Found These On Threads, But I Can’t Find The Creator 😭 Anyways, These Are Fucking Cool And These

give you a show | LN4

summary: when your roommates that good looking it's hard not to stare

pairings: roommate!lando norris x fem!reader

an: not posted in a little (sorry) but i actually have a lot in my drafts but i’m grouping them together so i need to finish them all off before i post them :)

word count: 800

warnings: none i don’t think

feedback and reblogs appreciated !!

…

You hadn't been roommates with Lando very long, only a few weeks, and each day you couldn't tell whether you were regretting it or enjoying it more each day. Today included both.

You opened the door to your apartment only an hour later than you left after picking up a few things you needed. You quickly took your shoes off by the door and headed further inside, announcing a quick, "I'm home," as you led your jacket down on the top of a chair, a bad habit both you and Lando formed, but it was just easier.

"Kitchen," a reply came from your left.

You headed towards the kitchen door, briefly pausing as you stepped inside before recomposing yourself and carrying on. You sat on a bar stool seat in the corner of the room, Lando in perfect view, before unconsciously taking your phone out.

You weren't focused on it at all, not when Lando was standing there, looking like that. His body was faced sideways away from you and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions, but he still pulled it off well. Grey sweatpants hung off his hips very lowly and he wasn't wearing a shirt at all. He was either chopping some food or mixing something - you weren't sure, you weren't focused on what he was doing anyway.

A few minutes pass, he's moved around a bit but always returning to the same place no matter what he's doing. You weren't really sure what he was doing but you weren't complaining. The more he seemed to stand there, the more his arms seemed to flex too. You were loving it, completely unaware of how obvious you were, or what you were meant be to doing, you couldn't think straight anyway.

You were too concentrated on him and his arms that you didn't hear him call your name the first time - or the second. It was only the third time he said it that it knocked you out of your daze. Your eyes met his face again, tracing over every detail. Luckily he wasn't looking at you, you thought, he was still focused on whatever he was doing.

"You've been watching that for an awful long time," he spoke, a smirk taking over his features. He was right, you realised. Looking at the phone, you noticed you'd opened tiktok and had just been letting the same video play on loop since you sat down.

You stutter for a moment, thinking of an excuse. "I was reading the comments." You said, lying through your teeth way too obviously.

His smirk never faltered, instead just grew, "took you a while to tell me that. Don't worry, I don't mind when you stare."

You didn't really know how to answer that so you just stayed quiet, your eyes still trained on his face as he turned around and stepped much closer to you.

He was right in front of you now, the only thing separating you was the marble of the kitchen bar worktop.

"What? You think I didn't notice? I cut up way more salad than I'd need in a week, waiting for you to notice." He grinned, putting his arms on the counter and moving his face down to the same height as yours and ever so slightly closer.

"So you were giving me a show?" You reply before you have any time to think about it. You watch as he falters at your response, giving yourself a little ego boost. You cock your head to the side, almost as if you're challenging him for a reply.

He quickly gains his compose back, brushing off the slight embarrassment of you getting him flustered - it isn't the first time but it's the most obvious.

"Well, when there's a pretty girl in front of you, always." He whispers as though it's obvious, in an attempt to again fluster you more than how you flustered him.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You try to hide your grin but fail miserably. Lando also fails to hide his when he sees yours.

"Very much so," he smiles back, moving a hand up to brush some hair off of your face. "Now," he says, slapping his hands down on the counter and flexing slightly, "what kind of roommate would I be if I didn't give you a full show? Anything else you'd like to watch me do?" he says, almost playful, almost serious, liking the idea of being ogled at by you quite nice.

"Well there's a watermelon in the fridge," you tease, tracing your hand down the prominent veins in his arm.

He smirks, watching your hand in motion, "perfect." He doesn't move though, he stays there, absorbed in the way your hand touches his arm.

"Get to it!" you joke, watching as he moves instantly towards the fridge.

In his rush, he doesn't forget to turn back and give you a cheeky wink, followed by a "yes, ma'am."

…

feedback + reblogs appreciated and requests are open :)

Xavi: "So lap time deleted for Verstappen."

Charles: "For fucks sake, tell me the name before."

Xavi: VERSTAPPEN LAP TIME DELETED."

Charles: "Yeah, well I had a heart attack in the meantime."

Declaration of Independence || LS2

Pairing: ex!Lando Norris x Piastri!Reader, Logan Sargeant x Piastri!Reader, Lando Norris x Carlos Sainz Jr Summary: When you find your boyfriend in the arms of his ex-team mate you realise all the rumours were true. With nothing keeping you in Monaco you head to your twin brother’s place in London before planning to return home to Australia. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, sexual themes, angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol WC: 8k

The phone rang for so long you thought it was going to go to voicemail but your younger brother must have caught it on the last ring. He could hardly talk as he panted from whatever exercise his personal trainer was putting him through and you stiffened your trembling lip, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Jacky?”

You could almost see his forehead crumpling in confusion as the seconds ticked by before he answered. “What's wrong?”

“Shit,” you whispered as his protective tone triggered fresh tears and you heard him excuse himself from the gym citing ‘something’s wrong with my sister’. If only he knew how true that was. “I, um, need a favour.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” he answered instantly as a door banged shut at his end of the line. 

Overhead you heard the last call for the flight out of Nice you had bought a last minute ticket for and you shoved your phone between your ear and shoulder so you could fish your passport and boarding pass from your handbag. “Can I crash on your couch for a few days? Just until I can organise a flight home?”

“Home…what do you mean home?” Oscar asked, a moment before the request for a facetime popped up. His red and sweaty face filled your screen and you were sure yours looked similar from all the crying you had done on the drive from Monaco. “Are you at the airport? Where’s Lando?”

You shook your head as you tried to think of the words but they failed to emerge as you walked through the bridge to the plane that was waiting for you. “I…can I stay? Please.”

Worry filled his face but he nodded. Of course you could stay with him, you never had to ask, you were family. “I have a meeting with Zac soon but send me your flight number and I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi.”

“No way. If it wasn’t Zac I promise I would be there, sis.”

