The Butterfliessssss

the butterfliessssss

hey! please could you write a 🔥 charles leclerc

7 MINUTES | CL16

an: this celeb really has me writing for people i've never written for but here you go! rushed and not proof read lol i wanna go to bed

summary: 7 minutes in heaven, max's sister, what could possibly go wrong?

warnings: heavy make out session

wc: 3k

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under you, watching as the last of the sunlight fades beyond the horizon. The air still smells like autumn — damp leaves, bonfires, that kind of thing — and you can hear the muffled voices of the boys from the kitchen. They’d been drinking for hours, celebrating the end of the season. Your brother, Max , the life of every gathering, was at the centre of it all, recounting the race from last weekend like a war story for those who had missed his and Lando’s close race.

Inside the living room, the atmosphere was cosy but charged, the kind of energy that only came when the season was over and there was nothing left to lose. Someone had opened a second bottle of whiskey, and you were pretty sure it was Charles. He was sprawled out on the recliner, arm dangling over the side, his laugh loud and carefree. Across from him, Lando and Daniel were huddled together on the floor, passing around a bowl of chips like they were planning something.

Then it happened. Daniel’s eyes lit up, his smirk growing wider as he sat up straighter. "You know what we haven’t done in ages?" he said, voice slick with mischief. "Seven minutes in heaven."

You laughed, and so did a few others, but there was  that undeniable flicker of curiosity that ran through the group of you that were in the room. This was a game you used to play in secondary school, maybe year nine if you were brave, but you’d all grown up since then. Still, the alcohol had loosened everyone’s reservations, and you could see the suggestion hanging in the air, waiting to catch fire.

“Oh, come on, we’re not twelve,” Max groaned, walking in at the perfect time but even you could see a spark in his eyes that said he was not really protesting.

Daniel shrugged, still grinning. "Exactly, we’re not twelve. So why not make it interesting?"

You could feel a ripple of unease and excitement in your chest as you glanced around the room. People were starting to perk up now, their curiosity mirroring yours. And before you knew it, Carlos’ empty beer bottle was in the middle of the floor, everyone forming a loose circle around it like it was an unspoken agreement.

Your close friend Lu, had chosen to go first, the bottle spun lazily, catching the dim light from the string of bulbs hanging above the living room. The room felt smaller now, more intimate, as if everyone’s breath was synchronised, waiting for fate to land on someone. Your stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and excitement, and you wonder if anyone else felt the same fluttering tension.

It slowed, dragging the moment out. The neck wobbled a few times, then finally came to rest, pointing directly at Lando.

She grinned, all too pleased with the outcome. “Guess I’m first,” she said, pushing herself up from the floor with the grace of someone who was not nearly as drunk as the rest of them. She casted a sideways glance at Lando, who just smirked and shrugged, ready for whatever came next.

You felt Max’s eyes on you from across the circle, and you shot him a quick look — the kind that said, This is ridiculous, right? But he just smirked, raising his beer in mock salute, clearly enjoying the chaos that was about to unfold.

“Okay, Lando,” Lu teaseed, leaning toward him with a playful tilt of her head. “I think you’re my lucky partner.”

Lando let out a fake groan, but there was a spark in his eyes as he got up. “You sure? I mean, I could take a rain check…”

Everyone laughed, the tension breaking slightly as Lando and Lu disappeared into the hallway, heading for the coat closet like this is still some high school party. But the tension crept right back in as the door closed behind them.

It had only been thirty seconds, but it felt like the room was holding its breath. You sat there, heart racing even though it was not your turn, and wondered what happened next. You’d known these people for years — grown up alongside a few of them, watched your brother and his friends live out their reckless racing dreams — but now the whole vibe had shifted. It was almost like you were all teetering on the edge of something new, something dangerous.

The minutes dragged on. The muffled laughter from behind the door made everyone exchange knowing looks, but no one said anything. Then Lu’d voice called out, “Time’s up!” and the door swung open.

Lu stepped out first, her hair slightly tousled, a grin on her face like she’d gotten away with something. Lando followed, looking slightly flushed but otherwise composed. “Well,” he said, glancing around the room, “that was... enlightening.”

Everyone laughed again, a little louder this time, but you could feel the anticipation growing. Lu took her seat, and Daniel leaned forward, reaching for the bottle with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Your turn, mini Verstappen,” he said, and suddenly all eyes were on you. When Daniel had offered this game, you briefly had the idea that he was trying to pester Max, making him watch his little sister go into a small room with one of the guys of the paddock. In a room where he couldn’t do anything to stop anyone. So when Daniel passed you the bottle, you knew exactly that was his intention.

You froze for half a second, trying to brush off the nervous thrill that shot through you. “Oh no, not me,” you started to protest, but you knew it was too late. The game had a life of its own now.

The bottle clinked as you gave it a half arsed spin, and you swore it felt like the world slowed down again. The air was thick with curiosity, everyone waiting to see who fate would pick this time.

And then it stopped. Right on Charles.

You glanced up, locking eyes with him. Charles Leclerc, your brother’s biggest rival, the one who you definitely should never get with, the one who’s always wound up your brother, who knew more than he let on. His brow quirked up, just slightly, and his lips curled into a soft, unreadable smile.

For a moment, the world felt too small, the air too warm. Daniel chuckled, almost as if he had planned it. “Well, this should be interesting.”

Charles stood up, and before you even realised it, you were on your feet too, heart pounding in your throat. You forced a laugh, trying to play it cool, but you could feel the weight of every gaze on your back as you followed him toward the hallway.

Then Max shot up, “She can’t go in there with him, come on mate.” He said looking at Charles then at the rest of the group whose eyes were too locked on you and Charles. “That’s my little sister.” 

As you opened your mouth to reply, Lando stood up and looked at Max. “The rules are the rules, and unfortunately for you the rules mean your sister needs to go into that closet with Charles.” Lando then towards Max and pushed him back down onto the floor where he was previously sat. A small laugh went through the group as they looked back at you and reminded you to go towards the closet.

The door was barely closed when the silence hit. Charles leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his green eyes scanning your face. "So," he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness, making sure no one could hear, "seven minutes."

You swallowed, leaning against the opposite wall, unsure of what to say. It felt like the world outside had faded, the only sound was the steady thrum of your pulse in your ears. There was something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a tension that had been there for longer than you’d like to admit, but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. Until now.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, “what do we do with them?”

The air inside the closet felt thicker than it should, the dim light from the hallway casting just enough of a glow under the door to catch the intensity in Charles’ eyes. Your back pressed against the wall, and you could hear your own breath coming a little too fast, the silence between you loaded with all the things neither of you had said until now.

Charles took a slow step forward, closing the distance, his presence filling the small space. He was not touching you yet, but it felt like he was everywhere, the heat radiating from him making your pulse race. His eyes flickered over your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, but you didn’t give him one. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the game, or maybe it was something you’d been pretending not to feel for a long time.

His hand came up, brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. Then, in a sudden, fluid motion, he cupped your face, pulling you toward him. His lips crashed against yours, firm but not forceful, and it was like every thought in your head vanished, replaced by the sheer intensity of the moment.

You responded immediately, fingers threading through his hair as you kissed him back, your whole body pressing against his as if you were trying to make up for lost time. The world outside the closet didn’t exist anymore — it was just the two of you, tangled up in each other. His lips are soft but urgent, like he’d been holding this back for far too long.

He pulled back just enough for a sharp breath, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough, low, like he’d barely be able to keep it together. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, mon ange” he murmured, his lips brushing yours again, making your heart skip a beat.

You smiled against his mouth, your voice barely a whisper. “Then why didn’t you?”

His hands slid down your waist, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he leant in again, his lips tracing a path along your jaw. “Didn’t think it was a good idea,” he admitted softly between kisses, his mouth now teasing the skin just beneath your ear, sending a jolt of heat down your spine. “Still don’t,” he added with a soft chuckle, but there was no trace of hesitation in the way he was kissing you now.

