izzy's playlists!
@theartofmadeline
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Kaledo Art
Discoholic 🪩
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Origami Around
AnasAbdin
cherry valley forever
Keni
todays bird
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
ellievsbear
styofa doing anything
roma★
★
PR's Tumblrdome
Claire Keane
seen from Algeria
seen from Malaysia
seen from Switzerland
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Jordan
seen from United States
seen from Algeria
seen from Algeria
seen from Algeria
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@p1astr81
★ phia! *⋅ ˚ 18, she/her, cabin 7 ☼, 81 23
masterlist! ⋆.˚ reqs are closed
!!all of my works are pure fiction. They’re not meant to be a representation of any real person. Names and faces are used purely for physical/visual characterization.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
authors gotta start writing real yearners again bc WHY every book a pick up they’re only lusting
I am still living btw Oscar Piastri just took my will to do literally anything including write
𝟴𝟭 𝗢𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥 𝗣𝗜𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜 — 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧
𝗘𝗫𝗧. 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦
just a prank Lando has his friends over, and while his roommate is taking a shower, they decide to play a prank on her. Oscar is the one to come to her rescue. ❄️❤️🩹
‘tis the damn season Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.❤️🩹❄️
the cove you and Oscar start your own restaurant, navigating the troubles of the unknown territory and the relationship between you.🖍️❄️❤️🩹
you’re the one that I want when Oscar joined the spring musical, you swore you hated him for it. Because you did. Didn’t you?❄️❤️🩹
people will say we’re in love you and Oscar were childhood bestfriends, but you fell out of touch. Years later, you reunite, but there’s a bit of bitterness and unspoken feelings lingering.❤️🩹❄️🗞️
his engineer ❤️🩹❄️🗞️
my best friend’s sister is the one for me Oscar’s obsessed with his best friend’s sister, and he’s terrible at hiding it.❤️🩹🗞️
can’t keep their hands to themselves (ft. Lando Norris) ⚡️🗞️
𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦/𝗕𝗟𝗨𝗥𝗕𝗦
baby piastri Oscar is learning to take care of his new baby girl. ❤️🩹
sleep deprived mom!reader gets to a point of dangerous exhaustion, worrying Oscar. ❤️🩹
Christmas mixup Oscar accidentally proposes to his girlfriend on Christmas Day.❤️🩹
little donut Oscar comes home to a pleasant surprise; a new member for your household.❤️🩹
chocolate lava cake pudding you’re a chronic night baker❤️🩹
dad!oscar blurb parenting teenagers ❤️🩹
teenager!oscar blurb oscar sneaks into your window ❤️🩹
sea glass, like your eyes you spend a day at the lake with Oscar, and he brings you a pretty piece of polished glass. ❤️🩹🖍️
friend is just a word you’re drunk off your ass and accidentally mistake a formula one driver for a friend.❤️🩹
victory lap you’ve chased after Oscar for awhile, and it finally pays off.
baby fever you’ve got baby fever. Oscar, well… doesn’t. ❄️❤️🩹
mapped it all out the moles that littered Oscar’s face were too cute for you to ignore. So you take a washable marker to his face! ❤️🩹
vanilla and strawberries you switched your perfume and suddenly Oscar has the sniffles. ❤️🩹
cardio ⚡️inspired by that one sexy pic of Oscar working out
soft sex ⚡️❤️🩹🗞️
size kink ⚡️❤️🩹🗞️
(not so) secret moments in a crowded room ❤️🩹🗞️
sim racing ⚡️🗞️
helping hand ⚡️🗞️
yearning ❤️🩹🗞️
neighbor!oscar ⚡️🗞️
talking about his gf in interviews ❤️🩹🗞️
learning to braid hair ❤️🩹🗞️
quiet night in Monaco ❄️🗞️
sitting on his lap while he’s yapping ❤️🩹🗞️
ex!lando, bf!oscar❄️❤️🩹🗞️
birthday treat ⚡️🗞️
pressure ❤️🩹❄️🗞️
intimacy issues ❄️❤️🩹🗞️
career ending injury❤️🩹❄️🗞️
stuck forever by the tape ❤️🩹❄️🗞️
loving the Ferrari heiress in secret ❤️🩹🗞️
gym shorts ⚡️🗞️
the natural you ❄️🗞️
asexual!reader tells Oscar ❄️🗞️
hot seat ❤️🩹🗞️
just the tip ⚡️🗞️
distraction ❄️🗞️
too clingy ❄️🗞️
truth or dare? ⚡️🗞️
truth or dare — ext. ⚡️🗞️
his psychologist ❤️🩹❄️🗞️
lingerie ⚡️🗞️
jealous!oscar ⚡️🗞️
cindy lou who ⚡️❄️❤️🩹🗞️
slow and steady ⚡️🗞️
work, school, and your hair. ❄️❤️🩹🗞️
frustration, tension, release ⚡️🗞️
only his angel ⚡️🗞️
service top!oscar ⚡️
I never break my promises 🖍️❄️❤️🩹
a penalty for your penalties ⚡️🗞️
cricket captain ⚡️🗞️❤️🩹
𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦
Spidey-Osc! Oscar Piastri takes on the double life of being a high school student and also the hero of New York. While playing the part of spider-man, Oscar starts to get closer to his classmate, a girl he otherwise wouldn’t have dared to even look at. 🖍️
in disguise Oscar’s classmate invites him—well, himself and spider-man—to her New Year’s Eve party where things take a turn for the worse for him.❤️🩹
(in)formalities Oscar informally meets your father, and formally meets the rest of your family. ❤️🩹
I love you, dad Oscar and Ryder face each other for the last time.❤️🩹❄️
a dream Oscar has a dream. Like a real REM sleep dream. And he may just have found a pathway to make it a reality. ❤️🩹❄️
part 2 part 3 part 4
sidelines Oscar sits on the sidelines and watches as you cycle through terrible dates until he’s had enough and can’t stand by any longer❤️🩹❄️
short blurb❤️🩹⚡️
short blurb ⚡️
second dad zone you have to go into work unexpectedly on a Saturday. The only person who could watch your daughter on short notice is your boyfriend, Oscar, and your little girl almost kills him ❤️🩹
short blurb
they don’t know about us lando has always been protective. Too afraid that another driver would make a move on you, he restricted you from coming to a race. That was, until you turned 18, when he finally let you go to an event with him. You meet Oscar, and right away, there’s a pull.
part 2
there’s always next week I guess😪
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Can you pls write a Oscar smut based off that picture of him playing cricket during school years
okay so I’m not gonna write about high schoolers cause… yeah duh so college au!oscar where he’s on the school’s cricket team. And i lowkey made him a loser by accident🙈
Also I don’t know how cricket works and I tried to google to understand but still don’t😭 the only thing that makes sense to me is the bowler so… that’s his position☺️
cw: smut 18+, softish sex, protected sex, oral, fingering, piv, lmk if anything else, party setting, mentions of aftercare, a bit of fluff at the end
His night started with a back porch and a flirty girl.
She was strategic. She knew what she was doing, what she wanted. Him. The school’s staring bowler on the cricket team. There were rumors that he got around; rumors that he was even better in bed than he was at cricket.
She approached him, light on her feet, an innocent air about her. She had a small smile on her face. Not enough to look desperate, but enough to intrigue him. She struck up a conversation. Laughing at the right times, clutching his arm as she doubled over.
Oscar wasn’t just polite. He was responsive. Leaning into her, too. Failing to keep his eyes away from her exposed cleavage. He knew who she was. She sat in front of him in one of his lectures. He’d memorized the back of her head by the second week, and by the third, he’d noticed a pattern in the colors of her notes.
So when she came up to him? Of course he wouldn’t waste it.
And then she casted the line. “Your match was incredible today.”
And he took the bait. “You saw?”
“Of course. And I noticed the team definitely has a star bowler.” She reeled him in slowly. His cheeks burned a tinge of red. “I think he deserves some sort of a reward for such a performance, don’t you?”
He grinned. “What do you have in mind?”
Fifteen minutes later and she had absolutely nothing in her mind.
Nothing except for Oscar.
Oscar, who had her on her back, who’d stripped her of her jeans, who was between her thighs, who was eating her out like it was his last meal.
“Fuck, oh- hmm, you’re so good at this,” she breathed, fingers threading through the mess of waves on his head.
He groaned softly into her, soft eyes still peering up at her face while his fingers dug into her thighs. “Taste so good,” he hummed.
It was obscene, the noises. Straight from an X-rated film. Wet squelches and moans louder than the muffled music from downstairs.
“Osc-ah, I’m gonna- gonna cum if you don’t stop,” she warned with a light tug to his scalp. He didn’t seem to mind the warning. “Oscar, stop,” she tried.
This time, he listened. His head rose from between her legs, expression a little curious and concerned. “Did I do something?”
She swallowed, shook her head, and ignored how that made her chest feel warm. “No.” Then, “do you have a condom?”
His brows raised a little, like he hadn’t expected it to actually go this far. “Yeah,” he murmured, crawling up the bed to fish an unopened box out from the bedside table.
“Oscar?” She asked softly, eyeing the box in his hand. “Have you had sex before?”
He scratched at the edge of the tape, picking it off. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet. Then, “once.”
“Jesus,” she breathed. “We don’t have to-“
“I want to.” He interrupted, sounding sure of himself. He paused, a condom pinched between his fingers as he looked at her with slightly raised brows. Like he was asking her if she wanted it, too.
She nodded, a small smile playing onto her lips. “Then what are you waiting on?”
He scoffed a laugh, but he didn’t reach for his pants right away. Instead, he reached for the hem of her shirt. Another raise of his brows to her. A silent question she answered with a nod.
He was gentle with her, his fingers ghosting her skin as he slowly pulled the shirt over her head. He tossed the fabric over his shoulder, and then he reached for her bra. He fumbled with the clasp for a moment, and she laughed softly.
“Here,” she said softly, sitting up with her back to him. She reached behind her, fingers on the band. “Just pinch and pull,”
It was strangely domestic. She realized that as she clasped the bra back together for him to try himself. She bit her lip softly. He was nice. Too nice. And she wasn’t just filled with lust anymore. Now it was mixing with some sort of fond feeling.
Pinch and pull. He did just that, and let out a small laugh when the clasp came undone and the straps slid down her arms.
She turned to him slowly.
Oscar was mesmerized. “My god, you’re gorgeous.” He breathed, his gaze trailing her body.
Her hands looped around his neck, eyes flicking to his lips and between his eyes.
But she didn’t kiss him. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” She said instead. She’d long ago taken off his shirt, but his jeans still sat around his waist.
Another blush rose to his cheeks as he laughed softly.
Her hand trailed down his torso, fingers tracing the tones of his abs. He watched as her fingers reached for the button of his jeans and undid them, undoing the zipper next. She looked up at him through her lashes. He swallowed and nodded.
After she tossed his jeans to the floor, she tested the waters. Her palm grazed over his boxers, earning her a strangled sound from him. Grinning, she reached for the waistband and slowly peeled them from his skin.
Oscars breath came heavier now as his boxers fell to the floor.
“Jesus,” she breathed for the second time that night.
“What?”
“You’re- fucking hell, you’re big,”
“Oh.” Then, “is that a bad thing?”
“Not to me,” she grinned, a hand settling on his collarbones.
Before he could reply, her lips were on his. Soft, maybe too soft for the one-night stand this was supposed to be.
He hummed into it, one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her head. He laid her down, making sure her head missed the wooden headboard. His hand trailed from her hip. Lower, lower, lower-
“Fuck,” she gasped as his fingers breached her enterance.
“Supposed to open you up, yeah?” His voice was low, a subtle gruff to it.
“Mhm,” she nodded, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed as his two fingers scissored inside her.
“Oscar- I’m gonna- oh fuck, I’m coming!” She gripped onto his bicep, nails digging deep as he trailed kisses along her neck, sucking and nipping.
“There we go, so good f’me,” he muttered into her neck, not breath fanning over the reddish-purplish mark he’d just sucked into her skin. “squeezing my fingers so tight.”
Her fingers found his jaw and brought his face to hers. She kissed him again, hard, muffling her high pitched moans. Oscar’s fingers continued their relentless pace inside of her.
When she finally felt her high fading and felt the overstimulation creeping in, she pulled away.
At the sound of a small whimper, he withdrew his fingers and sucked them clean. “Fuck, need to be in you,” he breathed, chest heaving with sheer desire.
She nodded, “condom,” she reminded, fetching the forgotten one on the nightstand and tossing it to him.
He rolled it on swiftly, then looked back at her. “You sure?”
Another nod. “Yes,” then, “fuck, yes I need you so bad,”
And who was he to argue with that?
He started slow, easing his cock into her, paying attention to every micro expression on her face. When he was buried to the hilt, he paused. “Never felt so good in my life,” he acknowledged, more to himself, but she still let out a breathy laugh.
“Please move,” she said after a moment.
At the first thrust, they both threw their heads back, moans almost harmonizing.
He found a pace, quicker than slow but not too fast. It was the perfect medium to feel everything. “My god,” his guttural groan echoed in the room.
“Oscar,” she called, a small whimper, “need more,”
He listened, picking up his pace and driving his hips into yours with more purpose. “You feel so good,” mindless praise from him—he wasn’t even aware he’d said it out loud until she spoke up.