“I know,” you sniffled, seeing you were at the plane door. “I’ve gotta go but thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Oscar said softly, pity in his eyes. “Love you.”

“You too, Jacky.”

At first glance you thought maybe Oscar had forgotten to organise a ride for you. Dozens of suited chauffeurs held little signs up with names but none of them were yours and you started to make your way in the other direction only to find a familiar face.

“Hey,” Logan greeted with a smile, tugging the cord of your hoodie you were hiding under. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to pick up a suit and a whiteboard.”

You stepped into his open arms with a small chuckle that lacked its usual energy. “I suppose I can forgive you. I’m sorry you were roped into this. Isn’t this way below your pay grade?”

“Wait, I could get paid for this?”

You stepped back with a laugh and patted your pockets. “I only have a couple of euros on me, so you are out of luck there.”

He started to laugh before looking around you and saw you had no luggage with you. “I thought you were coming to stay with Oscar?”

“I, um, left in a hurry,” you said as your chest tightened again and you looked at the floor. The thought of returning to the bedroom and packing a bag had your stomach turning. “I’ll get some clothes later today.”

You could still see them, their bodies writhing between the sheets you had slept in only hours earlier. You had been hurt, finding Lando in the arms of another, but the real shock had been when he pulled away at your gasp and you saw Carlos’ dark head of hair on your pillow. The man you had welcomed as a friend into your home, the man you had been on double dates with countless times, was fucking your boyfriend - or being fucked by - you couldn’t quite tell from where you stood frozen in the doorway.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Logan said quietly, tucking you into his side as he saw your waterline begin to fill in the silence. The tears slowly leaked down your cheeks as he guided you out of the terminal and to his car, belting you in when you couldn’t move for fear you would fall apart. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t,” you admitted as you shook your head and pulled your hoodie back now that you were behind tinted glass. You had learned quickly just how many people followed and photographed F1 drivers and didn’t want to find yourself on the gossip pages again just yet, or ever.

He sighed but gave you a nod before turning the engine on. “Well, when you are ready, I’m here.”

“No, Lo, I can’t tell anyone, ever. I signed an NDA.”

“Seriously?” He put the car back in neutral and pulled the handbrake as he swivelled in his chair to face you as you confirmed it with a short nod. “What the fuck. Does Oscar know?”

“Not yet. It’s…complicated.”

Logan bit his lip as he fought the urge to ask more questions but he had known you long enough to know you wouldn’t be pressed on a matter. You were blunt that way, just like your brother - so he pushed the matter from his mind and started the journey to the city where Oscar shared an apartment with Lily. 

“If it gets cramped, you can always hang out at my place. I won’t be there much in the day and I know Lily is studying for her exams at the moment. Oscar’s been whining that he hardly sees her face; it's always buried in a textbook.”

“It’s only for a few days, until I can find a flight home,” you said with a shrug. You didn’t exactly want to return to Australia but there weren’t any other immediate plans that came to mind. Oscar worked with Lando, so hanging out with him in the garage like you used to gave you as much excitement as getting your fingernails ripped off.

Logan’s lips turned down at the news as he pulled up to the modern apartment block Oscar had moved into when he settled in the city. “Have my address, just in case - or you can call and I’ll pick you up.”

You grabbed your phone from your handbag and sighed when you found the battery dead. “Shit.”

A click had you look up as Logan grabbed your hand and you wriggled at the ticklish feel of his pen inking your skin. “Problem solved,” he smiled as he clicked the pen shut.

“Old school,” you teased as you twisted your hand to read the address in a suburb not too far from Oscar’s. “Thank you, Lo.”

His eyes softened as you leaned across the console and kissed his cheek before getting out of the car. “Anytime. Seriously, I’m here if you need anything.”

“I know.” You walked around to his window that he had wound down and rested your hands on the trim. “I’m glad Jacky has a friend like you.”

“I didn’t do this for him. Technically you were my friend first.”

You smiled at the memory, how Oscar had called you a traitor for hanging out with his ‘enemy’ back in F3 only for the two to end up becoming close friends after their fight for the championship. “Friends huh? I hope you didn’t kiss him too,” you joked before the image resurfaced of Lando and Carlos kissing in your bed and you pushed away from the car, missing the way his eyes lingered on your lips. “Uh, I should go. Thanks again, Logan.”

You berated yourself the entire way to the one bedroom apartment on the top floor. It was a silly joke. You shouldn’t have even brought up the kiss, it wasn’t something you had really thought about in the last two years - when you were happy with Lando. It had just been a summer thing that happened after he moved to F2 but nothing had come of it.

If you were honest with yourself you would admit you ran away. You had caught feelings for Oscar’s friend and ran the moment you realised it. Incidentally, it led you straight to Lando. And look how that turned out.

“Hey, you’re here! Sorry, I just need to run to the library but make yourself at home!” Lily greeted in a rush as she opened the door, tangling her arms in her coat as she tried to hug you at the same time. “Oscar shouldn’t be too far away. He’s picking up Thai for dinner too, so text him what you want. See you soon.”

Your goodbye drifted down the stairs with Lily and you closed the door to see the kitchen table was strewn with textbooks and it overflowed into the living room. You could hardly see the coffee table under the stack of books for her Masters but you moved some that were on the couch aside and settled in with a sigh.

Lando rushed off the bed, pulling the sheet loosely around his body but it bared Carlos completely and you stepped back at the fast approach. You couldn’t stop staring, a thousand questions running through your mind but there was only one that seemed to be repeating. 

“Why?” You should have known at that point how little the physical relationship had meant to you because it wasn’t the fact he had cheated on you that hurt the most. It was the fact he never told you the truth - you were meant to be friends first and foremost - he could have come out to you and you would have accepted him as he was.  “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?”

Lando’s hands entwined with the sheets, nervously twisting in the material as he hung his head. “No one is allowed to know.”

Your eyes darted to Carlos as he pulled his boxers up and stepped up to Lando’s side, a large hand low on his back, supportingly. “No one can know. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. I don’t understand what the fuck is happening!” Your breaths came too quick, the room starting to sway until Lando caught you and guided you out of the room to the couch. His voice murmured apologies quietly with each step but it felt like you were listening from beneath the surface of turbulent waters.