“Why?” you whispered, trying to suppress a moan as you tugged him closer, lost in the moment, your mind spinning, body pressed tight against his. The feel of his hands, the taste of whiskey on his lips, the way your bodies fit together in this impossibly small space—it was all overwhelming, intoxicating. Every kiss was hungrier than the last, his fingers gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away, but neither of you were going anywhere.

“Because now I’ve had you once, I’m going to want you forever.” He replied in a raspy voice.

The sound of footsteps passing in the hallway broke through the haze for just a moment, but Charles didn’t stop, his kisses trailing down your neck as his hands tightened their hold on you, and you realised how badly you’d wanted this too.

The footsteps faded, but the sound barely registered. All you could focus on was Charles — the way his lips moved against your skin, the heat of his hands gripping your waist like he’d been starving for this. Each kiss felt more urgent, more desperate, and you let yourself fall into it, the thrill of finally crossing a line you didn’t know you’d been tiptoeing around for so long.

Your fingers slid under his shirt, grazing the smooth skin of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as his breath hitched. That small reaction sent a surge of confidence through you, and you pulled him even closer, wanting more, needing more. He groaned softly, his hands travelling up your sides, fingers digging in as if he was trying to ground himself in the reality of this moment.

“I didn’t think you—” His words were cut off by another kiss, deeper this time, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in. You weren’t sure what he was going to say, but it didn't matter. The way his body was pressed against yours told you everything.

It was electric — the feeling of his lips parting against yours, his breath mixing with yours as the kiss deepened, growing more intense, more heated. You lost track of time in the tangle of it all, your bodies moving together like they’d been waiting for this, like this is what they were meant for. Every second felt like it was teetering on the edge of control, the space between you disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place.

Charles broke away, panting, his forehead pressed against yours again. His voice is ragged, low and strained with want. “You... really have no idea how hard it’s been, pretending like this wasn’t... exactly what I’ve wanted.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the heat rise in your chest as his words sank in. You reached up, tracing the edge of his jaw with your thumb, heart pounding in your ears. “Then stop pretending.”

Something shifted in his gaze, something raw and powerful. His lips crashed back against yours with renewed intensity, a fire now blazing between you, the last of any hesitation burned away. His hands roamed freely now, gripping, pulling, like he was making up for all the times he’d held back. Your back pressed harder into the wall, but you didn’t care. You were lost in the feel of him, in the way his lips trailed down to your collarbone, in the sound of his breath ragged against your skin.

Your name left his lips in a whisper, like a prayer, like it had been waiting there for years, and hearing it sent a thrill through you. You pulled him closer, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, wanting to feel every inch of him. His hands slipped under your shirt, his touch scorching as his fingers trail up your back, sending sparks down your spine as he played with your bra.

“You are heavenly,” he breathed against your neck, and you could feel the heat of his words, the truth of them, in every kiss, every touch. “Utterly heavenly.”

He’d said you hadn’t known how long he’d needed this but you did. Because now that you were here, with him, you realise you’d been wanting it too — maybe even longer than he had.

Just as his lips found yours again, there was a sharp knock on the closet door, startling you both. Daniel’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, cut through the haze. “Time’s up, lovebirds. Don’t make me open this door.”

You froze, breath caught, the spell broken for a split second. Charles chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours again, his breathing still heavy. “Guess we’ll have to hit pause.”

Your heart raced as you untangled yourselves, but before you could step back, he pulled you in for one last lingering kiss, softer this time, like a promise.

“Don’t think this is over, mon ange,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “Not even close.”

You grinned, your pulse still pounding as you tried to pull yourself together. “I’m counting on it.”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, his voice low and husky. "You should probably go first."

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

His eyes flickered down to himself, and he smirks, a little sheepishly. "Because if I walk out there like this..." He gestured toward his jeans, and you couldn’t help but notice the tension brewing once more. "Let’s just say it’s gonna be obvious what we were doing in here, and Max might not be too happy."

Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you bit back a smile. “Right.”

Charles stepped forward again, fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his gaze locked on yours. "Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you out there."

You nodded, still feeling the lingering heat between you, but you straightened your shirt and smoothed your hair as best you can, trying to act like you weren’t just tangled up with him in the small, dark closet. When you felt composed enough, you opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. Lando was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who’s back from heaven,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in your slightly dishevelled appearance. His eyes narrowed as he studied you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You look... flustered, mini Verstappen.”

Your face burned, and you weren't too sure if it was from the kiss or from the fact that your brother’s friends could read you way too well. “Shut up, Lando,” you muttered, pushing past him, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

Just as you make it to the edge of the living room, Max’s voice cuts through, louder than anyone else in the room, as if he was just realising something. "Wait a minute. Where’s Charles? Why are you coming out first?"

You froze, and everyone turned to look toward the hallway. As if on cue, Charles stepped out a beat later, looking a little too composed compared to you, though he quickly raked a hand through his hair as if to play it off. His shirt was untucked at the back, and there was a slight flush to his face, but he managed to pull himself together.

Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously, looking between the two of you, arms still crossed. "You two weren’t... actually doing anything, were you?" He tilted his head, trying to sound casual but clearly fishing for answers.

Charles shot you a quick glance, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. "Don’t worry, man," he said, walking past your brother and clapping him on the shoulder. "We were just... getting to know each other better."

the end.

MASTER LIST

requests; open! the drivers above are who i’m most likely to write about but depending on the request i’m open to ideas!

guide: - angst • fluff * smut

OSCAR PIASTRI | 81

i was all over her pt.1 -

summary; childhood best friends riddled with missed opportunities. oscar makes the mistake of introducing you to his new teammate who’s known to be a player.

i was all over her pt.2 -

summary; lando and y/n relationship is on the rocks. y/n either makes the worst or best decision of her life. oscar is losing it and has a secret habit of street racing?

i was all over her pt.3 - * (• if you squint)

summary; tensions are at an all time high between the mclaren drivers. y/n makes a choice. lando gets punched, both by reality and a friend.

KIMI ANTONELLI | f4

wishful thinking • (a sprinkle of -)

summary; kimi has had a bit of a thing for ollie’s best friend for a while now, only issue is, is that she’s under the impression he hates her guts.

current project (i need to be sedated)

this is gonna devastate me

CHICAGO PT.1 | OP81

an: i already know the girlies are going to hate me for this, i made oscar go through it this series ahhhhhhhhhhh im sorry

summary: he met her in chicago, she told him she didn't have a man, he got hooked.

wc: 4k

Oscar had met her in Chicago, of all places. The city sprawled beneath a sky that never seemed to settle, constantly shifting between grey and gold, as though unsure of its own identity. He hadn’t wanted to be there. Chicago was a detour, a necessary stop in a life too full of places he didn’t want to go. PR had dragged him into its windswept streets, ushering him toward events and dinners that blurred into a dull hum of names he would never remember.

But then there was her.

It happened at a cocktail event in some opulent hotel, a place where chandeliers dangled like stars over a sea of perfectly curated faces. The room was filled with a low murmur of voices, the clink of glasses, the thin veneer of sophistication that never quite reached beyond the surface. Oscar stood near the bar, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling as his thoughts drifted. He was already planning his escape when she appeared.

Not entered the room—appeared, as though the air had conjured her from nothingness. A figure dressed in shadows and light, with red lips like the first drop of blood on fresh snow, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the very space around her. She moved like silk caught in a breeze—fluid, graceful, with a purpose that was almost predatory, though there was nothing menacing in her gaze. No, she was hunting something, but it was subtle, wrapped in a smile that promised a thousand secrets.

“Do you mind?” she asked, her voice soft, lilting, a melody that barely stirred the air. She gestured to the empty stool beside him.

Oscar blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the smoothness of her arrival. It was as though she had been meant to be there all along, the final piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even realised was missing. Without a word, he motioned for her to sit, his whiskey forgotten, the glass now an anchor in his hand rather than a comfort.

Her name was imprinted into his mind. Her voice curled around the syllables, a name that felt like it should belong to someone in a faded photograph, or a character in a half-forgotten dream. When she smiled, it was the kind of smile that didn’t ask to be trusted, but made you want to trust it anyway. There was something so effortless in the way she carried herself, in the way she tilted her head just so, her hair brushing against her cheek as she spoke.

