shake the feeling of suffocation, of being trapped in a life that wasn’t quite yours. The dreams you once nurtured seemed distant, obscured by the everyday struggles and compromises.
When Charles emerged from the bathroom, the lines of fatigue etched deeper into his face. His eyes met yours briefly before he turned away, pulling a worn t-shirt and slipping under the covers beside her. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet you could see the coldness that he seemed to reserve especially for you. He made no effort to kiss you, to hold you, those miniscule actions were like finding gold nowadays.
It was now or never, you had decided. You had gained courage all day to finally speak your mind, the least he could do is listen and try to fight for you. For the remains of your love that hadn’t yet dusted away.
“You know,” you begin tentatively, your voice almost shaky with emotion, “it feels like we’re drifting apart. I miss us, Charles.”
He turned to you sharply, eyes flashing with something like shock and annoyance. “I’m tired, Y/N. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”
“But we never talk about it!” you exclaimed, frustration boiling over. “Every day, it’s the same thing. You come home late, exhausted, and we pretend everything’s okay. But it's not okay! It hasn’t been for a long time, and I need more than this.”
He sighs heavily, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Sure you are,” you retort back, voice tinged with bitterness. You knew he would dismiss your feelings, but it still stung.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m always second, Charles.” you retort, “I stay awake each night wondering if you still care, if there is even some part of you that misses me like I miss you.”
“You always find something to complain about, don’t you?” he turns to you with his eyes narrowed, “You know how much I’m dealing with Ferrari, I thought you’d have some empathy for me, at least.”
“I’m not complaining, Charles. I’m trying to talk to you!” your frustration has now reached its peak, “I miss us. I miss the days when we actually talked, when you actually listened.”
“I’m exhausted,” he says, ignoring your words once more. “Do you think this lifestyle pays for itself? Because, news flash, it doesn’t. You signed up for this, don’t put this on me now.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” you ask, resigned to your situation and the emotions that have overtaken you, “You're never here, Charles. I feel like I’m living with a stranger instead of the man I fell in love with.”
“Well, maybe if you didn't make everything so difficult,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He doesn't dare to look at you, he can't bear to see the expression on your face.
You feel tears stinging in your eyes, a mix of anger and hurt washing over you. “I’m not making things difficult. I’m asking for us to work on our relationship, to make time for each other.”
“I don’t have time,” Charles shot back, his voice cold and distant. “This is the life we have now. Deal with it.”
“Is this really what you want?” you demand, your voice rising. “A relationship where we just coexist, where we’re barely holding on?”
He turns away from you again, his silence cuts deeper than any words ever could. You feel the despair, the realizations sinking in that your relationship might be beyond repair.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking with emotion.
“Then what do you expect me to do?” he retorted, his frustration matching yours.
“I expect you to fight for us, Charles!” you exclaimed, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I expect you to care enough to try.”
He doesn’t respond, the silence a stark reminder of how far you had both drifted apart. You wiped your tears away, feeling the weight of your crumbling relationship pressing down on your chest.
“If you can’t even talk to me, then maybe we’re already done.” you say quietly, the finality of your words hanging in the air.
He doesn’t protest, doesn’t reach out to you. You turned away from him, curling up on your side of the bed, feeling the emptiness of your once vibrant love surrounding you. As you stared into the darkness, you wondered if you had reached the end, if this was all the closure you would get.
As you laid there, enveloped in the silence that now seemed thicker than ever, you realised that something inside you had shifted irreversibly. The pain of his indifference cut deep, but so did the clarity that you couldn’t continue living forever like this, forever under the blue of his days.
The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, you couldn’t bear it any longer. With a shaky breath, you gathered your resolve and spoke softly into the darkness, voice trembling with both sadness and determination.
“I think… I need some time,” you began, your words tentative yet resolute. “Time to figure out what I want and what’s best for me.”
He turned to you then, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and resignation. “What are you saying?”
You struggled to find the right words. “I’m saying… I’m saying that I’m done, Charles. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I deserve more than this.”
His expression hardened, a flicker of frustrations crossing his face. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”
“I’m not giving up,” you shot back, “I’ve been fighting for us for so long, but you… you're not even here, I can’t keep begging for your attention, for your love.”
Charles doesn't respond immediately, his silence echoing loudly in the room. You felt a wave of sorrow wash over you as you realized that your love had turned into a battlefield of neglect and misunderstanding.
“I thought we could fix this,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe we could have,” your heart breaks with every word you utter. “But it’s too late now, I’m exhausted, Charles. I’m exhausted from trying to pretend like you care and for trying to fix something beyond repair.”
He sits up at your words, finally looking at you, the weight of your failed relationship heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, mon ange. I never meant for it to end like this.”
“Neither did I,” you replied softly, “But I can’t keep living like this. I deserve happiness. We both do.” he reached out to touch your hand, but you gently pulled away, the gesture feeling hollow now.
You sat there in silence, you knew that walking away would be the hardest thing you had ever done, but you also knew it was the only way forward.
Without another word, you stood up from the bed. Looking at him, the man you loved with all your heart but who had drifted away from you.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” you tell Charles, and he doesn’t fight you, just wordlessly nods and longingly looks at you as you step away and into your living room.
You stood at the window of the hotel room, staring out at the city that had been your home for so long. The cobblestone streets, the azure waters, and the gentle hum of luxury. This place, once your sanctuary, now felt like a prison of memories that had soured with time. A reminder of a love that couldn't withstand the weight of reality.
Outside, the familiar sights and sounds of Monaco stirred memories that tugged at your heart— lazy afternoons by the beach, candlelit dinners overlooking the harbour, stolen kisses beneath the starlit sky.
But today, as the plane ticket lay on the table beside your suitcase, you knew it was time to leave Monaco behind. Despite the love you once felt for this place, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest, the realisation that your time here had run its course.
As you walked out of the hotel and down the winding cobblestone streets towards the waiting car you had called, you allowed a tear to trickle down your cheek because despite everything you really fucking loved Monaco. For so, so long.
But you’ll find somewhere new.
gwen stefani in vivienne westwood (2004)
I’m sorry Ik request are closed but o really need a part 2 of Lando and Oscar
one for two / LN4 & OP81 / Part 2
Summary: Lando x female!Australian!McLaren marketing unit worker!reader x childhood best friend!Oscar - The drama ensues. Two Formula 1 drivers who just so happen to race for McLaren also just so happen to have fallen for you. Picks up straight after where part 1 left off. Takes place from Monaco GP 2024 to Spanish GP 2024. Short time frame, but a lot happens.
Warnings: mention of vomiting, crying, "I'll kill you" joke, swearing, very slight innuendo, if I missed anything let me know
Requested?: Yes, by this anon, everyone who answered in the poll in a way, and by @gracielukey
Author's Note: Fret not, I will be writing a part 3!