“-both our careers.”

You blinked twice as the sound began to clear and you focused on Lando’s lips still swollen from Carlos’ kisses. “If anyone finds out then they will void our contracts.”

“So you were just using me? And Isabella?”

Carlos looked away at the mention of his ex-girlfriend and you wondered if she had been through this very same situation, or if she were blissfully unaware after their breakup. Had she been sat in front of the two of them, Carlos sitting closer and Lando the one on the other single seater couch observing quietly.

“No, fuck, no, it wasn’t like that,” Lando assured as he squeezed your hand. “I love you.”

You saw the hesitancy in his eyes that were frightened and sad, and everything else all at once. “But…you love him too.” You could do the maths and remembered the rumours that had been swirling since he joined McLaren. He had loved Carlos before he ever even met you. “I wish you told me, before I loved you too. I’m, uh, I’m just going to go now.”

“Wait, you can’t go,” Lando panicked as he gripped your hand tighter. “No one can find out.”

“I won’t tell anyone, Lan, it’s not my place, but you could have trusted me. I would have been happy for you,” you whispered as you wiped your eyes, “but now I’m just hurt and embarrassed.”

You started to pull away from Lando’s hands but he sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. Carlos shifted forward, ready to reach for Lando before your hard eyes cut to him and he froze. “I’m sorry,” Lando murmured reluctantly. “I know you wouldn’t say anything, and I know I’m an asshole to ask, but…”

You swallowed as you waited for the next punch to come but Lando shook his head as if it physically hurt to speak. 

“We need you to sign some papers,” Carlos finished for him. “A non-disclosure agreement.”

A bitter laugh choked from your lungs. “You guys really had this all planned out didn’t you. And if I say no?” True panic widened Lando’s eyes and his chest filled with a shaky intake of air, making you feel guilty for even asking. With a resigned sigh you dropped your head in your hands and muttered, “I’ll sign whatever you need, then I’m gone.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“What do you want from me, Lan?” you asked, tugging your hair in exasperation. “What do you want me to do? Join your harem? Be your housekeeper? What!”

“I…I just don’t want to be alone again,” he whispered, a look of longing cast back to Carlos who flinched. 

You stood up, watching him shrink back as you rose over him. “I’m not going to be your bed warmer because the person you actually want isn’t available full time. Now hurry up and get me the papers to sign while I pack.” You started to make your way to the bedroom before changing your mind and going to the home office where the computer and printer was along with Lando’s sim racer. “Actually, I’ll just start completely afresh, you can donate everything. Or bin it, I don’t really care.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. You did care. You were just too stubborn to let it show.

Dropping into the office chair, you opened your phone while you waited for the NDA knowing it wouldn’t be long since they were already prepared - like they had run through the scenario before. Tiktok seemed like a good way to waste some time until the second video was a CarLando edit and you nearly broke the screen as you slammed the phone down on the desk. 

“You ok?” Lando asked as he popped his head in the room at the bang.

Spinning away from his sad blue eyes you dropped your head on the desk with a thud. “Don’t ever ask me that stupid question again.” He started to leave the room but he stopped at the choked sound that came from your throat. “You know, I would have been an ally - if you had just told me.”

“An ally?” he echoed as Carlos joined him in the doorway. 

“But now…”

“You are an enemy?” Carlos asked, his tongue running across his teeth until Lando elbowed him. 

“No, not an enemy, don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you like losing your jobs, I just can’t be happy for you either - not at my own expense.”

A bounce jolted you awake and your hand lashed out, slapping your brother’s arm where he had flopped down on the couch beside you. “Asshat.”

Oscar grinned but it faded quickly as he turned serious and took in your appearance - just what you needed with an already damaged self-esteem. “You okay?”

“Been better.”

“Want to send him a bag of dicks?”

“He’d probably like that,” you said with a snort before shaking your head. “No, I honestly just need something to take my mind off him.”

Oscar smiled sadly. “I would offer to go out tonight but Kim would probably kill me if I missed training in the morning, or god forbid the flight. How about we go and get absolutely trashed on Sunday after the race? You are still coming, right?”

You had debated avoiding the race entirely but when Oscar did the worst pair of sad puppy eyes you held your hand out and shook on it. “Deal. Now what’s for dinner?”

“I got a bit of everything since you didn’t text me what you wanted.”

“Phone’s dead, can I use your charger?”

“Yeah, it’s next to the bed,” he said as he jutted his head to the bedroom before pulling himself up with a groan and complaining about his ageing body.

“Shut up, I’m older than you are.”

“You were only born eight minutes before me,” Oscar complained as he led the way to the breakfast bar - the only space large enough to seat three people for dinner.

“As someone whose races come down to one thousandth of a second I think you of all people would understand eight minutes is quite substantial.”

“She’s got a point,” Lily said with a giggle as she set the plates. 

“No she doesn’t, whose side are you on?”

“Oh, Jacky-boy, it was the first race of your life and I won. Lah-hoo-zah-her.”

Something warm and wet hit your face and you narrowed your eyes at Oscar as he picked up another string of pad thai. “Say that again?”

Lily sighed as your lips parted and you matched his smirk, knowing it was going to cause carnage but at least it was familiar territory and a good distraction. “Loser.”

Lily and Oscar had gone to bed hours ago but you couldn’t sleep. The sound of the city was louder than what you were used to and the couch wasn’t as comfortable when you weren’t completely exhausted. 

Tossing the blanket back, you went to the bathroom and grimaced at your reflection. Dark circles hung under your puffy eyes and you were grateful that you had done some shopping after dinner. After making yourself a little more decent with a layer of makeup and some warm clothes you decided to take a walk to clear your head.

The streets only grew busier the further you walked from the nice neighbourhood and you found yourself in front of a pub that was overflowing with people despite it being so early in the week. You really shouldn’t have listened to the little voice in your head but you couldn’t argue that it had been one hell of a day so you agreed to treat yourself and stepped inside. 