They began to talk, though talk wasn’t quite the right word. She led the conversation with a gentle ease, guiding it as if she were navigating a river, never pushing too hard, never revealing more than she wanted. Her voice wove stories of her life in Chicago, like threads pulled from a tapestry woven just for him. Her work as a designer, her life as a single mother—it was all laid out before him, but in pieces, fragments of a larger picture he couldn’t yet see, but wanted desperately to complete.

Then, she mentioned her daughter, and the mask shifted, just slightly. There, in her eyes he saw a softness, a flicker of something real, or at least something that felt real.

“She’s seven,” she said, her smile now tinged with a kind of wistfulness that made Oscar’s chest tighten. “Her name’s Lila. Smart as a whip. It’s just me and her, though. Doing it on my own.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for the briefest of moments, Oscar felt as though he were standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. A single mother, raising her daughter in a city that never stopped moving, never stopped demanding more—it struck a chord in him, deep and resonant. There was something in her story that tugged at him, an invisible thread that wound tighter with every word she spoke.

She glanced up at him, her eyes catching the light in a way that made them seem endless, like dark pools that promised a depth he wasn’t sure he could navigate. But he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her, to uncover the layers she kept just out of reach, to be the one who could offer her something more. More than just conversation. More than just sympathy.

“Must be tough,” Oscar murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. There was something sacred in the way she spoke of her daughter, as if Lila was the only thing tethering her to the world, the anchor in her otherwise untethered existence.

She sighed, but it wasn’t the kind of sigh that begged for attention. It was subtle, almost delicate, the kind of resignation that comes from a practised weariness. The weight of her words was perfectly measured, enough to evoke sympathy, but never pity. She wasn’t asking for anything, not outright, and yet her silence spoke louder than anything else could.

“You get used to it,” she said, her voice like a thread pulled tight, thin but unbreaking. “But, yeah... sometimes it is.”

The way she said it, as though it were an afterthought, made Oscar’s heart twist. It was the kind of struggle that sounded too familiar, too real, and before he knew it, something had shifted in him. Something protective, something foolishly eager to offer help, to be the one who could ease that burden, even if only a little.

And that’s how she hooked him. Not with grand gestures or overt requests, but with the smallest, most intimate revelations. A look here, a sigh there. Each one perfectly placed, perfectly timed. She never needed to ask, because he offered before the words could form on her lips. And every time she smiled that secretive, knowing smile, he found himself falling deeper, wanting to believe that maybe—just maybe—he was the one who could change things for her.

Days slipped into weeks like sand through an hourglass, each encounter with her deepening the spell she cast over him. Chicago began to feel like a dreamscape where their paths intertwined, a place where his mundane existence blurred into a tapestry woven with her laughter and soft whispers.

They met in the city’s hidden corners—a quiet café tucked away from the bustling streets, a dimly lit bar where jazz music wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Each time Oscar saw her, the ache of attraction blossomed, rich and vibrant, filling him with a heady mixture of hope and longing. He often found himself stealing glances, wondering if she felt the same gravity toward him that he felt toward her.

But the deeper he fell, the more he sensed an undercurrent of mystery beneath her charm. It was subtle, a flicker in her gaze whenever her phone buzzed with a text she wouldn’t show him. Sometimes, he’d catch her staring out the window, her thoughts drifting away to somewhere he couldn’t follow.

One evening, they were at a secluded rooftop bar, the city sprawling below them like a sea of twinkling lights. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused just for them. Oscar had just shared a joke, one that made her laugh—a sound so genuine, it sent warmth coursing through him.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asked, his curiosity spilling over as they leaned closer, the space between them charged with something electric. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him like a spell.

“Every day,” she replied, her eyes locking onto his, dark and mysterious. “But it’s hard to dream when you’re so busy living.”

Oscar studied her, captivated by the glimmer of vulnerability beneath her poised exterior. “What do you dream of?” he probed, leaning in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into a blur.

“I dream of freedom,” she confessed, a faint tremor in her voice. “The freedom to choose… to be whoever I want.” There was a momentary flicker in her eyes, an openness that invited him in, only to pull back just as quickly, like a candle’s flame flickering in the wind.

He couldn’t believe a woman like her was really into him. His mind raced, battling with the part of him that wanted to dismiss the notion. She was enchanting, sophisticated, everything he had ever wanted but never thought he could attain. In this moment, he felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable to resist the allure, even as it threatened to consume him.

As if sensing his turmoil, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand, a fleeting touch that ignited the air between them. “You’re a good man, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice sultry, each word curling around him like smoke. “You make me feel… alive.”

That’s when he leaned in, the space between them collapsing into something more intimate. Their lips met, tentatively at first, the kiss igniting a spark that coursed through him like fire. She tasted like whiskey and wildflowers, sweet and intoxicating, and Oscar lost himself in the moment. Every worry, every doubt faded away as he kissed her deeper, his hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the world outside.

But in the back of his mind, a nagging voice whispered warnings he didn’t want to hear. He wondered if he was the only one, she never mentioned her daughter’s father but that wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to know. He didn’t want to spend his days comparing himself to the man that she loved. Sometimes he caught himself wondering what he was like, was he a friend? Was he carefree and cool? Was he everything that he wasn’t? Or was he just like him? The thought made him pull back, his heart pounding not just from desire but from confusion and fear.

“Is it just me?” he asked before he could stop himself, breathless, searching her eyes for a hint of truth.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, and in that instant, he saw the cracks in her facade. But then it was gone, replaced by that intoxicating allure. “You know it’s complicated, Osc. But I like being with you. You make me feel… special.”

The way she said it drew him in again, like a moth irresistibly fluttering toward the flame, unable to see the danger. Yet the ghost of uncertainty lingered, an unsettling reminder that she might not be who she appeared to be.

“Sometimes, it feels like there’s more,” he murmured, almost to himself, but she caught his gaze, holding it like a secret, her expression unreadable.

“Don’t think too much,” she said, her tone playful but layered with something else—something deeper. “Just enjoy what we have. It’s beautiful in its own way.”

As the night wore on and the stars blinked into existence above them, Oscar found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The intoxicating rush of her presence, the warmth of her body so close to his, overshadowed the haunting doubts that flickered in the recesses of his mind.

The days after that rooftop kiss blurred together into a fever dream, a haze of her touch, her scent, the way her lips felt against his skin. Oscar found himself thinking about her constantly, her name echoing in his mind like a mantra. He checked his phone compulsively, waiting for her messages, craving her presence. Each time she called or texted, his heart leapt in a way that both excited and terrified him.

He couldn’t focus on work. Off season meetings passed by in a fog of half-formed strategies and distracted nods while he was still away from the city he was meant to be in. His mind was always elsewhere—trapped in the memory of her smile, the feel of her fingers brushing against his arm, the way she whispered his name late at night, in that low, intimate voice that sent shivers down his spine.

By the time she invited him over to her apartment, it felt like an invitation to a sanctuary. His heart raced as he climbed the stairs, each step heavy with anticipation. When she opened the door, it was like the world outside ceased to exist. She stood there, bathed in the dim light of her living room, wearing a simple black dress that clung to her in all the right places. Her eyes gleamed as she smiled at him, a smile that was more dangerous than any warning.

"Come in," she murmured, stepping back to let him inside.

Oscar didn’t need to be asked twice. He crossed the threshold and found himself in a space that smelled faintly of vanilla and something warm, something that reminded him of her. The apartment was quiet, cosy, but he barely noticed the surroundings. All he could see was her.

They sat on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, but conversation quickly slipped away. She leaned in, her body inches from his, and it took everything in him not to close the gap. He could feel the heat of her skin, the soft exhale of her breath against his neck as she leaned even closer, her lips brushing his ear.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, the words sending a jolt of electricity through him.

Oscar turned to her, his pulse quickening as their eyes met. Her face was inches from his, lips parted just slightly, as if daring him to close the distance. And he did. In one swift motion, his hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her toward him.

