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.

oh good heavens 🧎🏼‍♀️

many many many thoughts

these are so fucking entertaining and fun to read 😭

THE OTHER GUY PT.6 | FC43

an: and we've reached the final part of the series! i hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as i have, it was very fun to write and i can't wait to write something soon :) remember my requests are always open!!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five |

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 30,382 others

spain, i'll miss you 🥲

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userone: spain yn was my fav yn

usertwo: is that franco? 👀

userthree: it's probably oscar or logan

oscarpiastri: i have an idea, i pay you to stay in spain for the rest of your life and you never come to the track again

logansargeant: i need her there, you're not a reliable source of gossip

ynpiastri: if you don't invite me, i have other ways of being there

userfour: franco? 👀

userfive: your honour i love them

lilyznimer: can't wait to see you again

ynpiastri: @/oscarpiastri HA SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU 😹🫵😹🫵

usersix: yn, we're all here for franco confirmation. give it to us.

twitter

francolapinto

liked by alex_albon, williamsracing, ynpiastri and 985,352 others

back to work, i hate this country 🌧️

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alex_albon: next time take me to spain too

francolapinto: yes boss

userone: no yn confirmation ☹️☹️

williamsracing: franco...

francolapinto: no amount of media training will make me lie about this country

usertwo: where's yn?

userthree: we want to see FRANYN!

userfour: she's in his likes. im connecting dots.

userfive: stop being delusional, you ain't connecting shit.

twitter

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 29,453 others

me when i remember that i actually have a big girl job and living off of oscar's money in his spare room isn't actually what i do with my life.

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userone: wife

usertwo: she has a job?? i thought she just went to gp's with oscar

ynpiastri: SHE has a masters in engineering design and technology 💅

userthree: cleared

oscarpiastri: move out please

ynpiastri: no 😁

userfour: still no franco

userfive: girl they both have full time jobs

usersix: MOTHERRRRR

logansargeant: you're a psycho for bringing your laptop to the beach btw

ynpiastri: i don't think i asked for your opinion, hope that helps lo! 😘

interview with franco colapinto

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ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, mclarenracing and 31,439 others

supporting my favourite mclaren driver (not oscar)

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userone: I WANT TO BE HER

usertwo: I WANT HER

oscarpiastri: funny joke

logansargeant: or is it..👀

userthree: imagine living her life

landonorris: i thought your favourite driver didn't race for mclaren [this comment has been deleted]

userfour: she's so pretty

userfive: still no sign of franyn

twitter

twitter

francolaptino

liked by williamsracing, alex_albon, ynpiastri and 924,235 others

the only women in my life btw (not that anyone asked)

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userone: oh😀

usertwo: i don't believe it

alex_albon: this guy

userthree: he's so unintentionally funny

williamsracing: how cute

imessage between logan and yn

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twitter

ynpiastri

argentina

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, francolapinto and 31,435 others

would rather date traffic cone (holiday dump coming soon x)

*comments have been turned off*

offseason 2024

The golden Argentinan sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow across the quiet, coastal villa. His family home sat nestled on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea. The scent of saltwater drifted in on the breeze, mingling with the fragrant citrus trees that lined the garden.

You and Franco sat on a cushioned wicker sofa in the sunroom, the wide-open windows framing the breathtaking view. The room had a rustic charm—whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and soft, earth-toned furniture. His arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both idly scrolled through your phones, the sounds of crashing waves and distant seagulls filling the peaceful silence.

But neither of you were really focused on the phones. The fan speculations and social media drama had become a background hum—amusing, but distant. For months now, you’d both kept this secret relationship hidden, playing the game of cat-and-mouse with the public, teasing and trolling them into thinking you were still enemies.

“Do they really still think I hate you?” you muttered, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you glanced at a fan comment. “I’ve done too good a job convincing them.”

He chuckled, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in closer to peek at your screen. “Well, you have been pretty savage online. You didn’t hold back with that last post, hermosa.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, playful. “Says the guy who told the press I’d have to beg for a date. I never forgot that one.”

He grinned down at you, his light brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “I mean, to be fair, you did tweet that you wouldn’t date me if I were the last man on earth.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Touché.”

