#oscar fluff

It’s a small, quiet café on a tucked-away street in Monaco. Warm light filters through the windows, bouncing off the glass display of pastries you swore you wouldn’t get this time (but probably will). You and Oscar are tucked into a corner booth, half-eaten sandwiches in front of you, coffee cups nearly empty.

When the bill comes, he’s already reaching for his wallet.

You’re faster.

Beep.

Oscar pauses mid-motion. His brows twitch. You glance up from the machine just in time to catch the confusion spread across his face like a system error.

“…huh?” he mutters, holding his card out limply like it’s suddenly useless.

You slip your own card back into your purse. “What?”

He just stares. “I was gonna get it.”

You blink at him, feigning innocence. “I know.”

“Then why—?”

“I paid already.”

Oscar looks genuinely affronted. Not angry, just… personally attacked. Like you’ve just denied him his birthright. “You what?”

A quiet laugh escapes you. “Paid. Already. It’s done. You can put your heroic little Visa away.”

His mouth opens, then closes again, processing. “Why would you—?”

“Because I wanted to.” You shrug, sipping the last of your iced coffee. “Also, I can. Shocking, I know.”

Oscar stares at you for a second longer, still holding his card like it might somehow fight for relevance. Then he lets it drop to the table with a soft clink, sitting back with narrowed eyes.

“This feels illegal,” he mutters.

You smile. “You’ll survive.”

“No, like genuinely. I’m filing a complaint. Where’s the manager?”

You lean forward, grinning. “You are the manager. And you’re doing a terrible job.”

He groans dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at you again with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t over.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” you say, already standing and grabbing your bag. “Now let’s go before you try to Venmo me or something.”

He trails after you, still grumbling under his breath. But when your hand brushes his, he laces your fingers together without hesitation.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says.

You squeeze his hand. “I know.”

The friend who'd been with you since you were two teenagers just trying to survive the brutality of the racing academy. The boy who first helped you learn how to trail brake without spinning. The one who always noticed when you skipped lunch. The one who stayed on video call with you the night before your first pole because you were too nervous to sleep.

The one who, no matter how much he tried to hide it, still softened the moment you looked at him.

And here you were- standing at the back of the McLaren garage after the race, watching him from twenty meters away as the whole world celebrated his teammate.

Lando was mobbed by media, by engineers, by sponsors, by papaya-clad fans that sounded like they might combust from sheer excitement.

But Oscar?

Oscar stood a bit off to the side, helmet still under one arm, race suit unzipped to his waist, fireproofs clinging to his chest. His hair was damp, cheeks flushed, eyes slightly unfocused with the remnants of adrenaline.

He had finished second overall and stood third in the championship standings- an achievement any other rookie would kill for.

But somehow, some way, everyone barely seemed to care.

Except you.

Your feet moved before you even decided to walk, weaving past cameras, past people shouting Lando's name, past McLaren crew members nodding politely at you when they recognized your academy jacket.

Oscar looked up at the movement, eyes locking onto you instantly- as if he'd been waiting for you to appear in the crowd.

There it was. That blink. That tiny, almost imperceptible exhale.

The relief that he didn't have to stand in a swarm of people who saw him as a number on a screen and not a person.

You knew him too well.

"Hey," you said softly, loud enough for only him to hear you as you finally reached him.

He gave the classic Piastri nonchalant shrug- famous online, but you'd seen the real version a thousand times. The one that hid nerves. The one that meant he cared more than he'd ever admit.

"You made it," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"I told you I'd be here."

"Yeah, but flights get delayed. Things happen. You didn't have to-"

"Osc." You stepped close enough for your shoulder to bump his lightly. "I wanted to."

And there it was again- his breath catching ever so slightly.

He looked away first, pretending to adjust the strap of the helmet resting on his side.

You smiled. Shy, warm, a little knowing. Because he always did that around you.

---

FLASHBACK - ACADEMY

Your visor was fogging. You were sweating inside your race suit. And you were absolutely, unquestionably about to lose your shit.