Their lips collided with a force that startled him, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. The kiss was deep, hungry, the pent-up tension of weeks of longing spilling over all at once. Her hands slid up his chest, nails grazing his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and he groaned softly, losing himself in the feel of her. Every touch, every movement seemed to ignite something primal in him, something he hadn’t known existed until she had awakened it.

She straddled him, her thighs pressing against his hips as she deepened the kiss, her body moulding to his in a way that made him dizzy. Oscar’s hands roamed over her back, her waist, pulling her closer, needing her closer. He kissed her like he was starved for her, and in a way, he was—starved for the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she seemed to fill every space inside him that had once been hollow.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire, his breath shallow. “I can’t stop thinking about you, angel.”

Because that was what she was, an angel, sent from heaven. Just for him.

Her lips curled into a smile as she nipped at his bottom lip, a soft, teasing bite that made him moan. “Good,” she whispered, her voice sultry, her fingers trailing down his chest, over the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them, one by one. “I like knowing I’m always on your mind.”

“You are,” Oscar breathed, his hands gripping her hips as she pressed against him, the heat of her body making it impossible to think of anything else. His heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all reason, all sense of reality. There was only her. Only this.

He leaned back, his head resting against the couch as she kissed along his jawline, down his neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His breath hitched as she bit softly at the sensitive spot just below his ear, her hands sliding beneath his shirt, nails raking lightly against his skin. He could barely speak, the words thick on his tongue, but they tumbled out before he could stop them.

“I’d leave everything for you, you know that?” he said, half-laughing, half-serious, the thought slipping out like a confession. “I’d quit my job—hell, I’d move to this shitty city for you.”

She paused, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes dark and unreadable. For a split second, Oscar saw something flicker in her gaze—surprise, amusement, maybe even guilt—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She tilted her head, her fingers trailing down his chest again, this time slower, more deliberate.

“Would you really?” she asked, her voice a soft purr, her lips curling into a playful smile that sent his heart racing.

Oscar swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything for you.”

She smiled, that dangerous smile again, and leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss that made his entire body tremble. Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer, and for a moment, Oscar forgot everything—his job, his life, even his own name. There was only her. Only the way she made him feel, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But as the kiss deepened, as his mind spun with desire and longing, that nagging doubt crept back in. The flicker of uncertainty that had been lingering at the edge of his thoughts ever since that night on the rooftop. He pushed it down, pushed it away, not wanting to spoil the moment, but it was there—like a shadow, haunting the edges of his euphoria.

Oscar’s words hung in the air, a half-breathed promise laced with both desperation and devotion. The world outside, his career, his obligations—they seemed like distant echoes now, fading in the intensity of her presence. Every nerve in his body was attuned to her, to the subtle shift of her weight as she pressed closer, the heat of her body melding with his. The temptation, the desire, was overwhelming.

Her lips brushed against his in a whisper of a kiss, slow and deliberate, her breath warm as it mingled with his. Each kiss she planted was softer, more intimate than the last, trailing back from his mouth down to his neck, as if she was marking him as hers. She moved with a purpose, her hands sliding under his shirt, fingertips exploring his skin with a tantalising slowness that made Oscar’s breath hitch. Every touch was electric, sending shivers coursing down his spine.

“What would you do for me?” she murmured, her voice like velvet, the words teasing and yet dripping with seductive power. Her lips moved against his collarbone as she spoke, making it harder for him to focus on anything but the feel of her, the warmth of her breath, the way she said his name like it was something sacred.

Oscar could barely speak, barely breathe. He nodded, his fingers gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. "Anything," he whispered, his voice raw and honest, his eyes searching hers for some sign that she might feel the same way, that this wasn’t all one-sided.

Her lips found his again, but this time the kiss was deeper, more consuming. It wasn’t just passion—it was possession. She kissed him as though she were claiming every part of him, and Oscar surrendered willingly, his mind lost in the sensation of her lips, the softness of her skin against his. Her body shifted, pressing fully against him, and he could feel the thrum of her heartbeat, could hear the soft, breathy moans that escaped her lips as they moved together.

His hands wandered up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine before finding their way into her hair, tangling in the dark, silken strands. He tugged gently, pulling her head back just enough to expose her neck, and kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing down to her shoulder. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating—something sweet and dangerous, like a promise that could never be kept.

She gasped softly, her fingers tightening in his hair, and he could feel her smile against his skin. “You’re so sweet, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice husky, dripping with allure. She shifted in his lap, grinding slowly against him in a way that made his breath catch, his heart pound in his chest. "So eager to please."

Her words were both a praise and a tease, and Oscar could feel his resolve melting, every coherent thought slipping away under the weight of his desire for her. He kissed her again, harder this time, a rush of emotion flooding through him as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, the heat of her pressing against him. It was as though she had become the centre of his universe, everything else falling away, and he wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, lost in her.

She responded with equal fervour, her fingers pulling at his shirt, sliding it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her hands explored the bare skin of his chest, nails dragging lightly across his muscles, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Oscar groaned softly, his lips moving to the curve of her jaw, kissing along the line until he reached her ear. He could feel her tremble slightly against him, a subtle shudder that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He pulled back for a moment, just enough to look at her—her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were swollen from his kisses, the way her eyes glistened in the low light of the room. She was breathtaking, and for a moment, Oscar couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his thumb brushing gently across her lower lip. She captured it between her teeth for just a second, her eyes gleaming with mischief, before releasing it with a slow, seductive smile.

“And you’re mine,” she whispered back, her voice a promise and a command all at once. She kissed him again, slow and deep, her hips rolling against his in a way that made him lose all sense of control. “Mine to keep, mine to own, mine to use.”

The words flew over Oscar’s head as he slid his hands beneath the hem of her dress, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her thighs, pulling her even closer. He wanted her—needed her—and every touch, every kiss, only made him more desperate. She moaned softly against his lips, a sound that sent heat rushing through his veins, making his heart race, making him weak for her in ways he never thought possible.

“I’d leave everything for you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse as he kissed the side of her neck, his hands tightening on her waist, wanting her closer, needing her closer. "My job, the city, everything. Just say the word, angel."

For a moment, she paused, her fingers stilling against his skin. Her eyes met his, and there was something in her gaze—something unreadable, something that flickered and then disappeared before he could grasp it. But then she smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that made his heart ache with both longing and uncertainty.

“I know you would,” she whispered, her voice like honey, thick and sweet. Her fingers traced the outline of his jaw, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “But for now, just stay here… with me. Be mine.”

And with that, she kissed him again, deeper this time, pulling him back into the heat of the moment, into her, until all he could think about was the way she felt against him, the way she tasted, the way she made him forget everything else.

Oscar was completely, utterly hooked. He knew he was falling, deeper and deeper, blinded by the enchantment she wove around him, not realising that the threads were spun from illusions. While he yearned to be the hero in her story, she was crafting her own tale.

part two coming soon...

they should both reach for the gun and pop her ass

CHICAGO PT.3 | OP81

an: I LIED IT'LL BE FOUR PARTS IM HOOKED ON WRITING THIS STORY RAHHHH. POSTING THIS BEFORE BED TIME AND IM SO AHHHHHHHHHH!

wc: 6k

warnings: panic attack

part one | part two |

Oscar sat in the half-lit quiet of his apartment, a glass of whiskey in hand, its amber warmth forgotten in his grip. His laptop sat open on the coffee table, displaying emails he hadn’t touched in hours, their urgency faded into the background noise of his thoughts. It had been weeks since the conversation with Lando in the driver’s room, but the memory of it lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

He’d done everything he could to bury the unsettling thoughts since then. Her voice, her soft reassurances, had done their job—at least temporarily. She had always known how to pull him back, how to soothe the churning inside him with just a few words. But now, in the stillness of his apartment, with no race day adrenaline to distract him, the questions began to rise again, clawing at the back of his mind.

