Charles who have been acting as a buffer between Pierre and Esteban for years. Charles who choose Pierre's side during the divorce but who is still friends with Esteban. Charles who hates having been forced to choose sometimes.
Pierre and Esteban who hate each other but also know each other. Pierre and Esteban who never told anyone, even Charles, what happened between them. Pierre and Esteban who miss each other sometimes but don't know how to acknowledge it without Charles between them.
Pierre and Esteban who have an endless fondness for Charles. Charles who would do everything for things to go back the way they were.
Charles, Pierre and Esteban who all fuck together because it's the only way Pierre and Esteban can exist together.
Charles, Pierre and Esteban except Esteban kiss only Charles but still looks at Pierre through the mirror. Charles, Pierre and Esteban except Esteban can't seem to always swallow his jealousy and resentment when he sees Pierre and Charles being soft with each other. Charles, Pierre and Esteban except sometimes Esteban's hate for Pierre and affection for Charles bleed into each other until he can't recognize either of them.
Charles, Pierre and Esteban hurting and using and loving each other, both on purpose and by accident.
TDLR: Piarlesteban hate sex sandwich/angsty introspection.
He didn't know how the three of them kept finding themselves in this situation, hurting each other over and over again. That wasn't what they wanted, what they needed. Or at least, they didn't want to hurt Charles. These days, it was perhaps one of the last things that Pierre and he could agree on. They should stop, they could stop. And yet they never did.
Charles loved Pierre too much for that, felt too guilty towards Esteban to say no.
lowkey inspired by those old pictures of them with Charles always sitting between Pierresteban
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for the writing request!
My favourite colour is orange 🧡
Liam and Arvid are on a road trip! They run out of gas near a small coastal town. What do they get up to, why of course they go down to visit…
orange! I actually am not a fan of orange, at all, but I appreciate papaya for obvious reasons and I support your choice haha! ❤️
Nowhere to go / livid arson AKA lawblad
An emotional hurt/comfort fic
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I can’t believe i got stuck babysitting, of all things during the summer break.”
Liam grumbles from the passenger side, slouching down and crossing his arms. A warm laugh echoes from the drivers seat, a tan hand with a thin silver chain reaching out and scrubbing through his hair.
“You love it.”
Liam wishes he could argue. He really does. Unfortunately, the hand now settles on the nape of his neck, and he finds himself relaxing into the touch. He’s in the middle of nowhere Italy, but it could be worse.
Arvid doesn’t need to know that though.
“Yeah whatever you say mate, how far are we from the hotel?”
“Just another hour or so” came the reply. The rookie turned towards Liam, easy grin splitting his face. “Why, got plans?”
The Blonde rolled his eyes, ignoring the pink creeping onto his ears at the attention. “Just getting away from you.”
“What?” Arvid’s face falls for half a second before immediately pulling back up into a smirk. “Ehh I’ll be fine. You’re the one who needs someone to follow like a lost puppy. Why do you think you’re so easy to get for socials videos?”
Liam ignores the was his stomach drops, turning to the window with a forced chuckle “fair mate, but they like you just as much.”
“Awww, I’m glad you think so but you’re the good boy so…” he trails off with a shit-eating grin.
Liam says nothing, pressing his burning cheek against the window. The bit will be embarrassing whether he engages or not, but he just tries to avoid it. He had hoped his younger teammate would have been kind enough to let it go, but oh well. He probably meant well.
They drive in silence for a while longer, Liam half asleep as the occasional town and French coastline drifted by.
Arvid was a smooth driver. For someone who had just gotten his license, of course he was just as amazing at drive the rental car as well as he drove on track.
Liam is nodding off when he feels a small jolt, then a muttered "uh oh" from the driver seat. Reflexes have him alert and sitting up before Arvid can mutter "dammit."
"What's wrong?"
The British-swede turned to Liam with wide eyes.
"We're almost out of gas."
well, shit.
"What do we do?"
"I don't know! We're not really close to anything except beach houses! I don't know who to call, even!"
Arvid's forehead was creased with confusion, as he turned to Liam.
"Can you check your maps to see if there's anywhere nearby we could pull over at least? I want to get off the road sooner."
"Yeah okay."
A little fumbling and Liam opens his maps app, waiting impatiently for the location to finalize. A small blue "saved location icon pops up about a mile ahead.
He blinks, remembering who typed it in.
"Red Bull is a lot to handle. I know first hand. If you ever need to get away from it, go here. I won't tell anyone."
"Okay I got something. Turn right up ahead and then straight."
"Okay." To his credit, Arvid is taking this with remarkable stride, listening to Liam with only a nod.
Soon they're pulling up to a cozy looking summer cottage, and Liam notices the tan dune buggy with duck stickers plastered on it off to the side with a small smile. They're in the right place for sure.
Arvid watches as Liam knocks, looking down at his phone before the door swings open violently.
"LIAM MCQUEEN!"
Daniel Riccardo bursts through the door, scooping the smaller driver into a bear hug.
"Man It's so good to see you! What a surprise!"
Then the Australian sees Arvid.
"Linblad! People say you're like a mini me! You better be taking that as a compliment!"
Before the two can blink, they're inside the small french house while Daniel talks about a guy he knows who can come down to rescue them. "He's a good guy, you'll both be on the road again in no time."
Now the three of them are aimlessly chatting, Daniel having showed them the house and sharing many deeply irrelevant but highly entertaining stories along the way.