His laughter faded, replaced by a softer, more thoughtful expression. His fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles on your arm, and his gaze shifts from the ocean outside back to you. The silence stretched out between you for a moment, and you could feel the weight of what’s unspoken.

“We can’t keep this up forever, you know,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, more serious.

You paused for a second, his words catching you off guard. You’d grown so used to the secrecy, to sneaking around and playing up the rivalry for the fans. It had become a game, but now, here in the warmth of his family’s sunroom, with the sea breeze gently ruffling your hair, the reality of your relationship felt different. Realer. More solid.

You sat up a little straighter, turning to face him fully. “What are you saying?”

He met your eyes, his lips curling into a small, meaningful smile. “Maybe it’s time we tell everyone. Stop pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The thought of going public, of finally letting the world see what’s been building between you, sent a thrill through you. But it was also terrifying. What would people say? How would the fans react? You’ve been holding onto this secret for so long, the thought of exposing it felt almost... vulnerable.

Still, as you sat there with him, in this secluded little bubble away from the world, the idea didn't seem so scary anymore. It felt exciting. Liberating.

A slow, playful grin spread across your face. “If we’re going to do this, we have to do it in the most ridiculous, out-of-pocket way possible.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

You leaned back against the sofa, the sunlight warming your skin as the wheels in your head begin to turn. “Something so cheesy and over-the-top that people won’t even know if we’re serious or still trolling them.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, rubbing his chin as if considering it. “What, like one of those cringey TikTok couple challenges?”

You nodded eagerly. “Exactly. The kind of stuff that makes people cringe, but they can’t look away.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly warming up to the idea. “You mean the ones where people do those obnoxiously cute couple things, like finishing each other’s sentences?”

You grin. “Exactly. Go so hard that no one can tell if we’re serious.”

He leans forward, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

You blink, a little surprised at how quickly he’s jumping on board. “Wait, right now?”

He shrugs, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why not? We’ve kept this quiet long enough. Let’s have some fun.”

Your pulse quickened with a mixture of excitement and nerves as you both adjusted your positions on the sofa, sitting up a little straighter, leaning in close to each other. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. The soft hum of the waves and the distant calls of seagulls faded into the background as the moment intensified.

“Alright,” you said, barely keeping a straight face, “let’s do this.”

He raised his phone, the camera pointed at both of you, and the screen lights up, casting a soft glow on your faces. “First question,” you began, doing your best over-the-top rom-com voice. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

He smirked, nudging you playfully. “Easy. You did.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “I did not! That was totally you.”

The playful banter flowed easily, the chemistry between you undeniable. The air between you crackled with tension, but the laughter kept things light. Each question grows sillier than the last, your teasing jabs masking the real emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As the game continued, the joking faded. The answers become more meaningful, more intimate. He reached out and takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and the teasing spark in his eyes shifted into something softer.

Then, as if the playful mood couldn’t hold any longer, he lowered his phone and set it down on the coffee table, turning to face you fully. His gaze was intense, his eyes locking with yours in the fading sunlight. “Maybe we should stop messing around and just... tell them.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “For real?”

He nodded, his voice a little quieter, a little rougher. “Yeah. I’m tired of hiding. I want people to know.”

You hesitated for a second, the weight of the official decision settling in. But then, a surge of boldness rose within you. “Okay. Let’s do it. But first—” You held up your phone, turning off notifications before tossing it onto the sofa. “I don’t want to deal with the chaos immediately.”

He chuckled, grabbing his phone, posting the video and then,following your lead and shutting off his phone. “Smart. We’ll get spammed for sure.”

Once the phones were off and forgotten, you exchanged a glance, and then both of you dissolved into laughter, the weight of secrecy lifting off your shoulders. The relief, the excitement—it was overwhelming in the best way.

As the laughter died down, the air between you shifted slightly, becoming heavier, charged with something far more intense than before. His eyes darkened as they traced the curve of your lips, and your breath hitches, feeling the pull between you like a magnetic force. Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken desire.

Without warning, he leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation crackling in the air around you. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air.

Your pulse quickened as his gaze locked with yours, and for a second, time seemed to stop. Then, he closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, yet filled with an undeniable hunger. His lips were soft but firm, moving against yours with a heat that left you breathless.