A sharp knock on the door broke his spiral of thoughts. Oscar blinked, dragging himself back into the present. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and for a brief moment, a flicker of irritation sparked. He wasn’t in the mood for company. But then he heard Logan’s familiar voice from the other side, jovial and carefree.

“Oscar, buddy, open up!”

With a reluctant sigh, Oscar stood up, downing the rest of his whiskey in one swallow before heading to the door. He opened it to find Logan grinning, holding a six-pack of beer in one hand.

“Thought I’d drop by, see what you’ve been up to,” Logan said as he strolled inside without waiting for an invitation, clearly comfortable in the space. “Figured you’d be brooding alone in here.”

“Is that what people think of me now?” Oscar asked with a wry smile, trying to keep the mood light. He closed the door behind Logan, though his earlier unease hadn’t fully left him.

Logan plopped down on the couch, dropping the beer on the table and cracking one open for himself. “Well, you’ve been a bit... distant since Chicago, haven’t you?” He took a long swig of his beer, then set it down. “But that’s why I’m here. Thought I’d snap you out of it.”

Oscar forced a laugh and sat down next to him, trying to ignore the twist in his gut. “Yeah, just a lot on my plate lately.”

Logan nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get it. The season’s brutal this year. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Feels like it,” Oscar muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

There was a brief silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the city outside, and for a moment, it felt almost comfortable—almost. Oscar reached for another drink, but Logan spoke up before he could get lost in his thoughts again.

“Oh, right. Meant to tell you,” Logan started, his tone casual but carrying that hint of intrigue that meant he was about to drop something interesting. “I overheard something at the paddock the other day. Lando and Max were having a chat.”

The mention of Lando’s name made Oscar tense, though he hid it behind a quick sip of his drink. He hadn’t seen much of Lando since that conversation about his girlfriend. He’d avoided him, telling himself it was just the busyness of the season, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

“What about?” Oscar asked, trying to sound casual, though his pulse had quickened.

“They were talking about their girlfriends,” Logan said, leaning back on the couch with a grin, clearly amused by the gossip. “Apparently, Lando’s thinking of bringing his girlfriend to the track on Thursday. You know, letting her kid meet Max’s girlfriend’s kid.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat. Her kid. He hadn’t realised Lando had gotten serious enough with his girlfriend to talk about bringing her child to the paddock. The idea of it—a girlfriend and her child, meeting other drivers’ families—felt like something out of a life he couldn’t quite touch.

“Her kid?” Oscar repeated, forcing his voice to stay even.

“Yeah,” Logan continued, seemingly oblivious to the shift in Oscar’s mood. “Lando’s girlfriend has a son. Seven years old, I think he said. Leo.”

The name hit Oscar like a punch to the gut, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the air thicker. Leo. Too close. Too close to Lea. The same age, too. His mind reeled as he tried to process the information.

Leo and Lea. Two names that were now spiralling around his mind, refusing to leave him alone.

“Leo?” Oscar echoed, his throat tight, his hands suddenly clammy.

“Yeah, that’s what Lando said,” Logan confirmed, oblivious to Oscar’s growing panic. “Funny coincidence, huh? I thought of your girl when I heard it. Her daughter’s name is Lea, right?”

Oscar’s stomach churned, the whiskey doing nothing to steady his nerves now. The resemblance between the names—between their situations—was too striking to ignore. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his mind was racing.

“Yeah... Lea,” he muttered, barely able to get the word out.

Logan leaned forward, reaching for another beer, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside Oscar. “Weird how those names are so close, isn’t it? Leo and Lea. Both seven. But hey, probably just one of those things, right? What are the chances?”

What are the chances? Oscar’s mind latched onto that phrase, replaying it over and over as the conversation with Lando echoed in his head. The pieces were there, and now they were beginning to slot into place, no matter how much he wanted to resist it.

Lando had mentioned meeting her a year ago—in America. She had told him about her life in Chicago, about her daughter Lea, seven years old, and raising her alone. But Lando had spoken about Leo, not Lea. A son, not a daughter. That had been the difference that had made Oscar dismiss the thought when Lando first talked about it. But now, with that name echoing in his mind, Oscar could no longer ignore the similarities.

His grip tightened around his glass, fingers digging into the smooth surface as he fought to keep his composure. Could it be her? Could she be Lando’s girlfriend?

The idea seemed absurd, but the doubt was already there, a seed that had been planted and was now sprouting, twisting its roots deep into his mind.

He replayed every moment he’d spent with her, every conversation, every look, every touch. She’d been so convincing, so sincere—or at least, that’s what he had wanted to believe. But now, with this new information, everything felt tainted. Every memory of her seemed to carry an undertone of manipulation, of deception.

He could feel the ground beneath him shifting, the stability he’d clung to for weeks slipping away. His thoughts spiralled, racing between disbelief and bitter realisation.

Logan seemed to sense something off now, watching Oscar with a puzzled expression. “You alright, mate? You’ve gone quiet.”

Oscar forced a tight smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Logan shrugged, unfazed, as he stood up and stretched. “Well, don’t think too hard. Could be nothing, just me connecting dots that aren’t there. I mean, you and Lando have different types. Probably just a coincidence.”

“Yeah... probably,” Oscar said, his voice strained.

Logan gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Alright, I’ll head out. You should come out with us tomorrow night, clear your head. Don’t let all this racing stuff get to you.”

Oscar nodded absently, barely hearing him. “Yeah, maybe.”

Logan grabbed his jacket and headed to the door, giving Oscar one last wave before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, Oscar was left alone with his thoughts, the silence of the apartment now feeling oppressive. He sank back down onto the couch, his head swimming with a confusion he couldn’t shake.

Could it really be her? Could she have been playing him all this time?

He glanced down at his phone, which lay on the coffee table next to the empty whiskey glass. His fingers itched to pick it up, to call her, to ask her outright if she was lying to him. But what would he even say? He couldn’t just accuse her out of the blue, not without sounding paranoid. And yet, the thought gnawed at him, relentless.

Oscar grabbed his phone, staring at her name in his contacts, his thumb hovering over the screen. Leo. Lea. His head spun with the possibilities, the connections that seemed too close to ignore.

But even as the doubt filled his mind, there was still a part of him that resisted it, clinging to the version of her he knew. The woman he had fallen for. The woman who had whispered sweet promises into his ear, made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t in years. Could that all have been a lie?

His thumb hovered over her name, the phone feeling heavier in his hand than ever before.

For the first time since meeting her, Oscar didn’t press call.

The hours had come and gone and Oscar couldn’t remember getting into bed, but he could remember ever minute he’d spent staring up at his ceiling. It was well past midnight, but sleep had evaded him completely. He hadn't been able to shake the conversation with Logan earlier that evening—the way the name Leo had echoed in his mind, digging into his subconscious, unsettling everything he thought he knew about her.

Leo. Too close to Lea. Too close to her.

He picked up his phone from the nightstand, his fingers moving almost without thought. The list of contacts blurred slightly as his thumb hovered over Lando’s name. He hadn’t spoken to him since their conversation weeks ago unless he had to for work, and despite every instinct telling him not to, Oscar needed answers. He couldn’t let this nagging doubt fester any longer. He needed to know if his suspicions—wild as they seemed—held any weight.

Hey mate, need to talk before the race. You free tomorrow?

He stared at the message, hesitating for a moment before pressing send. The little blue bubble appeared, sitting in the chat like an uncomfortable reminder that he was waiting for something—anything—to help ease his mind. But the longer he waited, the more the silence gnawed at him. Minutes passed, the absence of a response amplifying his anxiety.

Oscar sighed, his thumb tapping on the screen again, this time scrolling down to her name. He stared at her name for a long moment, remembering the way her voice had soothed him so many times before. She'll tell me I'm being ridiculous. She’d laugh softly, maybe tease him for worrying over nothing. She always knew how to calm him down, how to make him forget everything else. He could almost hear her voice in his head.

He typed quickly.

I miss your voice. Can we talk?

He pressed send, staring at the screen as if willing the message to deliver. Seconds ticked by, then a minute, and his heart began to pound when he realised the message hadn’t gone through. Message not delivered. He frowned, watching the error sign blink back at him.