Logan woke to a loud knock at his door and rubbed his eyes until the blurry clock beside his bed came into focus. Stumbling from the bed with his phone in hand, he padded his way downstairs and wondered who could be showing up at 2am until he saw you swaying in the peephole. Ripping the door open he didn’t realise you were using it to balance and caught you as you fell into him.

“Hey handsome,” you slurred with a grin as you checked out his shirtless body, feeling the hard muscles across his torso, before turning to wave back to the cabbie parked on his driveway. “Told you he was real!”

“Go inside, sweetheart, I’ll be back in a minute.” Logan settled you back on your feet and kissed your forehead before stepping out of his townhouse, sauntering his way to the black cab who still had his window down waiting. 

“Are you her brother?”

“No, Oscar’s a friend, so is she,” Logan assured the driver as he held out his iPhone to pay the fare. “Where did you pick her up from?”

“The Lion’s Head. She kept asking me to take her to her brother’s flat but had no phone or address. Found this one written on her hand though, lucky for her.”

“Yeah, lucky,” he sighed before patting the door panel and stepping. “Thanks for getting her here safely, you have a good night.”

By the time Logan had locked the door again you were passed out on his couch, your head hanging at an odd angle that couldn’t be comfortable. Scooping you up into his arms, he carried you up to his room, muttering under his breath as he walked, “What the fuck did you do, Lando?”

You woke up in a peaceful haze with a warm arm curled around your waist and soft snores on your neck. You didn’t open your eyes, not wanting to take away from this moment as your mind found itself back in your body and not in the nightmare you had been trapped in. 

“I had the worst dream, baby,” you whispered as you snuggled into the warmth of his chest against your back and felt him wake with a yawn.

“Y/N?”

You froze at the voice in your ear, your eyes being blinded by the morning light as they flew open. “Logan,” you squeaked as you shot upright and twisted to see him on his pillow, the sunlight making him look like a golden greek god. “What the..?”

Your eyes drifted down his bare chest before you caught yourself and fixed them on his blue eyes instead, the shade thankfully far brighter than the pair that had haunted your dreams. “Um, Logan, you’re naked…” you lifted the sheet you had wrapped yourself in and exhaled in relief, “and I am not. Okay. That’s good, I guess.”

“I’m not naked,” Logan clarified as he held his hands up. “You showed up last night really wasted and crashed on my couch.”

You looked around the light modern room with a quirked eyebrow. “This isn’t the couch.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” he said as he dropped his hands and laced his fingers over his abs and fiddled nervously, drawing your attention back to them before you could stop yourself. “You didn’t look comfortable so I carried you to bed but you woke up crying and…”

Your chest tightened as he trailed off and looked out the window to his small backyard. “And what, Logan?”

“You said you didn’t want to be alone, so I stayed alright? Nothing happened, okay, I just…I couldn’t leave you like that.” He bit his lip as he turned to see your reaction, wondering if he had overstepped without meaning to, but you were already launching yourself across the bed and into his chest. 

“Thank you, Lo,” you whispered against his skin as you buried your head in his neck while his arms found their way around you. 

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he mumbled. “I had to call Osc to let him know where you were.”

“Ugh,” you huffed as you pulled away from him and looked for your phone before remembering it was still charging in Oscar’s bedroom. Your eyes landed on the bedside drawers and found your cash, rings, watch and half a dozen pretzels but it was the clock that blinked angrily at you. “Shit, I’m going to miss the plane!” You scrambled to get out of bed.

“Relax. It’s all sorted,” Logan said with a laugh as he helped untangle your legs from the sheets. “You’re flying with me this afternoon.”

You froze as you found your bodies close and you felt the ghost of his touch where he had held you tenderly and let you fall asleep in his arms. “Logan…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered as he closed his eyes and shook his head, but he didn’t move away. 

“Like what?”

“Like you used to.”

‘Fuck, okay I deserved that,’ you thought as he pulled away and walked into his wardrobe. He stepped out a moment later in a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, but his chest remained bare like he was purposefully trying to taunt you with the sight. Flopping back into the pillows, you pulled his one over your face and silently screamed as you assaulted your younger self for the decisions you had made. 

“Want waffles?” 

You refrained from smothering yourself completely and peeked over the top of the pillow that was saturated in his scent. “Store bought or homemade?”

The incredulous look he gave you had you tossing the pillow aside and rising from the bed. You didn’t know how he did it but Logan made the best waffles and despite being a good cook yourself, you could never replicate it. 

Strolling down the hall with him, you looked across and waved a hand over his body. “So do you own a shirt in this mansion?”

He smirked and shook his head. “Nope, not a single one.”

“If you take me shopping after breakfast I promise to buy you one.”

He pulled a stool out at the kitchen island and pointed you towards it while he went to the pantry and gathered the ingredients. “Didn’t you just go shopping yesterday?”

“That was so yesterday, Lolo,” you drawled as his lips curled up and his chest bounced with a laugh. “I only got some warm clothes because London can’t seem to make up its mind whether it's in a heat wave or a storm. I can’t wear this in Singapore.”

“You’ll absolutely cook,” he agreed. “The humidity is meant to be insane.”

“It is. We usually stopover there on the way home.”

You watched Logan mix all the ingredients and heat up the waffle iron before he put the first batch in and leant against the counter opposite you, resting his elbows on the bench and chin on his hands. “Where are you going to hang out in Singapore?”

You knew he didn’t mean the tourist attractions and shrugged, really not wanting to think about that just yet. “Jacky wants me there so I’m going, but beyond that I don’t know. Lando’s taking care of the ‘announcement’ but I don’t know when that will be posted.”

“I didn’t realise he was such an asshole.”

You opened your mouth but you weren’t sure if you were going to condemn him or defend him so you closed it again.

You had spent hours combing over your relationship with Lando when you couldn’t sleep and realised you weren’t actually as angry about the breakup as you felt you should have been. Maybe that was a sign it was never really that serious, or that the attraction to Lando was simple in that he was good looking and you had built a strong friendship with him. Maybe that was all there was and you misread it all. 

He had still used you, and that hurt like hell. That was real.

“You’re always welcome at my garage, no orange though.”

Your lips twitched as you shook your head in amusement. “Papaya, but thanks, I might take you up on that - if you can save my waffle from burning.”