“Wait, Y/n, one second-” you hear behind you as a hand wraps itself around your arm. You look back to see Oscar Piastri beaming at you with a smile worth a ton of gold on his face. He’s out of his race suit and now back in regular street clothes: a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and an expensive black watch on his wrist. “I still haven’t given you your birthday gift yet.”
Oh, yeah, that’s right.
Earlier, when both McLaren boys had snatched each of your hands, pulling you in separate directions, both thoroughly excited to show you whatever gift they’ve gotten for you for your birthday, which just so happens to be today, the Monaco Grand Prix, you had shook them both off and waved them on to go do their PR duties.
For once in your life, as someone who is in marketing in McLaren, you got to do a fraction of your actual job concerning the two drivers, and not play the part of both their dramatic love interest.
Yet here you are again, looking back at a handsome Australian boy with earnest brown eyes, waiting for you to come with him so you can see your present.
You sigh, smiling. “Alright, Oscar. Show me this present of mine.”
He leads you to his driver’s room, where he holds the door for you to follow him in, and gently shuts it.
You have a jolting memory of the last time you were led into a driver’s room and the door was shut behind you, and the driver was saying he had something for you. It had been Lando’s driver’s room in Miami, after he won the race, and, well, you’ll never forget what the gift he had for you had been.
Lando’s kiss.
Though it didn’t really change anything at all, it seemed to change absolutely everything.
And now, just standing here, watching Oscar rummage around in his piles and bags of contained mess, you can’t help yourself from blushing as the memory floods back to you.
Oscar snaps you out of your dreams, though, when he straightens, holding up a small box that fits in his palm and a white envelope, and says, “Here… Don’t know if it’s your type of thing, but…”
“Jewelry?” you raise your eyebrows, eyeing the box.
He nods. “I don’t see you wearing jewelry a whole ton, but I thought you might really like this, regardless.”
You smile. “Usually I save it for special occasions, but I like wearing jewelry. Now, let’s see this card here…” He hands it to you, and you open it up. Oscar watches you intently as you begin reading his not-too-messy, not-too-neat handwriting.
Dear Y/n,
I just want to take this opportunity to say how much I appreciate you. You, as a person. Everything about you, I love. Your teasing, your jokes, your playfulness. Your hard work and dedication. You’re so understanding and kind. I love how gentle you are, yet also tough. You’re the perfect balance, for me and for anyone. You have the softest, most beautiful, caring heart, but a tough skin, too, and you can hold your own. You’re so strong and capable, too. I admire you in so many ways.
I love being with you. Time spent with you is my favorite time. Whether we’re just laying or sitting somewhere together, basking in each other’s silence and simply company, or going out somewhere, exploring someplace, and experiencing something together. I love it. I adore it. I love being with you.
Sometimes, I think about when we were little kids. I think about how we’d sit together and whine about how hard it is to be an older sibling, or how this or that rule by our parents was stupid. I remember playing with you, exploring. Even then, Y/n, we were forming a bond, and I think it’s beautiful. I hope we stay like this forever. Together.
I just want to be with you.
I remember as I got older and I moved, I missed you so much. So, so much. We stayed in touch, but you don’t know how much was missing without you always by my side. It’s like in a way you complete me.
I’m so glad that fate and time and whatever else all worked together that today, right now, you can be with me, on your twenty-third birthday. Twenty-three years, Y/n, I’ve known you. You’ve been my best friend. Somehow, we always keep running into each other. Like as if time and space and the universe knows we’re meant to be with each other, for each other, and it won’t let us be separated for too long. Like me and you have a magnet.
I love it, Y/n, and I hope you do, too.
I also love how beautiful you are. Your stunning eyes when they look straight into mine. The way you look over your shoulder and wink teasingly. The way your eyebrows scrunch together when you’re working hard or trying to figure something out. The way you flip your hair, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you laugh, and the way your touch feels; I love every single little ‘way’ about you. You are it, everything I want. I don’t know what you feel, but I know that for years, I knew it.
I knew I’m supposed to be with you.
If you don’t think so, that’s okay. But just know what I know. Because for years I was terrified to say it, but now, I know.
I know this, Y/n:
I love you. I always have, and I always will.
Yours truly, Oscar Jack Piastri 5/26/24
As you read the last words, you feel a lump forming in your throat as you softly gasp, “Oscar…”
“I’m sorry if it’s a bit over the top,” he says right away with a slightly nervous chuckle. “I don’t mean to seem sappy. I should have just left it at ‘happy birthday’...”
“No, no-”
“I just had a lot to say, I guess,” Oscar mutters, glancing down. “A lot to say, to make up for the years of staying silent.”
“Oh, Oscar, stop!” you laugh, your voice cracking as you suddenly throw your arms around him in a tight embrace. You feel your eyes begin to water as you squeeze them shut tightly and bury your head in his shoulder, murmuring, “This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever read, Osc… You’re going to make me cry…”
As you hug him, it’s like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. He wraps his arms around you back, his hand slowly, absently beginning to rub your back.
You sniff a bit, whispering close to his ear, “That’s just about the most beautiful thing I’ve read… Oscar, I- I, um… I-” love you, too, your brain screams, begging your lips to form the words. You love him, Y/n. You know you do. Just say the words. Just say them.
But you finish with, “I- Thank you so much, Oscar. Thank you.”
He nods, resting his cheek on your head for a few seconds, before murmuring, “Why don’t you open the gift now?”
You nod, slowly leaning away. You mop up your eyes with your hands before taking the box. You slowly open it and gasp when you see a sparkling green gemstone inside, attached to a golden chain. “Oscar…” you breathe. “It’s beautiful…” You slowly begin taking it out of the box.
“Emerald, for May, on a gold necklace chain.”
You stop taking it out of the box to freeze and look up in surprise, eyes wide. “Real emerald? Real gold?!”
“Yes,” Oscar chuckles. “Yes, Y/n. It’s a real emerald on a real gold chain.”
Your jaw drops as you blubber, “Oscar… Oh my God, Oscar… you didn’t have to…”
“I think you’ve forgotten I can afford it. And I would spend any amount of money, if it was for you. But do you like it?”
“What do you mean?!” you exclaim. “What sort of question is that? Of course I like it! I love it!”
At that, the young McLaren driver immediately beams. “Here- want me to put it on you?” You nod vigorously, so Oscar takes the necklace gently from your hands and reaches around your neck to clasp it on you. You feel his soft hands briefly brush the skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, before he takes them away and leans back to view you. “It looks lovely on you. Compliments your features.”
“You really think so?”
He grins with a soft chuckle. “Y/n, I know so.”