That’s strange.

Oscar tried again, but the message still didn’t deliver. His mind raced through possible explanations. Maybe her phone was off, or she was somewhere without service. She did mention a work trip soon, he thought, trying to rationalise it. It wasn’t the first time her phone had been out of reach for a few hours. He could almost hear her brushing it off when she eventually called him back, laughing about poor reception or how busy she had been.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right with him. He stared at his phone, a sinking feeling growing in his chest. Lando wasn’t responding either. The creeping doubt Logan had stirred earlier began to crawl its way back, more persistent now, digging deeper into his thoughts.

What if...

Oscar quickly shut that thought down. He wasn’t going to drive himself insane with these suspicions. He’d seen this before—the paranoia that came with the pressure of the sport, the constant overthinking. This was just another bout of that, amplified by stress. He was exhausted, running on fumes, and his mind was playing tricks on him. He just needed rest.

I’m overthinking it, he told himself, forcing the words into the forefront of his mind like a mantra. I’m just tired, and everything looks worse when you’re this exhausted.

He set his phone down, determined to let it go. He’d see Lando tomorrow anyway, and she would probably call him back when she was free. There was no point in losing sleep over this, not when he had a full day of media obligations ahead of him. He’d wake up, do what needed to be done, and this would all seem ridiculous in the light of day.

With a heavy sigh, Oscar pulled the duvet over himself and closed his eyes. The cool fabric of the pillow pressed against his cheek as he tried to settle into the bed, but his mind wouldn’t stop buzzing with a million thoughts.

It’s nothing. Stop overthinking it.

But as he lay there, the city’s hum outside his window, the quiet tick of the clock on the wall, and the nagging unease in his gut refused to go away. Every now and then, his eyes would flicker open, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. Every time, it stayed still. Silent. No messages from her. No response from Lando.

Oscar swallowed hard, turning over again, trying to focus on anything else. Tomorrow will clear everything up. He just had to make it to tomorrow.

Eventually, sleep found him, though it was a restless, uneasy kind of sleep, filled with fractured dreams and half-formed thoughts he couldn’t quite remember when he woke up. But the feeling lingered, hanging over him like a storm cloud.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, but it brought no comfort. He reached for his phone the moment he opened his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping to find some kind of response waiting for him.

But there was nothing.

No reply from Lando. No message from her.

Oscar exhaled sharply, pushing himself out of bed. It’s just one of those things. He had a long day ahead of him, and there was no use in letting his thoughts run wild. He had to focus, get his head back in the game. Just keep going.

He threw on his clothes and readied himself for the day ahead, steeling his nerves for what he hoped would be just another ordinary day. I’ll see them both soon, he thought as he left his apartment, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that followed him like a shadow.

By the time Oscar got to the paddock it was already buzzing with activity as Oscar arrived, the hum of engines, conversations, and the occasional clatter of tools filling the air. He should’ve felt at home here—among the smell of burning rubber, the organised chaos of race day preparations. But today, it all felt distant. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in an unsettling fog of thoughts he’d been trying to shake since the night before.

He adjusted the collar of his team jacket, trying to focus, but the weight of the unease from the night before lingered. No message from her. No word from Lando. He hadn’t been able to ignore the growing knot of doubt, but he had convinced himself this morning that it was nothing. Just a coincidence. It had to be.

As he walked down the main paddock lane, making his way toward the media zone, his phone buzzed in his pocket. His heart leapt for a moment—maybe it was her—but when he glanced down, it was just another email, something about the team briefing later. He sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket, forcing himself to focus on the day ahead.

But then, something caught his eye.

At first, it was nothing more than a flash of red—the colour of a jacket, a familiar silhouette standing just on the edge of the paddock near the Mclaren Hospitality Tent. His eyes narrowed, and his breath caught in his throat as his gaze sharpened. Even from this distance, he could recognize the way she stood, her posture, the easy grace with which she moved. It was her.

She was here.

For a moment, a wave of relief washed over him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. His heart quickened—not with the anxiety of the past few days but with the warmth he always felt when he thought of her. She’s here. Maybe she had come to surprise him. Maybe everything would finally make sense.

His pace quickened as he moved toward her, anticipation swelling in his chest. But as he got closer, something shifted. His smile faltered when he saw someone else approaching her—a man.

Lando.

Oscar  stopped dead in his tracks, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He watched as Lando strode up to her with that same casual confidence he always had, his face lighting up when he saw her. And then, as if the universe was mocking him, Lando leaned down and kissed her.

Oscar  felt the world tilt beneath him.

It wasn’t just a casual kiss, not the kind you give in passing. It was intimate, familiar. The kind of kiss shared by lovers, by people who had spent more than fleeting moments together. Oscar 's breath hitched in his throat as the truth hit him all at once—hard and unforgiving.

Lando's girlfriend. Lando's Leo.

She wasn’t just some distant thought anymore, someone he could call and pretend everything was fine with. She was standing right here, in front of him, in this world that had always belonged to him—and Lando.

Oscar ’s mouth went dry, his pulse hammering in his ears, but it wasn’t over. As if the universe wasn’t done ripping apart the fragile web he had tried to spin for himself, he saw a small boy run toward Lando, his laugh carrying on the wind.

The boy was maybe seven, with light brown hair, bright eyes, and a familiar lilt to his voice. Leo. The name thundered in Oscar ’s mind, each syllable more brutal than the last.

Oscar ’s world stopped.

He watched, frozen, as the boy ran to Lando, and Lando crouched down to scoop him up in an embrace, grinning widely. Lando ruffled the boy’s hair, saying something Oscar  couldn’t hear from where he stood, but it didn’t matter. He could see everything he needed to know. Lando wasn’t just playing the role of a stand-in or a casual boyfriend—he was in this, fully, deeply. This was a life. Their life.

Oscar ’s breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as the full weight of it all crashed down on him. She wasn’t just with Lando. She had a whole other life with him. A life that included a child—a child he had heard so much about from her, though she had called him by another name. Lea had become Leo, and everything Oscar  had thought he knew was a lie.

His mind reeled as he tried to piece together how long this had been going on. How long she had been playing them both. Weeks? Months? The entire time he had known her? How many nights had she soothed him with her voice, made him believe he was special to her, while she was building this life with someone else?

His hands trembled as he stood there, watching them interact like a family. She had her arm wrapped around Lando’s waist now, smiling up at him in a way that made Oscar ’s stomach churn. She looked at Lando with that same softness, that same vulnerability that had made Oscar fall for her in the first place.

How could I have been so blind? The thought ripped through him, bitter and sharp. Every moment with her replayed in his mind now, but with a new, ugly clarity. The subtle evasions, the too-perfect explanations, the way she’d disappear for days at a time, only to come back with a sweet excuse. He had ignored it all, let himself believe she was everything he wanted her to be because he had been desperate to feel something again.

The paddock noise swirled around him, the laughter, the chatter of mechanics, the distant rumble of engines. But all of it faded into the background as his eyes locked on her and Lando.

For the first time, Oscar  didn’t feel the familiar rush of race day energy. There was no excitement, no focus on the task at hand. All he felt was a gnawing sense of betrayal, an emptiness that spread through his chest like ice. He had been so utterly hooked on her, had built this fantasy around her in his mind, and now, that fantasy was crumbling before his very eyes.

Without realising it, he had taken a step backward, then another, retreating from the sight in front of him. His mind screamed at him to confront her, to demand answers, but his body refused to move. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the betrayal itself or the realisation that he hadn’t seen it coming.

As he turned and walked away, the weight of it all pressing down on him, he felt as if he were walking through molasses, his legs heavy, his breath shallow. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but he knew now that there was nothing left to ask. Everything was laid bare before him.

He had fallen for her, believed her, let her into the deepest parts of himself. And all the while, she had been building something else, something real, with someone else.

He thought back to that night he had first met her in Chicago, that intoxicating smile, the softness in her eyes when she talked about her daughter. And now, standing here in the aftermath, he saw it for what it had been all along—a performance.