"Just brake later," your engineer kept saying over the radio. Just brake later. Just brake later. Just brake later.

You wanted to break something, that's for sure.

Then someone knocked on the side of your car in the paddock. You lifted your visor. Oscar stood there, holding a cold bottle of water and wearing that annoyingly calm expression he used whenever you were spiraling.

"You look like you're seconds away from committing homicide," he stated.

"I might," you replied dryly.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," he deadpanned. "I'm fond of you. Prison visiting hours would seriously cut into my training schedule."

You blinked, heat rising to your face despite the sweat. Fond of you?

He coughed immediately, ears going pink. "Anyway. Uh. I can help. With the breaking thing."

"You?"

"Me. Yes. Shocking, I know."

"You just like showing off," you muttered.

"Absolutely," he smiled. "But this time it's to help you.

And it did help. And he never let you forget it.

---

PRESENT DAY

Now he was taller. Sharper. More mature in that quiet, unexpectedly confident way he developed after joining F1.

But to you?

He was still the boy who steadied your shaking hands before your first academy podium.

"Seriously," you smiled gently, "you were incredible today."

he huffed a laugh. "Could've been better."

"Oscar." You stepped in front of him, forcing his eyes to meet yours. "You were second overall. Third in the entire championship. That's-"

"Not first," he said, tone deceptively light, but you heard the undertone. You always heard it.

"You're allowed to be proud of yourself," you told him. "I'm proud of you."

And before he could respond, a group of McLaren staff passed behind you- cheering loudly. "Landooo! Media room, mate! Let's go!"

Oscar's jaw tightened for just a fraction of a second. Not jealousy. Not resentment. Just... being overlooked. Again.

You didn't even think. Your hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing his.

He froze. You froze. Your fingertips touched for maybe a second- barely anything. But Oscar reacted like you'd lit a fuse under him. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes flicking down to your hand, then up to your face, expression unreadable in a way only he could manage.

"...Come with me?" he asked suddenly.

You blinked. "Where?"

"Somewhere quiet."

The way he said it- low, quiet, almost vulnerable- sent heat racing down your spine. Before you could respond, he cleared his throat quickly, trying to mask whatever he just revealed.

"Just for a bit," he added. Media's gonna be focusing on Lando for at least another hour. I could use some time away from... this."

You smiled. "I'm always down to escape with you."

His lips twitched. "'Escape' makes it sound like we're fugitives."

"Have you seen the paddock? We practically are."

That actually made him laugh- soft, quiet, the kind no one else ever got to hear.

He turned toward the back exit of the garage, shoulder brushing yours as he led you out, making sure you stayed close in the bustling chaos.

And when someone called out- "Hey, where's Oscar going?"

-- You didn't miss the way he subtly stepped closer to you, shielding you with his body as he guided you into the quieter service corridor behind the hospitality building.

His voice dropped again, only for you. "Thank you for being here."

"I told you, Osc-"

"No," he cut in gently, eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart lurch, "thank you for being here for me."

And right there, in that quiet corridor while the world celebrated someone else, you felt something shift.

Something bigger than the crowd. Bigger than the race. Bigger than the season.

Because even after all these years, all the changes, all the growing up... Oscar Piastri still looked for you first. And you still came running.

___

The corridor behind the McLaren hospitality unit was dimmer, cooler, and blissfully silent compared to the chaos you'd just escaped.

Oscar leaned back against the wall the moment you were out of sight, tilting his head slightly as if grounding himself. The overhead lights cast soft shadows across his face, sharp lines softened by exhaustion and something else you couldn't quite name. Relief, maybe. Or vulnerability.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, watching him the way you always did when he thought no one was paying attention. "How long do you think we've got?" you asked quietly.

He glanced over at a clock on the wall. "Thirty minutes. Maybe forty if Lando gets dragged into extra interviews."