“Feel so full,” she whined. “So- fuck! There!” Her reaction was automatic, the way she arched her back into his chest.
“Here?” His voice was heavy with lust.
“Mhm,” her eyes were squeezed shut again.
But Oscar was a menace, and he loved to get a reaction out of her. He was drunk on it. His thumb found her clit and he pressed down in small circles.
“Fuck, Oscar- you’re gonna make me cum if you don’t-“
“Good.” Then, “say it again,”
Her eyes opened only slightly. “What?”
“My name,” he said, angling his hips perfectly to get a cry out of her.
“Oscar!”
He grinned and did it again.
“Oscar,” she mewled, “I’m gonna cum, don’t stop,” she warned between breaths.
“Come on, wanna feel you squeeze me,” despite not being so experienced, Oscar was good, and he knew his way around a woman’s body. He took her tit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her nipple.
“Please, fuck, please don’t stop,” her nails dug into his shoulders, but he didn’t care. He kept going. Hips, fingers, and mouth determined to drive her over the edge. “Fuck! Oscar, I’m coming!”
A quick warning was all he got before she tumbled quickly over the edge. Moaning louder than the thrumming music from downstairs, back arching into him. Her walls fluttered around him, triggering his own release. He groaned into her skin, causing her body to jolt.
After he’d ridden out their highs and helped her to the en-suite bathroom, she was putting her clothes back on.
“What are you doing?” Oscar called softly, sitting in bed with just a fresh pair of boxers.
she blinked. “Leaving.”
He was quiet for a moment. She paused with him. “How come?”
Another pause between them. “Well that’s…” pause. “That’s how it’s usually done.”
A shorter pause this time. “You can stay, if you want.”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“I want you to stay.” Then, “if you want to.”
Another beat of silence. “Okay.” She said finally, dropping her jeans to the floor once more.
She got back into the bed, underneath the changed covers.
It was awkward at first, but Oscar made the first move and shifted closer. She put her head on his shoulder. They sat like that. Quiet in each other’s company.
“You’re funnier than I thought you were,” she spoke after a long while.
He laughed airily. “You’re bolder than I thought you were.” He responded.
She furrowed her brows, looking up at him.
“I’m not as oblivious as you thought. I knew what you wanted as soon as you came up to me.” He laughed again.
Her face burned. “People said you got around. I didn’t know you were practically a virgin.”
He scoffed in offense. “I’m not practically a virgin!”
She laughed in response. Silence fell again for a minute. “Why did you, y’know,” she nodded her head vaguely.
It was his turn for his face to burn. “You sit in front of me in our physics lecture.” He muttered, “and I may or may not, uh, had a bit of a thing for you already.” He scratched the back of his neck, his entire face red in embarrassment.
“What?!” She gasped, sitting up. His hand fell from around her shoulders. He kept it near her elbow, thumb swiping across the skin. She ignored the feeling that gave her in her stomach. “And you never said anything?”
“I thought you were out of my league!”
“Oscar.” She looked at him, silently telling him to be serious. “You’re like the most talked about and wanted man on campus.” She scoffed.
“What? No I’m definitely not.” He laughed.
“You’re actually insane if you think that. Girls—and some guys—literally faint when you look at them.”
“Ah, come on-“
“I’m serious! You’re fucking hot, Oscar!”
His face wouldn’t stop burning. “Thanks,” he muttered.
She chuckled, lying back next to him, resting her head back on his shoulder. His hand rose to her shoulder again. “And I guess you could say I have a thing for you, too.” She laughed, and so did he.
hi guys, sorry I haven’t been posting much. There’s just sm going on in my life rn that I don’t have time. I’m working on a couple fics, but I don’t want to rush anything just for the sake of getting it out and it end up bad. I hope you guys understand and I’m sorry to the reqs that have been sitting in my inbox for months💕
no actually what the fuck was that??? just a whole shitshow of mclaren hypocrisy
DOOMED, CHAPTER TWO: A FAILED SECOND CHANCE.
"WE ARE EACH OF US INCOMPLETE, AND LOVE IS THE NAME FOR OUR YEARNING TO BE WHOLE."- PLATO.
SUMMARY: Oscar, son of Apollo, is gifted with a voice that you're convinced is otherworldly. It is that very gift, that brings you to him, and where you realise you remember his love from a lifetime ago. You don't think you'll lose it so quickly again, though. However, he's determined to bring you back to him.
CONTENT: Soulmate AU, based off Orpheus and Eurydice. Death, violence, angst. Again, Doomed. authors note at the end :))
CHAPTER TWO OF NINE. MASTERLIST PART ONE
the soundtrack + talk, hozier ✺ 8.2k words ✺ the story of orpheus and eurydice
"LOVE, YOU CAN SEE, IS A GREAT MASTER. IT TEACHES EVEN THE SILENT ANIMALS TO CRY." I WARN YOU- LOVE IS NO MASTER HERE, AND YET, THOSE SILENT STILL WEEP.
IT IS FUNNY, THE WAY THE UNIVERSE SPITES EVEN THOSE DEEMED ALL POWERFUL. When Oscar’s soul settles into a new body, it is none other than the Son of Apollo, and the Muse Calliope.
Still, other than the Fates, nobody knows of his past life. Hades could figure it out, when he dies, for he never forgets a soul. But a living body is alien to him, other than his precious Persephone’s.
And so Oscar exists, with an ache that spurs him on. It is a need for someone, someone he knew before.
He cannot remember you. He does not know your name, or where you are, or what face you carry.
All he knows is that you are out there, and a part of him belongs to you, and he will find you.
Oscar is a poor man. His voice, his song, is his gift. He is known, throughout the land, for his melodies.
They earn him his supper, and earn him his fame, but not much else. The luxury of his voice does not lead to a luxurious life.
Still, he keeps singing. He hopes, one day, that his song may reach you.
When you are old enough to think, all you think about is him. Who he is, you’re not sure. But all you know is that that is your purpose, to solve that mystery. You remember.
Your father, Nereus, and your mother, the Oceanid Doris, had found you strange, the way you did not want to search the water, but longed for the land instead.
So, when you’d disappeared, on some unspoken quest, they had not minded.
Your travels sent you to town after town, but with each gate, each market, your soul sighed in exasperation.
What was interesting, though, was the way it lightened at the sound of music.
Singing, the lyre, instruments you don’t recognise. Any and all of it, healing wounds you didn’t know you were carrying.
And no matter the place, people spoke of a musician that rivaled the very sound of the Earth itself, a man whose voice brought life just as much as mothers did.
Oscar, was his name, as it travelled through broken whispers into your ears.
You hoped to encounter him on your journey across all the land you could find.
The wind is cruel, and bitter, and sent to you by the Fates. The chill settles in your bones, as you wrap your thin shawl around your bony shoulders.
He is a poor man; you are a hungry girl, and so the weather hits you both.
Maybe it is ironic, the way your candle blows out, and you find it hard to see past your feet.
The irony is lost on you, anyway.
It is only then, do you hear it- a melody floating through the air, straight to your icy heart.
It comes from the faint flicker up ahead, a misshapen cottage of sorts, which you assume to be an inn, for those travellers heavy with exhaustion.
Or those caught in storms that threaten to carry them away into the cloud.
Both of which you feel you qualify for, so you keep pushing towards it, carefully slipping inside.
The swell of a lyre hits you before you can adjust to the room’s brightness, or the smell of roasting meat, or the sudden warmth of the hearth.
There is a crowd dramatically too large for the size of the house, surrounding a barely raised platform, transfixed in a deep silence.
You understand it, you don’t think you could speak either, if you tried.
And then, he sings.
You cannot see his face, or anything about him at all, but you discern this must be Oscar.
For you have heard nothing more beautiful, nothing more soul-touching, nothing more understandable than this melody.
With some effort, you push through the gaggle of people, forcing your way to the front.
His eyes are closed, hands plucking strings that look like they’re on the edge of snapping, and you wonder how not everyone in this room is crying.
Maybe they do not get his music like you’re certain you do.
Maybe they’re not meant to.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s looking directly at you.
The whole world slows.
It is at that moment, that very moment, you know you have found what you were looking for.
You suppose, considering you’d come into this life missing him, that you must’ve known him long before.
For the rest of his performance, he cannot bring himself to stop staring, to drag his eyes from yours.
To do that, it feels, would be to drag a dagger across his face.
His songs morph into deeper things, more hopeful ballads, and you’re certain the flowers in vases to your right seem to droop less.
Once he descends from the stage, you don’t know if you should wait, to see if he will come to you, or charge straight for him.
You decide on the latter, brushing shoulders furiously with those beside you, and eventually you battle your way to each other.
“Hi. I’m Oscar.” he exhales, eyes trained on yours.
“So I’ve heard. You’re rather famous, you know?”
He pauses.
“I’ve been looking for you.” he admits, his brows furrowed. Like he’s worried you’ll think him to be strange, and disappear.
“Well, that’s a relief, because I’ve been looking for you too.” you reply casually, but your hands shake a little as you clasp his.
“How do I know you? Why do I know you?” he asks, his tone genuine. His confusion is endearing, and you wish you could give him a clear explanation, but you’re not sure yourself.
“Perhaps we should ask the Gods.”
It is then when you hear a sharp chuckle, whistling in your ear, but once you blink, the chatter of the place is restored.
Oscar gives you a pained glance, that you don’t quite understand the reason for, but you don’t overthink it. Instead, you shrug gently, and with a sigh, accept what is.
“I cannot offer you great wealth, and gleaming riches. I have only myself, and my voice, and my lyre.” he mumbles seriously, the mirth of the evening long subsided. You are sitting opposite him, a rough wooden table between you, with crumbs of bread scattering your empty plates.
“You act like great wealth and gleaming riches must be what I want in life.” you reply simply, and he grimaces.
“They are what you deserve. You are far too beautiful to travel on beaten roads with me.”
You scoff.
“You are far too talented to have me hanging around with you.”
He straightens, thinking intently.
“I believe the only reason I even have such a talent was so you’d find me.” he deduces, and you give him a lopsided smile.
“If you say so, Oscar. But I am here now, and I assure you, I don’t care for anything you supposedly cannot offer me. I am rather happy to be woken up with a song, if that’s all you’d like to give me.”
He can’t give a reply that feels enough for that sentiment, so he closes his mouth, and opts for a smile that warms your cheeks instead.
You fall in love with him pretty quickly. It doesn’t take very much, when every ounce of your being already screams it. But you settle in instantly, in his quaint home in Thrace, and so that is how you exist.
He sings with the larks, and you listen as you slowly become his muse.
You accompany him at every show, clapping until your hands come up red.
He whispers that he loves you with each breath.
It is one evening, when he is stuck on some troublesome lyrics.
“This song does not sound right.”
“You haven’t tried singing it yet.” you bemuse, planting an affectionate kiss to his forehead.
He holds the palm of your hand against his cheek.
“Are you bored of me yet?” he asks, quieter now, but his grip on your hand tightens.
You almost laugh at the absurdity of his question.
“I think you should rest. This song-writing is making you delirious.” you joke, with a light chuckle, but he looks up at you now.
“I’m being serious. You must answer me.” he pleads, and your laughter dies in your throat.
“You are ever so dramatic, Oscar. I could never be bored of you.” you confirm, relishing the gentle twist of your heart when he beams.
“Well, that is rather excellent. How opposed would you be to marrying me, then?” he mutters casually, his focus back on the paper, and you inhale.
“Not that opposed.” you mumble back, flushing slightly, and you watch the steady stretch of a grin on his downturned face.
“Maybe I will dedicate this song to Hymenaois, then.” he adds, before falling silent in a careful concentration.
It is not even a month later than you are to be wed. He is a friend to all, but a close friend to nearly none, and you had not picked up many companions on your travel. So, it would be small. Authentic.
So disgustingly full of undeniable, cosmic, love, that it didn’t matter who was in attendance or not.
The wedding is the first day of Spring. That is not by intention- instead, the storms subside, and the sun shines in a way you haven’t seen in months.
You do not understand why, until you see Persephone standing amongst the gathered crowd.
She clearly knows Oscar, giving him an affectionate embrace, before asking him to sing the song she loves the most.
He promises to oblige, after the ceremony.
A great feast follows your eternal vows, and you spend the rest of the day hand in hand, eyes full of stars.
It is sickening. You do not care.
People on their travels join the festivities, and strangers become friends, and soon the air is so full of laughter and music that no one realises it’s time to take their leave until well into the evening, when torchlight is no longer enough to illuminate the night.
With tight embraces and hearty chuckles, joyous travellers depart, retreating back to the beaten path ahead of them, wishing you an eternity of happiness together.
You assure them that if they return to your humble home in thrace, they will find you, hands still clasped. Same starry look, even if you both now have wrinkles and deep smile lines.
You do not realise how very wrong you are.
Neither of you knew Aristaeus well. He roamed the land nearby, tending to his bleating sheep in the morning, watching from afar.
He watched the festivities from a distance, too.
His angry eyes never did leave you two, trailing your bodies as you twirled with the birds above.
There is a reason why the seven deadly sins are deemed mortal- for every man experiences them all, at least once. They do not always kill, but they do kill too often.