Once you’re done sitting with Oscar for a bit after that, just being with him, you exit his driver’s room into the hallway with a tired but contented sigh. You tuck Oscar’s note and the box the necklace came in into your pants pocket, about to get going and continue on with your life, when, once again, you’re interrupted.
You suddenly feel two strong arms wrapping around you from behind as the scent of Lando’s cologne fills your nostrils. He leans close to your ear, rocking you a bit, before murmuring in a gentle, concerned voice, “Hey, Y/n… How are you?”
You smile softly, feeling his warmth against your back. “I’m alright,” you sigh, your head still slightly in the clouds about Oscar’s note and gift.
Lando unwraps his arms from around you and gently guides you by your shoulders to turn around and face him. “What were you doing, hm?” he suddenly asks softly.
“What do you mean?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing.
“In Oscar’s driver’s room. I saw you leave.” His tone is in no way accusatory. Just genuinely concerned.
“Nothing,” you frown, licking your lips. “Why do you care?”
He crosses his arms, the concern mostly falling off his face now as he says simply, reaching up to drag his thumb under your eye, “Because of this.” He holds up his thumb to show the chalky smeared mascara on it. “And because of the redness around your eyes. Are you okay?” The concern comes flooding back as he lifts his other hand to gently touch your cheek. “Did something happen? Did Oscar do something? Y/n, you know you can tell me. You know you can trust me.”
But you can’t help yourself but chuckle. In a way, it’s sweet how caring and worried Lando is acting, looking out for you like that. But also kind of funny that Lando thinks Oscar Piastri even has the capacity to do you any harm, at least not on purpose. So you say, “No, no, Lando! Don’t worry! I’m not upset! Those were happy tears!”
Lando doesn’t look much less concerned, though. “What made you so happy?” he asks carefully.
You sigh, figuring there’s no reason to not tell Lando, at least partially the truth. “Oscar just gave me a super sweet birthday gift is all.”
“Oh,” Lando nods slowly. “What was it?”
You smile and point at the necklace hanging around your neck, resting perfectly in the middle of your chest. “This…”
“Oh,” Lando says again, this time more impressed, looking down at it. “That… It looks beautiful on you.”
You smile wider. “Thanks.”
But then the British man swallows. “I know you’re probably tired and wanting to get back to your hotel room, but I have a gift for you, too.”
“Just make sure it’s not a kiss this time,” you softly tease. “I don’t think my heart can take it right now.”
“No, no, of course not. I actually bought you something for your birthday!” the Brit chuckles, his hand naturally falling to the small of your back as he leads you to his driver’s room. He keeps the door hanging open, though, and you’re sure that’s intentional, to give you more of a sense of reassurance. You appreciate it. “Alright!” he says, clapping his hands together. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” You shrug and obey, doing so. You feel him place some light, small item in your hand, before he says, “Alright! Open!”
You chuckle as you open your eyes, teasing, “What was the point of having me close my eyes?”
“So it was a surprise! Now look at what I got you, for God’s sake, Y/n!” he rolls his eyes jokingly.
You look down at the little card in your hand, shaped like a credit card. You bring it to your face and study it, until your eyes widen when you recognize what it is. “Lando, is this…?”
He grins broader as he sees the sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It is.”
“You didn’t have to!” you laugh. A gift card for a free weekend to a luxury spa. You’ve often told Lando how nice it’d be to have a spa day, just relaxing and letting the weight off your shoulders.
But you weren’t expecting it as a birthday gift! And you definitely weren't expecting some expensive luxurious place, and for a whole weekend!
“And,” he smiles, reaching in his pocket to pull out a second, identical card which he places in your hand, too, “A second one, because I figured it’d be no fun alone, so you could bring one of your girl friends or something.”
You throw your arms around Lando and peck his cheek, which is a lot more of an easy thing to do with Lando than it is with Oscar. Oscar, you’re more emotionally connected with. But physically and romantically, you’re a lot more connected to Lando. Lando giggles as you exclaim, “How’d you even think to do this?”
He shrugs. “You talk about it. And you work constantly, so damn hard, you deserve a break. You don’t get enough credit for all you do. Take a weekend to just relax and enjoy, hm?”
You smile and shut your eyes, nuzzling your face into his neck, loving the sentiment, loving the gift, and loving Lando’s attitude in recognizing how hard you do work.
It feels so good to simply be appreciated.
The day after the Monaco Grand Prix, that Monday, Oscar texts you, asking you if you'd like the meet up before you have to go back to the U.K.
You're leaving tomorrow, so it had to be a yes.
Now you sit next to Oscar in his car, in the parking lot, as you buckle your seat belt and Oscar absently drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
Finally you break the silence with, "So, what's the plan, Stan?"
"Um..." Oscar begins, and just by one quick glance, you can see the deep thought written across his face as he looks forward out the windshield.
And you're right. The Aussie's thoughts are raging, about only one thing. And that thing, of course, being you.
He bites his lip, feeling a pang of slight desperation, but mostly just indescision.
He thought the nice note he wrote you for your birthday would've... given more of a reaction. Or maybe the necklace would've pulled at your heartstrings a little more. Just... Just a hug felt wrong to Oscar.
Why doesn't she love me back?
I whisper of a thought in his mind responds, Maybe it's got to do with Lando. Maybe she just simply doesn't love you because she loves Lando more.
He swallows a lump in his throat, pushing that thought out of his mind with, No, Oscar. She said she's got nothing more with Lando than she's got with you. You need to trust her. You know you love her. Therefore, trust her.
Of course, naturally, Oscar has no idea that he really shouldn't trust you.
Prompted by his thoughts, Oscar suddenly asks you, ignoring your own question, "Did Lando get you anything for your birthday? Just asking, because, you know, he had said he had something...?"
"Oh, yeah!" you exclaim. Oscar can't help but recognize the way your face lights up at the mention of merely Lando's name. You continue, "He got me a free weekend to a spa for two people!"
"Oh. You're going to a spa with him?" Oscar says slightly absently.
You laugh. "No, he suggested probably one of my friends. Lando would've told me if he wanted to go."
"Ah, right. Of course."
"Oscar?" you suddenly say, concerned, leaning closer. You place your hand on top of Oscar's drumming fingers on the wheel, forcing the nervous movement to stop. "Is something wrong?"
"Hmmm..." he sighs. Oscar, you've just got to make a move. A real move. Lando is loud, impulsive, fun. He wouldn't second guess.
Maybe you should take a hint from Lando.
Maybe she just needs to see, feel, experience me.
That doesn't sound right.
That doesn't sound like me.
Oscar closes his eyes, leaning back, entwining his fingers around your hand.
I'm not Lando Norris. So is that it?
That's it. I'm just not Lando Norris.
But despite the proclamation in his head, he snaps himself out of it. "Just... thinking back on the race. Sorry."
"Are you sure you're okay, Osc?" you lean in, more concerned.