You responded immediately, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing more. His kiss deepened, and the intensity built. The taste of him is intoxicating, like you had both been waiting for this moment for far too long. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and you could feel the strength of his body against yours.

The kiss grew more urgent, your bodies pressed together as if the space between you was unbearable. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he couldn't get enough. You lost yourself in the sensation—the way his lips devoured yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the low, barely audible groan that escaped from deep in his chest.

As you kissed him back with equal fervor, your entire body tingled, your senses overwhelmed by him—the way his hands gripped your waist, the way his lips tease and explore yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you were panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes, dark and full of desire, met yours, and a slow, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Guess I can do that more often now,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

You smiled back, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “With my brother in that same paddock? Not a chance?”

francolapinto and ynpiastri

liked by logansargeant, schecoperez, oscarpiastri and 984,348 others

it wasn't a joke btw

*limited comments only*

williamsracing: franco...

oscarpiastri: that's my sister pal

francolaptino: oops?

logansargeant: this hurt more than my replacement

ynpiastri: shut up?

logansargeant: yes ma'am

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @isaadore @iamred-iamyellow @justheretoreadthxxs @obxstiles @how-what-why-huh @raizelchrysanderoctavius @sainzzreputaticn @xxx-betty @dukeofjjune @dejavuontrack @littlegrapejuice @mxdi0 @st4rgirl-ellie @dullypully @cinderellawithashoe

DANIEL RICCIARDO | 3

enjoy the butterflies, enjoy being naïve

these always got me blushinggg 😩

THE OTHER GUY PT.3 | FR43

an: let's go part three! i'm really loving this series, i'm trying to push for 4/5 parts? lmk if there is anything you guys want to see in particular! love you guys <3

part one | part two

ynpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 31,475 others

no excuses

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The low hum of the treadmill and the rhythmic clang of weights filled the resort’s gym, but Franco wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His focus was locked on the woman in the corner, working through her routine with laser-like focus.

She didn’t notice him, which was for the best—he wasn’t ready to deal with her sharp tongue or the way she looked at him like he was the villain in her story. But right now, she was different. She didn’t have her guard up, didn’t look like she was ready to tear him apart with another sarcastic comment. She looked… gorgeous.

It wasn’t just the way her ponytail swung as she moved, or the way her tank top clung to her in all the right places. There was something else, something about the determination in her eyes, the way she focused on each rep like the rest of the world didn’t exist. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was fierce. Strong. And, damn, if that didn’t make her even more attractive.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool. Franco knew he shouldn’t be watching her like this, but it was hard to look away. Every time he saw her, something pulled him in, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend it was just because she hated him.

He’d been thinking about her way too much lately. The way she challenged him, never letting him get too close, always keeping him on the edge. And yeah, maybe that was part of the thrill. But now, as he stood there, watching her with sweat glistening on her skin, it wasn’t just about the challenge anymore.

He wanted to ask her out.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he cursed under his breath. What the hell was he thinking? She couldn’t stand him. She’d made that clear from the start, and asking her out would probably end in her laughing in his face or worse—publicly roasting him on her Instagram for the world to see.

But still… he couldn’t shake the thought. The way she made his heart race, how every word from her lips felt like a dare. He wanted to take that risk, to see if maybe—just maybe—there was something more behind her walls. Something she wasn’t ready to admit.

“Mate, what are you staring at?”

The voice of his friend, Diego, snapped him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed Diego walking up beside him, his water bottle in hand and a raised eyebrow on his face.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but it was too late. Diego followed his gaze, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Right. Nothing. That’s why you’ve been standing here for a full five minutes staring at her like a lost puppy.”

“Callarse la boca,” (shut up) he grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not.” Diego’s grin widened as he leaned in, lowering his voice. “So, when are you going to ask her out?”

He shot his friend a look. “You’re joking, right? You know how she feels about me. She’d chew me up and spit me out before I even got the words out.”

“Maybe,” Diego admitted, shrugging. “But maybe she wouldn’t. Look, I’m just saying, you’ve been eyeing her for days, and it’s not just because she’s Logan’s best friend and Oscar’s sister. You’re into her.”

“I’m not—”

“Mate, you are.” Diego cut him off, raising his hand. “And here’s the thing: girls like her, the ones that give you a hard time? Half the time, it’s because they’re scared of how much they like you. You know the saying, ‘keep your enemies close’ and all that.”