Oscar had been nothing more than a passing act in her show, and now the curtain had fallen.

Oscar didn’t know how far he had walked. His legs moved mechanically, one foot in front of the other, carrying him away from the scene that had shattered him. The sound of laughter, engines, and the bustling paddock faded into the background as a growing numbness took over. His hands were shaking, and his chest tightened with each breath, the weight of it all sinking in.

He stumbled around a corner, finding himself in a quiet service alley behind the team garages, where crates and equipment were stacked in neat rows. The world felt distant, blurred at the edges, and the air felt too thin. He leaned against the cold metal of a container, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

I can’t breathe.

His mind raced, the images of her and Lando flashing like daggers in his thoughts. Her smile, her lies, the little boy running to Lando—it all collided in his head, creating a vortex of disbelief and betrayal. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, erratic beat that refused to slow. His vision started to blur, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath.

Get a grip. But the command felt impossible. His lungs wouldn’t fill with air, his thoughts were spinning out of control, and the walls of the alley seemed to close in around him.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching, but they sounded distant, like they were coming through a fog. Before he could react, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

"Oscar?" It was Logan.

Oscar tried to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat. He couldn’t even lift his head to meet Logan’s gaze. His body trembled, his hands clutching at the front of his jacket as if trying to hold himself together.

“Mate, what the hell—are you okay?” Logan’s voice was sharp with concern as he rushed to his side, grabbing Oscar by the shoulders. He crouched down, his face close, searching Oscar's eyes for any sign of response. But Oscar could only shake his head, his breaths coming faster and more ragged.

“I—I can’t—” Oscar gasped, his voice barely a whisper. The pressure in his chest was unbearable, like he was suffocating under the weight of everything that had just happened. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight back the panic, but it overwhelmed him.

“Hey, hey, breathe with me. Focus on me. Slow down,” Logan urged, his voice calm but firm. He placed a hand on Oscar’s chest, matching the rise and fall of his shallow breaths. “In. Out. Come on, slow it down.”

Oscar tried to follow Logan’s instructions, his chest rising in shallow, broken attempts. Each inhale felt like a battle, but Logan’s steady voice anchored him, pulling him out of the spiralling panic. Slowly, painfully, his breathing began to slow, and the fog in his mind lifted just enough for him to focus on the present moment.

“Good. Keep going. You’re okay,” Logan murmured, keeping his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, steadying him.

It felt like hours passed before Oscar could breathe properly again, the tightness in his chest easing ever so slightly. His hands were still trembling, but his mind had slowed enough to process what had just happened. The panic still lingered, like a storm waiting on the horizon, but at least for now, he could breathe.

Logan stayed crouched beside him, his brow furrowed with concern. “What the hell happened? You looked fine earlier. What’s going on?”

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t know where to begin. How could he even explain this? How could he put into words the chaos that had just upended everything he thought he knew?

“Logan…” His voice was hoarse, raw from the struggle to breathe. “It’s… it’s her.”

Logan’s face shifted from concern to confusion. “The girl from Chicago? What about her?”

Oscar let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. His voice cracked as he spoke, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. “She… she’s with Lando. I just—God, I just saw them. They were together, and there’s a kid—Leo. She told me she had a daughter, but… but that’s her son, Logan. That’s her son.”

Logan’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face as he took in Oscar’s words. “Wait, what? Lando? And—Jesus. What?”

Oscar nodded, his stomach turning as he relived the moment he had seen them together. “I didn’t know, Logan. I had no idea. She never told me. She’s been playing me this whole time. And Lando, he… he doesn’t know. He has no idea.”

Logan was silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he processed what Oscar was saying. “And you’re sure it’s the same girl?”

“Positive. I saw them together,” Oscar said, his voice thick with disbelief. “She was with Lando, and the kid… I just—I can’t believe it. She’s been lying to both of us. I don’t even know how long it’s been going on.”

Logan let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Shit, mate. That’s… that’s messed up. How the hell did she pull this off? You’ve been with her for—what, months?”

“Since Chicago,” Oscar muttered, his hands clenched into fists. The anger was rising now, replacing the panic with a burning sense of betrayal. “She’s been playing me for months, Logan. And the worst part is, Lando doesn’t know. He’s out there thinking he’s got a family with her, and she’s just… she’s been lying to him too.”

Logan rubbed his face, clearly at a loss for words. “Mate, this is… this is bad. You need to talk to Lando. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

Oscar shook his head, his throat tightening again. “I don’t even know how to start that conversation. How am I supposed to tell him that the woman he’s in love with has been stringing me along for months?”

“I know it’s hard, but he deserves the truth,” Logan said gently. “He’s your teammate. You owe it to him to tell him what you know.”

Oscar let out a long, shaky breath. Deep down, he knew Logan was right. Lando deserved the truth. But the idea of confronting him, of shattering the life Lando thought he had with her—it felt impossible. How could he do that to someone he cared about?

“How do I even begin?” Oscar whispered, more to himself than to Logan.

“You just do. Lando deserves to hear it from you, not from anyone else,” Logan said firmly. “Trust me, the longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get. You need to talk to him before this whole thing blows up even worse.”

Oscar nodded, though the thought made his chest tighten again. He knew Logan was right. He had to face this. He had to talk to Lando. Even if it meant tearing down the life Lando thought he had built.

“Okay,” Oscar said quietly. “I’ll talk to him. Before the race.”

Logan gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, mate. You’ve got this.”

But as Oscar stood there, still trembling from the panic and the weight of the truth pressing down on him, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to face what was coming next.

Before the race Oscar stood outside Lando’s driver room, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through his chest. His palms were clammy, his breath shaky, and his mind was racing with every possible way this conversation could go wrong. He had rehearsed it a hundred times since Logan found him—how he would explain everything, how he’d try to soften the blow. But now, standing here, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

His hand hovered over the door for a moment, hesitation gripping him. What if Lando didn’t believe him? What if he got angry? Oscar wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the storm that was about to hit.

He deserves the truth. You have to do this.

Taking a deep breath, Oscar knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Lando, already dressed in his race suit, looking every bit the calm, collected driver he always was before a race. But today, Oscar could see the excitement in his eyes, the eagerness. It made his stomach turn.

“Oscar, mate! What’s up?” Lando asked, grinning. He stepped back, motioning for Oscar to come inside. “You ready for the big day?”

Oscar forced a smile, though it felt weak and awkward. He stepped inside, the air thick with tension he wasn’t sure Lando could feel yet. The motorhome was quiet, the sound of the paddock fading into the background as the door shut behind him.

“Yeah, uh… about that…” Oscar started, his voice already cracking under the weight of what he was about to say. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his heart thudding against his ribs. “I need to talk to you. About something serious.”

Lando’s smile faltered just a little, his brow furrowing. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling the nerves coil tight in his chest. This was it. No turning back.

“It’s about your girlfriend,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. The name hit the air like a bomb, and Lando’s face immediately darkened.

“My girlfriend?” Lando repeated, his expression shifting to confusion. “What about her?”

Oscar hesitated, feeling the weight of every word that was about to come out of his mouth. His throat was dry, and he suddenly wished he had some water, something to buy more time. But there was no time. It had to be now.

“I… I didn’t know she was with you,” Oscar said, the words coming out in a rush. “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend. Lando, I’ve been—God, I’ve been seeing her. She never told me about you.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Lando’s eyes narrowed as the meaning of Oscar’s words sank in, his confusion giving way to something darker—anger.

“You’ve been what?” Lando’s voice was low, dangerous, a tone Oscar had never heard from him before. “You’ve been seeing her?”

Oscar held up his hands, trying to keep his own panic in check. “I swear, I didn’t know, mate. I didn’t know she was with you. She told me she was single, raising her kid on her own. I had no idea you were with her. Not until I saw you together today.”

Lando took a step back, his face twisted in disbelief and fury. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in the small space, his movements sharp, agitated. “Are you telling me you’ve been with her this whole time? The whole time we’ve been together?”