Now, Liam had tuned the conversation out a bit as Daniel asked Arvid about his rookie year.
A loud laugh brings him back to the duo.
"Look at you, you'll be driving for the main team in no time." Daniel's big grin as he ruffles Arvid's hair makes Liam's heart thud. The room seems smaller for a second, as Arvid awkwardly laughs, responding with
But Liam can only focus on how easily Daniel had said it, as though it was obvious.
It was obvious, something inside of him hissed.
"nah i'm happy at vcarb for now."
He lying, said the something in Liam's brain. Of course he wants to move up. Who wouldn't. He'll leave and you'll be a footnote and he'll never notice once he's ahead of you.
"Okay okay, anyway how's Amelia? Still making you do those lipsync videos?"
Now Arvid and Daniel are chatting, easy laughs as two of the more charming F1 drivers share space as they wait for a mechanic.
Liam doesn't know when a glass of water ends up in his hand, or when they moved to the front porch, but now Daniel is explaining how he wants to incorporate skating into his clothing brand and model campaigns.
Another thing Liam can't even touch compared to Arvid.
God Arvid would make a great model.
Liam stares down at the glass in his hand, condensation dripping onto his fingers. He doesn't want to listen anymore, not to all the future Arvid holds that Liam will never be able to touch.
"I'm going to get more water" he finds himself saying, walking back into the house, unaware of the stunned looks following him.
Daniel and Arvid pause their conversation.
Liam's glass had been completely full.
The retired driver sighs, looking at the rookie.
"You might want to go talk to him."
Arvid nods, still looking at the doorway where Liam disappeared. "Do you know why he's been so quiet? He's the one who suggested we come here, but he's so tense."
Daniel looks at him with sympathy, before asking: "Did he tell you why he had this location?"
Arvid shakes his head, and Daniel nods like he expected this.
"I told him to come here if it ever got too much."
The Australian paused, looking out at the rental car.
"Driving for red bull; main or junior team, it takes a lot. I know first hand how it feels to be told you're expendable, and Liam had held only been told that after working his way all the way up. It's a hard pill to swallow.
Red bull is the only team that's ever given him a chance, but they're also the only team that's kicked him to the curb without a second glance. It's hard to forget what that feels like."
Arvid feels his stomach sink. Daniel continues.
"Every teammate he's had has left him behind in some way. It's self preservation at this point to try not to get attached."
He looked at Arvid again, eyes gentle.
"But i think he already is."
The younger driver stands frozen.
Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm fairly certain you feel the same way, but if you don't, at least try to let him down gently, yeah? Otherwise I'll have to feed you to my pet alligator." The same easy smile comes out as Daniel claps the vcarb driver on the back, walking away and humming a Sabrina carpenter song.
Arvid shakes his head, forcing his legs to move.
Every time Liam had looked at Red Bull, every time someone mentioned Isaac or Yuki or Max, every time people joked about Arvid being a "wunderkind rookie" soon to shoot to the main team, Arvid had chalked momentary pauses and glances up to nerves or annoyance.
Now he recognized what it really was. Hesitation, avoidance; anything to try and forget the unwitting betrayal of people who were supposed to be a part of his team. And then, just, weren't.
And he thought Arvid would leave to.
Arvid didn't want to leave. He wanted to be at whatever team Liam was at. Simple as that. Heck, he'd go race in a different category if Liam wanted to.
He finds Liam in the kitchen, staring at the tap.
"Hey mate."
Liam looks up, and Arvid watches as he tries to settle his face into something neutral.
"Hey."
"Daniel says it'll be around an hour or two till the guy can come down."
"Okay."
Fuck if Arvid doesn't hate one word replies right now.
"Hey can i ask you something?"
Liam's hand visibly tightens on the glass.
"Sure."
Arvid pauses, aware that Liam is saying sure mostly out of habit, but pushes on anyway.
"Daniel and I didn't mean it. When we joked about me leaving vcarb. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Arvid is expecting the older driver to get defensive. To bluster or bluff his way through, pretend he hadn't gotten quieter the longer the possibility sat in the room.
But instead he just says, "okay."
And fuck if Arvid doesn't want to wrap the blonde in bubble wrap and blankets for the rest of eternity. Fuck this.
"I like being on a team with you, okay?" He tried again.
This gets a self-depreciating laugh out of the New Zealander. "It doesn't matter what you like. You could hate or love it, but you'll leave, and then it won't even matter."
Arvid swallows, nose scrunching in confusion. A thought forming in his head that had first popped up in the talk with Daniel but was now becoming much louder.
"What do you mean, leave. I'm not going anywhere Liam."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
The younger driver looked at Liam, eyes filled with confusion and concern. His head was cocked to the side, as though he wasn't sure what he was seeing. His heart ached for the older driver.
"Do you, Liam, do you have abandonment issues?"
The blonde stiffened, looking down. All of a sudden, Arvid's gaze seemed too much.
Ostriches will bury their head in the sand when particularly scared or surprise; comforted by the idea that if they can't see the danger, the danger can't see him.
Arvid hurts for the part of Liam that had decided being left behind was a dangerous and familiar predator.
Liam's hand clenches so hard into his fist he knows he's leaving little crescent indents all over his palms. Little half moons to match the stars around Arvid's neck. Fuck.