And right now, Aristaeus is struggling, as Envy paints his heart so green, he doesn’t even bleed red anymore.
He would object, say you are marrying the wrong man, to reconcile his evil.
But he knows you are marrying the right man, and he is just jealous.
But the idea of your hand in his is an image he can’t push away, and it remains steadfast.
Ugly, and all consuming, and it makes him more an animal than the sheep circling his feet.
So, he concocts a plan, far too unholy to ever whisper aloud.
As you return from your wedding, walking carelessly down the path he knows you will take, he will jump out, and Oscar will become his first human victim.
He figures it cannot be much different than slaughtering a lamb, which he will do soon, and the blood of his sheep will soon make him forget the blood of your husband.
As you walk, blissfully unaware of who is lurking in the shadows, Oscar straightens.
“Something isn’t right-” he begins, and then you see Aristaeus, wielding a crude dagger, trained on Oscar.
There is no hesitation between either man.
Oscar tightens his grip on your hand, and he begins to run.
You trail behind him, adrenaline dulling the ache of your outstretched arm, dress flapping in the sudden wind.
The chase is unnervingly silent, but relentless, and you’re confused by the gleam on the shepherd’s face, until you realise you’re running out of path.
“Oscar, we have nowhere to go.” you cry out, breath catching, but he shakes his head determinedly.
“Watch your step.” he demands, his voice barely gentle, before turning into shrubland that becomes woodland.
The crunch of unbroken twigs behind you indicates the unrelenting nature of Aristaeus, and it feels like a cruel reminder that night always follows day.
You do not know how much longer you can run for. You do not know who he is chasing, but you don’t feel like two separate people anyway.
You do not know how much longer your legs are going to last. You decide to make them last, because you refuse to let go of Oscar’s hand.
It is just as you are thinking this, ignoring the ache in the soles of your feet, that you feel a sharp nip at your ankle.
Then your hand stiffens in his, with no warning, and your body falls.
And then you are dead.
Aristaeus sees the viper, sees the way its teeth sink into your barely exposed ankle, and he admits it’s truly rotten luck for you, and him too.
So he retreats, to curse whoever planted that snake, and he doesn’t wait to see Oscar’s reaction to losing you once again, not that he can remember the first time.
He feels you stumble, and fall, and turns to face you. But he cannot, because your face is planted in the dirt, and you are stiff.
He drops to his knees, desperately pulling at you, but he knows it is too late.
When something slithers away from your foot, it takes all his decency to stop himself from coaxing it towards his only body.
Your name falls from his lips in broken sobs, his chest heaving. His hand doesn’t leave yours, even though your palm grows colder.
Oscar becomes a crazed man. He cannot sing, for his voice breaks without you. He wonders what to do, how best to join you. He figures a broken heart cannot beat forever, so he decides to let it happen, to wait until his clockwork heart stops ticking, run down by your loss.
He is so crazed, that an idea only a madman could think of corrupts his darkened mind.
He figures, if he can reach the Underworld, that maybe, he can bring you back.
You’d told him his music was a gift more powerful than life- maybe he could use it to give you yours back.
“Father.” he bellows, as rain falls onto his shoulders.
“Son.” is Apollo’s simple response, his body not quite materialising, but his presence evident.
“If I was to find my way to Hades, could you demand him to listen to my song?” he asks, his voice quivering, and the silence that follows is heavy.
“You will never survive the journey there.”
Oscar sighs.
“That is not what I am asking. Can you make him listen?”
Apollo grunts.
“I suppose, I suppose I could. But, do you understand, child? You will die.”
“I have died already.” he answers flippantly, but Apollo's confirmation makes him certain he will make the trip.
He will bring you back, with what had brought you to him in the first place.
You don’t quite understand where you are, when you awake, but you don’t really awake.
Instead, you rise, greeted by gleaming dark walls and a fog that would chill you to your core, if you still had one.
How do you explain being alive, but also very much being dead?
You can’t.
So instead, you float around, and you curse yourself for not believing in the myths before.
“I recognise you. I did not expect to see you again, so soon.” bellows a voice, and you turn, facing a man of great stature.
He is wearing an overly crisp suit, devoid of all colour, and you’re convinced his hair may be flaming a dark navy, even though that seems rather impossible.
And to his right, is a stricken face that you recognise.
“Persephone.” you call, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile.
“Hello, dear. It is a shame to see you again, here. Like this.” she confesses, and you frown.
“Where is Oscar?”
“Up with the living.” the man answers, pressing his fingers together, and you pause.
“Hades.”
It isn’t quite an accusation- it sits somewhere between that and a statement.
“You are cleverer than you look. Welcome to the Underworld. For some reason, you’re rather obstinate in getting a reckoning. I believe I know why.” he murmurs, but his voice is anything but quiet. You do not ask him to elaborate- he does not offer to.
“How can I see him again?” you ask carefully, and Persephone turns away from you, unable to look at your eyes, so empty to how they were the day before.
“When. When he dies.” Hades corrects, giving you a cold smile.
“When will that be?” you push, desperate now, and he scoffs.
“That is for the fates to decide. You’re rather intertwined with their string, you see. But he cannot live for too long, without you, anyway. He is sure to die of a broken heart.” he states finally, and you think of him, alone.
You do not think that you are alone, yourself.
Hades does not admit that he wants you both dead, sooner rather than later.
So once you slowly forget about eachother, stop finding eachother, you’ll finally settle into his kingdom, none the wiser that you’ve escaped him for lifetimes.
“Can I see him?” you whisper, try, ache.
It is merciful of him not to laugh. Maybe he would’ve, if Persephone hadn’t rammed her heel into his foot.
“No.”
Oscar spends days preparing, scouring old tales and snippets of songs, until he’s certain there is a cave, where one could descend to the Underworld.
Armed with his lyre, and a dented sword, and a lamp, he begins to walk.
“Child, are you really going to do this?” Apollo asks, appearing beside him.
Oscar tightens his grip on his lyre.
“I will die trying.” he responds, his eyes not stretching to meet his fathers.
After a moment, Apollo speaks.
“I am willing to grant you my protection. You will make it there. Once you are there, I cannot help you. I cannot see you. You will be alone.”
He hesitates.
“I will not be alone. She is there.”
Apollo laughs, but it’s bitter.
“I wish you luck. I wish you survival. I wish you not to encounter the wrath of Hades.”
With that, he leaves, but Oscar knows it is good to get used to the absence of the sun.
He walks for several days, his feet aching.
Your wedding had not been on the first day of Spring. It was indeed still Winter, the grace of Persephone and Hymenaois just granting you some warmth for the celebration.
Even if it was the season of rebirth, it would taste too much of death to him regardless.
Cold settles in his throat, his nose painted an embarrassing red, and he tries to ignore his breath being warmer than the air around him.
The wind whistles your name; and that is enough to keep him taking each careful step.
When the wind subsides, your name is still his mantra, pushing him onwards, forwards.
He never thought he would march towards Death, but here he is.
He’s oddly certain he sees three women following him, trailing behind tree trunks, each of them bearing some thin red string.
They do not appear, simply dancing in the corner of his eye, as the leaves grow thicker above his head.
“She is dead, you do know that?” calls one of them, but as he turns, she is gone.
“You are simply walking towards your own early grave.” another adds, this time from in front of him, but the swish of a skirt is all he catches.
“Your love for her is not stronger than our scissors.” the third announces, her voice echoing, and he spins.
They laugh at his attempt to watch them, the sound cruel and mocking.
“Look harder, boy.” starts the first one, and the sound seems to come from directly above.
His jaw slackens, and he turns forward again.
He keeps walking, trying to ignore the cheering, but they do not let up.
“She would not want you to kill yourself, Oscar.” one reprimands, with a patronising tut, and his hand curls into an aggravated fist.
“Leave me alone.” he mutters, which is received with louder howls of laughter.
“How can we leave you alone, if you’re not even sure we are here?” they counter, their voices blending into one chilling sound.
And so, Oscar does the only thing he knows that silences those around them. He sings.
The words he wants to say morph and blur into streams of sounds, and notes higher and lower than he’s ever reached before blurt out into the dark forest, bouncing off the leaves.
Insects gather by his feet, and birds he cannot see whistle along with him, and his newest melody rings out, daring the women to keep mocking him, daring them to break the tune.
This song, he realises, is his song about you.
That song he couldn’t write.
It is heard now, loud, and unwavering, simultaneously shredding and healing his wounded heart, and the Fates do not interrupt. They just pity his inevitable failure, and how soon he will join you.
But not up here, somewhere much lower.
You overlook the River Styx, Charon’s tedious rhythm with his paddle. The water overlaps the oar in the same size ripple, every time. It is monotonous. It helps you calm down.
You do not know grief; it is a stranger to you.
And so, you do not speak to the other souls roaming around. In some ways, they feel less alive than you do.
Persephone becomes a comfort, even though you assume she is only so kind to you because she feels she owes it to Oscar.
“There are so many people over there, on the other side. Look at the way they stretch their arms, desperate to get onboard.” you notice, chilled.
She grimaces, when you say ‘people.’
Their ghostly bodies contort in a way that is sickening, desperate to escape the burning banks of the river.
“Do they all deserve an eternal fate such as that?” you ask, sullen, and Persephone sighs.
“It isn’t Tartarus.” is her simple response, one you assume has been drilled into her.
“But not all of them are destined for Tartarus, are they?” you reply simply, and she gives you a strained look.
“No, they’re not. But that is the way it is. If you cannot pay for passage, you cannot pass.”
You look down, saddened.
“He sang for the coins on my eyes.”
Persephone smiles.
“The Fates play funny tricks on us, huh? They never seem to be on our side.”
You hum in agreement, but it’s a broken sound.
“Do you love Hades?”
It is a risky question, but you do not see the risk in it. You are already dead, anyway.
She inhales sharply, her voice lowering.
“There was once a time. After I learnt to live with the lack of choice in it all.” she answers, and you give her a glance, not fully understanding her cryptic answer.
“It is nothing like you and Oscar, though. Maybe it used to be. Maybe it should be, I do not know. Death does not have much room for a beating heart.” she clarifies, even though it does anything but clear it up.
You do not press her for more, you do not comment on the tear trailing down her cheek.
Instead, you watch, as the salty water shows you flowers, now wilted. Her sister's laughter turned to stone stares. The cycle of the seasons, each Winter looking darker and longer than the last.
You see her mourning those who are alive, even though she is surrounded by the dead.
You see her mourning her own life, even though she still breathes, when you can’t.
You see her.
“Thank you, for coming to our wedding.” you say finally, looking back out to the endless river, and you gives you a shaky smile.
“I had heard it was to be a wedding that someone would write an epic for. The rumour of your love had been carried by whispers all the way down here. And, I always had a soft spot for Oscar’s music. He used to greet me when I’d come to visit above ground, with some stupid song. We were good friends.”
“Are.” you correct, because she could still see him, for a measly few months of the year.
“You’ll tell him I say hello, won’t you?” you ask nervously, and she nods.
“Of course. I don’t wish for you to be stuck here, unsorted, for too long. But I also hope you may be able to tell him yourself.” she murmurs comfortingly, and you give her a weak smile of appreciation.
“I figure it is because of him that I cannot ship you off to be reckoned. You have a rather obstinate connection to him, you see. I merely forgot why I did not even welcome you here last time, just sent you straight back into the world.” comes Hades’ cruel voice, and the other souls turn to face him.
They do not seem to even know their own name anymore, or who they are. Who they used to be.
Instead, they just wait, until Tartarus or the Fields call for them. You do not know how long they have been waiting for. You do not want to know.
“Persephone, come with me. Leave her be.” he commands, and you shudder.
Persephone gives you a fleeting look, before she takes his arm gracefully, and leaves you to stare into the shadows alone.
Oscar does not stop singing for the next two nights. He’s sure he must hum in his sleep, because the world remains too quiet.
He hears the first voice in a while, when he reaches the mouth of the cave.
“Once you descend, you are out of my hands.” calls a familiar voice, and he straightens.
“Father. Thank you.”
Apollo grimaces.
“It is alright. I wish you luck. Your voice has enchanted many. In this case, I hope it is enough to keep you alive. You must pass Charon, and Cerberus. No mortal has ever managed before. Very few Gods have.”
Oscar’s face twitches into a frown, but he doesn’t falter, doesn’t inch away from the coarse rock.
“When we get out, will you protect us?” he asks, and Apollo raises an eyebrow.
“If you make it out, you shall not encounter harm until you are back home, in Thrace. I will bless your return. But Hades should not be underestimated. He enjoys the art of trickery.”
Oscar doesn’t know if it is intentional, the patch of sun that covers the edge of the cave. A rare appearance, the first he’d seen since beginning his quest.
“Once you both make it here, to see the light, you have my word, child.” Apollo assures, and Oscar nods gratefully.
“Thank you, father. I will not disappoint you.”
Apollo shakes his head.
“It is not about disappointment. I do not care if you succeed, I just care that you live. And do not anger him, for I am not willing to disturb the peace of Olympus for your wife.” he finishes, and then he is gone.
Oscar swallows, and begins to sing again, his voice guiding him down the badly carved steps.
The steps to hell.