It's like Oscar can feel his heart being squeezed, warmed. And another, louder, sudden thought enters his mind:
You won't let her go, Oscar, and you know that. You'll fight for her. You'll change for her.
You'll never be Lando Norris, but maybe you've just got to quit overthinking and start acting.
"Alright!" he says, a quite sudden smile appearing on his face as he squeezes your hand. "Yeah, I'm sure." He smiles, bringing your hand to his mouth to gently kiss the back of it.
He doesn't really see the blush on your cheeks when he does that.
He lets go of your hand and says, "Alrighty, let's go. I've got somewhere to bring you."
When you get to the destination, you laugh. "Oscar, it's just a park! You made it seem like you had this big thing planned."
"Oh," he smiles a bit. "Well, sorry. Do you have something against parks?"
"No- I'm just saying-"
"Yes, sure, whatever." He suddenly snatches your hand as he says, "Let's just go for a nice walk."
It's not common for Oscar to just take your hand like that, so confidently. Lando? Sure, all the time. But not really Oscar...
But you kind of like it.
As you walk, you just chat, until you're sure you've walked the entirety of Monaco before Oscar finally gestures to a lone bench in a solitary area, and you sit down together, hands still latched.
But you let go of his, saying with a chuckle, "I just... You know, my hands are sweaty."
"Oh, sure, of course. Mine probably are, too," he responds, running a hand through his hair.
You watch him intently as he does this, and reply a few seconds too late, "Oh, no, no, they're not! I like your hands."
And you immediately blush at the fact you actually just told Oscar Piastri that.
But he looks over with that little crooked teasing smile of his and says, "Do you?"
You grin back and shrug. "Hell yeah."
"Hm. I'll keep that in mind, then."
That makes your mind immediately wander to what he could mean, and you feel bad for what you immediately think of.
Regardless, your face flushes.
And then Oscar makes the decision that he's wanted to make for months, and probably years. His twinkling eye meets yours as he says, "You like my hands? Well I like your lips."
Your breath catches and butterflies well up in your stomach as Oscar leans in closer. His hand gently cups your chin as he looks you straight in your eyes, his softening by the second.
In the exact moment that he should just lean in and kiss you, he hesitates and asks, "Is it okay if I-"
"Oscar! Yes!" you say without thinking.
Yeah, yeah. There you go again. Not thinking again, in the exact moments that you should think about it the most.
Oscar leans in, his head tilting to the side slightly as his soft lips meet yours. Your head spins as he strokes your cheek.
It's not too long and not too short. He pulls away, gazing warmly into your eyes.
There was something different about Oscar's kiss. Lando kissed you and kept kissing you, as if he couldn't get enough. Oscar stopped as soon as he knew it was the perfect time for both of you to pull away. Lando's kiss was hungry, Oscar's wasn't really. He enjoyed it, but...
You don't know.
Oscar's more romantic.
You feel simply by the way he looks at you...
You feel like a jewel. You feel beautiful.
Physically, Lando's kiss was probably better. But emotionally, Oscar's...?
You never knew Oscar could be this romantic. But, to be honest with yourself, Lando's kiss was hotter. Sexier.
God, you loved both.
You groan, falling into Oscar, throwing your arms around him.
Y/n! Y/n! You're comparing the kissing styles of the two guys you kissed without the other knowing!
They both think you're theirs!
"Are you okay?" Oscar immediately asks. "Listen, I'm sorry- Oh, God, listen-"
"No! Oscar, thank you..." you blurt shakily, leaning back to look at him.
"Uh... you're welcome..." He falters, before saying, "So... does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?"
Oh, God.
"Oh, uh, I don't think I'm ready for that- uh-" you begin nervously.
"Right," comes the brown eyed boy's curt response.
Oscar Piastri's vague clean scent fills your nostrils. Or perhaps it's the clean hotel sheets you lay in next to him. His soft touch massages your hand as you hum a song.
You know all the words, but you forgot the tune.
In another reality, he would kiss you and hold you and call you his. You would say without a fragment of a doubt that you are his girlfriend.
Like an arrow to your heart, his voice asks you once more: "Does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?"
You're leaning against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat, British voice speaking but saying nothing, and you begin, "Oh, uh, I-"
You wake up with a start, gasping. The last thing you remember of your dream was laying with Lando, about to tell him you love him.
What the hell, Y/n?
“What’s up?” you ask as you answer your vibrating cellphone.
Lando Norris on the other end responds, “Nothing much. What’s up with you.”
“Dunno. Just packing up to get ready to be leaving Monaco. But why’d you call?”
“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Lando suddenly says. “Why’re you leaving Monaco so early? Come on, now!”
You sigh with a little smile, rolling your eyes as you throw another shirt in your suitcase. “Lando, this country is uber expensive. There’s no way I’m staying here any longer than I have to. The hotel price is ridiculous, and the rest of the team is leaving, anyway.”
Lando tsks before saying, “Come on, now. You won’t have to pay for a hotel room for extra days, you know. You can stay at my place, duh.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, Lando. You really want me to stay in Monaco.”
“Of course I do. But you know I’d let you stay at my place anytime.”
“Mmmhm. I know…”
“So? What do you say?” Lando asks.
You hesitate, before saying, "Lan, I already told the team I'd be leaving on the plane with them..."
“For God’s sake, Y/n, then tell them you’re not, check out of that damn hotel room, and c’mere!”
“Come where?!” you ask in slight exasperation.
“Where do you think? My flat!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll do that, jeez. Text me your address. But God, why are you getting so worked up about this?”
There’s more silence before the Monaco resident says softer, “I just really want to see you, is all.”
You raise your eyebrows and say softer as you zip up your suitcase. “That’s it?”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “Not good enough for you, princess?” he teases.
“No,” you breathe, a slight smile forming on your face as warmth spreads across it. “No, that’s perfectly, one hundred percent, all the way, good enough for me.”
“Good.” You can hear the grin in Lando’s voice. “Then I’ll see you in a bit, you beauty.”
When you arrive at his flat and he opens the door, Lando wraps his arms around you, patting your back, before letting you go. “Hey, wanna come to the living room?”
“Sure,” you nod, taking in the rooms you go through as he leads you to the living space. You’ve never been in Lando’s flat before, but you have to say, it is thoroughly impressive. Soon, you’re in the living room, and the two of you plop down on the couch together. You sink into it and lean back, saying, “This is comfy.”
Lando just takes your hand and says, “Thanks.”
But you look up at him with a soft teasing smile. “So, are you going to tell me why on earth you suddenly got so clingy? You’re acting like we haven’t seen each other in three years! Just as a reminder, it was just two days ago.”
But Lando smirks, shrugging, and says teasingly, “Maybe I’m just a little obsessed…?”