Arvid pauses, then reaches a hand out to catch the older driver trying to curl into himself.
Liam flinches away, eyes studiously fixed on the warm gray tiles between his feet, static filling his ears.
"Liam, hey, baby look at me."
The endearment slips out unconsciously as Arvid feels panic rising under his skin at the unresponsiveness of the other driver. Or rather, the responses that were there, but all screaming "help."
The blonde was blinking hard. From Arvid's limited view, it looked like the older driver was trying not to cry.
"Hey no its okay, just look at me okay, I've got you."
Finally a reaction.
Liam startles, gaze finally meeting Arvid's. Caution and unease still written into the slope of his shoulders and the curl of his fists, but his eyes are fixed on the younger.
Arvid feels something tense inside of him relax. Then,
"No you don't. Nobody does. No matter what I do, I'm always left when everyone around me leaves."
The brunette's breath hitches at the hurt, resigned tone of voice.
"You don't get a choice. It's just how it goes. I've gotten used to it."
The pearly sheen lining the bottom of his hazel eyes threatens to spill as he looks at Arvid.
Arvid feels the weight of Liam's words in the back of his throat.
The admission.
The forgiveness.
The letting go.
But fuck that. Why does Liam get to decide to let him go. What if he doesn't want to leave. What if he wants to be around so much Liam gets sick of him, live so close to his skin he knows the smell of his laundry detergent and how much char he likes on his morning toast and how many eyelashes he has.
"No."
Arvid is still staring at Liam, face slowly morphing from surprise and concern into hurt and anger.
"You don't get to just decide that we have an expiration date. No! I'm not doing that. What if we get separated, so what. I'll still want to race by you. So what if red bull goes to shit and we're both out of a seat, huh? What if I don't care, baby, what If i still want you even if we were just, just anything or nothing at all."
His outburst settles into the silence of the kitchen, filling up the space between their feet with the sticky syrup of words that had been waiting too long to be said.
Liam's heart is beating so hard it's almost painful. Arvid is now almost glaring at him.
This is not how he thought this would go. He had been preparing himself for relief, maybe awkward acceptance, not anger. Arvid's eyebrows are drawn low, and the younger looks about two seconds off from pressing even closer to him to make his point clear.
He feels surrounded by the driver, and the walls he tried all year to build are slowly thinning, the silver sheen of glass breaking as he struggles to process the others' words.
"what?"
a split second of impatience flashes across Arvid's face, but it immediately softens into gentleness, as warm hand come up to his arms, soft pressure slowly guiding Liam back until he bumps against the counter.
"I'm not leaving. Because I don't want to. I like you, Liam."
Oh.
The ostrich inside Liam's brain pops its head up. Something like hope stutters inside his lungs.
"You do?"
"Yes." Arvid looks away, grinning bashfully, still pinning Liam to the kitchen counter. "I thought it was pretty obvious mate."
Clearly the announcement had fried Liam's higher cognitive reasoning, because he blurts out
"I like you too."
Now they're both looking at each other, cheeks a matching pink that comes from shyness, lips curled into the gentle hope of mutual affection.
"Can I?" Arvid whispers, looking to Liam for confirmation, as though he had been waiting.
Liam nods, and then Arvid is leaning, and soft lips are against his and
and Liam's brain goes quiet. The static-y rush of adrenaline from fear and longing softening until there's only the warmth and steadiness of Arvid's body against him, as he turns into the kiss, falling into Arvid like a sunflower searching for the sun.
Arvid kisses feel like warmth, a soothing balm against the cold of isolation and rejection Liam knew like the back of his hand.
When the younger pulls away for air, Liam's eyes fly open and he reaches out almost subconsciously and grabs the hem of his shirt.
Arvid pauses, looking down at the white knuckled grip, then gently brings his hands up to Liam's face, smoothing his thumbs over soft skin and shushing him,
"hey hey its okay i'm not going anywhere, you're okay yeah"
The soft murmurs settle the knot in his gut somewhat, but Arvid must still be able to read the small hesitation to let go and then the British driver is pulling Liam forward, and he flails a bit, trying to catch his balance and
then strong arms are around him, and his head fits against a tan collarbone, and he's melting into the embrace before he can even register what had happened.
"It's okay. I'm not letting you go, yeah? I'll hold onto you forever if you want, hmm baby?"
Yes, thinks Liam. Yes, forever, please.
Arvid doesn't know how long he holds him in Daniel Riccardo's summer house's kitchen, but it's not long enough.
When Liam finally backs up, Arvid makes an aborted step forward, back into his space, making Liam smile. And then all Arvid can do is stare at that smile, equally parts proud of putting it there and desperate to kiss it off his face.
And then he realizes, he can.
And then they're kissing in Daniel Riccardo's summer house's kitchen and Arvid thinks you know what; life is pretty much perfect.
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pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader
theme: angst, exes
from iris ◡̈ finally getting to post another angst hehehe been wanting to for so long but never got the chance, so here it is. i had to drink beer while writing so i wouldn't cry lmao (there's just something about a vague heartbreak story that i love!!! like why did they break up? can they get back together? will they get back together?)
While their best friend steps softly into his forever, they are quietly unraveling at the end of theirs. All that's left is one night before they slip away and become strangers once again.
The red circle on the calendar seemed to throb like a fresh bruise.