It is like a crack in the wall- the way he enters the Underworld.
The song, much like everything else, dies in his throat.
An endless mob of freshly dead cower at the jetty over the River Styx, pushing towards a ridiculously small boat.
Charon, hooded and mysterious, stands at the stern.
He bears a paddle, and a lamp, and a sack of coins hanging from his thin waist.
Oscar pushes his way to the front, confused by the sensation of touching flesh that isn’t really human.
“I need passage.” he demands, and Charon extends a palm with a practiced silence.
Oscar did not think to carry coins.
“If you cannot pay, you cannot cross.” Charon shouts, his head tilting to reach Oscar’s eyes.
“Does that not only apply to the dead?” Oscar tries, but it doesn’t work.
“If you cannot pay-” Charon begins again, before staring at him more intently.
“Huh. You actually are alive. I haven’t had a living passenger in a long time. But most of them were clever enough to bring a payment.” Charon murmurs, giving him a dismissive wave.
“Wait! I have a gift; but not quite a payment. God-given.” he pleads, reaching for the lyre strung on his back.
Charon rescinds his hand, but remains quiet.
When Oscar sings, he does not sing the same song that has guided him here, to you.
Instead, he sings of death, and grief, and how the beauty of angels might not be worth the ugliness of the living.
For a second, it is quieter than silence. Arms stop flailing, mouths stop wailing, and it stills.
You are too far across the water to see what has caused the peace. You do not see a man wielding a lyre as a knight may wield a sword, singing his way back to you.
His singing, being his way of fighting.
Instead, your heart twists, and you hope those weary souls have a moment of respite. You praise whatever has caused them to feel a little more human again. To feel something other than anguish.
Much like everything else, Charon is enchanted by Oscar.
Oscar himself can’t help but wonder if his parents had been far too generous with his gift.
Nonetheless, Charon shuffles him on, and he is sandwiched between an older man with deep smile lines and a girl no older than twelve.
He smiles at her, sadly.
“What’s your name?” he asks, carefully. Like she might break, although she’s already dead.
Her answer is nonsensical, but he accepts it gratefully. “Mouse.”
“I’m Oscar.” he replies, but her face remains small and expressionless.
“Sing, please.” she whispers finally, after a moment of heavy silence.
His throat is itchy, from the smog of the place. The air is thicker, hotter, than he is used to.
He should save his voice for his plea to Hades.
He does not. He always had too much compassion for the strays of the world. He sang to monsters, if they were pitiful enough.
He sings of a mouse, a mouse who is so very loved that those who knew her find it impossible to not speak of her.
The mouse is brave. The mouse is beautiful, in the way all children are.
The mouse is not dead. That is comforting enough, and he sees it, in the way her eyes widen slightly, and her ghostly hands drum along.
It is then, that he thinks of how you may look now.
Are you so pale, that you are nearly sheer? Can you still smile, or will he have to cling to twitches by your lips?
It does not matter; he will cling to you either way.
You make the closest thing to a friend that you assume to be possible, considering you are soul and mind, lacking a body.
Maybe it doesn’t take a body to connect with someone anyway. Maybe that is just something humans decided, because they could.
Ariadne, is her name. She has a faraway look that you recognise- the same you had before you found Oscar.
“So, how come you’re still here?” you ask, gesturing to the scattered array of gormless souls, still too attached to their life above to quite slip into the realms beyond.
You assume that this feels much like asking someone who was jailed what they were jailed for; it’s somewhere between curious and competitive.
Like you want to know if, somehow, you win.
She hesitates.
“Are you willing to answer that first?”
She is the most alive of them, you decide. The others can barely see you, but she smiles. With her eyes, that almost still have colour.
You figure it must be something big, something wholly as large as life. As large as your love, as cosmic as it, you doubt.
But maybe she comes close. She must.
“My, Oscar, my husband.” you explain, the word bitter. You’d said the vows, but it had been less than a sunset between it becoming official, and your arrival here. So to call him your husband felt more like a technicality, and not a title of truth.
She laughs, even though it is not a joke. You’re not sure whether you should be offended.
“I think it is because they do not know what to do with me. They never knew what to do with me up there, either.” she admits, and although it’s meant to be gentle, it is almost daring.
As if she is an outlier, a problem that not even the Gods can determine. Even death does not make her solved.
You wonder what is worse- dying unloved, or loving until you die.
You both end up alone either way, and so you figure you got the better deal.
“All this talk of great choices and the grandest empire, and yet, we have no real choice in the matter of our own lives anyway.” she adds, and you wonder if she might be right.
And maybe it isn’t rotten luck, like you hope it is. Instead, you are rather simply doomed, and that is how it is meant to be.
And as Oscar slowly moves on without you, you will be damned to Tartarus for even thinking such thoughts, for cursing the Fates. If you push, if you aggravate, they simply push harder.
“I’m inclined to agree.” hums Persephone, a stonier look on her face than usual.
You do not ask how the two women know each other, if it was in life or death, but it is evident that this is not the first time they have spoken.
It is then, that there is a great clamour, and the incessant barking of Cerberus fades from background noise into a steady silence.
The gates to the Underworld have fallen, their sole protector, asleep at the door.
You wonder which God has decided to turn their anger to Hades, you wait for cracks of thunder or bursts of light.
Instead, in walks someone who is so very ordinary, and so very familiar, you cannot help but try to weep.
Beside the limp, peaceful body of the giant three-headed-dog, stands your husband, the very first mortal to ever make it this far.
And you are certain he has come to see you.
One look at your face, and it is obvious who it is.
“He’s insane.” Ariadne guffaws, her jaw slack with surprise.
“He’s in love.” Persephone amends, and you give her a grateful nod.
You do not cry his name; there is no need. Instead, you give him a rueful smile, and you can tell he relaxes slightly at the sight of you, and that you still look like you.
Even after all of it, you’re still the person who keeps his heart beating.
“You are not meant to be here.” bellows a voice you have grown to recognise, even if you despise the man carrying it.
Hades descends from carved steps, his flaming hair burning the brightest you’ve yet seen it.
“I am Oscar. I am a child of the Sun. I want my wife back.” he demands, his voice unwavering, but you can tell he’s nervous.
You try to move to his side, but Persephone gives you a warning hiss.
“Do not. I know you want to go to him, but that will aggravate Hades. They must sort this between them.” she whispers, and you don’t fight her, but you scowl.
“He’s your husband. Why don’t you say something?”
It’s an unfair question, and you can’t take it back, but she doesn’t hold it against you.
“Well, there is no sun here, if you haven’t noticed.” Hades counters, and it’s a fair response.
But a scary one, watching Oscar try to fight a premature death.
You almost wish he hadn’t come. But you know you’re too selfish to truly mean that.
“I want my wife back.” he repeats plainly, his hand reaching for his back.
You know he is not the type to carry a sword, and he is not the type to duel a God.
But you hope he brandishes a weapon of some sort, something to protect him.
You almost laugh when his worn lyre appears in his hands.
Hades does what you don’t- his sarcastic chuckle filling the air.
“I do not want a performance. Turn around, and be on your way, before I condemn you here for the rest of your life. Away from her.” he adds, and Oscar tenses.
“Maybe you do not want one, but perhaps you need one.” he responds, as if it’s the simplest thing. Your heart squeezes so tightly that you forget you are not alive. You swear you can taste blood with how hard you’re biting the inside of your cheeks.
Hades is evidently intrigued, possibly by the sheer audacity of Oscar. Or maybe, something a little more tender within him.
“You should listen, Hades.” Persephone murmurs, her voice barely audible, but it is a gesture of such kindness that you know you can never repay, if Oscar survives this.
And so, he gives a grave nod.
And Oscar begins.
You do not recognise the melody he starts to sing, but you know it. With every fibre of being, it exists within you, etching you and painting you in a way your very genetics never could.
The song is you, all of you. From the breath that catches when you look at the boy ahead, from the patterns you see if you rub your eyes a little too hard.
Every crevice of you, every corner, is revealed in this song.
It is a song of something no one can name.
It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever heard.
You almost feel bashful admitting this, because you are so sure you are the muse. And yet, it is undeniable.
Persephone cries for you, her tears once again refracting to images of your past. The look in your eyes as he spun you the day before.
There is no sign of the future. You hope it is because it hasn’t been decided yet.
You do not know Hades very well, but you are sure his eyes soften.
His arm extends slightly, barely a whisper of movement, but she sees it.
And with that, she steps towards him, her hand taking his.
It must be enough. It must be.
There is no one to hold you back now, and so you run.
Oscar stands opposite Persephone, a wild grin on his face, and you give Hades a desperate smile. You wonder how you must look to Ariadne; if she can find any similarities in the way you clutch your lovers.
“Let her go.” Persephone says, her voice clear. A demand, that is frayed. A demand she will shrink from, if her husband denies it.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pauses.
“Do you love him?”
“More than anything.” you reply instantly, without so much as blinking.
“More than life?”
“I am loving him in death.”
He likes that answer, it seems.
He turns to Oscar now, with a demanding stare.
“Do you trust her?”
He nods, glancing at you in adoration.
There is no need to speak, not with the echoes of his melody still hanging heavy in the air.
In the glisten of Persephone’s eyes, in Hades’ tightened knuckles.
In the gentle breaths of the gargantuan dog, in the steady rhythm of Charon’s boat.
In the very web that weaves the universe, his song is playing. A quiet hum.
“You will be given life under the sun.” Hades decides, but his tone is cunning.
“But there is one simple rule. If you love him, as you say, you will follow him. And if you trust her, as you say, you shall not need to look back, to check she is there. You will not even need to speak.”
Oscar straightens.
“So, I can’t look at her, as we walk back? I cannot talk to her?”
Hades nods.
“If your love is true, if it is larger than life, stronger than the string of fate, you will manage this. Any failure now, is your own.” he concludes, and you grip Oscar’s hand, practically feeling your flesh returning to you.
“I’ll be here. I won’t let go. I’m coming with you.” you promise, your voice not even wavering.
You stare into his eyes, daring him to find even a flicker of distrust. A flicker of anything other than devotion and determination. When he comes up blank, with a nod, you flex your fingers affectionately on the back of his hand.
“We can make it. We will make it.”
“Do not let go of me.” he whispers, pleads.
“I would not dream of it.” you reply.
And with that, he turns back the way he came.
Your hand, almost painfully tight in his.
“Do you think they’ll make it?” Persephone asks, her voice strangled.
“I don’t know.”
“You let them go, Hades.” she mutters, almost in disbelief, almost in distrust.
“I let them try.” he corrects, his tone bitter, and she nods.
“Try they will.”
Silence does not typically accompany Oscar. Music follows him, as the way the Earth trails the sun, in an orbit dutifully complete.
But as his hand settles in yours, he waits for you to say a word, any word.
Even though you can’t.
‘I’m here. I’m coming.’ you scream, but it swirls in your mind.
Charon does not require another song, to let you both pass. He does not look at you, on the journey across.
You know it is worse for him, staring, and hoping you are there. The feel of your hand, barely grounding him. Now it is just something he has grown accustomed to. You squeeze it, and notice his stare soften slightly.
At least you get to see his face. He does not have that comfort.
As your feet touch the marshland on the other side, you grimace.
The crowd of souls are packed, a gormless gaggle, and you know Oscar must be struggling to not check that you are weaving through them with him, your shoulder brushing with one miserable man after another.
‘Do not turn around.’ you beg him silently, and he nods to himself, like he is thinking the same thing.
You are surprised you make it that far. It is then, when you realise the cruelty of the task. The impossibility of it all.
It is a task that not even Hades himself can manage. He drags Persephone back each autumn, with a cold grip and fiery temper, and he does not care who starves, who freezes, as a result.
He is a selfish man. He is no God.
You believe that Oscar is closer to being worthy of such a title than Hades ever will be.
The doubt creeps in as he makes it the crack in the wall. The shred in hell’s tapestry, the way to the stairs, the way to the sunlight.
He doesn’t know how long he has been walking for, but each step is heavier.
‘But Hades should not be underestimated. He enjoys the art of trickery.’
He had not underestimated him. He had assumed Hades would kill him on the spot. Maybe that is more merciful than this. This was sure to send him insane.
The trickery, that caused his mouth to dry.
Who was he? Who was he to think he had beaten a God, had succeeded. What a foolish thing to think.
And yet, he is certain he feels your hand is his.
He is certain that must be real, and this voice in his head is evil. He will not turn back.
He will not look at you, until you are bathed in a light sent from his father.
Each step feels steeper than the last.
With each step, he is sure you have fallen.
But your grip remains steady, your feet in tandem with his.
You can see it, the anguish on his face. The exhaustion, the uncertainty. He grabs you as if you are his lifeline, and that it is not the other way.
‘Sing, Oscar. Sing.’ you implore, brushing his knuckles with your lips. Maybe you’re testing Hades’ rules. You hope he cannot see you. He did not specify that it was not allowed.
‘You are not alone. Wait for me- I am coming.’ you urge, beg.
You think it is enough, because he almost manages a broken smile.
And so, he sings.
It is a melody that is all too cheerful, all too fake. Too hopeful for this. Maybe he is being optimistic.
You assume he is trying to grip onto any joy left in his fickle heart, the heart he tore out and gave to you all those months ago.