He shook his head, but deep down, he couldn’t deny Diego’s words were getting to him. Maybe that’s why she was always so sharp with him—because she was scared. Or maybe he was just kidding himself.

“Look, you’ll never know unless you try,” Diego continued, nudging him with his elbow. “What’s the worst that could happen? She shuts you down? You’ve survived worse, need I remind you of your ex?.”

He thought about it for a long moment, his eyes drifting back to her as she moved through her final set. Diego was right—he’d survived worse, and if she shot him down, at least he’d know he tried. And if, somehow, she didn’t… Well, that was a risk worth taking.

“Fine,” Franco said finally, running a hand over his face. “I’ll do it. I’ll ask her out.”

Diego grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Just be cool, alright? Don’t be the cocky bastard you usually are. You’ve got this.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, but as he took a deep breath and headed toward her, the pounding in his chest wasn’t just from nerves. It was excitement. He was ready for the risk.

francolapinto

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keep pushing during the break

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You wiped the sweat from your brow, breathing hard as you finished your last set. The gym was quiet this time of night, just the way you liked it. Fewer people meant fewer distractions—fewer chances of running into Franco.

You shook her head, scolding yourself for even thinking about him. Why was he constantly on your mind? Maybe it was because he seemed to pop up everywhere. The pool, the restaurant, and now—you caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror—the gym.

Your eyes flicked to the reflection. There he was, leaning against the doorway, watching you. You could feel his gaze, the same infuriating, intense look he always gave you, like he was daring you to react. It was infuriating how much he got under your skin, how he was always there, always pushing.

You turned your back to the mirror, trying to pretend you hadn’t seen him, but the knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen. It wasn’t nerves, not really. It was more complicated than that—a mix of irritation, confusion, and something you refused to name. You weren't about to let him know he’d gotten to you, not when he was probably waiting for you to snap, just so he could make some smug comment.

But he didn’t leave.

You could feel him still there, watching, and it drove you crazy. You could handle the public stuff—the jabs on social media, the press interviews where he dropped some flirty comment about you, like he was trying to bait you. But this… this was different. He wasn’t playing to an audience here. This was just him, watching you like you were the only person in the room.

Your heart pounded, and you hated it. Hated that he had this effect on you.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the dumbbell in your hand. Maybe if you just ignored him, he’d leave. But then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving closer made your grip tighten even more. He wasn’t leaving. Of course he wasn’t.

"Hey," his voice cut through the air, smooth and casual, like he hadn’t been staring at you for who knew how long.

You straightened up, wiping your palms on your leggings before turning around, schooling your face into a mask of indifference. You weren't going to let him see any weakness.

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone sharper than youintended.

He hesitated for a second, almost like he wasn’t sure what to say. That was a first. Usually, he had some cocky remarks locked and loaded. But tonight, there was something different in his eyes. A vulnerability that threw you off guard.

“I was just… wondering if you wanted to grab a drink or something,” he said, the confidence in his voice wavering just enough for you to notice.

A drink?

You stared at him, completely blindsided. Out of all the things he could have said, that was the last thing you’d expected. Was he seriously asking you out? After all the snark, all the public back-and-forth?

You should say no. You should laugh in his face, tell him to take his ego and leave you alone. It would be the easiest thing in the world to turn him down.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, you found herself staring at him, taking in the way his usually cocky demeanour had softened. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t playing some game to get a rise out of you. He was just… asking. And there was something disarming about that.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you hated that, too.

“You’re joking, right?” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “No joke. Just thought maybe… we could talk. Outside of all this.”

You could tell he was waiting for the rejection. You could practically feel the tension rolling off him as he braced himself for your inevitable shutdown. But for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t feel like fighting. She felt… curious.

Why now? Why you?

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than anything. “You know I can’t stand you, right?”

His lips twitched in what almost looked like a smile. “Yeah. I’m well aware.”

“And yet you think I’d want to get a drink with you?”

He shrugged, his eyes still holding yours, like he was trying to figure you out. “What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

You wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to laugh in his face, but instead, you found herself biting your lip, considering it. And that was the most frustrating part. Because as much as you hated him, you couldn’t deny there was something between them. Something you couldn’t explain, but it had been simmering beneath the surface from the moment you two had met.