“Obsessed?” you smile wider, leaning your head onto his shoulder. “Oh, don’t flatter me.”
“Aw, why not? You’re cute when you’re blushing…”
“Lando, stop,” you snort, then add, “We’re supposed to be friends. I don’t think friends say this kind of shit to each other.”
“I like the way you say, ‘we’re supposed to be,’” the race car driver begins.
“Lando! We are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be!” you respond firmer, but deep down, you have your doubts. Your extreme doubts. Because being with Lando, it never feels like a friendship anymore, and you both know everyday you get closer and closer to finally just admitting you’re dating.
And the only reason why you haven’t yet is because of the certain someone in the way. Oscar Piastri, the sweet Australian boy from your childhood and teenage dreams.
Who kissed you like he meant it yesterday at around this time.
You feel your stomach lurch at the thought.
How can I so shamelessly act like this with Lando, when I know twenty-four hours ago I kissed Oscar back?
You jump when Lando says, almost as if he could hear your thoughts, “Is something wrong?"
You look up in slight surprise, eyes wide. “Uh- of course not. Why do you ask?"
But Lando's frown deepens. "Y/n, stop that. You know I know you're lying. I can see it on your face when something is bothering you."
You bite your lip. "Nothing is."
Lando heaves a big sigh before suddenly pulling you into his lap.
You flinch and lean away in extreme embarrassment, "Lando, what-"
"Just let me hug you, hm? You always say you're fine when you're not and I just want to help you. Let me at least hug you."
You sigh deeply and slowly let yourself lean into him. He strokes your hairline gently, and begins rambling. Lando Rambling, but in a gentle whisper.
You swallow back the huge lump in your throat, and despite your squeezed shut eyes and your raging mind, it's nice.
Until Lando is gently shaking you, and your eyes flutter open as you realize you had fallen into a calm, dreamless sleep against him. You feel his soft, nearly heavenly chuckle vibrating in your ear before you lean your head off his chest slowly. "Rise and shine, princess. You went right to sleep."
You yawn. "Shit, sorry about that..."
But Lando beams. "It's okay. It was cute. And do you feel a bit better now?"
You sigh and nod. "Yeah. I do, actually."
"Good," he grins, eyes twinkling, and leans in to give you a kiss on your cheek. "You probably just needed a nice big long nap."
You sigh.
If only it was as simple as that, Lando.
When I'm with Oscar, he seems like the obvious choice. But then I'm with Lando and he's so sweet and caring and loving and understanding and lighthearted and fun and handsome and perfect and-
And then he seems like the obvious choice.
Oh, Oscar. I couldn't stand to break your heart of gold, though.
And suddenly you freeze as Lando seems to read your mind for a second time, his voice saying softly near your ear, "Is it okay if I call Oscar?"
You snap your head back to meet Lando's eyes. "What reason have you got to call Oscar...?"
“So he can come over.”
You stare at him like he’s the craziest man alive. “Come again?”
“So he can come over and join us, Y/n. But you heard me the first time.”
“What’s your problem?” you asked quite bluntly.
“What’s yours?”
You stare at Lando, completely at a loss for words. Feeling slightly called out, to be honest. You breath deeply, before, with much effort, finally forming the sentence under Lando’s expectant gaze, “Lando, you know that Oscar thinks we’re dating. Even though we’re obviously not. If Oscar shows up… Lando, there’s too much drama you don’t know about. That wouldn’t-”
Lando raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, and says, “I know more than you think I do.”
You swallow, anxiously licking your lips. “Why do you want Osc over?”
“I’ve got some things to talk about with you. And him. With the two of you.”
Your face scrunches up as you ask hopefully, “About work?”
“Nope,” Lando says sternly as he opens his phone, scrolling his contacts, looking for Oscar’s.
You’re starting to get nervous. Real nervous. “Lando, please,” you begin, your voice laced with a certain amount of fear as you take the man’s hand. “Lando, what are you trying to do? Why? Lando, I… I’m not ready… Can you talk to me first?”
Lando looks up at you. “You clearly know what I’m doing, then, otherwise you wouldn’t be so panicked.”
“Of course I do…” you breathe. How the hell did it come to this?
Why did I think Lando was stupider than this? To not see the writing on the wall? To not see what’s clear as day?
Lando leans in closer, wrapping both his hands around yours. He stares you straight in your eyes. Everything about his actions is gentle, but his voice is painfully stern as he begins nearly whispering, “Y/n. I’m sick of this, and Oscar is, too. And you’ve had enough of this, too, whether you think you have or you haven't. I understand to a certain degree what’s been going on, but I don’t think Oscar has allowed himself to. We need to, the three of us, talk this over and figure this out. Pretending isn’t going to do you any good any longer, Y/n. And I think me and Oscar can both agree on the fact that we just want the best for you, yeah? So I know this is hard, but if you wait any longer, the situation will just get worse and worse. And now I’ve figured you out, so let’s just deal with this together, the three of us, and be honest. Okay?”
You hesitate as your eyes start to water.
You feel like you want to throw up.
I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted it to come to this. I just wanted it to work itself out on it’s own. I didn’t want Lando or Oscar to know. I wanted to figure it out alone.
“Lando,” you sniff, your voice cracking. Lando leans over to one of the end tables to grab a tissue, which he uses to wipe a tear rolling down your cheek. As you continue to cry, he hands the tissue to you and begins holding your hand as you use the other to rest your heavy head against it.
You sit there together for a while as you just cry, working through the emotions of the last months. Once you’re finally done, Lando says gently, “It might not get any easier, but please, Y/n. If you’re honest with me and Oscar, I hope you know that we’ll always be ready to help you and be there for you.”
“I know that…” you sniff. “It’s just… I don’t want to lose either of you, Lando. I can’t stand to imagine losing either of you.”
Lando nods slowly, and murmurs, “I can’t speak for Oscar, but just so you know, whatever happens, no matter what, you’ll always be my friend. And I’ll always be there for you. M’kay?”
You nod slowly, wiping your eyes one last time, those words providing just enough comfort for the time being.
“Alright,” Lando says, gently patting your hand. “Can I call Oscar? I’m sure I’ll be able to convince him to come over.”
“Yeah,” you smile weakly. “Unless he’s still sleeping.”
Lando nods and grins as he picks up his phone again to call Oscar Piastri.
When Lando goes to open the door, you follow close behind him, fiddling with your fingers anxiously. When he does open it, a surprised Oscar immediately sees you behind him and exclaims your name in shock. "Why are you here?"
"I invited her, too," Lando replies confidently, as if this is all completely normal, looking Oscar straight in his sweet brown eyes.
"Ah," Oscar nods slowly. "I can see that." He smiles awkwardly at you as Lando brings him in. He mostly just looks thoroughly confused, but doesn't take his eyes off you for a second.