It works, for another few hours, until it grates in his ears, and no sound comforts him more than his own song. That is when he realises something is rather seriously wrong.
He is desperate to see your face, even the shadow of a smile. Anything.
It eats at him, an ache in his stomach that hurts more than hunger ever has. He is desperate.
But is it worth a glimpse of you now, to never see you again?
He is certain it is not, and so, he keeps walking.
Once again, he ignores the pain in his feet. He ignores the blood on his ankles.
He ignores it all, and walks. He walks to you, for you.
You, you, you.
It hammers louder than his thoughts hurt, it beats harder than his tearing heart.
He’s bringing you home, hand in fucking hand.
You can see it. You first notice it by the glow on his face, his left side illuminated.
That is the sun. You have made it.
Once your damp eyelashes touch it, taste it, let the light kiss you so gently, he is yours.
Not that he wouldn’t have been, in death.
But here he is yours, in life.
Your hand, aching, still stuck in his, shakes.
You can taste the air in your lungs.
You can taste life again.
And so can he, you can tell from the new bounce, the way his steps quicken.
He wants to bound out of the shadows, and throw you over his shoulder, and run home.
He knows, in a few more agonising steps, he can.
There is some pride, some spite, in the smug grin on his face.
The way he knows Hades must be watching, some ugly loss. He had won, he had got you back. He had given life from death.
He is the first man to walk there, and come back with a soul on his arm.
It was worth all of it.
When the sun glows on his face, it is glorious.
He has never felt something so warm, something so beautiful.
Except maybe when he first met you.
But that is of no consequence now, because he has done it, and you have followed him, like you promised.
His pulse quickens as you excitedly flutter your things, taking the last step of these shadowed stairs, and the first of the rest of your life.
But fate has a funny way of making an ordeal of these things, of snatching things just as you think you’ve gripped it.
You stumble slightly, and your hand stiffens in his, with no warning. All too familiar. That is how he lost you the first time.
He turns.
Of course he turns.
You know that an Oscar who doesn’t turn now, is an Oscar that had never loved you enough to even try.
But your face is still enshrouded in darkness, ankle throbbing from a misstep, and you look so beautiful he could cry.
And then he does, as with a desperate yell of his name, you are dragged away from him.
And so, that is how he looses you again.
A heart that breaks before it heals does not last for long, and Oscar is grateful for such a fact. Because his shattered heart fails him soon after, and he is just as dead as you are. His only solace is that he knows that he got so close this time. He almost did it. He can almost do it again, the next time. And he will almost do it, over and over, until it finally goes right, no matter how many lifetimes it takes.
AUTHORS NOTE: hi everyone! I saw Hadestown last month, so I snuck some references in<3, like the fates. I loved them in the show. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! as always, feedback is so welcome and so appreciated!! this isn't properly proof read, be lenient with mistakes please lovelies!! anyway, orpheus!Oscar, I love you. I am sorry. also the 'mouse' girl is real :'), there's a roman inscription on a grave of a young girl with no name, only the nickname mouse. I love you 'mus.'
MASTERLIST (SERIES)
listening to the hadestown soundtrack while reading this is like speed running misery
I care too much about this millionaire.
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Please the anti *insert driver name* tags are the scariest places ever I’ve had to block so many blogs that pop up on my feed😭
no right why do you hate someone so much that you’ve formed a whole tag around it?? Like you can so easily just ignore😭😭😭
they don’t know about us — op81
part 2 of 2
cw: 16+ suggestive but nothing explicit, use of y/n (only a couple times), questionable age gap (6 yrs), controversially young girlfriend, third act breakup (ish)
wc: ~4k
part 1
You wouldn't have missed Australia for anything. Not only because it was Oscar's home race, but also because you hadn't seen him in two months.
It felt more like an eternity.
The second you saw an opportunity, you were sneaking off to meet him. Behind the hospitality again, just how you were the last time you were in the paddock.
"That number 1 looks sexy on your car." You grinned, bottom lip between your teeth.
He hummed, pushing the hair from your face. "I think it would look even better on you. Much better than that four."
"and you know I'd love to wear your number, but-"
"You can't. I know." He sighed, mildly frustrated.
You frowned. "I'm sorry." Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck and twisted his hair between your fingers. "I missed you. More than you can imagine."
His nose scrunched in thought. "Hm, I bet I can imagine it exactly." He grinned, a little lop sided. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you forward. "Actually, I don't think you could imagine how much I missed you."
He didn't give you space to argue, kissing you before you could even open your mouth. Slow and gentle.
You pulled away smiling, looking up at him like he'd hung the stars for you. Your attention was snagged by a movement behind Oscar, the sway of fabric. Your smiled dropped, eyes widened. "Hattie," you gasped.
She was frozen, mouth agape and her eyes still searching the scene.
Following your gaze, Oscar turned. His body tensed.
"Fuck, Hattie-"
"You're dating?" Her eyes weren't on her brother, but on you.
"Please don't say anything-"
"Isn't she like eighteen?"
"Nineteen, but-"
"Oscar, what the fuck!" She looked at him finally, glaring at him with such thick disgust.
"Keep your voice down." He pleaded.
Despite shaking her head, she obliged, "that's- how could you go after someone that young? She's younger than Edie!"
"I know." He sighed. "I didn't plan it like that it just happened."
"You don't just happen to start dating someone."
"Hattie, please-"
You cut him off. "I went after him. I met him last year, in Monaco. And I felt... pulled to him." She tilted her head, but didn't interrupt. "It was all me, don't be mad at him."
She was quiet for a while, biting her cheek in thought.
"Please, just don't tell anyone. I'm happy, and I don't want people to ruin that."
It felt like an eternity had passed, your heart pounding in your chest, silently pleading with her. Finally, she sighed. "Okay. I won't say anything." She shook her head, glancing away. "But I'm still not happy about this." She added, a pause, and then, "I am happy that you're happy, though."
A small smile curved Oscar's lips. "Thank you." He breathed.
For the second year in a row, Australia didn't go well for him. Not nearly as bad as last year, but the win was just within his reach this time. At one point, when he overtook George on lap 24, he'd held it delicately in the palm of his hand.
Then came the pit stops. Four seconds. He felt the win brush his fingertips as it slipped from his grasp.
You didn't find the opportunity to see him until much later, after media, when lando was too busy with his girlfriend and Oscar's family had long gone home.
Your knuckles hit the door of his room, soft, just enough to let him know someone was there. Still, he didn't respond. You didn't blame him, but you opened the door regardless of his lack of response.
All the lights were off, the curtains drawn closed. The light from the hospitality spilled into the room. You closed it before he could complain. Now only the cracks in the curtains provided minimal light.
He sat on the couch, elbows balanced on his knees and head in his hands. Your silence greeted him as you sat beside him.
Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. "I don't want to hear it." His voice flat, definite.
You tilted you head, brows furrowed. "Hear what?"
"Whatever you're going to say to try and make me feel better."
You bit your lip, face etched in concern. "Do you want me to go?" You finally asked.
He shook his head without a second thought. "No." Quiet. A little broken. "Please stay." He looked up at you then, soft eyes making him look fragile.
Nodding, you reached up, hand threading through his hair. He found a home in the curve of your neck, one hand finding your unoccupied one, squeezing gently. The other wrapped around your waist. "I wish you could come home with me."
He didn't say it to make you feel guilty, but it still had that effect. A lengthy silence. "I know, me too." A deep breath. "I'm sorry."
He balled your shirt up in his hand, twisted the fabric between his fingers. "What for?"
Your hand paused in his hair, a beat, then resumed. "This. For forcing us to be a secret."
He pulled back, looked up at you. The little light in the room catching his eye, gleaming orange. His lips curved slightly. "You don't see me wanting it another way, do you?"
"No, but-"
"Okay, then don't apologize." He eased. Hand on the back of your head, he pulled you into his chest. His heart thudded beneath your ear, quick but steady.
Saudi was hot. even at night.
The race had ended a little over a half hour ago. Oscar podiumed. Lando was right behind him, but with the back markers cluttering the track, he didn't manage an overtake. They both laid on the floor of Lando's room in the hospitality, fans blowing in their faces. You walked in with your arms full of drinks. "Okay. I have an energy drink, two waters, and some electrolyte drink. Who wants what?"
Lando perked up first. "I'll have the energy drink."
"And a water?" You raised a brow.
"No, just the-"
"And a water?" You asked again, less of a question and more of an ‘ask for the water or I'm killing you.’
"Yeah, fine. And a water." He huffed.
You threw both drinks at him, and he briefly complained about you shaking up his energy drink.
Oscar opted for the electrolytes.
Of course, you had to be petty about it. "Ah, see Lando, someone is smart." You said, sitting between the two of them, though slightly closer to Oscar.
Your brother's lips curled in disgust. "If you're going to fuck at least go do it the other room."
Terrible time for Oscar to be taking a sip of his drink. He choked on it, feeling it jump up his throat and burn his nose.
Your eyes were wide, looking at Lando like he was insane. "What on earth could have possibly prompted that kind of response?"
"You were taking his side!" He argued quickly.
"So you immediately think we're going to fuck because of that?"
Oscar's face had long ago turned red, and now he's avoiding eye contact with the both of you like his life depends on it.
Lando threw his arms wide like he didn't know how he could possibly be in the wrong. "Well!? Why else would you? Im your brother! He's the enemy!"
You chose to ignore the better half of his argument. "Because he doesn’t have to be forced to drink water?"
"That's not a valid reason."
You blinked, perplexed by the absurdity. "You are... a wonder to the universe." You sighed, standing again.
"Thank you!"
"That wasn't a compliment!" You shouted over your shoulder as you left the room.
Later that night, you'd snuck into Oscar's hotel room, as you had at every other weekend.
You were wearing a low cut tank top, just something comfortable you threw on. You didn't think anything of it.
It was all Oscar could think about.
Usually, he isn't one to stare, but lando had planted the idea in his head earlier and now it was all that he could think about.
You were rambling about some show you were watching, pacing in front of him while he sat at the end of the bed. Oscar didn't know the name of the show. Didn't even know a single fucking thing about it because he couldn't stop staring. Distracted by the curve of your tits.
Eventually, you noticed. "You're not listening." You pointed out, stationary in front of him with your hands on your hips. "What are you thinking about?" You asked after a brief silence, low, too dangerous.
He swallowed, forcing his eyes to meet your face. There was a slight grin on your face, like you knew what he was thinking, you just wanted to hear him say it. "Nothing." He breathed, not confident at all.
Your eyes narrowed as you teasingly sauntered over to him. Before he could even comprehend it, your arms were wrapped around his neck, and you were straddling his lap. Your eyes danced around the room, around his face, studying every little imperfection that somehow made him more attractive. "Well," you sighed, "if you don't tell me the truth, then I can't help you." You pouted, shifting on his lap on purpose.
This was a side of you he'd never seen before. Teasing him because you clearly knew exactly what he was thinking about. He was in awe, really.
His hands rested on your hips. Not squeezing, just there. "Was just..." he gasped as your lips started to attack his neck, nipping between every hot kiss like a vampire starved. "...thinking about what lando said earlier."
You hummed, still attacking his neck. "What did he say, baby?" Your hot breath fanned across his skin.
"About, uhm- shit," he gasped again after you'd shifted your hips, rolling yours into his. You smiled—he could feel it against his skin.
You pulled away, expression feigning confusion. "Is the thought of my brother making you this hard?" You tilted your head. "Because if that's so, then we need to have some very uncomfortable conversations."
"No, no it's-"
"Me?" You finished for him.
He swallowed, nodding. His breathing was quick, heavy, like you being so close was constricting his ability to breathe.
You grinned. "You know you could've said something instead of staring at my tits like a perv?"
There was a brief silence between you, weighted heavy by lust.
"I-" he stuttered. Didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Didn't want to rush it.
You leaned in to his ear, lips grazing as you whispered, "I want you, osc,"
That's all it took for him to break, for him to flip you over.
Lando's room was next door, as it always was. But Lando wasn't in it. No, he'd gone out for dinner with max. And likely out to a club after that.
There was no one to hear the clothes as they hit the ground, skin on skin, or the way you desperately whispered for more, Oscar's name falling from your lips like it was the only word you'd ever learned.
You hadn't meant to fall asleep in Oscar's driver room after the race in Barcelona, and Oscar hadn't meant to join you in such a peaceful state.
Lando had meant to barge in without knocking. Something he frequently did. He thought it was funny to catch Oscar off guard.
This time was anything but humorous for him.
Seeing the both of you curled up on the tiny couch made him pause in the doorway. His eyes darted to a bottle of water, screwed it open and spilt the entire thing over the both of you.
Now drenched, you shot up first. "What the fuck, Lando?!"
"I should be asking you 'what the fuck'!" He shouted, kicking the door closed. His eyes fell on Oscar, who was still a little too sleepy to properly assess the situation. "Why the fuck were you spooning my baby sister?!" he crushed the water bottle in his hand, threw it to the side. You'd never seen your brother this angry.
"Lan, —"
"He's using you! Don't you see that? He's using you to fuck with my head!"
Oscar had finally got his brain up to speed, jumping up from where he sat. "I'm not-!"