Three days. Three agonizing days until Logan’s wedding, and her supposed plus-one was God knows where, or, more accurately, anywhere that wasn't near her. It had been five months since they broke up, and yet there she was, staring down a romantic weekend with an empty seat beside her. She stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over his name. The smartest option was to text Logan, claim she had a last-minute family emergency, and spare everyone the catastrophic awkwardness of being an ex-girlfriend sitting at the principal table beside the best man.
Still, just as she mustered the courage to back out, the screen lit up. As if the universe were playing a sick, twisted fucking joke.
From Oscar Piastri Logan’s wedding is in three days.
She flinched. Seeing his full name printed across the screen felt like reading a clinical chart. It was cold, formal, and deeply unsettling, especially given that, for years, he had been saved in her contacts as My Osc. Before she could process, a second message popped up.
From Oscar Piastri What time should I pick you up?
She stared at the screen, her heart doing a terrifying free-fall into her stomach. She had expected a polite warning to not go, a formal uninvitation to the wedding, or literally anything else, but not whatever this is.
To Oscar Piastri Pick me up?
From Oscar Piastri Yeah? Didn’t we RSVP?
From Oscar Piastri Do I have the wrong number?
From Oscar Piastri You know what, let me call you. I’m too lazy to type.
Before she could form a coherent thought, the screen buzzed with an incoming call. The phone vibrated against her palm, once, twice, before she pressed it to her ear, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
"Hey," his voice came through the speaker, as familiar as a favorite song played at the wrong speed. "Hello," she managed, her voice dangerously thin.
"So, what time should I pick you up on Friday?" Oscar asked again, the faint sound of keys rattling in the background. She stared blankly at the far wall of her bedroom, trying to figure out if he had lost his mind or if this was the passive-aggressive thing he always did with Lando when he got irritated. "Hello? Seriously, do I have the wrong number?" he called out, a hint of impatience lacing his tone.
"Yeah. I—uh. Oscar, what do you mean, pick me up?"
"Are you good?" Oscar retorted, letting out a small, huffed sigh. "Did you forget Logan’s getting married?"
"No, Oscar, I know!" she snapped, the absurdity finally breaking through her shock. "But did you forget that we’re broken up?"
Silence fell over the line. "I... uh..." Oscar hesitated, his smooth composure slipping for a fraction of a second before he rushed into a desperate ramble. "I mean, yeah, we are, obviously, but... I haven't really told Logan yet."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You what?"
"I didn't want to ruin his day by announcing a breakup right before his wedding!" Oscar explained, the words tumbling out of him in an uncharacteristic panic. "He's expecting you. His wife is expecting you. You're on the seating chart!"
She closed her eyes, letting her forehead drop against the cool wooden frame of her desk with a soft thud. Five months of heartbreak, five months of crying, and the man was calling her to play happy couple just to avoid a seating chart malfunction.
"Yeah. Right, right," she whispered, an ironic laugh bubbling in her throat. "Because heaven forbid we ruin the seating arrangement."
"Look, let's just pretend for one night," Oscar said, his tone softening into that calm, reasoned voice he always used when he was trying to negotiate his way out of a corner. "It won't hurt, right? I mean... it's been five months."
She swallowed hard, the phrase echoing in her head like a dull ache.
"Yeah," she muttered, gripping the edge of her desk until her knuckles turned white. "Five months."
Five months of painfully re-learning how to exist without him, of staring at her phone waiting for a text that never came, of convincing herself she was finally moving on, only for him to call out of the blue and treat those five months like a minor scheduling inconvenience.
"Exactly," Oscar pressed on, oblivious to the quiet spiral happening on the other end of the line. "We’re adults. We go, we smile, we watch Logan get hitched, eat some cake, and then we go back to our normal lives. No drama. It's just one night."
"One night," she repeated flatly.
"Yep. So... six o'clock on Friday?"
She let out a long, slow breath, closing her eyes. She knew she should say no. She knew going to a wedding with her ex-boyfriend, pretending to still be the perfect couple everyone remembered, was the worst idea ever.
"Fine," she whispered anyway, hating how easily the word slipped out. "Six o'clock."
"Great. I'll see you then," Oscar said, sounding relieved, almost entirely back to his usual unflappable self. "Bye."
"Bye." The line went dead. She lowered the phone, staring at the screen once more before tossing it onto her bed. Running a hand through her hair, she looked back at the calendar. Just one night of pretending to be in love with the boy who broke her heart.
What could possibly go wrong?
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
The day of the wedding finally (or dreadfully) came.
True to form, Oscar arrived twenty minutes early. He didn't text to rush her or call to announce he was waiting outside. Instead, he just sat in the driver's seat, engine idling, careful not to put any unnecessary pressure on her.
Eventually, her text buzzed through on his dashboard screen: Where are you?
Outside, he typed back. Almost immediately, she walked out.
He saw her before she saw him, and honestly, he was deeply grateful for those few extra seconds. It gave him a moment to just look at her. She stepped out of her front door, and his breath hitched in his throat. She looked utterly beautiful in her gown, the fabric catching the late afternoon light as she scanned the driveway.
Oscar rolled down his window and raised his hand to get her attention.
Instantly, her eyes locked onto his, and she froze, completely blown away. He hadn't put his suit jacket on yet, but even so, he looked infuriatingly amazing. "Hey," she greeted softly as she reached the passenger side, her voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the engine.