“Shit!” Logan nearly burnt himself rushing to get the waffle out but with a hefty drenching in maple syrup you could hardly taste the extra crispy parts.

y/npiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri and 2,286 others

y/npiastri: @/oscarpiastri when can you get one of these?

oscarpiastri: I already have one Logan and that’s enough

y/npiastri: I meant the private plane egg

Username: Why isn’t y/n flying with Lando?

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SINGAPORE

Your phone started to vibrate with notifications as soon as you turned it on after touching down at Changi Airport and you could feel a headache beginning to grow until it felt the size of a certain British race driver. One that wasn’t Lewis or George.

Though you were expecting to see him after reading through the litany of text messages you had missed, it was still a shock to find Lando in the airport terminal.

“Hey man, thanks for giving her a lift,” Lando said with a stiff nod to Logan as he draped an arm over your shoulder and whispered, “I didn’t want to do this, I’m sorry.”

All around, you could see fans taking photos and found Lando’s forced smile waiting for you to respond. Your eyes darted to Logan but he wasn’t helping matters with the glare he was sending Lando so you gritted your teeth and wrapped your free arm around Lando’s waist. 

“I’m not doing this again in Japan,” you whispered back as you waved to a few of the fans. “I don’t care what your PR team says. I’m done.”

You didn’t know where Lando slept, and didn’t care enough to ask as you closed the hotel door in his face. It was one thing to pretend to still be in a relationship in public but it didn’t extend beyond that. He was already asking too much of you.

The peace and quiet didn’t last very long before a persistent knock drummed on your door. “I know you’re in there,” Oscar called out. “Open up before I tell everyone about Bobo-”

You were not amused as you unlocked the door and found the hall empty except for him and the bag of food he held. “Keep my teddy’s name out of your mouth,” you growled as you swiped the bag from him. “Lau Pa Sat?”

“Of course,” he shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t travelled across the city to go to your favourite hawker stand.

“Thank you. I guess you can come in.”

He chuckled as you made space in the doorway and closed the door behind him. His laugh soon died and he quirked an eyebrow as he passed the trash can and saw the McLaren merch that you had found in the wardrobe. “I’ll try not to be too offended.”

“You’ll get over it.” You took a seat on the couch and opened the containers, spreading the range of dishes across the coffee table as the mouthwatering scent filled the room. “Want some?”

“Race diet,” he reminded you with a shake of his head and a longing look at the food.

“Good, I don’t share well.”

“At least you can have the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow.”

You already had a mouthful of chicken rice and nearly choked on it before swallowing. “Leftovers? Yeah, right. I’m not on a race diet, this isn’t lasting the night.”

Dropping into the seat beside you, Oscar grabbed the tv remote and went straight to the movie channels. After finally deciding on the new Spiderman he settled into the cushions, ignoring the knock on the door, muttering, “Don’t answer him.”

From Logan: open up, I can smell food.

“It’s not Lando,” you said as you tossed the phone to Oscar who went and opened the door before taking his seat again.

“Expecting anyone else?” Logan asked as he saw all the food spread out.

“She’s eating her feelings,” Oscar stated, ducking on reflex as he expected to get a punch on the arm. There was a satisfied smirk on your face when his face disappeared under a well aimed pillow and you blew a kiss to Logan as a thank you.

“Do you want some?” you offered the American a dumpling with your chopsticks.

He leaned closer and looked at the tasty morsel inquisitively. “What’s in it?”

“Don’t ask, mate.” Oscar tucked the pillow behind his head and turned the volume up. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t come to see you,” Logan said as he dropped a package on your lap before he took a bite of the dumpling, the liquid inside exploding in a mess down your top. “Fuck, sorry.” He reached for the napkins on the table but his shaking hand knocked your drink over and Oscar sat back watching the chaos with a nostalgic feeling as Logan swore again. “Fuck.”

It reminded Oscar of being Logan’s teammate at Prema, back when things were simpler and the three of you would always hang out. Logan was always clumsy around you and it looked like it was something he would never grow out of.

“Is this your present?” you asked as you finally stopped laughing at Logan and picked up the package. “Why aren’t you wearing it? It was a gift.”

Oscar’s interest was piqued and he swiped it from your hands. You had promised to buy Logan a shirt, you didn’t say it was going to be a fashionable one. Opening the bag, Oscar pulled the green shirt out and held it up to read the front before turning it around, cackling loudly.

Got a problem with me? Talk to Mike Krack.

“I am not wearing that,” Logan laughed as Oscar balled it up and tossed it at his head.

“If you won’t, I will,” you dared as you went to reach for it.

“No way,” Logan teased, pulling it out of your reach as you tried to clamber over him to get it. “It's my gift and I’m keeping it.”

“Careful not to hurt him again, sis,” Oscar warned jokingly.

Logan winced at the reminder of the one time your leg had slipped in a similar situation and your knee had met a certain body part he was quite attached to.

“That was an accident!” you huffed as you sat back in your seat and grabbed a dish of Singapore noodles. “Don’t you have a girlfriend to call before her exam?”

Oscar checked his phone and saw the time and jumped up from the couch. “Shit! See you two in the morning.”

“Wish her luck from me, not that she needs it,” you called out as the door closed in his wake. It hadn’t even clicked shut and you had tossed the remote onto Logan’s lap. “Right, find a decent movie and not a bloody cartoon.”

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” 

Logan laughed as you narrowed your eyes at him before continuing scrolling down the title list. “Fine, what about the new Jennifer Lawrence one?”

With a full stomach, you put the lids back on the containers and made yourself comfortable on the couch, laying your head on Logan’s lap and using his thigh as a pillow. Just like old times, you smiled as his palm started to brush over your hair softly.

You hadn’t read the synopsis when you agreed to the choice and you started to regret it. The entire plot was centred around a woman who was afraid of catching feelings and so she ran at the first sight of them. You grew uncomfortable as the movie played and neither of you laughed much - you were too busy wishing you didn’t see the similarities of when you did the same to Logan. And Logan, well he had a frown etched deep into his forehead.