"Never took you as the kind of guy to take advantage of someone, but hey, whatever it takes to win, right?"
"I wasn't-!"
"You're going home. now." Lando took hold of your arm, a bruising grip as he dragged you away.
He managed to schedule his plane hours earlier than its original take off time. Perks of flying private.
You spent the entire flight sat far away from him. You wouldn't even look at him. Not when he said he was telling mum and dad. Not when he said he'd make sure you never saw a race again. Didn't even fight for your phone back when he confiscated it. Not one single glance.
Just silent, boiling rage.
He did as he promised, told your parents as soon as he walked in the door.
You didn't stick around for the inevitable lecture and interrogation. You just took your bags and brushed by lando—not without shoulder checking him.
It wasn't even thirty minutes later that your mom was knocking softly on your bedroom door.
You didn't answer.
"Honey, I'm coming in. I just want to talk."
Still, you didn't respond, eyes glued to the ceiling like it had the answers you needed to make everything fine. To make your head stop spinning and to fix the ache in your chest.
The door creaked open slowly. Cisca slipped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She could feel the tension in the room and see it in your grimaced expression.
Gently, she laid a hand on your leg. "He's just looking out for you. You know that, don't you?"
A brief pause where your eyes flickered to her. "Seems more like he's trying to ruin my life." You huffed.
"Lando has always had your best interest in mind."
You tried really hard not to roll your eyes at that. "Can you get my phone from him? Please?"
A beat. "No." She said quietly.
Now you looked at her. "What? Why?"
She sighed like the topic of conversation was paining her. "Lando has raised his concerns about the big age difference and-"
You sat up abruptly. "This is insane! You and dad have always loved Oscar! You said he was a 'very nice and intelligent young man'! And now you're all acting like he's the worst person in the world!"
"We just want what's best for you."
You scoffed. "And you don’t think that’s Oscar? He’s far more mature, and emotionally intelligent, and so much more kind than any of the guys my age."
Cisca sighed again. "I'll leave you be." She patted your leg one last time before leaving you with the torturous company that was your thoughts.
When they both arrived in Austria two weeks later, Oscar kept his distance from Lando. He offered smiles and short waves when necessary. Their interactions didn't reach further than that, though.
Oscar wasn't just upset with how everything went down. No, he was angry at Lando for forcing a wedge between the two of you. And he was confused, too. You hadn't answered a single message. He'd keep checking his phone hoping you'd texted him back but every time—nothing.
Everyone else could feel the tension, too. They could all feel something darker lingering between the two. No one dared to mention it, though.
Until Saturday afternoon, during lunch, right before qualifying. It was like Lando had been itching to use it against Oscar by the way he sprung such a question on him.
The leaves of Lando’s crunched under the weight of his fork—the ceramic ‘click’ of the plate a sharp ring in the space between them. Oscars head snapped up at that, brows furrowed. He’d never seen Lando show such aggression. "You're a real dick, you know that?" Lando hissed, his voice low and imperceptible to the surrounding ears.
Oscar choked on his food. "Excuse me?"
"Going after my sister like that. Taking advantage of her naivety because you knew she was so young—which, on its own is fucked up."
Despite Lando’s evident rage, Oscar remained calm. He sighed, placing his fork down and resting his chin on his intertwined hands. "Do you know how long we've been dating?" He asked, quiet and slow.
"Why does that even-"
"Six months. Almost seven." He took a pause. "Actually, I'm not even sure if we are still together because she won't answer her phone. All your doing, I assume?" The anger simmered behind his quiet tone of voice, peeking through just enough for lando to notice it.
Lando didn't say anything.
"You'd think if I was trying to use her to get under your skin, we wouldn't have been to private about it?" Oscar continued, his knuckles turned white from how hard he was clutching his hands together.
Guilt creeped up the back of Lando's neck, but he refused to stand down. "Maybe so when I did find out, I'd feel like shit for being the one to break it up." He thought about how he heard you crying that night, the sound traveling through the walls. "And for being the one to let my sister down."
He thought about how he’d call Cisca almost every night. How he’d ask to talk to you. Every time, you declined.
It was a rift he couldn’t ignore—a mile long chasm in the close relationship he’d crafted since you were born.
The anger wasn't simmering anymore. It was bubbling, approaching a boil quicker than Oscar would've liked. "I kept it private so that wouldn't happen. Because I l-" his breath caught in his throat. "I love her." His voice cracked, Oscar’s guard crumbling momentarily with it. Lando was sure his younger teammate couldn’t fake that—even if he tried.
Those three words hung in the air, hitting Lando square in the chest. He thought that perhaps—just maybe—Oscar's mood being more down than usual was because he'd been figured out, but because Lando had broken something real.
He'd quickly lost his appetite, taking his plate and dumping it in the nearest garbage bin.
Oscar watched him walk away, feeling like the whole in his chest had gotten bigger since he'd said those three words out loud.
The guilt had killed Lando far more than the thought of his teammate dating his little sister. Especially after Cisca told him you still weren't doing great. Had hardly left your room, played the same three sad songs on repeat, and only ate 1/3 of your meals.
Worst of all, it was entirely his fault.
And to set it right, he arrived home after Austria with Oscar by his side.
Sure it wasn't Oscar's first time meeting your parents. He'd met them plenty of times, but always under the label of their son's teammate and not their daughter's girlfriend—if he could even still call you that. He still didn't know where you stood, his messages still left on delivered.
When they got there, you weren’t home.
“She just left.” Cisca explained, a soft sigh.
Lando smiled softly. “So she left her room?” He asked, hopeful. “Where’d she go to.”
Cisca shrugged. “She didn’t say. Just left. But she had her AirPods in and her running shoes on, so I assume she went for a run.”
Right on cue, the front door opens and closes quietly, like someone was trying to go unnoticed. You were trying to go unnoticed.
You passed by the living room, head down and hair a mess from your run. You ignored your mother’s call of your name.
But then came another voice. His softer, gentler, and restarted the heart you thought had permanently stopped.
Your feet stilled. Your head rose and you gulped shallowly. Slowly, you turned, silently praying it wasn’t just your imagination.
When your eyes found his, you let out a heavy, relieved sigh.
You couldn’t move. Frozen in place by shock.
He came to you instead. Five long steps to close the distance. And then he was wrapping his arms around you, tucking your head into his chest.
Only when his cologne hit your nose did you really believe you weren’t imagining it. Your arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing tight.
“Are you okay?” He asked in a whisper, nails grazing your scalp.
You nodded, a small confirmation, but it weighed as much as the world to him. though you couldn’t see it, a small smile played on his lips. “Are we okay?”
You pulled back this time, just enough so he could see your face. You nodded again, more sure with a soft smile. Your eyes studied his face like you were trying to carve it in to the forefront of your brain.
It was only then that he noticed the tint of red in your eyes. He opted to not comment on it.
“Honey?” Your mom called. You looked to her for the first time in days. “Can we talk?” She asked.
Another nod of your head. Pulling away from Oscar, you took his hand in yours. Now that you got him back, you weren’t letting go.
Following your lead, he sat on the sofa next to you—the one adjacent to your parents and across from the armchair lando was in.
Cisca’s eyes were unreadable. You hated that. Hated how you couldn’t predict her mood or what she was going to say. But Oscar was there, and with his presence came comfort.
Finally, she took a breath. A shallow inhale. “You know that we aren’t all too thrilled with this age difference,” she started, her voice measured. You sat up straighter, shifting your hips. Oscar squeezed your hand, reassuring. “But he makes you happy. We can see that.” A tiny, almost imperceivable smile dawned her lips. “And from what lando has told us,” your eyes darted to your brother, who now looked sheepish. “he has good intentions.” Cisca continued.
A smile crept onto your lips as you squeezed Oscar’s hand. “So… you’re okay with it?” You asked cautiously.
A breath of silence. The anticipation stretched. And then Cisca—quiet but sure—spoke, “yes. We’re okay with it.”
For the first time in weeks, you smiled. Not a small, tight lipped one that was put on for show. A real, genuine smile that warmed the back Oscar’s neck when he saw it.
“But, school is still your first priority.” Adam cut in. “One race a month. That’s it.” He said, his tone suggesting it wasn’t a topic he was willing to debate.
“What about now? I don’t have school right now.”
He paused for a moment, mulling it over in his brain as his eyes glanced between the four other people in the room. He signed, reaching his verdict. “As long as lando doesn’t have a problem keeping an eye on you.”
Naturally, every eye in the room darted to your older brother.
His brows shut up, caught out by being called out. “Oh, no I don’t mind.” He replied, eager, shaking his head and giving you a soft smile.
Something alike to hope fluttered in his chest when you smiled back and said a small, “thank you.”
Six Months Later
You were still private.
The team knew, the drivers knew, and the media and fans had their suspicions.
Though, ‘hard launch’ will probably be the trending word in some corner of the internet following the red carpet at the prize giving ceremony.
Because despite your brother having finally won his first world championship—albeit, narrowly—you would still be walking in with his title rival and the very same man who stripped him of the exact title a year prior.
“You’re sure about this?” He asked, one hand on the wheel and the other squeezing your hand.
You smiled, a little nervous but entirely sure. “It’s been a year. I don’t want to keep hiding.” You confessed, squeezing his hand back.
He glanced at you. Once. Twice. Three times. His grin grew with each swipe of his eyes.
The car rolled to a stop. You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Don’t!” He urged. You stopped in your tracks, hand hovering by the handle. You turned to him, eyebrows crossed. Your eyes followed as he scrambled from his own seat, handed the keys over, and rounded the car.
He was beaming as he opened your door for you and offered his hand. With a small giggle, you took his hand. His palm was warm against your fingers.
As soon as you stood, the shutter of cameras increased. Constant blinding flashes and yelling. Your—now slightly wide—eyes darted, your grip on Oscar’s hand tightened. He recognized it all immediately. He leaned closed to your ear and whispered, “you can still back out. I won’t be mad.”
It was a strange phenomenon, how easily his voice managed to calm you down. How looking into his soft, concerned brown eyes made your heartbeat slow. “I’m okay,” you breathed in reply.
The cameras continued to flash. Oscar held you through every photo. It started with his hand on the small of your back and evolved into a more intimate placement. His palm on your hip, inches from your ass.
Lando saw it, but didn’t comment on it until the three of you were safely inside the building and away from any nosy reporters.
“Watch that hand, Piastri.” He scolded, giving him a stern up and down.
“You’re so dramatic.” You cut in before Oscar could say anything. “I’m almost twenty, lan.” You rolled your eyes.
“I don’t care. You could be fifty, and I’d say the same thing. You’re my little sister.”
Despite how annoying he was, that did warm your heart a little.
Later in the evening, during an intermission, you found yourself in a hallway, waiting for the restroom with lando stood across from you. Neither of you said much, just the short small talk about being bored.
Then you spoke up, your voice a little quieter than before. “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”
Lando tilted his head.
“For, you know, getting mum and dad back on board with me and Oscar and everything.”
His eyes found the black carpet. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just chewed on his gum and tapped his heel against the wall rhythmically. “Felt I owed it to you.” He finally confessed. “And Oscar.” His gaze flicked to you for a fleeting moment. “I convinced myself that he was just using you.” He started, still tapping his heel against the wall like he was trying to keep the tempo of his thoughts. “Which now I see was obviously stupid, and then he said he loved you and I’d never seen him get that emotional, and then I just felt like a total dick. So really you shouldn’t be-“
“He said he loved me?” You cut him off, though really you hadn’t been listening to a word he said after that confession. Your voice was light. Too much breath to it like you couldn’t breathe—which you couldn’t and that certainly wasn’t just because of the corset of the dress.
Lando’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I- uh- ye- uh-“ he tried to say something, but all that was going through his head was shit, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, fucking shit.
You were gone before he found his voice.
“You’ve been silent for like half the night.” Oscar laughed through the nerves, discarding the tv remote onto the bedside table. “Did something happen?”
Usually, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you into his side. But he couldn’t read you tonight. He didn’t know if he did something, and he definitely didn’t want to overstep.
You opened your mouth, sighed. Tried again, but your breath caught and you sighed again.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
You closed your eyes and gathered the courage. After a long moment, the question came. “Do you love me?”
Oscar grinned. “Yeah, of course I do.” He said, as if it was the most casual thing ever, like he was telling you he saw a tabby cat in a bay window during his morning jog.
“Will you say it?”
His smile broadened, his teeth on full display. Hand on your cheek, he forced you to look up at him. “I love you.” He annunciated every word to get his point across.
You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled in your throat, nor the smile that took over your face. “I love you, too.”
You weren’t sure who went in first, but his lips are on yours and it feels like they belong there. And his hand is holding you around your waist and it feels like safety. And he’s whispering sweet nothings between every planted peck on your face and you’ve never felt more cherished.