Soon, you're all seated around Lando's dining room table, you and Oscar on one side, facing a lone Lando on the other side, feeling like you're about to be interrogated.
While Lando doesn't ask, 'Where were you at the time of the murder?' he does say, "I think we've all got some thing to be honest about. Oscar, I mentioned it on the phone to you, but I think all three of us have got some... stuff to discuss."
Neither you or Oscar say anything. You're too nervous to speak, and Oscar's too confused.
Lando sighs, seeing neither you or Oscar have nothing much to say, and says, "Alright, then." He slaps his palms down on the table. "Oscar, you and Y/n... You'd like to date her, yeah?"
Immediately Oscar's eyes widen, and his hand tightens around his cellphone in his hand as his pale cheeks redden. "I- What sort of-"
"Do you?"
"Yeah," Oscar admits carefully, but sort of bluntly.
"I'd like to date Y/n, too."
Oscar stares at Lando. His grip on his phone tightens slightly, but that's the only sign of a reaction his body shows as he says softer, "Well, of course."
Lando's gaze averts to you.
You sigh. The awkwardness in the air is making it stuffy and hard to breathe. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut.
"Y/n?" Lando prompts.
Your words get caught in your throat, and instead comes out a weak cough.
Apparently Oscar takes it as a sob, because immediately his hand is on your back, and he's leaning close, saying softly, "Y/n. Are you okay?"
As you bury your face in your hands and nod, you don't catch the dirty look Oscar throws Lando, and Lando's effort to ignore it. Once you've caught your breath, you barely get out, "I love you both."
Oscar's hand slips off your back as Lando reaches across the table to take your hand in his.
"I- you-" Oscar begins, before his eyes turn on Lando. "You knew about this, Lando? You knew?" You can feel the stress and, frankly, anger, radiating off of him as Oscar says, turning to you, "Y/n, I told you if you loved Lando, you could let me go. I would've taken it..." He runs a hand through his hair. "I would've. Y/n, I swear I would've. Why'd you have to play with my heartstrings? Why'd you do that, Y/n? Why'd you do that to m-"
"Oscar, stop!" Lando suddenly snaps, standing up. "Don't you see the state she's in? This is harder for her than it is for you!"
"Just stop fighting," you barely whisper.
Neither men hear you as Lando grabs Oscar's wrist and tells you sternly, "Y/n, you just stay here. I'm gonna go talk with Oscar alone, if that's fine."
But Lando doesn't wait for your input before he tugs Oscar out of the room and slams the door behind him. You suppose it wouldn't matter much anyway. It's not like you would have any idea what to say, anyway, if you'd have been given the chance.
You stare ahead in a strange mixture of regret and dread. Fear of past decisions and fear of future decisions, too.
After the door slams, unbeknownst to you, Lando immediately shoves Oscar against the wall and snaps, "What the hell, man?"
A long breath exits Oscar's lungs as he stares back into Lando's hazel eyes. "What?" he sighs.
"Don't you see she's in distress? Give the girl a break-"
"I need to give her a break? Lando, I kissed her. Do you think I would've fucking done that if I knew she was seeing you? We can both say it was all friendships all along, but we also both know this's bullshit." Oscar gulps before muttering, "She's a fucking cheater."
"No, she's not!" Lando suddenly defends. "You just don't understand."
"Yeah! Clearly I don't," Oscar says gruffly.
"So are you going to let me explain what I think went on?"
"Why don't we hear it straight from her? You could very well be biased."
"Do you think she wants to say it? Oscar," Lando sighs. "Won't you just listen to me?"
Lando watches as the Australian bites his lip, before saying, "Have you kissed?"
"Once."
"Same..." Oscar hesitates once more before asking, "So it's just the 'friend' thing? She's in love with both of us so she's been convincing herself she can stay both our friends forever."
"Well... right. And neither of us knew that was going on, and... Yeah, you know."
"How'd you find out?"
"It became too obvious. But Oscar, you've had your suspicions before the beginning."
Oscar sighs, staring down. "Right. So. She denied it because she loved us both."
"That's what I'm reckoning."
"What did she think she'd accomplish? Why did she think letting that happen would do any good? We both thought she was single. And technically, she was, but not really, because, we- you- I- you- you know..." Oscar trails off before dragging his hand across his face and leaving it over his eyes. "Oh, God."
"It's complicated," Lando nearly whispers.
"You... You can say that again..." Oscar breathes, his voice cracking as his other hand goes to his face, his pointer and middle finger pressing hard into his temple.
"Oscar?" Lando suddenly asks, his hand resting on the younger man's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Shit... I don't know..."
"Oscar, are you-"
"No- I mean, I am, but-"
Oscar is interrupted by Lando's arms suddenly wrapping around him in a hug and Lando murmuring, "Now both of you are crying?"
Oscar, despite himself, finds his face falling into Lando's shoulder as he begins, his voice just slightly hoarse, "I'm not crying, by the way. It's just... Lando, I've been in love with her for years; I swear, probably a decade by now. And I've known her literally my whole life. A part of me just always expected she'd always be there and I'd always just... that I'd always have enough time to wake up one morning and ask her out. I should have done it quite literally years ago. But I didn't and that's why we're here now, me feeling as if I have more of a right to her love, though really, I'm not worthy of her at all." Oscar lets out a shakily breath before adding, "I regret it so, so much, Lando."
Lando's arms around him tighten. "I'm so sorry."
"You don't have anything to apologize for."
"Osc, I just want her to be happy. But I know her dating me isn't the solution. Because she'd be devastated to date me but not you, and vise versa. She's head over heels for us both."
Oscar gulps. "Well, then what the hell do you suggest?" He leans away from Lando, wiping at his eyes with his thumb.
"Oh, Oscar," Lando sighs deeply. "I don't fucking know."
After that, the two stand in silent contemplation, worrying, pondering. Feeling. Emotion. Passion. Pain.
Before Lando finally says carefully, as if walking on eggshells, "...What if we both dated her...? Just kept doing what we've been doing, but the other one knows about it, so she doesn't have to feel guilty about it, but we both still... you know, get to date her?"
Oscar bites his lip. "Couldn't that get complicated?"
"Of course it could..." Lando trails off, before picking up more positively, "But sometimes the easier way isn't the right way, Oscar. We both know it'd make her happier to date us both. And we both know we'd both be happier if we could date her, yeah?"
Oscar's silent, considering, his eyes slightly glazed over, despite the battle that's going on inside his mind.
"Osc...? Osc, please, mate. I think it's the best shot we've got. It'd mean the world to me-"
"Yeah," Oscar suddenly interrupts with a nod, leaning off the hallway's wall. "Yeah, I get what you're saying. We can try that Lando," he says curtly, almost hollowly as he suddenly reaches for the door handle back to the dining room where you sit.