You hummed. "So... plenty of time, then,"

He snorted softly. "Yeah. He's the star today." The words weren't bitter. Oscar never sounded bitter. But they were honest.

You stepped closer, resting your back on the wall opposite of him. The narrowness of the corridor suddenly made everything feel more intimate, like the world had folded in on itself just to give the two of you this moment.

"You know," you said carefully, "you don't always have to be okay with that."

His gaze lifted, meeting yours immediately. "Okay with what?"

"With being the one people forget to look at."

His lips parted slightly, like he hadn't expected you to say that out loud. "I'm not forgotten," he replied after a moment. "Just... quieter."

You tilted your head. "Are you sure that's better?"

A pause stretched between you, thick and heavy. Oscar scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. "You always do that," he murmured.

"Do what?"

"Say the thing everyone else avoids."

You shrugged. "Someone has to."

His eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache.

___

FLASHBACK- ACADEMY

You were sitting on the floor beside your car, knees pulled to your chest, helmet resting uselessly at your side.

You hadn't cried. Not yet. But you were close.

Oscar had finished fourth. You'd finished eleventh. Bad strategy call. Not your fault. Still devastating.

He'd found you there without asking anyone where you'd gone

"Hey," he said quietly, crouching in front of you. "You didn't deserve that."

You laughed bitterly. "You say that every time."

"Because it's true every time."

You stared at him. "Why do you care so much?"

He'd gone still Then shrugged- awkward, uncertain.

"Because you're good," he said simply. "And because it hurts watching someone good doubt themself."

You hadn't know what to say to that. You still didn't.

---

PRESENT DAY

Oscar shifted his weight, the sound of distant cheering echoing faintly through the walls.

"They're probably opening champagne by now," he said. "Team dinner tonight. You coming?"

"Wasn't invited."

His brows furrowed immediately. "What? Why not?"

You gave him a wry smile. "I'm not exactly part of the circus anymore."

He frowned harder. "That's stupid."

You laughed softly. "Welcome to motorsport."

There was a beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly, he pushed off the wall and took a step toward you. "Come anyway," he stated.

Your heart skipped. "Oscar-"

"I'm serious," he insisted. "You were part of this just as much as anyone else. You've been part of my whole career."

The way he said my made your stomach flip.

"I don't think Zak would appreciate me crashing the McLaren celebration."

"Zak will survive," Oscar said, lips twitching. "He usually does."

You studied him for a moment, searching his face. "Why do you want me there?" you asked softly.

He hesitated. Just for a second. But you noticed.

"I-" he exhaled. "Because when everyone's talking over me, you don't."

That did it. Something inside you shifted, subtle but unmistakable.

You stepped closer without realizing it, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint traces of sweat and champagne and something uniquely Oscar. "You don't talk over me either," you said quietly. "You listen."

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then snapped back up- like he'd caught himself doing something dangerous.

"You always know when I'm lying," he murmured.

"That's because you're terrible at it."

He smiled faintly. "Only with you."

The air felt heavier now, charged with something neither of you were brave enough to name.

A burst of laughter echoed from outside- Lando's voice unmistakable, followed by cheers.

Oscar stiffened slightly. You didn't hesitate. Your hand reached out, resting gently on his forearm.

"Hey," you said. "You did good today. You don't have to disappear just because someone else is louder."

He looked down at your hand like it belonged there. Like it always had.

"I don't feel invisible when you're around," he admitted under his breath.

Your throat tightened. "Good," you whispered. "Because I see you."

His breath caught. For one terrifying, electrifying moment, you thought he might lean in. Thought his forehead might touch yours. Thought this- whatever this was- might finally tip over into something undeniable.

Instead, a McLaren staffer's voice echoed faintly down the corridor. "Oscar! We're heading to the press room in five!"

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the walls were back up- polite, composed, careful. But not entirely.

"Dinner?" he asked again, softer this time. "Please?"

You smiled, heart pounding. "I wouldn't miss it."