I’m having the worst writers block of my life rn be patient with me pls
pleeeease tell me part 2 of they dont know about us is coming soon
At some point in the next two or three days possibly maybe idk I don’t have a schedule but it’s almost done
they’re moving me so bad right now like it hurts
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Oscar drenching isack today omg that’s fam💞😭
idk if you're still taking requests but can you please make one with oscar where like the reader is the little sister of lando norris and like he's super protective of her almost like her father figure and like it's only after her 18th birthday that lando introduces her to all the other drivers of the paddock well except for carlos of course cause he's basically family to that guy so yeah it's her first time that she's allowed to talk to any of the drivers but he still keeps a hawk's eye on her and like when she talks to oscar for the first time there's like a zing and she's in love at the first sight and so is oscar but since she's so young lando is worried about oscar hurting her and scaring her for life like can you please add a bit of drama i'm sorry for such a long request you don't have to do it if it's weird or sum😭
they don’t know about us - op81
part 1 of 2
cw: use of y/n (only a couple times), questionable age gap (6 yrs), controversially young girlfriend, not proof read
5.5k words
part 2
Ever since you were born, you and Lando had been close. When you were six, all of your siblings incessantly made fun of you, blaming you for every one of their mistakes. Lando didn’t. He was at your defense every time.
So when he got into Formula one and learned how ruthless all his colleagues could be off-track, he put you on a temporary ban from his races, lasting until you were eighteen.
Before he flew off to races, you’d always complain to your dad about not being allowed to go. The answer was always the same.
“He says he does better when he knows you’re safe at home, and that’s the most important thing.”
When you turned eighteen in early January, the only gift you asked from your brother was that he take you to a race.
So he brought you to Monaco. And as a special treat for making you wait so long, he took you to the F1 movie premiere with him.
Lando had to be seen by the media, had to stop and take photos. He pointed you to Carlos—who stood in a small group away from the media, already done with the worst of his duties—and told you to wait with him until he was done.
When he saw you, Carlos’s face lit up. “Mini muppet!” He greeted, pulling you into a hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You’ve grown so much!How are you?”
You laughed. “Good now that I’m finally able to come to a race.”
Carlos smiled. “Right. Lando did have that ridiculous rule.”
“Ridiculous is an understatement.” You scoffed.
“You’re Lando’s sister?” Someone else pipped into the conversation.
“Yeah,” you turned and paused. Your smile grew.
Of course you’d seen photos of your brother’s teammate. You knew he was attractive, but in person, he was breathtakingly gorgeous. “Hi,” you breathed. “I’m y/n.” You told him, subconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
And then Alex laughed. Or really he choked while trying not to laugh. “I can see why Lando didn’t let you come to a race.”
Oscar chuckled lowly at Alex, but ignored him otherwise. His brows lifted only momentarily. “He’s mentioned you before.” Lie. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.” He smiled brightly, his adorable bunny teeth on display.
Totally swooned by him, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. You laughed quietly, though it was more of a giggle. Before you could say anything, Lando came up from behind you, a hand on your shoulder.
Alex looked like he was suffering behind the effort of not laughing. George elbowed him in the ribs. Alex let out a strangled cough.
You convinced Lando to bring you to Spain, too. A graduation gift, you argued. He gave in.
Then you made another argument to attend Austria. “To make up for the many years you forced me to miss!”
Silverstone was a given for you. His home race! You could never miss it!
And then Spa came around and the persuasive argument was that you missed your older brother. He caved again.
And then for Hungary, “I’ve never been!”
Each time a new excuse. Each one made up to see his very own teammate. Because from the very moment you laid eyes on him, you knew you wanted him.
There were multiple road blocks in the way. The most obvious one being that he was your brother’s teammate. That was an issue for later, one you could handle much later. For now, you were focused on the glaring age difference. You didn’t doubt that it would be an issue for Oscar, causing him to see you as more of a younger sister than anything else. So you acted before that could happen.
Your plan was to lure him in, and then when he saw you as your own person instead of Lando’s sister, you’d pull back slightly, let him chase you instead.
You flirted with him subtly—enough to rewrite his brain, but not for him to notice. Everything you did around him was by design. Calculated laughs to every joke, gentle touches when no one was watching—brushing of hands, bumping of knees. You were playing with his head, really. Sinking your hands into it and scrambling it like a rubix cube.
And it was working. Oscar had felt a pull to you since you met in Monaco. But he brushed it off, and continued to view you through the foggy lens of his teammate’s little sister.
Slowly but surely, you were fanning the fog away with every bat of your lashes. Every soft bite of your lip as you listened intently to every word his lips formed. Every light laugh that blessed his ears.
He was a little ashamed to admit that he was falling for you. It felt wrong. Every aspect of it. The six year age gap. The fact you were his teammate’s sister. But still, no matter how hard he tried, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The morning of the Hungarian Grand Prix, Oscar snatched up the last raspberry danish from the hospitality’s cafe. He watched as you arrived with your bother, waited for you to be alone. And then he approached you with the danish plated neatly.
“I got the last one. I know they’re your favorite so I saved it for you.” He slid the plate to you, feeling accomplished when he heard your delighted gasp.
“Oh my God, you’re my favorite person ever!” You stood too quick and threw your arm around your neck even quicker. He had no time to react. A hesitant hand was placed on your waist.
You pulled back after a moment, but the feeling of his hand on you lingered. “Thank you, Os. Seriously, this made my day.” You did that light laugh again. The one that made everything seem fine in his life. Made all the pressure feel not so heavy. “I think now I’ll be rooting for you today, but don’t tell Lando.” You held a finger to your lips. Oscar zipped his lips shut and threw away the key, earning another laugh from you.
Oscar had gone before lando came back. He eyed the danish in your hands, skeptical. “Where’d you get that? I thought you said they were out?”
“Oh, Oscar got here earlier and saved it for me.” You smiled. His eyes narrowed. “I think he’s trying to compete with Carlos, trying to be my favorite of your friends.” You chuckled.
But you knew that was a lie. No one blushes when trying to make friends—at least, not as hard as Oscar was blushing.
Oscar ended up winning, and you’d snapped multiple photos on your phone. Not with the intent to look creepy, but something more calculated.
You waited until Lando left your side to approach Oscar. “Hey, congrats.” You smiled, a light touch to his arm.
His eyebrows quirked up and he smiled. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
“I took some photos of you on the podium and in parc ferme. Some of them are really nice if you want me to send them to you.”
“Yeah, sure.” He was already fumbling around his pockets for his phone. He handed it right over, already opened to a new contact. “I’ll see them sooner if you text them.”
It was almost too easy. “Of course!” You beamed.
Just as you’d anticipated, Oscar texted you over that two week break.
You knew you had him then, and without you even pulling away, he was already chasing.
You’d purposely missed out on the Dutch Grand Prix with the excuse that you were focusing on your schooling.
And then Italy came around and you were asking Lando for passes again. You could never miss Italy, was your excuse when he asked what happened to focusing on your studies.
The race ended in another 1-2 with Oscar on the top of the time tables. But the way Lando was acting, one could guess he just won his tenth championship.
He clawed his way from a p13 start after a very unlucky qualifying. And then he somehow convinced you and Oscar to go out to a night club with him.
When you know Lando is paying for something, you have a habit of taking advantage of it. So multiple cocktails later and your head was buzzing and you couldn’t walk straight even if your life depended on it.
Your brother was still standing in the dj booth, completely sober—he didn’t care much for drinking. You wanted to go back to the hotel, sleep calling your name as the time neared one in the morning. You were stumbling your way to him when a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Your first instinct was to fight, and then you heard his voice.
“Jesus Christ, how many have you had?” Words slightly slurred. Oscar, shamefully, was a bit of a lightweight.
You looked up at him with a giggle. His cheeks were flushed and his hair a little messed up. You batted your lashes, leaned into him. It wasn’t even a conscious effort. “Enough for Lando’s card to feel it.” You giggled again. “But now I’m tired and I want him to take me back to the hotel.”
He paused for a moment, looking down at you with a lazy smile and eyebrows twisted in concern. “I can take you. I don’t really want to be here in the first place so…” he shrugged.
“Will you?! Oh, that would just be amazing of you.” Your hand hit his chest, a playful slap. Your touch lingered, fingers still spread across his chest, over his hammering heart.
“Yeah, stay here. I’ll just go let him know.” He patted your hip twice before leaving you.
You watched him walk up to your brother on sturdier legs than your own. Lando leaned over to hear him, said something, and then gave a thumbs up.
When Oscar came back, he was already calling for a car and finding you a bottle of water.
The car ride was quiet, but that didn’t stop your very obvious glances at him the whole time.
Oscars arm was around your waist after you got out of the car, making sure you weren’t staggering too much. You’d downed the whole bottle of water, but that didn’t mean you were sober. Just slightly less drunk.
By the time you arrived at the hotel and you got up to your floor, you realized something you’d forgotten something.
Your purse.
Lando still had it.
And it held your room key.
“Oscar,” you mewled, a little embarrassed by the situation. Your face was burning red. “Lando has my purse.” A pause. “And my room key.”
He stared, blank-faced, blinked. “Okay.” He sighed, opening his own room—which was only two doors down from yours, Lando’s room sandwiched between—and he held it open, motioning you in. You stared at him with a raised brow. “Well, I’m not going to let you sleep in the hallway, and I’m not going back.”
You held back a smile. You hadn’t even orchestrated the situation, but somehow, it was the best thing to happen between you two since meeting. “Okay.” You echoed his earlier words.
You batted your eyes at him once again as you brushed by him. You signed as your back hit the bed, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your feet. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow? This dress is uncomfortable.”
Oscar was flushed, more than before, running his hands through his hair and avoiding your eyes. “Uhm yeah. Yeah,” he tossed one of his hoodies at you.
“Thanks!” You chirped. Getting to your feet, you walked over to him and spin around. “Unzip me will you?” You asked, voice sugary sweet.
Shaky hands brushed your hair out of the way, his skin ghosting over yours. He slowly dragged the zipper down, your back being exposed to him inch by tantalizing inch. He expected you to go to the bathroom to change, but when your dress was fully unzipped, you just pulled it off your shoulders and let it drop.
You were standing in front of him nearly naked, save for a small pair of black panties. His eyes darted to the ceiling, cursing quietly, fighting everything in him not to ogle at you. It’s like you’ve hexed him so all he could think about was you, so that all he wanted was you. And right now, whether you knew it or not, you were tempting him.
“It’s so comfy,” you hummed, the hoodie now covering your form. You were on the bed again, sat in the middle with your legs underneath you, arms hugging yourself.
His eyes trailed down to your bare legs. The hem of the hoodie had ridden up so your thighs were entirely exposed. He ran a hand over his face, trying to collect himself.
Everything about this felt so wrong to him.
“Do-uh, have you ate?”
“I ate lunch.”
He looked at you. In your eyes. Not a glimpse of amusement, you were dead serious.
“That’s… okay, what do you want?”
You tilted your head, eyes wide and glazed from all the drinks you consumed. You hummed in question.
“From room service? They’re all night service here.”
You thought about it for a moment, watched him walk over to the nightstand and pull out a menu. “A milkshake.” You said finally.
“What? No. you need actual food.”
“But I want a milkshake.” You frowned.
He sighed and sat next to you. “Okay. What else? You can’t just eat-“
“Chips.” You cut him off. “But with extra salt.” You added, shifting closer to him. “Oh, and some pasta if they have any.”
“Okay.”
“Actually I think I want some pizza, too.” You slid your legs out from under you, resting your chin on Oscar’s shoulder to peek at the menu. “Ooh! Cannolis! Please, can I have a few of those too?” You looked up at him and his head turned to you. Faces so close.
Oscar swallowed. “Are you sure?” He asked in a whisper.
You stared, silent for a beat. “Maybe just the pizza and cannolis.” You replied, smiling.
“Okay,” he breathed, standing. He kept an eye on you as he ordered. You’d rolled onto your stomach again, kicking your feet while scrolling through tiktok, a lazy smile on your face.
After hanging up, he went to the mini fridge and threw two water bottles at you. “Drink up.”
At first, you frowned. Then a smile crept up onto your lips as you looked at him. You slid off the bed, walked over to him, almost pressing your chest to his. You were looking up at him, eyes still glassy and filled with something soft—he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. “You’re so caring.” You mumbled. “Makes you so much hotter.” You added.
His breath caught in his throat. Your hand raised slowly. He caught your wrist before you reached his face, and brought it back down to your side. You were frowning again.
“I-I can’t.” He shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes.
“Why? I thought- I…” you trailed off.
Oscar took a step back. “Lando-“
“So?!” You interjected.
“And you’re so much younger-“
“Women ma- hiccup mature faster than men!” There the hiccups went. It usually happened when you were emotional and drunk.
“And you’re drunk!”
“S- hiccup so are you!”
“Hardly! I’m practically sober!”
You were crying now. You couldn’t even control it if you wanted to. “But I l- hiccup like you whether I’m dr- hiccup drunk or not!”
He sighed. He hated fighting with anyone, and he hated that you were crying. “I know.” A pause, long and heavy. “I do, too. But it’s not right.” He echoed the words he’d been repeating in his head for weeks.
You were hugging yourself again, looking at him like he’d betrayed you. “Says who?” You asked, your voice hardly a whisper.
The bed bounced under him as he sat on the edge. “Says everyone ever.”
Persistence was clearly your strong suit. You moved to stand in front of him, knees almost touching. “Well, everyone ever can piss off because it’s not their relationship.”
Another pause washed over the room. Heavier than before. Just as Oscar opened his mouth, a knock sounded at the door. He took another look at you before rushing over.