But right before his hand meets the knob, Lando snatches it away in his own, pulling Oscar to face him again.
Oscar can't help but feel awkward at how close his face is to the other Formula 1 driver's, and averts his eyes to the floor because of this.
But Lando responds simply, "Oscar, look at me. In my eyes."
Oscar sighs and looks up, meeting the strong eyes of Lando Norris. "What?" he barely whispers.
"Thank you so much, okay?" Lando murmurs, squeezing Oscar's hand.
To Oscar, everything seems wrong. Why is he standing with his teammate, his rival, this close, holding hands, with such intense eye contact? This should be just him and you. Lando shouldn't be a part of this.
How was he so stupid to let Lando ruin it all?
Oscar, just try to trust Lando? Maybe he's right? You can conform for now, but don't conform with malice. Only allow yourself to feel anger towards Lando after it all falls apart because of him.
"'Kay," Oscar mutters back.
"And, listen, Oscar. I hope you know you can trust me. I care about you, too. So much. I like you so much. So, please. Just be real with me. M'kay?"
"Of course... Can we go back and see Y/n now?" Oscar mumbles, feeling slightly uncomfortable at Lando's extreme sincerity.
Alright, maybe more than just slightly uncomfortable.
"Sure," Lando nods, and the two men come walking back in.
They sit down, and once they've finished explaining to you their idea, you ask, "So, you're saying we all date? The three of us, together?"
"Yeah," Lando responds with a smile at the same time as Oscar responding, "Well, sort of-"
Both your pairs of eyes turn to Oscar. He swallows and adds, "I mean, yeah. Of course. Just sounds weird to me, for three people to be dating, but it's just because I'm not used to it, you know? It's good. It's fine."
"Oscar, are you sure you're okay with that idea?" you venture.
But there's no way Oscar's going to say anything but a convincing, "Of course!" after the way he saw your eyes immediately light up in hope when Lando explained his idea of the three of you dating.
So you nod, taking that answer, but just ask one more tentative question, "So, you two... you're okay with... you.. you know..."
Before Oscar's brain can even completely comprehend what you're asking, Lando throws his arm around Oscar's shoulders and exclaims, "Of course, Y/n! Me and Osc get on great! Plus, he's not so bad himself-"
And in that moment, you witness Lando lean into kiss Oscar's cheek just as Oscar turns to look at Lando to speak and-
Lando ends up pecking Oscar on his lips.
Oscar's eyes practically pop out of his head, and Lando, to be honest, looks somewhat surprised himself. But you're sure Oscar's brains are about to begin running out his bright red ears as his whole face goes fire hydrant red. "Oh..." he just manages, his hand dragging over his lip.
Lando laughs slightly awkwardly, deciding to pretend he meant to do that. He gives the other driver a pat on his shoulder before saying, "You know, Y/n, you know how flustered Oscar can get with you? Imagine how bad it could be with me. You know, me being so hot and sexy and-"
You giggle nervously and interrupt, "Yeah, yeah, Lando. I get what you're saying."
As the visit at Lando's flat goes on that day, you and Lando loosen up a fair amount at the whole prospect of the three of you dating, but Oscar doesn't seem to budge. Oscar ends up leaving early, so before you go to bed that night, you stop to bring up your nervous concern to Lando: "Lando, I just don't know if Oscar wants to do this... I mean, he doesn't seem comfortable... I just... I think he really doesn't like the idea of dating another guy... I mean, maybe he's- you know, he's not- He doesn't have those feelings for men-"
"Oh, gosh, Y/n, don't worry about that," Lando reassures you and himself, quite honestly. "He'll come around. Oscar just needs time." He adds with a tease, "I mean, who can resist me?"
"You're suggesting you're so hot you can turn straight men gay?" you ask, completely unimpressed, crossing your arms.
"No, no! Trust me, Y/n, Oscar Piastri is not a straight man to even begin with."
"But-"
"Shh. You're probably just tired. Go on, you're eyes are shutting on themselves. Just lean on me."
"But Lando-"
He pecks your lips and murmurs close to your ear, "I've got you here, Y/n. Leave all your worries for tomorrow morning, and until then, I'll deal with the rest."
"Are you sure?"
"Never been more sure," Lando comments, yawning himself as you sigh, resigned, and snuggle into his chest.
You're practically out cold within minutes, which leaves Lando time to sit alone with his thoughts, stroking your hair, worrying and thinking.
What if she's right? What if this just isn't going to work with Oscar?
I thought maybe he'd be more open.
Oh, God. I don't want to hurt either of them, one bit. I love Y/n. I know I do, and I have for so long now.
And Oscar? I'm so fond of him.
Ah, here I go again. Fuck me and my distracted, wandering, boyish heart.
Just like with Carlos. Just like with Daniel.
I don't know I feel it until in one moment, one instance, they smile in a certain way or say a certain joke or do a certain thing in a certain way and-
And suddenly I'm mad in love with yet another person.
Oh, Lando Norris. If only you could date everyone in the world you ever loved.
Then I'd be dating a lot more than just two people. And on the first day of dating two people, it's already a mess.
And it's all my fault.
I guess I'll just have to be the one who fixes it all, then, too.
"Oh, uh, good morning!" you chuckle as you see both Lando's and Oscar's heads turn almost in unison when you enter the room in McLaren HQ. "When did you two arrive in the U.K.?"
"Yesterd-"
"This morning!" Lando beams, throwing his arms around you.
"Oh, alright," you chuckle again. "It's so nice to see both of you..." You smile awkwardly as Lando pulls away and Oscar pats your shoulder when a sudden thought comes into your head.
Is this something the three of us should keep a secret?
Strangely (and stupidly) enough, you forgot to discuss that.
"Hey, uh, it's great you're both here right now. I've got to talk to you about, uhm- some of the media plans we have for you regarding Canada... Let's talk in the hall; don't want to disturb people working in here."
Lando raises his eyebrows as Oscar takes on a perplexed look. Once you're out in the hall together, you lean close and are about to speak when Lando interrupts with a smirk, "So, anyway. What about those... 'media plans' 'regarding Canada'...?"
"Oh, shut it, you!" you grin, realizing how much in just a little over a week away you missed Lando.
Oscar suddenly gently takes your hand by your side and says, "Oh, come on, Lando. Y/n, what did you want to say to us."
And you suddenly realized how much you missed Oscar, too, in only a little over a week.
"Well," you start, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "About this... relationship... Should we... you know, keep it a secret?"
"I... think so," Oscar says carefully, squeezing your hand. "Imagine the media's response. And the fans: the fans would be unbearable."
Lando crosses his arms and whines, "So you're saying I can't even show my affection for you two? Oscar, we're always on camera."