He nodded once, then stepped past you, pausing just long enough to brush your shoulder with his. And as he walked away, you noticed something you hadn't before. He didn't look disappointed anymore. He looked... hopeful.

---

The restaurant overlooking the marina was everything McLaren liked to pretend they were effortless at being- sleek, modern, buzzing with energy and champagne and a very specific kind of victory.

Orange flooded the room.

Orange accents, orange shirts, orange caps tossed carelessly over chair backs. The long table near the windows was already half-filled when you arrived, laughter echoing off glass walls as the sun dipped low over Yas Island.

Oscar walked in just ahead of you.

You watched the shift happen in real time.

Shoulders straightened. Expression neutralized. Public Oscar slid seamlessly into place.

But he slowed when he realized you weren't beside him anymore.

You'd paused just inside the entrance, suddenly very aware that you were stepping into his world again- not as a driver, not as a teammate, just... someone from before.

He turned back immediately.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

You nodded. "Yeah. Just- feels weird."

He studied you for a moment, then did something that made your breath hitch. He held out his hand. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just enough for you to see it.

"Sit with me," he said simply.

You didn't hesitate. The table erupted into noise as you joined them.

"Oscar!" "There he is!" "Second place, mate- huge!"

Hands clapped his back. Someone shoved a glass into his hand. Zak grinned from across the table, already halfway through a story about strategy calls and tire degradation.

And yet- despite all of it- Oscar pulled out the chair next to him and waited until you sat before taking his own.

Lando noticed immediately. You saw it in the way his eyes flicked between the two of you, brows lifting just slightly.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "And who's this?"

You opened your mouth, but Oscar beat you to it.

"This is-" he paused. Just a fraction too long, "-my friend."

The word felt heavier than it should've.

"From the academy," he added quickly. "We raced together."

Lando's grin sharpened. "Oh," he said. "That friend."

You blinked. "That friend?"

He waved it off. "Oscar talks about you more than you think."

Oscar nearly choked on his drink. "I do not."

"You absolutely do," Lando shot back. "Anytime someone brings up academy days, he gets all-" he gestured vaguely, "-quiet and sentimental."

Oscar shot him a warning look. Lando grinned wider. You hid your smile behind your glass.

Dinner rolled on in waves of laughter and clinking silverware, stories about near misses and radio arguments and inside jokes you'd forgotten how much you missed being a part of.

Oscar stayed close the entire time. His knee brushed yours under the table more than once. His arm rested along the back of your chair. When someone asked you a question, he turned toward you fully, attention undivided.

People started to notice.

"So," one of the engineers said casually, "you sticking around after this?"

You shrugged. "Wasn't sure."

Oscar answered without thinking. "She is."

You turned to him. "I am?"

He froze. Then, quietly, "If you want to."

Something about the way he said it- hopeful, uncertain- made your chest tighten. "I want to," you said softly.

Across the table, Lando lifted his glass. "Right," he muttered. "I see what's happening."

Oscar kicked him under the table. Hard.

---

The night air was cooler on the balcony, carrying the faint scent of salt and engine fumes from the track below.

You leaned against the railing, watching the lights shimmer across the water. Oscar joined you a moment later, two glasses in hand.

"Thought you might want one," he said, offering you the glass filled with champagne.

"Thanks."

You clinked glasses softly. Neither of you spoke for a while. The noise from inside faded into a distant hum- music, laughter, celebration that felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

"You okay?" he asked eventually.

You nodded. "Just... nostalgic."

He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Me too."

Silence stretched again, comfortable but charged.

"Lando thinks something's going on," you said lightly.

Oscar groaned. "Of course he does."

"Is he wrong?' you asked quietly.

He turned to you slowly. The city lights reflected in his eyes, making them look softer than you'd ever seen. "I don't know," he admitted. "That's the problem."

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs.

"I think," he continued, voice low, "we've been orbiting each other for a long time."

You swallowed. "That's one way to put it."

He leaned closer, forearms resting on the railing beside yours. "I've never been good at... this part," he said. "The feelings part. the risking-things part."