"Hey. How are you?" he asked, stepping out briefly to greet her. "Good," she replied shortly, keeping her distance, her hands clutching her small clutch bag like a shield. Oscar nodded, saying nothing more as he reached out and held the car door open for her, his movements smooth and practiced.
The car ride that followed was heavier and far quieter than anything they were used to. In the past, their drives were usually a chaotic, playful argument over whether house music or One Direction would blast through the speakers, accompanied by a lot of hand-holding. Oscar had loved to hold her hand while driving. At every red light, he used to lift her knuckles to his lips, pressing a quiet, sacred kiss to the back of her hand, a secret I love you meant only for the quiet comfort of their shared space.
Now, his left hand stayed glued to the steering wheel, and her hands rested tightly in her own lap. The silence between them felt like a third passenger, thick with everything they weren't saying.
-
As soon as the engine shut off, her breath hitched in her throat.
Oh fuck. Here it goes.
Her eyes met his, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe properly. "Let's go?" he offered, a small, soft smile breaking across his features.
Oh god, that smile. It was the exact smile she had missed for five agonizing months, the one she had spent endless nights searching for in every crowded room. She forced a tight, reassuring nod and managed a small smile back. "Yeah. Let's go."
They walked up the path to the entrance with at least 12 inches between them, space for the holy ghost or whatever, but as soon as they reached the heavy double doors of the chapel, Oscar paused and extended his hand, opening his palm toward her. She stared at it for a split second, feeling the familiar weight of everything they used to be, before sliding her hand into his, intertwining her fingers with his. The heat of his skin against hers made her chest ache, but she squeezed once to anchor herself. She could do this. It was just one night.
Inside, she slid into one of the pews near the front, letting go of his hand so he could take his place as the best man.
She watched him walk down the aisle, a genuine, soft smile gracing his face. When Logan reached him at the front, the two pulled each other into a tight, brotherly hug, and her chest warmed seeing it; she knew better than anyone just how much Logan meant to him and how thrilled Oscar was for his best friend.
Eventually, the music shifted, the heavy wooden doors opened once more, and it was the bride's turn to walk down the aisle.
While the rest of the guests turned to watch the bride, Oscar’s gaze instinctively darted across the pews and landed squarely on her. She was smiling softly, holding up her phone to capture the moment for the newlyweds, completely unaware of his eyes on her, but standing there at the altar, surrounded by vows and flowers and tears, Oscar couldn't stop the sudden, terrifying thought from crashing into his mind.
He imagined her in white. He imagined her walking down that exact aisle, toward him.
A sharp pang hit his chest, and he quickly closed his eyes, squeezing them shut for a brief second to shake the image out of his head. He gripped his hands together in front of him, giving himself a harsh internal reality check. He couldn't do that. He wasn't allowed to think like that, not anymore.
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
At the reception, they found themselves deposited right at the head table, surrounded by the bridal party and an absurd amount of expensive floral arrangements. Next to her, Oscar was deeply engaged in a discussion with Alex about something, everything.
Without breaking eye contact with Alex or pausing his story, Oscar’s hands went into full autopilot mode. He picked up his fork and knife, methodically cut his steak into neat, bite-sized pieces, and then, without a single second of hesitation, reached over, snagged her plate with the completely untouched steak, and swapped it with his own.
Then he just seamlessly started slicing up the second steak for himself, still chatting away.
She stared down at the pre-cut meat on her plate, her heart doing a violent, painful flip. It was muscle memory. A habit carved into him from years of dinners where she’d complain about dull knives or burnt crusts, and he’d quietly fix it without ever asking for credit. For the next hour, they performed the choreography of a perfectly happy couple with terrifying, instinctual ease. He reached for her water glass when she was thirsty; she reached over to adjust his collar when it got folded inward. The suffocating tension only truly broke when a distant relative of the bride stood up in a dress that could only be described as a biohazard. She leaned her head slightly toward Oscar, keeping her voice down to a tiny, soft murmur. "God, why is she wearing vomit green to a wedding?"
Oscar, who was mid-sip of his champagne, choked violently. He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as he let out an uncharacteristic, snorting laugh. "Don't call it that," he choked out under his breath, wiping his lip and glaring at her with dark, amused eyes. "That's Lando's helmet color."
She burst into a quiet, breathless laugh, covering her mouth with her napkin. "Well, I've never liked his helmet either, for the record."
"I'm telling him you said that," Oscar threatened softly, a genuine, dimpled smile breaking across his face for the first time all night. "He's going to be devastated. He thinks that neon lime is iconic."
"Yes, if you're a highlighter or a Zumba instructor," she countered smoothly, taking a tiny sip of her drink. "You are terrible," he murmured, but his tone was far too warm, his eyes lingering on her face a second too long as the banter flowed between them like they’d never spent a single day apart.
For the rest of the dinner, the awkward wall between them completely evaporated. They continued to trade quiet, ruthless commentary on the rest of the room, rating the speeches on a scale of one to ten, predicting which groomsman would fall into the fountain first, and trying not to get caught wheezing with laughter every time Logan’s new father-in-law attempted a dance move.
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
"I'm stepping out for a minute," she leaned in to whisper against his ear, the heat of her breath making Oscar’s spine snap straight. "If I have to hear Mr. Brightside one more time, I'm going to jump in the lake. It's not a wedding song."