Oscar nodded, feeling like the ground beneath him was about to give way. “I didn’t know,” he repeated, his voice shaky. “I met her in Chicago months ago. She told me she had a daughter, that she was a single mum. I thought… I thought I was helping her.”

Lando let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Helping her? You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s been with me for a year! She’s been my girlfriend, Oscar. What the hell were you thinking?”

Oscar winced, the guilt tightening around his chest. “I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was just… I was hooked on her. She had me completely fooled.”

Lando’s face was a mask of rage now, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were holding himself back from hitting something—or someone. “You’re telling me this now, before the race? What the hell am I supposed to do with this, Oscar?”

“I’m sorry,” Oscar said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to tell you, but you deserve to know. I had no idea she was with you. I only put it together when Logan mentioned Leo—her son.”

Lando stopped pacing, his face going pale at the mention of Leo. “Leo?” His voice cracked, and for the first time, Oscar saw something other than anger in his friend’s eyes—something like fear. “Who told you his name was Leo?”

Oscar nodded, swallowing hard not knowing how to navigate this topic any further. “She told me she had a daughter named Lea.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy, like the eye of a storm. Then, slowly, Lando sat down on the edge of the small bed, his head in his hands. Oscar stood frozen, unsure of what to do, unsure if he should say more or just leave.

“She played us both, didn’t she?” Lando muttered, his voice hoarse, filled with disbelief. “She’s been playing me this whole time.”

Oscar let out a shaky breath, nodding, though he still couldn’t fully believe it himself. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think she has.”

Lando shook his head, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. “I should’ve known something was off. She always had these excuses, always disappearing for days at a time. I thought she was just… I don’t know, giving me space. Or with her kid. But now? Now it all makes sense.”

Oscar sat down across from him, the weight of the truth settling heavily between them. “I should’ve seen it too. But I was too caught up in her. I wanted to believe her so badly that I didn’t question anything.”

They sat in silence for a long time, both of them grappling with the betrayal, with the web of lies she had spun so carefully around them. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was no longer directed at each other. They had both been played, both drawn into her orbit without realising they weren’t the only ones.

“What are we going to do?” Lando finally asked, his voice flat, almost numb.

Oscar shook his head, still unsure. “I don’t know. But we can’t let her keep doing this.”

Lando clenched his jaw, his eyes hardening as he stared at the floor. “You’re right. She’s not getting away with this. Not anymore.”

Oscar nodded in agreement, but his heart was still heavy. The woman he had fallen for, the woman he had trusted, had betrayed him in the worst way possible. But it wasn’t just about him anymore. Lando was hurting too, and that made it all the more unbearable.

As the weight of their conversation settled into the room, Oscar felt a slow, creeping nausea rise in his chest. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the realisation that this wasn’t some accident—this wasn’t some chance encounter where they’d both been caught off guard by the same woman. No. She had known exactly what she was doing.

He stared at the floor, the memories flooding back in sharp, painful clarity. The first night in Chicago, the way she had appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to him with that effortless grace, that smile that had seemed too good to be true. The way she’d known exactly how to draw him in, offering just the right amount of vulnerability to make him want to protect her. All those months, he’d thought it had been fate, a serendipitous meeting. But now, with Lando sitting across from him, every detail took on a darker shade.

“Lando…” Oscar’s voice cracked, barely able to say the words. “She knew about me, didn’t she? From the beginning.”

Lando looked up, his eyes still clouded with shock but now narrowing as if trying to piece together the puzzle himself. “What do you mean?”

Oscar took a shaky breath. “You’ve mentioned me to her, haven’t you? Before I even met her in Chicago, you must have talked about me. About the team. She… she knew who I was before she ever sat down next to me at that bar.”

Lando’s face paled. His gaze shifted to the floor, his mind working through the same awful revelation that had struck Oscar. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I mentioned you all the time. You’re one of my best mates. Of course, I talked about you.”

It was like a punch to the gut. Oscar’s stomach turned as he recalled every little interaction with her—the way she’d seemed to know exactly what to say, how to flatter him without being too obvious, how to make him feel like he was the one discovering her, unravelling her layers. But it was all calculated. She’d had him pegged from the moment she walked in, likely before that.

“She didn’t just randomly pick the seat next to me at the bar,” Oscar said, his voice low, thick with bitterness. “She knew exactly who I was, Lando. She played us both from the start.”

Lando sat there, silent, his jaw clenched tight as he stared at his hands. His fingers twitched like he wanted to punch something, anything, but he stayed still, the tension simmering just below the surface. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“She’s been manipulating both of us,” he muttered, his voice a growl of disbelief. “I told her about my life. My friends. My job. And all that time… she was using it against me. Against you.”

The full scope of her deception crashed down on Oscar. He felt sick to his core. She’d never cared. Every sweet word, every glance, every night they’d spent together—it had all been part of her plan. She had known exactly who he was and had targeted him, exploited his loneliness, his vulnerability.

The first time they had kissed, that electric moment in her apartment, had seemed so real. He could still feel the warmth of her hands on his skin, the way her lips moved against his as if they had been made for each other. But now it felt cheap. Hollow. A lie that had wrapped itself around him until he could barely breathe.

"She must have known everything about me before she even introduced herself," Oscar continued, his voice darkening with anger. “That night at the bar, the way she played coy, like she didn’t know me from Mclaren. It was all an act. A setup.”

Lando was silent for a moment, still staring at the floor. Then, slowly, he looked up at Oscar, his expression hard. “She probably knew exactly how to make you fall for her. She listened to me talk about you enough. Your hobbies, your career, your life. She had every piece of ammunition she needed.”

Oscar could feel his pulse quickening again, a sick mix of rage and humiliation rising in his throat. She hadn’t just lied—she had orchestrated everything with precision, knowing full well how to ensnare him. And the worst part? He had let her. He had fallen for every carefully laid trap.

"She played the long game," Oscar whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I thought… I thought it was real. I thought she was real.”

“I did too,” Lando muttered bitterly. He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the disgust that was settling over him. “God, how could we have been so blind?”

Oscar swallowed hard, the bitterness turning into something darker, more dangerous. He could picture her face so clearly—those dark, hypnotic eyes that had drawn him in from the very beginning, the way she tilted her head just enough to make him think she was letting her guard down for him. And all along, she had been playing him like a violin, hitting every note perfectly.

“She knew what she was doing,” Oscar said, his voice thick with fury. “She knew exactly what she was doing, Lando. She was never confused. Never torn. She set us both up like pieces on a chessboard.”

Lando’s fists clenched, his jaw tightening as he nodded in agreement. “She knew how to make us feel like we were the ones in control, like we were helping her. But she was pulling the strings the whole time.”

They both sat in silence, the weight of their shared betrayal settling into the room like a storm cloud. Neither of them spoke for what felt like minutes, both of them lost in the horrible realisation of just how thoroughly they’d been manipulated.

“I can’t believe it,” Lando finally said, his voice hollow. “I can’t believe she was capable of this.”

Oscar shook his head slowly, the ache in his chest deepening. “I guess people like her… they don’t care who they hurt, as long as they get what they want.”

And that was the bitter truth. She had never cared about either of them. She had only cared about what she could take, what she could gain. And they had both been too blind, too caught up in her web to see it.

“What do we do now?” Lando asked, his voice a mixture of anger and defeat.

Oscar didn’t have an answer. His whole world felt like it had been ripped apart, every certainty he had stripped away. He didn’t know what came next. But one thing was clear— She wasn’t going to walk away from this unscathed.

“We tell her it’s over,” Oscar said firmly, though his heart ached even as he said it. “She doesn’t get to play us anymore.”

Lando nodded, his jaw set. “She’s not getting away with this.”

But even as they made their decision, Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that the damage had already been done. He had given a part of himself to her that he couldn’t get back, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was all a lie, the hurt lingered like an open wound.

As they prepared to face her, Oscar couldn’t help but wonder how much of him had been taken in by her. How much of him was still trapped in that web she had spun so perfectly around him.

And whether he would ever truly be free of her.

part four

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DANIEL RICCIARDO | 3

enjoy the butterflies, enjoy being naïve