You looked at him. Really looked. "You risk everything every weekend," you said gently. "Just not this."

He laughed under his breath. "Yeah. Exactly."

The space between you felt suddenly very small. Too small. You could feel his warmth, hear his breathing, see the way his gaze dropped to your lips again- this time lingering.

"Oscar," you whispered.

He stilled. "If this is a bad idea," he said softly, "tell me now."

You didn't. Instead, you stepped closer. Close enough that your chest brushed his arm. Close enough that your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve without thinking.

"I don't think it's bad," you said. "I think it's just... scary."

His land lifted slowly, hovering near your waist like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

When you didn't, he rested it there- warm, steady, grounding.

For one suspended, breathless moment, it felt inevitable.

Then- "Oscar!"

Both of you jumped. Lando leaned halfway out the balcony doors, smirking. "Zak's looking for you," he said. "Also, for the record-" his eyes flicked pointedly between the two of you, "-I called this."

Oscar dropped his hand immediately, stepping back.

You laughed, breathless, heart racing. "Of course you did," you muttered.

Lando winked. "Carry on." The doors slid shut.

Oscar exhaled shakily. "Sorry," he said. "That-"

"Don't," you interrupted. "I don't regret it."

He looked at you surprised. Neither did he.

"Walk with me?" he asked quietly.

You nodded.

As you left the balcony together, fingers brushing once more, you knew one thing for certain- Whatever this was between you and Oscar Piastri? It was no longer invisible. And neither of you could pretend it didn't exist anymore.

---

The paddock at night felt nothing like it did during the day. The noise was gone. The chaos had burned itself out. What remained was the low hum of generators, the glow of overhead lights reflecting off empty asphalt, and the echo of footsteps that felt far too loud in the quiet.

You walked beside Oscar, hands brushing occasionally, neither of you daring to fully close the distance yet.

Not after the balcony. Not after everything that had almost happened.

"I can't believe Lando," you muttered.

Oscar huffed a laugh. "He has a sixth sense for ruining moments."

"You looked like you were about to throttle him."

"Briefly considered it," he admitted. "Decided it would be bad for my public image."

You smiled, but the laughter faded quickly. The silence that followed wasn't awkward- it was heavy. Full. Loaded with everything neither of you had said yet.

Oscar slowed, then stopped altogether near the edge of the paddock, where the lights dimmed and the marina breeze cut through the lingering heat. You turned to face him. He didn't look away this time.

"I didn't mean to pull away back there," he said quietly. "I just-"

"You don't have to explain," you said gently.

"No," he insisted. "I do." His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders rising and falling with a measured breath. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Your heart stuttered. "...Do what?"

He laughed softly, almost embarrassed. "Kiss you." There it was. Bare. Honest. Unavoidable. "You always felt... off-limits," he continued. "Like if I crossed that line, I'd ruin something I couldn't get back."

You stepped closer without telling your body to. "Oscar," you whispered, "we stopped being just academy kids a long time ago."

"I know," he said. "But every time I thought about saying something, you were doing something incredible. Moving on. Living your life." He looked at you, eyes searching. "And I didn't want to be another thing pulling you in a direction you didn't choose."

Your chest ached. "You never pulled," you stated. "You waited."

His jaw tightened. "I waited too long."

You reached for him then- really reached- your fingers wrapping around his wrist, grounding him. "You're here now."

He swallowed. "So are you."

The air between you felt electric.

His hand lifted again, slower this time, more certain. He cupped your jaw gently, thumb brushing along your cheek like he was committing the feeling to his memory.

"Tell me to stop."

You didn't. Instead, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first- tentative, careful, like both of you were afraid the moment might disappear if you moved too fast. His lips were warm. Steady. Familiar in a way that made your chest tighten painfully.

When he exhaled against your mouth, something in him broke. The kiss deepened- not frantic, not desperate, but sure. Like he'd finally stopped holding back. His other hand settled at your waist, fingers pressing lighting like he was anchoring himself to you.