"I'll come with you," Oscar said instantly, not giving her a chance to object. "To the patio, I mean. Not the lake." She laughs.
He guided her through the crowd, his hand resting naturally at the small of her back. His palm was warm, sending a familiar, electricity-like jolt straight down her spine that made her breath catch. Outside, the cool night breeze hit them instantly, carrying the faint sound of cicadas and distant bass. They walked to the edge of the stone balcony overlooking the illuminated gardens. She leaned her forearms against the cool balustrade, closing her eyes and letting out a long, exhausted sigh. Oscar stood beside her, leaning his back against the railing, his eyes completely fixed on her side profile.
"You look really insane tonight, by the way," Oscar blurted out softly. She opened her eyes and glanced sideways at him, her lips twitching. "Good insane, or vomit green insane?"
"Hard to look at you without wanting to lose my mind insane," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing every trace of joke or pretense. Her heart hammered against her ribs, terrifyingly loud in the quiet air. "Oscar..."
"Yeah," he looks away, nodding once to himself. "I know."
He leaned his forearms against the stone. She stood beside him, the breeze brushing past them as they fell into a heavy, suspended silence. Then slowly, without a word, Oscar reached across the small distance between them. His fingers brushed against her knuckles, testing, before his hand slid into hers.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she leaned into it. She laced her fingers tightly through his, gripping his hand with a desperate, crushing intensity. Her heart thrummed with a terrifying ache, an overwhelming, suffocating fear that time was slipping away too fast. She knew that midnight was coming, that this temporary truce would end, and that once they pulled away and went back to their real lives, she might never get to hold his hand again.
So she just held on, as if to remember the exact warmth of his skin and the familiar weight of his fingers against hers, holding tight to a moment she was already grieving.
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
They slipped back inside just as the spotlights opened for the best man and maid of honor toasts.
Oscar stepped up to the microphone, tapping it twice. The room quieted down, all eyes on him. He adjusted his collar, took a breath, and instantly slipped into the easy, charming persona the room expected.
"I'll keep this short, mostly because if I talk too long, Logan will find a way to fine me," Oscar began, earning an immediate burst of laughter from the crowd. He turned to look down at the groom with a grin. "Honestly, standing up here today, it's still pretty unbelievable that this dumbass managed to get married before me, but hey... here we are."
Logan threw a napkin at him from the main table, and Oscar caught it easily, the room dissolving into chuckles, but as Oscar launched into the meat of his speech, his tone softened. He spoke about growing up together, the terrible decisions, and the unyielding loyalty that made Logan more of a brother than a friend.
Then, his voice dropped, growing low and resonant. "When you find real love," Oscar said softly, his gaze slowly shifting away from Logan, drifting across the room until it locked entirely on her. "You realize it isn't about being perfect. It’s about finding the person who makes the chaos make sense. The one you’d choose, over and over again, no matter how complicated things get."
He didn't break eye contact. He looked at her with a quiet, devastating intensity, a silent confession wrapped in a wedding toast, practically begging her to understand that he still loved her.
That he would always love her.
At her seat, she pressed her lips together, her chest heaving as she desperately held back a cry. Her throat burned with the raw weight of it. She knew it, and looking at him up there under the golden lights, she knew with agonizing certainty that she'd always love him, too; but as her eyes welled with unshed tears, the painful truth settled deep in her bones: the time for their love was way past its course.
That love wasn't always enough to fix what they had broken.
Oscar wrapped up his speech to a round of roaring applause and walked back to their table. As he sat down beside her, he reached for his glass, taking a slow, heavy sip of champagne. Beneath the tablecloth, out of sight from the rest of the room, her hand slid over and rested gently on his thigh. Oscar didn't hesitate. He set his glass down and placed his large, warm hand directly over hers, squeezing tightly in quiet acknowledgment.
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
A few moments later, the DJ announced the open dance floor, starting it with a slow, sweeping ballad. Around them, couples began rising from their seats. "Come on," Oscar said, gesturing to the floor. She nodded silently. As soon as they stepped onto the crowded floor, his hands found her waist, her hands resting against his shoulders. They swayed together to the rhythm of the music; the noise of the wedding melted away into complete background static. They looked into each other's eyes, and in that silent exchange, a flood of shared history crashed over them both.
They remembered the moment they first met, the awkward small talk, the instant spark; their first real date, laughing until their stomachs hurt in a quiet diner, leaving their fries to soak and get soggy under the ketchup. They remember their first kiss in the pouring rain after Oscar flew across the ocean just to say I love you for the very first time
Their first night in the apartment they had shared, they had lain awake in the dark, mattress on the floor, daydreaming about what their own wedding would look like. They had wanted to elope, just the two of them on a quiet, sun-drenched beach, barefoot in the sand, exchanging private vows with no one but a pastor watching as the sun set below the horizon.
Then came the darker memories. The slow, painful drifting. The last explosive fight. The cold, terrible silence of the day he packed his bags, and the way they had left things in ruin.
How does someone go from being nothing to everything, and then back to nothing again?
Everything was getting too heavy to bear. A single, hot tear finally escaped her eye, spilling down her cheek. She instinctively jerked her head away, trying to hide it, but Oscar saw it. Without a word, he raised his hand, his thumb gently catching the tear and wiping it away. Before she could pull back, his fingers slid down to cradle her chin, lifting her face back toward his.
And then, he kissed her.