You should say no. You should walk away, like you always did.

But instead, you found herself meeting his gaze head-on, searching his face for any sign of the arrogant playboy you’d convinced yourself he was. But all you saw was sincerity. And that was what made you hesitate.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms tighter. “But one wrong word, I’m gone.”

His smile was instant, warm, and more genuine than you’d ever seen. “Deal.”

ynpiastri

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alllllcoooolllllhol es muy bueno

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The bar is dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet corner of the resort. Normally, you’d appreciate the calm atmosphere, but tonight, you can’t shake the nervous energy running through you. You don’t know why you agreed to this—sitting across from him, sipping drinks as if you aren’t the same person who publicly can’t stand him.

Franco leaned back in his chair, watching you with that same relaxed expression that always makes your pulse quicken, though you’d never admit it. “So, you’re telling me you’ve never been surfing?” His voice is casual, like this is the most normal conversation in the world.

You shrug, swirling your drink in your hand, trying to act unaffected. “We’re a racing family.”

He grins, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll have to take you sometime. I bet you’d be a natural.”

That teasing tone, the cocky smile—it should annoy you. It does annoy you. But there’s something different tonight. He’s not playing for an audience, not trying to rile you up like usual. It feels… real. And that’s what unnerves you the most.

“You think I’d take surfing lessons from you? You think I’d voluntarily hang out with you again?” you quip, raising an eyebrow, trying to regain some control over the situation.

“Absolutely. And you’d love every minute of it.”

You roll your eyes, but even as you do, you feel a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. When did this become easy? When did you start enjoying his company?

You take a long sip of your drink, trying to steady yourself. You shouldn’t feel this way. You’re supposed to dislike him. He’s supposed to be the cocky new driver who replaced Logan, the guy you roast on social media. So why is your heart racing?

“Are you okay?” His voice cuts through your thoughts, softer now.

You blink, realising you’ve been staring at the glass in your hand. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you mutter, setting it down.

But he’s still looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read your mind. And for the first time, you don’t know if you can hide behind your usual sarcasm. He’s seeing through your defences, and that terrifies you.

“Listen,” he says, his voice low, almost gentle, “if this is weird for you, you can leave. No pressure.”

Your heart skips at the way he says your name, like it means something more than just another person in his world. Vulnerability flashes in his eyes, and you hate that it makes you feel something, something you’ve been trying to ignore.

You’re about to make a snappy comeback, to brush it off like always, but instead, you just sit there, staring at him. The space between you feels too small, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

Then a thought came to the front of your mind, was he going to kiss you?

The thought sends a jolt through your system. You should pull back, say something snarky, shut this down before it goes any further. But you don’t move. And neither does he.

The tension is electric now, crackling between you like a live wire. He leans in, just slightly, enough for you to feel the heat of his presence, and you realise—so do you. You’re leaning in, too. Your heart is racing, your breath shallow. You can feel the moment hanging there, fragile, on the edge of something you’re not sure you’re ready for. You’re ready to blame the alcohol but you hadn’t even finished your first drink.

And then, just as the space between you is about to disappear, a voice shatters the moment like a glass breaking.

“Oh my god Franco! Can I get a selfie with you?”

The interruption hits you like a bucket of cold water. You jerk back, blinking as you realise there’s someone standing beside the table—a girl, wide-eyed and holding up her phone, looking at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon.

He glances at her, clearly surprised, but quickly recovers with that easy charm of his. For a second, the connection between you snaps, and the intensity of the moment is gone.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, smiling at the fan. “Just give me a second.”

You lean back in your seat, trying to get a grip on yourself. Your heart is still racing, and you feel the ghost of what almost happened hanging in the air. You hadn’t realised how close you’d come to crossing that line until the moment was interrupted. And now that it’s gone, you don’t know how to feel. Relieved? Maybe. But there’s a part of you—a part you hate to admit—that’s disappointing.

He turns back to you, his face apologetic, as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“I’ll be right back,” he says softly, standing up to take the photo.

You watch as he poses with the fan, your heart still thudding in your chest. The moment between you lingers in the air, but now, with the interruption, it’s slipping away. And you’re not sure if you want it back or if you’re relieved it’s gone.

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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...