You melted into him, hands sliding up to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your palms.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, foreheads touching, the world felt quieter than it ever had.

Oscar laughed softly, incredulous. "...Wow."

You smiled, cheeks warm. "Yeah.."

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed. "I've replayed that moment in my head," he spoke quietly into the chill air. "More times than I care to admit."

"You're kidding."

He shook his head. "No. Always thought it would be... different."

"Different how?"

"Less terrifying," he smiled. "Less perfect."

Your heart skipped. He opened his eyes again, gaze steady and sincere.

"I don't know what this means," he stated. "But I know I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

You squeezed his hand. "Neither do I."

A voice echoed faintly in the distance- someone calling for him again. He groaned. "They're going to start a search party."

You laughed softly.

He hesitated, then leaned in once more- this time with confidence- and kissed you again. Slower. Deeper. Certain. When he pulled back, he smiled- not the polite one he wore for cameras, but the real one you remembered from late nights in the academy garage.

"Stay," he said softly. "Just... with me. Tonight."

You nodded. "I'm not going anywhere."

As you walked back toward the lights together, his hand found your naturally, fingers lacing like it had always been meant to happen this way. And for the first time in a long time, Oscar didn't feel like he was standing in anyone else's shadow.

Because the person he'd always wanted to see him- Was walking right beside him.

---

You woke up to silence. Not the heavy, lonely kind- but the calm, suspended kind, like the world had agreed to hold its breath for a little while longer.

Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, pale gold spilling across unfamiliar white sheets. For a moment, you didn't move. You just lay there, blinking slowly, listening. There was the faint hum of air conditioning. The distant murmur of traffic far below. And- warmth. Solid. Steady. Real.

You shifted slightly and felt it immediately: an arm wrapped securely around your waist, a chest rising and falling behind you, breath warm against the back of your neck.

Oscar.

Last night came back in fragments first.

The walk. The kiss. The way he'd held your hand like it was instinct rather than intention. The quiet room. The way he'd looked at you afterward, like he was afraid you might vanish if he blinked.

Your heart thudded softly and you turned carefully in his arms.

Oscar was still asleep, lashes resting against his cheeks, hair messy in a way you'd only ever seen during academy weekends when he'd fallen asleep in airport chairs or hotel lobbies between flights.

He looked younger like this. Softer Unarmored. One hand curled loosely into the fabric of your shirt, fingers flexing slightly when you moved, like even in sleep he was aware of where you were.

You swallowed. God. This was dangerous.

As if sensing your stare, his brow furrowed faintly. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first- then sharpening the moment he saw you.

"Oh," he murmured. His voice was rough, sleep-warmed. "You're still here."

You smiled. "Good morning to you too."

He blinked, then exhaled- long and relieved- pulling you closer without hesitation. "Sorry," he said immediately. "That sounded... wrong. I just meant-"

"I know what you meant." you said gently.

He relaxed against the pillow, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing it. "Did I dream it?" He asked quietly.

You leaned in and kissed him- soft, lingering, real. "No," you whispered against his lips. "You didn't."

He smiled then. Really smiled. The kind that crinkled his eyes and made his whole face soften, like a weight he'd been carrying for years and finally shifted. "Okay," he said. "Good."

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his. Neither of you moved for a while.

Eventually, Oscar spoke again. "We should probably talk about it," he stated.

You nodded. "Yeah. We probably should."

He rolled onto his side so he was facing you fully, propping himself up on one elbow. "I don't want this to be something that happens once because we were emotional and tired and it was the end of the season," he said carefully. "And I don't want to scare you by saying that if this is something, I take it seriously."

Your chest warmed. "You don't scare me," you said. "You never have."

His gaze softened. "I've liked you for a long time," he admitted. "I just didn't know what to do with it."

You reached up, thumb brushing along his jaw. "I think we've both been doing that."

He nodded, leaning into your touch instinctively.