“You’re thinking so loud that I’m getting a headache,” you said as you rolled onto your back and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about the race. All the races, and crashes. I keep fucking up.” 

You waited for him to continue but he was staring at the tv without really seeing what was there so you paused it. “Mistakes happen. James seems like a good principle - he should have told you this.”

“He is, but I want to be better. I push harder to prove I can but then I crash out, but if I hold back then I come last. I just don’t know how to find the balance. I feel like a failure.” He looked away, ashamed.

You sat up and cradled his cheek in your hand, guiding his face back so you could see his eyes. “You’re not a failure, Lo. You’re a rookie, it’s about learning and getting experience.”

“Oscar’s a rookie too.”

“Yeah, but he had a year of testing to get used to the car. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” You decided at that moment that you were going to take up his offer. “And to make sure you remember it, I’ll be in your garage tomorrow. I might even bring a picket sign so you can see me from the track.”

“You would too,” he chuckled before sighing and releasing the tension in his shoulders. “It's completely selfish of me, but I missed hanging out like this.”

“Me too, Lo.”

“Are you sure you want to go home?”

“No,” you scoffed. “But what else can I do? I only left so Jacky wasn’t on his own but he has Lily now. I have no place to live and everything I owned is probably already in the Monaco landfill.”

“You could stay with me,” he offered before quickly adding, “I have a guest room.”

You couldn’t quite ignore the feeling of disappointment that set in your gut at the thought of being his roommate. “You’re too nice but you’ll want your privacy, it would be awkward if you brought a girlfriend home.” That thought unsettled you even more.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said a little sadly. “I have about the same success with dating as I do scoring points.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” you stated confidently. “I believe in you.”

You were hardly spotted with Lando all weekend but that wasn’t abnormal since his team kept him busy with meet and greets. Unfortunately, arriving with Logan at the airport and then at the paddock each day had caused a few whispers to spread. Rumours of the breakup were popping up on the Wag blogs and the term homie hopper was being thrown around too.

Girl has gone and signed the Declaration of Independence. Y/N belongs to America now. The tweet made you giggle a little bit as you sat in Logan’s garage eating a slice of the cake you had baked the crew. You had kept them supplied with fresh baking all weekend after finding out Logan’s hotel suite had a fully stocked kitchen and they had quickly welcomed you after that.

The busy garage fell silent, the wheel guns shutting off as the mechanics put them down to watch the pair of McLaren men walking in from the pit lane. One smiled at the Williams shirt you wore, the other looked at Logan with a new interest.

“Kim thought he smelt your baking,” Oscar said as he spotted the cake before giving you a hug. “I get not being in papaya but this is just traitorous.”

“I don’t know, I quite like it. I was even propositioned - head baker sounds good to me. Especially since I need a new job.”

Lando’s smile dropped. “Wait, what?”

You could see the people around pretending to be busy but they collectively leaned closer. They were not ignorant to the rumours in the paddock.

“Quadrant doesn’t need me. I know I was only on the payroll because of you,” you said quietly. “I emailed Max my resignation when I got to Nice, I thought he would have told you.”

“Well I’m CEO and, as CEO, I’m not accepting it.”

“Don’t be a dick, mate,” Oscar interjected, placing a hand on Lando’s chest and giving him a little push back away from you.

“I didn’t sign away my basic fucking rights so if you want to piss away your money paying me for nothing then fine.”

A warm body pressed up beside you and you didn’t have to look to know it was Logan, before his accent confirmed it. “I think you should go back to your garage, now.”

Oscar sent Logan a grateful nod and headed towards the floodlights with a firm hand on Lando’s shoulder.

“Drive safe,” you called out, both of their heads turning back at your voice but you were only looking at one of them.

“Of course,” Oscar nodded seriously. “Don’t forget, we’re going out tonight.”

“How could I forget? Free booze - It’s the only reason I came.” You hooked your arm into Logan’s and peeked up at his stoic features, his eyes still staring daggers at Lando. “You’re coming too, right?”

“Sure,” he replied with a smirk. “Someone’s got to make sure you get tucked into bed…again.”

You choked on a laugh as his words had the desired effect and Oscar shook his head as his teammate swept from the room. “If that wasn't about my sister I would hi-five you,” he said with a smile in his tone. “Good luck out there.”

“You too.”

“That was naughty,” you teased as work resided in the garage.

The mechanics were busy preparing the car for the race when your phone vibrated in your pocket and Logan’s attention was taken by his engineer. Ducking away from the distracting noise, you answered the call and pressed a finger into your ear so you could hear.

“It’s, uh, me, Lando.”

“I know, I do have your number.”

“Oh, I thought you might have deleted it,” he cleared his throat and from the quiet at his end you knew he was hidden in his driver room. “I just wanted to let you know I’m posting the announcement before the race. And…I hope Logan makes you happy. Truly.”

“It’s not what you think, despite what he said before. He doesn’t even think of me that way.”

“I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince,” Lando said before sighing. “I know sorry doesn’t begin to cover it but for what it’s worth, I really am sorry. Anyway, I should go.”

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat at the genuine apology, but you weren’t ready to say what he was wanting to hear, you weren’t ready to forgive him. “Drive safe, Lando.”

His exhale of relief drifted through the phone. “Thank you.”

landonorris

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“Woah, slow down, sweetheart.” The glass was taken from your hand and Logan took a drink of it himself as he settled into the booth beside you. “That’s strong.”

“Fastest way to get drunk, and that’s exactly what I am aiming for.”

“Just let her get it out of her system,” Oscar suggested after breaking away from a conversation with Felipe, the Aston Martin reserve driver he had befriended. “Trust me, she’ll get trashed, blow off some steam and be over him tomorrow.”

“I am over him,” you stated as you took your drink back and jutted your chin to the tv screens replaying the podium celebration hours ago. “I just can’t seem to get away from them.”

Logan frowned as he followed your gaze and saw Carlos and Lando spraying each other with champagne before hugging tightly. “Them?”

Your eyes widened as you realised what you said and you shuffled closer to him. With a quick scan over the others, you found they weren’t paying any attention so you cupped your hand around Logan’s ear for some privacy. “Please forget I said that and never repeat it, please, you have to promise me.”