You didn’t move for a moment, just stared at the spot he previously occupied. Then you crawled up the bed, finding a spot leaned up against the headboard.
Oscar wheeled a cart into the room and handed your food to you. You muttered a thanks.
The both of you ate in silence. He sat across the room from you, but still took glances at you to make sure you were actually eating.
The tension thicker than thick. Viscous like being buried under piles of molasses. Dense like one of those foggy mornings where you couldn’t see three feet in front of you. Suffocating like heavy stones were being stacked on your chest.
When your pizza was half done and a cannoli had disappeared from the dish, there was another knock.
You jumped up, practically sprinted to the door and threw it open. Lando was on the other side, waiting with your purse in hand.
He sighed heavily and drew you into a hug. “Are you okay?” He looked you over in concern, then paused seeing the hoodie wrapped around you. “Why the fuck are you wearing his clothes?” He spat, glaring past you at Oscar.
You spoke before Oscar could. “The dress was uncomfy. I asked to borrow it.” You gave lando a small smile. “That’s all. And then he ordered me food because I hadn’t eaten since lunch.” A more confident smile. “That’s all that happened.”
Lando visibly relaxed, but his eyes still bore into Oscar’s, skeptical. “Okay.” He breathed after a moment. Then he turned to you, that look of concern returning. “Did you eat enough?” You nodded, paused, then went to retrieve the cannolis. Lando laughed softly. “Alright. it’s late. Get to sleep, okay? And drink some more water, too.” He advised, ruffling your hair gently and sending you off.
There was something striking to Oscar about how Lando treated you. He knew that his teammate was a nice guy. He also knew that he had his moments. But Oscar had never seen him be so careful with someone, caring for you like you were his own child.
When the door to your hotel room clicked closed, lando set his sights on Oscar. The concern drained from his eyes, the skeptical look returning. “Thanks.” He muttered. “For taking care of her.” He added after a short moment.
“Yeah,” Oscar replied with a single nod.
It had been months since Oscar saw you or heard from you. He’d texted you a couple of times. Asked how school was going and how you were.
You never responded.
He didn’t see you until the final race in Abu Dhabi, caught you walking through the garage. You were alone, on your way to join the rest of your family. He caught your arm and dragged you into the other direction.
You gasped, ripping through your throat. You went to scream, throw a punch, do something, anything to get away. when you looked up and caught his gentle eyes, you paused. He recognized your panic, soothed you with his hand dropping to yours. “It’s just me.” He whispered.
You weren’t panicked anymore, but you looked at him in defiance. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He ignored the bitter tone of your voice. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He took a breath. “And I know I said it was wrong but I… I don’t even care.” He sighed, shaking his head.
You opened your mouth, the words on your tongue cut off by Lando’s laugh echoing down the halls. Wide eyed, you pushed Oscar into his driver room, pulling the door shut behind you.
Back against the door, heart hammering in your chest and eyes closed. Lando passed by, talking with someone else. You listened as his voice faded. You opened your eyes again, meeting his honey brown ones. Only when you couldn’t hear him, did you speak up. “You’re an idiot.” You sighed.
His gaze jumped from your eyes to your lips, chest heaving from the effort of holding back. “I know.” A beat. “And I don’t care.”
“Seems to be a…” your eyes were doing the same, glancing between his eyes and his lips. “a common theme with you.”
He swallowed, licked his lips. “Yeah,” He breathed, moved a piece of hair from your face. His hand rested on your face, his palm perfectly encapsulating your cheek.
A drawn out, heavy pause, the air thick with mutual inner-conflict.
And then Oscar’s hand twitched. He leaned in. Paused. Looked to your eyes once more before pressing his lips to yours. Not heated, no tongue or teeth. Just experimental, soft, tentative.
He pulled away first, studied your face. He decided one kiss wasn’t enough.
He dove in again, confident this time, needier, months of contained pining finally bursting free. A hand tangled in your hair and the other settled on your back, pulling you closer. Your arms wrapped around his neck, humming into the kiss.
You were both panting when you pulled away, arms still wrapped around each other. “He’s gonna kill you.” You laughed breathlessly.
He laughed, too. “It’s worth it.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, fingers twirling in his grown-out hair. Your lip was drawn between your teeth, biting down softly. “Good luck.”
“Are you rooting for me?”
Your smile widened, eyes dancing around the room in thought. “I’ll tell you what,” you started, and he lifted his brows in interest. “If you win, I’ll go on a date with you.”
He tilted his head. “What if I don’t win?”
You sucked air through your teeth. “Then I guess there will be no date.”
He scrunched his nose. “That’s a lot on the line.”
“Then I guess you have to win that championship.”
“So you are rooting for me.”
“And I’m rooting for my brother.”
He gasped, feigning offense. “You’re double dipping.”
You shrugged. “I’ll be happy either way.”
Going into the race, Lando was leading the championship by two points.
By the end, Oscar was leading by five. He lifted that championship trophy with the biggest smile you’d ever seen.
Lando was devastated, hiding behind fake smiles. When he retreated to his private room in the hospitality, the only people he let in were you and your mum.
It was his worst day ever.
Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, his head in his hands. You were wrapped around him, doing your best to comfort him while he insulted himself with every name in the book. He was fragile and one wrong word could shatter him. So you and your mum stayed silent, only offering your presence.
Your phone buzzed once. Then again. And a third time before you looked at it. It was Oscar.
Hey
Where are you?
A congratulatory kiss would be amazing right now
You sighed and pocketed your phone without responding.
When you finally decided to open your mouth, it was apparently to say the wrong thing. “There’s always next year. That win is inevitable for you.”
A still beat where his silent sobs had paused. He looked up slowly, glaring at you. “There’s always next year,” he mocked you, “and what if there’s not, huh? What if this was my own shot and I fucked it?”
You were quick to shake your head. “You didn’t-“
“No, I did!” He cut you off, sharp with the intent to kill.
You flinched and pulled away slowly. “I think I’m gonna go to the restroom,” you dismissed quickly.
The air felt lighter outside, was filled with celebration instead of the weight of failure.
You descended the stops, running a hand through your disheveled hair. The ground was enthralling to your eyes.
A delighted gasp found your ears, your eyes following the sound. You found Oscar at the end, sporting a lopsided smile and eyes brighter than the sun.
It was his best day ever.
You found the smile in you, and he was hugging you before you could get away. He was drenched in champagne and it soaked into your clothes. “All I could think about was that date you promised. The championship was an afterthought.” He giggled, his speech slurring.
Stepping back, your brows were twisted in confusion. “Are you drunk?”
“Tipsy. They gave me a lot of champagne.” He shrugged, giggling again. He picked you up, spun you around. When he put you down, he noticed your rather dreary spirit. He tilted his head to the side, a comical frown, looking like an adorable puppy. “What’s wrong?” He poked at your arm. He figured it out himself before you got the chance to answer. “Lando. Right. How is he?”
“Crushed.” You breathed. “I mean, fully utterly crushed. I’ve never seen him so…” you gestured vaguely with your hands.
“Oh.”
Feeling the downshift of the mood, you shook your head, sporting a smile again. “I’m sorry.” You ran a hand through your hair, stepping toward him. “I haven’t even-“ you sighed and wrapped your arms around him again, tighter this time. “Congratulations Os. I’m so so so happy for you.”
He laughed softly, his hands steady on your hips. “Can I kiss you now?”
His lips were on yours as soon as you nodded.
The date didn’t come until a week and a half later.
Oscar was in England for McLaren’s post-season event. It made for the perfect inconspicuous occasion.
He’d be in front of your house at any minute. You told him not to come in, or even get out of the car. You trusted that he was smart enough to not pick you up in his McLaren.
Your dad and Lando decided it was a great time to play 27 questions.
“Who is he?” Your dad questioned.
“Someone. You’d like him.”
“How old is he?” Lando’s question.
“A little older. Not much.” You shrugged.
“How much is a little?”
“Oh my god you two are insane!”
“I want to meet him.” Lando demanded.
Your eyes went wide. “Wh- no!”
“Why not?”
“You’ll freak him out and scare him away.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t be dating you then.”
“We aren’t dating! We’re going on a date!”
“That’s literally the same thing.”
“I’m meeting him.”
“No you aren’t, Lando. Not yet.”
Your phone buzzed.
Here!!😊
“I’ll be home before midnight.” You sighed, turning away.
“Midnight?!” Lando sounded appalled.
“That’s her curfew.” Your dad reminded him.
“Oh.”
Oscar wanted to take things slow. So aware of the age difference, he didn’t want to rush it.
But at the same time, he felt like you were everything he’s been waiting for.
For your nineteenth birthday, you asked lando to spend time with him in Monaco. Rent a boat, eat a nice expensive dinner.
He thought little of it. You’d been close since childhood. He hadn’t seen you much since last year. You were making up lost time.
He didn’t suspect an anterior motive.
Oscar and Lando lived in the same building—not on purpose, purely by coincidence. But it was convenient for you now.
Five minutes after lando left the apartment, you were skipping to the elevator and down two floors to Oscar’s own residence. Three sharp knocks on the door and he was throwing it open. He pulled you into the room by your waist, and kicked the door shut. It hadn’t even clicked closed before Oscar’s lips were on yours.
“Missed you.” He confessed against your lips.
You giggled into his mouth, jumping and hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck when he squeezed your ass. “I missed you more.” Your nose bumped his cheek, your lips finding his jawline.
“Did you eat yet?” He asked with a certain softness that made your heart flutter.
“No. I told Lando id cook for myself.” You smiled, sucking marks into his jaw.
Oscar hummed, his chest vibrating against yours. “Well that’s good, because I already cooked.” He grinned, whipping around in a 180.
Your screech was quickly followed by a soft gasp upon seeing the table all laid out, your favorite food already plated, still steaming, and your favorite flowers acted as the centerpiece. “How did you- I mean, I only gave you like an hour’s notice.”
He put you down slowly, trailing behind you as you went to inspect the table.
“Well, it was your birthday last week, and I didn’t get to celebrate with you.”
“Oh, Os,” you clicked your tongue.
He came up behind you, hands resting on your hips. “Do you like it?”
You looked over your shoulder and nodded, a beaming smile gracing your lips.
With his hands still on your hips, Oscar walked you over to your chair, pulled it out for you.
“How much time do we have?” He asked as you were already digging into your food.
“Dunno. Just said he’d text me when he’s on his way home.” You shrugged, taking another bite of your food. “This is so fucking good, by the way. I think you need to cook more often.”
He chuckled, a quiet, light sound. “I got you something, by the way.” He said, already off to get it before you could tell him he really didn’t have to. He returned with two bags in his hands, both adorned with the Prada logo.
You were shaking your head immediately. “Oscar-“
“I won’t hear it. Just open them.” He cut you off, placing the bags next to you. You tried to glare at him, but with his stupid grin, your efforts were in vain. You went for the smaller one first, pulling out a small wallet in your favorite color. “You mentioned you needed a new one so… thought I’d help out.” He laughed nervously as you moved on to the bigger bag, and pulled out a matching handbag. “And that was just something a little extra I thought you might like.”
You didn’t know what to say. Mouth hung open in shock and your brows lifted. “Oscar…” you sighed, shaking your head. “We’ve been dating for a month.”
“I know. I know. I thought you’d say something like that, but I just wanted to get you something nice.”
It took you a moment, but you eventually nodded, a small smile curling your lips. “You’re too sweet,” you breathed, getting to your feet and wrapping your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his chest.
After dinner, you both curled up on the couch, watching Star Wars: Phantom Menace because you couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before.
“So, wait how old is she?”
“Fourteen.”
“And how old is he?”
“Nine.”
A pause, then, “that’s weird.” He said in disgust.
You turned to him slowly, glaring. “How old am I?”
“Nineteen.”
“And you?”
“Twenty- oh.” He breathed. “No but it’s different because like we’re both mature adults and-“
“Yeah, whatever.” You hit his chest with the back of your hand. “I’m not letting that one go.” Your phone buzzed on the side-table. You reached over Oscar to grab it, scrambling as soon as you read the message. “Shit, Lando’s on his way home.”
“Oh- yeah, okay.” He nodded, moving to gather your gifts for you.
You took the bag from his hands, smiling. “Thank you,”
His arms around your waist, he hugged you tightly, kissed you when you pulled back. Quick goodbyes were exchanged before you were rushing out the door.
To your luck, when the elevator arrived at the floor, Lando was standing in it. His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. “What are you doing on Oscar’s floor?”
“Oscar lives here?” You pretended to be shocked. “What a small world, amirite?” You shrugged, stepped into the elevator next to him. “Was just exploring. Got bored.”
Then his eye caught the bag clutched in your hands. “Where’d you get that?”
“Oh! Uh, I got it from a friend for my birthday before I got here.” You nodded.
“Right.” A beat of silence. Then it hit his nose. Eucalyptus, a little woody, and something citrusy. “You smell like cologne.” He commented. With every observation, his voice got less and less curious and more like he was trying to draw a confession out of you.
“Hm. Must be my new perfume. I was thinking the same earlier but I convinced myself it was cause I wasn’t used to it.” You laughed.
Lando hummed, smiling.
It unsettled you. Got under your skin and made it crawl. Was he onto you?