"So," he started, a hint of nervousness creeping in, "maybe we... don't define it quite yet?"

You smiled. "I'd be okay with that."

His shoulders visibly relaxed.

"But," you added, "I don't want to hide it either."

He met your eyes. "Neither do I."

A knock sounded at the door. You both froze.

Oscar groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. "Please tell me that's not Lando." Another knock.

"Oscar!" Lando's voice came through loud and clear. "We're leaving for the airport in an hour, and Zak wants to-" The door opened slightly.

Lando stopped. Looked at you. Looked at Oscar. Looked at your intertwined positions on the bed. Then he grinned.

"Oh," he said. "So that's what happened."

Oscar buried his face in his hands. "Get out," he muttered.

Lando laughed. "Relax, Romeo. I'll tell Zak you're... occupied."

The door shut and you burst out laughing. Oscar looked at you, resigned but smiling.

"Well," he said. "That was inevitable."

You reached for him again, fingers lacing with his easily, naturally. "What happens when the season starts again?" you asked quietly.

He squeezed your hand. "We figure it out," he said. "Together. Like we always have."

And for the first time, the uncertainty didn't feel scary. It felt promising. Because this time, when the noise faded and the lights dimmed and the world moved on to its next obsession- Oscar Piastri wouldn't be standing alone. He had you. And you had him.

Siren Eyes (poly!Landoscar)

Oscar’s forehead presses against your shoulder, his breathing already unsteady, hands gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life.

He hasn’t moved in at least thirty seconds.

You can feel the tension rolling off him, the way his muscles shake as he forces himself to stay still. And you know why.

It’s been too long.

Between his F1 schedule and all the traveling, he’s barely had time to breathe, let alone spend a night tangled up with you. And after weeks of teasing phone calls, half-whispered confessions about how much you missed each other, you made a deal—no touching, no getting off, nothing—until you were together again.

At the time, it seemed like a fun way to build up anticipation.

Now? Oscar looks like he’s about to combust.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, his voice strained. His hands flex at your hips, like he wants to move but knows he shouldn’t. “I just—I need a second.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smirk. He’s barely inside you, buried to the hilt but still, and he’s already this close to falling apart.

“You okay, baby?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Oscar groans, lifting his head just enough for you to see how wrecked he already looks—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, flushed all the way down his chest.

“No,” he breathes, shaking his head. “I—I can't. You feel too good. It’s—fuck, it’s too much.”

You tighten around him just to be mean, and holy shit—the way he shudders, a choked whimper spilling from his lips, makes heat coil low in your stomach.

“Jesus,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “D-Don’t do that. Please.”

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “What happened to my sweet, patient boy?”

Oscar exhales sharply, gripping your waist tighter. “She left me stranded on the other side of the world for weeks and made me promise not to touch myself,” he grumbles. “Now she’s acting surprised that I’m losing my fucking mind.”

His words make you clench around him again, and he whines, dropping his forehead to your shoulder again.

“Okay, okay—seriously, I need a second,” he pleads, squeezing his eyes shut. “If I move, I’m gonna come in like, two thrusts, and you’re gonna make fun of me forever.”

You hum, running your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly at the roots just to hear him whimper. “You’re already giving me plenty to tease you about, baby.”

Oscar groans. “You’re evil.”

You tilt his chin up, making him look at you. His pupils are blown wide, lips bitten raw, and you feel a rush of affection mixed with arousal at the sight of him like this—so desperate, so yours.

“Take your time,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I want you to feel good.”

He exhales shakily, nodding, but there’s still frustration in the furrow of his brows.

You smile. “And when you can’t hold back anymore, I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

Oscar swallows hard, gaze flicking to your lips. “You—” He stops, taking another deep breath, trying to ground himself.

Then, finally, he moves—just a little, a slow roll of his hips that sends a full-body shudder through him.

He groans, high and so needy. “I’m not gonna last,” he warns, voice breaking.

You smirk, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.

“That’s the fun part, baby.”