He chewed his bottom lip in contemplation before tipping his head down to yours and you felt his warmth breath across your cheek. “The NDA was about this, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t want you getting into trouble, and I don’t give a shit what those two do in their own time - he’s still an asshole for cheating on you. You deserve better than that.”

You looked down at your glass, tracing your finger around the salted rim. “You don’t think it’s my fault?”

“What?” he laughed before realising you were serious. “How would it be your fault?”

“I, I don’t know…” you lied.

“You think you turned him gay.” Logan was more astute than anyone gave him credit for, or maybe he just knew you too well. Grabbing your chin, he guided your face back so he could meet your eyes. “Sweetheart, you know that’s not how it works.”

“I know,” you whispered. “He was only with me because he was lonely. And I think I was the same. Oscar had just moved in with Lily and I was alone for the first time in my life. I just keep wondering what would have happened if I answered your call that night.”

His hand dropped from where it had slowly shifted to cradle your cheek. “Why didn’t you?”

You screwed your eyes shut as you remembered the summer that had changed your future completely. You had tried to resist the growing feelings for Logan but after a week spent on his uncle’s superyacht you realised you were deep in it. It had frightened you - the fear of losing him as a friend - if it turned out to be a mistake. It wasn’t just your friendship at risk either, there was the one of Oscar and Logan to think about too.

It had been overwhelming, so when the holiday came to an end you went incommunicado.

That was also the summer where Oscar had quietly been in talks with McLaren and at one of those meetings you had accompanied him to, you met Lando. Friendly, handsome, and no attachment to Oscar at that point, he was the escape you needed.

“Because I realised I loved you and it scared me. It still does, but I’m done running.”

You didn’t know who moved first and the consequences of the actions were far from your mind as your lips met. The club could have been on fire but you wouldn’t have recognised the sound of the alarms as your racing heartbeat echoed in your head and your hands fisted his shirt to pull him closer. You moaned when you felt him deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips as his hand traced down your spine.

His kiss were exactly like you remembered them, pillow soft lips that yearned with a hunger you could match. And you did.

“Dude!” Oscar interrupted as he threw a coin at you. “I’m right here!”

You tossed the coin right back at him. “Look away then, little brother. You’re the one who said to blow off some steam.”

“Ugh, not what I meant,” he said as he finished his beer. “I’m calling it a night. You two…have fun or whatever.”

“Wait, you’re not mad?” you asked as he grabbed his jacket, Felipe deciding to join him instead of becoming a third wheel.

“I’m not your keeper, you’re an adult. God knows you two have been googly-eyed over each other since you met.”

“Was not googly-eyed!”

“Whatever you say.” Oscar laughed at you as he rose from the table and ruffled your hair before clapping Logan on the shoulder. “Take care of her, please.”

“Of course, always planned to.”

Oscar nodded with a final wave. “I know.”

—

The need to get drunk was replaced with another need entirely and it didn’t take long before Logan closed the tab and paid the bill before hailing a taxi. His hand had not left your body for one moment, either resting on the small of your back or holding your hand - like he was afraid if he let you go you would disappear again.

When you woke in the morning, those hands still held you close, his legs tangled between yours, his skin warm against yours. For a moment you found the home you had been searching for since you left Australia as a teenager wanting to carve out a piece of the world as her own. For a moment you were in heaven.

You didn’t know how quickly that feeling would disappear. You didn’t know that photos of you and Logan’s kiss were already going viral.

Whore, slut, gold digger.

“Ignore them, sweetheart,” Logan said as he took your phone and turned it off for the flight to Japan. “You and I know the truth, that’s all that matters.”

It was hard to imagine having the strength to ignore the accusations, especially when you couldn’t defend yourself without exposing Lando. He must have known that too as for a second time in a week you found yourself in an airport terminal and facing your ex.

“Hey.” You didn’t know what to do when he opened his arms for a hug but after a moment you stepped into his embrace. “Logan called.”

You turned to Logan, a look of confusion clear on your face as you waited for an explanation. “It’s his fans bullying you, and if he really wants you to be happy like he said then the least he can do is show them there’s no problem,” he said with a shrug.

“He’s right,” Lando said as he nudged you gently. “I wasn’t lying when I said I hope we could still be friends. If you’re not ready for that then I’ll respect it but I’m still here if you need and I won’t stop apologising.”

Your night with Logan had washed away at the residual hurt that had been left by Lando and you softened at his words. Wrapping your arms around his waist you took a deep breath and released it just as heavily. “I forgive you, Lan. And he does make me happy, he always has.”

He smiled knowingly as you stepped back and under Logan’s arm. “Good. I’m glad.”

You smiled up at Logan before turning it to Lando, feeling lighter than you had all week - maybe all your life. There was no sarcasm or edge when you told him wholeheartedly, “I hope you get your happiness too.”

This is just too cute

Heyyy I loved your Oscar fic and I was wondering if you could write something where reader is Lando’s sister and she comes to a gp with him and she meets Oscar and she develops a crush on him

There's A Lightness In Your Eyes - OP81

Lando had told y/n plenty about Oscar ahead of the 2023 season since they spent time together during the break. Now they're in Bahrain for testing ahead of the Grand Prix and Lando, while not needing his sister there, has pulled her over to join him because apparently they need "bonding time". Something he demanded.

"If he seems kind of quiet, don't hold it against him. He's just kind of a quiet guy." Lando states to his sister who rolls her eyes. "What?"

"If either one of us can't handle an introvert, it's you Lando." Y/n giggles rolling her eyes then squealing when Lando pokes her side to tickle her. "Ah, don't do that!"

Lando does it again which ends up with Lando eventually chasing his sister to the McLaren unit ready to terrorise her even more in the safety of the paddock.

"Are you two really chasing each other?" Zak chuckles when y/n trips over and squeals hitting the ground pretty hard.

"She started it." Lando states, uncaring of his childishness since Zak doesn't actually care, so long as his team delivers on results and his drivers are confident about progress (along with backed up by data) then this is all acceptable.