It wasn't sudden; it was slow, aching, and deeply tender. They savored it, a bittersweet surrender to the undeniable truth that this was the end.
It was a farewell written in the language they used to know best.
When they finally pulled away, neither of them spoke. Instead, Oscar wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her flush against his chest, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. They held each other with a crushing, desperate tightness, clinging onto the ghost of what they used to be, knowing with total certainty that it was the very last time.
⋆｡°·⛆⋆ ﾟ
The drive back home was the hardest part of all.
Oscar turned onto the back roads, taking the longest, most winding route possible, keeping his foot light on the gas and driving as slow as the car would allow. Beside him, she stared out the window at the passing streetlights, silently wishing for every single traffic light to turn red and stay red forever.
Anything to freeze time.
Anything to keep the world from moving forward.
Though the miles bled away regardless, all too soon, the familiar outline of her driveway pulled into view. As the car rolled to a stop and the engine cut out, her heart started to turn, aching and bleeding all over again. They sat there in the heavy darkness, neither of them moving, neither of them daring to unbuckle their seatbelts.
"I love you," Oscar finally said into the quiet cabin, his voice barely more than a cracked whisper. A stifled sob broke from her lips, hot tears spilling over her lashes. Before she reached for the door handle, she turned to him. She looked at him long enough to truly study his face, memorizing every line, every shadow, every single freckle on his skin like constellations scattered across a night sky she would never see again.
For the last time, "I love you too," she finally whispered back.
She opened the door and stepped out into the cool air, shutting it behind her immediately. She walked toward her front porch, moving too fast to hesitate, but not fast enough to linger. With every step toward her front door, her heart prayed that he would open his car door, run after her, and beg her to stay, and in the driver's seat, staring at her retreating figure through the windshield, Oscar was begging the heavens that she would just turn around, run back, and ask him not to leave.
Neither of them did.
The heavy front door of her house clicked shut, sealing her inside, and only then did Oscar finally break. The tears came rushing out, unstopping, heavy, and warm against his cheeks as his breath caught in his throat.
This was it. The inevitable and final goodbye.
Five whole minutes he spent just sitting there in her driveway, silently taking in the agonizing weight of the silence. Five more minutes before he could force his hands onto the steering wheel and let go. Five more minutes before he had to drive away and begin the slow, painful process of trying to forget.
Five more minutes of asking himself, the universe, God—how do you stop time from changing love to loss when you're just not ready to face it yet?
You never expected your little restaurant tucked away in Monaco to become one of the most talked-about places in the Formula 1 paddock.
What started as sending your boyfriend, Yuki Tsunoda, homemade lunches slowly turned into feeding half of the Red Bull garage. Fresh pastries on Friday mornings, cookies after qualifying, and desserts that somehow disappeared before anyone else could get one.
Yuki insists he's your biggest fan, proudly telling anyone who'll listen that his girlfriend is the best chef in Monaco. The mechanics agree. So do the engineers. Even the rival teams keep finding excuses to stop by the Red Bull hospitality whenever you're around.
Some drivers chase podiums.
You accidentally became the paddock's favorite chef.
a/n : heyyy so day two of my lemonade stand, this story is one of my faves.
extra info : comment of you want to be added to the tag list and request are open !!!
fc : pinterest girls
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chef.y/n
liked by : yukitsunoda0511, kellypiquet, kikagomes and 678,908 others
my favorite part of the job will always be watching people smile after the first bite. 🤍👩🏻🍳
yukitsunoda0511: that's my girlfriend btw 😌❤️
user1: yuki is under every single post 😭
redbullracing: we'll take another tray of cookies this weekend, thank you.
maxverstappen1: can confirm the tiramisu is worth fighting for.
liamlawson30: yuki didn't leave me a single brownie.
isackhadjar: i still think about those cinnamon rolls.
danielricciardo: i don't even drive for red bull anymore and i'm somehow jealous.
charles_leclerc: monaco's best kept secret.
oscarpiastri: yuki has mentioned this meal at least seven times.
landonorris: can mclaren place an order?
alex_albon: i'm willing to cross the paddock for dessert.
carlossainz55: those fries look dangerous.
francolapinto: save me a plate next time 😭
mercedesamgf1: 👀
scuderiaferrari: asking for a friend... do you cater?
user2: imagine casually dating yuki tsunoda.
user3: she's literally living my dream.
user4: the food looks like it belongs in a michelin guide.
user5: not everyone in the comments trying to get an invitation 😭
yukitsunoda0511: everyone stop asking for my food.
user6: "my food" SIR SHE MADE IT 😭😭
yourbestfriend: she tested that menu for weeks, so happy it's finally out 🥹🤍
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🎥 @f1gossipgurls posted a video
The video starts outside a cozy restaurant in Monaco as a black SUV pulls up. One by one, several familiar F1 drivers step out wearing hoodies, caps, and sunglasses, clearly hoping not to be recognized. The person filming whispers in disbelief as they spot Yuki Tsunoda leading the group inside, followed by Max Verstappen, Liam Lawson, and a few Red Bull mechanics.