Did Lando just say you two? you can't help but suddenly wonder.
"Maybe you are, but there's ways of avoiding it," Oscar comments, not seeming to hear.
Hm. Maybe I heard wrong.
Because deep down inside, despite your secret desires, you know that Lando and Oscar just agreed to this for you, and have no specific liking for each other.
And that's the thing that's making you nervous that this whole thing has no chance of working out.
"Boys. I agree with Oscar," you sigh. "Lando, I work in marketing and public image type stuff. If anyone knows about this, it's me. And I agree with Osc. It'll do us no good to make this public. Let's just keep it on the down-low."
"Can we at least make a compromise?" Lando ventures.
"Go on," you sigh.
"We can at least still keep acting like we're mad in love with you," Lando laughs. "Because we've been doing that this whole time. Just no one has to know about the dating. I mean, it'll seem off if that suddenly stops."
You bite your lip but murmur, "Fair enough."
Lando grins and comments, "I gotta meeting now. See you two later," giving each your shoulders a pat.
Once Lando is gone, you turn to Oscar and murmur, letting go of his hand to touch his arm gently "Hey, Oscar. Are you alright?"
Your childhood best friend looks to you, a smile immediately forming on his face. But his eyes remain a bit hollow, a bit sad. "Of course I'm alright. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know... You haven't seemed yourself today, I guess is all."
Of course she says that, Oscar thinks. She's the one that knows me best, anyway.
"I don't? Well, I'm fine... I'm sorry if I don't seem it," Oscar responds, attempting to brighten his smile. "Anyways, I've got to be off, too, actually," he says, checking his expensive watch. He leans in to peck your lips as his hand brushes your waist, before waving and offering, "Catch you later, lovely!"
The combination of his affectionate gestures and him calling you 'lovely' kind of makes your head spin.
You lay next to Lando, absently stroking his cheek and chin, feeling his facial hair, as he holds you close, tracing sweet words with his gentle fingers into your back.
You sigh, completely contented in the practically perfect moment. You're in Spain, and it's Saturday night- the Spanish Grand Prix is tomorrow. You ended up taking the last Grand Prix weekend in Canada off, for your spa weekend. Either way, before the race tomorrow, Lando invited you for some snuggles in his hotel room, and there's no way you could say no to that.
So here you are.
But suddenly Lando whispers, "Do you think I should invite Oscar?"
Your heavy eyes seem to immediately open and sharpen at this suggestion. You take a moment to ponder his question, before asking one of your own instead of answering his: "Lando, do you like Oscar?"
"Y/n, of course I like Osc-"
"No, no, Lando. I mean... you know..." you begin carefully, "Do you like Oscar the way you like me?"
There's silence in the room as the air conditioner becomes deafeningly loud suddenly. You can hear a long, slow sigh escape from Lando's lips, into the air, before he slowly says, "Oh, Y/n. I've liked lots of people the way I've liked you in the past."
You smile a little. "I know. You're Lando Norris, for God's sake. Of course you have. But today, right now, in this moment, do you like Oscar the same way you like me?"
Lando presses his forehead into your shoulder before uttering quieter, "If I did, it wouldn't matter."
"Why not?" you prod.
"Because, Y/n, there's no way he likes me in the same way he likes you."
You sigh slowly, feeling a slight pang at hearing those words. You wrap your arms around Lando and pull him closer to you. "What do you like about Oscar...?" you whisper.
"Oh, fuck me, Y/n. Everything. His stupid sense of humour, the way he laughs at all my jokes, the way he looks at me with those brown eyes, the little birth marks all over him, how polite and calm and cool-headed and cooperative and agreeable and smart and sensible and friendly and genuinely good he is. His voice, too! His mentality. Don't fucking tell anyone this, or I will kill you, but I even like the way he's a little bit taller than me. I love his stupid hair and his big smile. His hands... I love them. I love everything about him. I love him, and it's like it all just hit me. I don't know, Y/n. I just don't know."
You lean in and peck his lips before whispering, "Oh, Lando Norris. I love him, too, for all the same reasons. And I love you, too."
"The thing is, Y/n," he barely whispers, "that he'll never, ever love me back."
That feels like a stab to your heart.
You can't imagine how it feels to Lando.
You cuddle him so close, and you hold each other so close, that you can feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Lando," you whisper. "I wish it could all just work out."
"Me, too, Y/n.
"Me too."
"Heyyy, Osc!" you grin, knocking on his open driver's room door. "You feeling good for the race?"
He smiles to see you in the door. "Yeah, I am. Come on in. Thanks for coming to see me, Y/n."
"Of course. It's a treat to see your handsome face."
He beams wider but rolls his eyes, "Oh, yeah?"
"Of course!" you giggle a bit.
"Well, do I get my pre-race hug, then?"
You grin and throw your arms around him, giving him a big kiss on his cheek, "You'll also be getting a post-race hug, too, when you win it!"
"Well, I guess that's always the goal, but we'll see about that." He leans back to look at you, gazing so warmly, so intensely for just a second, into your eyes, before looking away. He opens his mouth to say something, but then quickly closes it.
"What is it, Oscar?" you prod.
"I just wanted to say I love you."
You grin. "Don't ever hesitate to say that again. You don't need to, because I love you, too. And you and Lando better stay safe out there on the track today for me, okay?"
"Oh, alright, and the rest of the grid can all die; they don't matter," he teases.
"Oh, shut it, you!" you laugh, exiting his driver's room with a wave, "Go on and get ready for your race now!"
"Bye!" he laughs.
"Bye, bye, Osc!"
You lay on the bed in Lando's hotel room where you laid just last night, but this time, there's two people laying with you rather than just one.
Oscar is fast asleep on your right side, his right arm draped over your body and his head resting against your shoulder. Lando is on your left, still awake, gently rubbing your left hand absently as he runs his hand through his messy curls.
"Do you think Osc-"
"Ah-" Lando exclaims softly with a little flinch. "I thought you were sleeping already!" he laughs a bit.
You nod, waiting a few seconds before reasking your question, "Do you think Oscar is feeling better about the whole thing?"
"Oh, God, Y/n, I don't know. I think he's just kind of rolling with the punches," Lando sighs deeply. "He just wants you. He'll do anything to have you. Even sleep in the same bed as me."
"Oh... right..." you sigh, wrapping your arm around the sleeping Oscar, pulling him closer to you as you rest your head in the little nook between Lando's cheek and shoulder.
You shut your eyes, trying to force yourself to sleep, but your thoughts are raging, just like Lando's.
Why can't it all just be right? Why does it have to be so difficult? Is this the right thing? Should we give up on it?
Why can't the three of us just be right for each other?
This whole mess is all your fault, Y/n.
Your uncertain heart pounds in your ears, faster and faster, making you nearly go insane.
-
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