The next clip shows everyone leaving nearly two hours later. They're laughing, carrying takeaway boxes, and Yuki is holding a small paper bag that another driver jokingly tries to steal before Yuki snatches it back. The person filming zooms in as someone says, "See you next race... and save me a table next time!"
like by : user098, user876, user128 and 897,765 others
user91726: why are they leaving with TAKEOUT 😭
user05284: not max trying to act invisible with a cap on 💀
user77415: whoever the chef is deserves a michelin star because this is becoming a weekly tradition.
user29037: imagine going out for dinner and casually seeing half the f1 grid.
user86104: yuki looked SO proud walking out with that bag 😭❤️
user63822: i need the restaurant name immediately.
user17490: the way the mechanics looked happier than after a podium 😭
user41587: they're definitely here because of someone's cooking, not just the vibes.
user90831: i've never seen drivers this committed to dinner plans before 😭🍝
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chef.y/n posted a story
after a 14-hour shift, i came home to my favorite person attempting dinner. 🫶🏻🍳
i think he spent more time asking me if it tasted good than actually cooking.
yukitsunoda0511: IT WAS GOOD 😤
chef.y/n: it was, you just asked "is it good?" every 45 seconds
yukitsunoda0511: because i was nervous 😔
user74218: relationship goals honestly.
liamlawson30: i didn't know he knew where the kitchen was.
chef.y/n : blocked
oscarpiastri: was the smoke alarm involved?
chef.y/n: surprisingly ...no
user12856: imagine working a 14-hour shift and coming home to this 😭❤️
user55734: he definitely watched five youtube tutorials before she got home.
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🎥 @f1gossipgurls posted a video
The video begins at the Monaco paddock entrance as the camera pans across the crowd before suddenly zooming in on you walking through the paddock. You're wearing a simple white linen outfit with sunglasses, your accreditation around your neck, and carrying two large paper bags with Maison Étoile printed across the front.
As you pass by a few team motorhomes, several people smile and wave. You stop briefly to greet a Red Bull mechanic before continuing toward the Red Bull Hospitality. One mechanic immediately reaches over to peek inside one of the bags, making you laugh and gently pull it away. A few seconds later, Yuki appears at the entrance, grinning from ear to ear. He takes one of the bags from your hands before holding the door open for you, and the video ends just as the two of you disappear inside.
user48291: i know those mechanics were counting down the days 😭
user90715: NOT THEM TRYING TO LOOK INSIDE THE BAG IMMEDIATELY 💀
user71139: that's not yuki's girlfriend anymore. that's the red bull garage's chef.
user29544: imagine working in the paddock and getting homemade food every race weekend.
user84013: the mechanic trying to sneak a look in the bag sent me 😭
user53098: the restaurant logo on the bag is free advertising at this point.
user68471: if i was another team i'd be walking over asking for leftovers.
user25591: this is becoming my favorite race weekend tradition. 🍝❤️
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chef.y/n
liked by : yukitsunoda0511,redbullracing, kikagomes and 675,987 others
home race weekends just hit different. ❤️🏁
good food, good company, and the prettiest office view.
yukitsunoda0511: my favorite part of monaco weekends ❤️
chef.y/n: the food I brought you??
yukitsunoda0511: ...and you
chef.y/n : nice safe
redbullracing: We can confirm the food delivery arrived safely. 🫡🍝
isackhadjar: can i be added to the food distribution list?
chef.y/n : applications are currently open
user84017: she's literally living the dream. chef in monaco AND dating yuki.
user73091: yuki is never beating the "obsessed with his girlfriend" allegations.
user25794: every post somehow ends with the comments talking about food and i'm here for it.
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🎥 @f1gossipgurl posted a video
The video catches you walking through the paddock with several of the rookies after a session, all of you laughing about something. One of them glances at the tote bag on your shoulder and asks, "Please tell me you still have food left." You burst out laughing, open the bag just enough to peek inside, and reply, "Maybe... if you get there before Yuki does." Everyone starts laughing as the group continues walking toward the Red Bull hospitality.
user14087: THE FACT THEY ALL KNOW SHE BRINGS FOOD.
user84320: yuki definitely finished half the bag already.
user11857: she doesn't even need an introduction anymore, they just know she's the food plug. 😂
user58291: "if you get there before yuki does" 😭😭
user26174: this is actually the cutest running joke.
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chef.y/n
liked by : yukitsunoda0511, maxverstappen1,redbullracing and 987,654 others
race weekends usually end here. 🤍🍷
good food, familiar faces, and somehow convincing half the grid that "just one dessert" is impossible.
yukitsunoda0511: thank you for feeding everyone... even though i told you to save dessert for me. ❤️
chef.y/n : you had two before anyone else arrived.
yukitsunoda0511 : fake news
kimi.antonelli: can confirm... the desserts disappear in about 30 seconds.
chef.y/n: because you and yuki race to the kitchen every single time.
kimi.antonelli: i'm just supporting local businesses.
pierregasly: i don't know what's better, the food or the hospitality.
chef.y/n : you'll have to come back and decide.
isackhadjar: i came for dinner... left with enough food for tomorrow too.
chef.y/n : i knew you'd ask for takeaway.
maxverstappen1: i still think i deserve the recipe
chef.y/n : absolutely not.
maxverstappen1: worth asking.
redbullracing: Official team statement: morale increases by at least 200% after a Maison Étoile dinner. 🍽️- liked by chef.y/n
user83015: imagine casually having dinner next to formula 1 drivers.
user44173: every driver leaves with takeaway boxes 😭
user35691: the way everyone in the comments is fighting over the desserts 💀
user91734: this restaurant has become an honorary paddock building.