Y/n spots the new teammate she recognises from McLaren posts and smiles jumping up to her feet. It only takes a couple seconds for their eye contact to make her insides turn to absolute mush.

"Hi..." Y/n smiles in a light voice moving to shake his hand. "I'm y/n."

"I'm Oscar." He states and his accent. HIS ACCENT.

Lando and Zak mainly engage in conversation while Oscar contributes slightly and y/n watches trying to keep her tongue in her mouth.

Y/n is no stranger to being attracted to a lot of the F1 drivers. Charles? Oh yeah that man is godly. Lewis? How could you not? Pierre's constant "fuck me" eyes? Yeah, she's been tempted. Carlos and literally everything he does? Y/n could hardly make eye contact.

But this thickly feeling in her chest, fluttering in her stomach. She's never felt like this. She's not foolish enough to believe that love at first sight is a thing, but this is definitely something she has never experienced before.

"Y/n, I got some media to do. So what do you want to do?" Lando asks making her snap out her thoughts of wondering what it might be like to feel Oscar's lips on her. They look soft. "Y/n, hello?"

"What's Oscar doing?" Y/n asks making Oscar look up a little shocked she's even asking.

"I'm going to grab some food."

"I'll stick with Oscar. I'm kind of hungry." Y/n shrugs trying to play it off as minor when actually being alone with Oscar is already making her feel giddy.

"Alright, well don't scare him. I'll see you later." Lando states fist-bumping his sister as he does with everyone apart from their grandmother.

"Bye." Y/n nods then turning to Oscar once her brother has left with Zak following suit to actually handle some business.

Y/n ends up nervously rambling, practically talking too much for Oscar to make any attempt at properly part-taking in the conversation. But he seems happy to eat and listen, just smiling as she rambles about her life, her brother and her thoughts on how McLaren's season is going to go.

-

Lando is not the brightest in the world, so the fact his sister and teammate are spending more and more time together as the week goes on, it's not something he notices. In fact the rest of the grid notices the two of them growing incredibly close in record time.

Oscar's face and eyes light up every time y/n is around him and it's obvious that the two have quickly grown close.

"Ok, do you want some help?" Oscar smiles patting the halo as y/n bounces a little in excitement to climb into the cockpit of Oscar car.

She's not driving it anywhere or even doing anything beyond sitting there. But she's never got to do this because Lando just never offered.

"Yeah I don't want to break anything." Y/n nods then smiling a blinding brightness when his hands fall to her waist, a place they're finding their way to more and more, before he lifts her up and into the cockpit.

"Ok, you just sit down. It might not be the most comfortable for you, since the seat is custom to me." Oscar warns while she nods shifting to sit down before she smiles. "Alright hold on."

Oscar moves, grabbing his helmet before he helps her put it on and smiles seeing her in his helmet. He can't even stop himself from capturing a few photos with the visor up to really show her smile that creases her eyes.

"What do you think?" Oscar asks making showing her the photos. "I think you really suit my helmet personally."

There's a flutter in her chest that nearly makes her melt into a puddle right there in the cockpit.

Oscar helps her back out and pulls off the helmet, and while he doesn't have the confidence to do it, y/n closes the space. Thinking "fuck it" as she finally kisses him. there's some gasps, one or two claps and one cheer of encouragement of Oscar's side of the garage seeing the action. But the two kiss and it's as perfect as y/n had been wishing for.

It's only once she's back out the car and sitting up on one of the ledges while Oscar has gone to change into his race suit that Lando appears with his engineer.

"Hey, I was wondering where you got to. What have you been doing?"

"Oh uhh...just hanging around to be honest." She shrugs innocently as if she didn't just kiss his teammate. "I'm going to get out the way though. Call mum and dad just to catch up."

-

The soft launch wasn't an surprise to anyone but Lando and when the photo dump came including the picture y/n in Oscar's car with his helmet. Lando finally connected the dots.

"Hey, what the hell? How are you doing to date my little sister and not even tell me?" Lando questions hating that he's having found this out after everyone else. Since Carlos was there when he saw the post and pointed out everyone else knew about it. "And you! You're really going to start dating my new teammate without even telling me you liked him."

Both feel guilty, but Oscar only just met the man and Lando's extroverted personality can be a little intimidating. Telling Lando was a bit of a scary thought.

Meanwhile, y/n just didn't want things to get awkward. Plus she somewhat believes she's beyond needing her brother's permission to date someone, teammate or not.

"Are you really mad or are you just annoyed you didn't know?" Y/n questions knowing her brother well enough that he's not the protective type of brother that would try to get in the way of a relationship especially that makes her as happy as she is.

"Shut up."

Clearly the latter.

"So are you alright with this?" Y/n asks knowing that Oscar probably needs the reassurance.

"Yes. But I don't want to witness disgustingly cute stuff. Keep that stuff away from me." Lando states, somewhat childishly but it's not really out of his character as a brother.

"Given we've managed that so far, I'm sure we can keep that up." Y/n laughs before moving to Oscar as she side hugs him then pausing. "Are hugs ok?"

"Yes...but the way you both light up looking at each other is making me feel more single than ever." Lando grumbles then turning. "I'm going to get a reputation as a third wheel to the two of you."

"And what a lucky man you are for that." Y/n giggles before she grins at him. "Don't think this gives you a pass to try with my friends."

"I wouldn't want to your friends are annoying." Lando shrugs going back to the bickering sibling dynamic that they usual have. "You guys are cute together...dammit. You better not break her heart, Oscar. Then I have to have beef with my own teammate and that's going to end badly."

Salt, Sweat, and Tarred Oakum

Max Verstappen x Oscar Piastri Golden Age of Piracy AU

Summary: A wicked lift came unbidden to the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m trained to hunt pirates, sir – you have fewer secrets than you think.”

The inscrutable set of Verstappen’s face hardened, and Oscar marveled at the captain’s ability to be such a sphinx when he needed to be. It was the perfect combination of unsettling and disturbing - no wonder the man had a three-year running reputation as the Caribbean's most fearsome pirate. 

In which a harrowing storm pushes Pirate Captain!Max and Captured Naval Lieutenant!Oscar to their limits.  

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (handjobs); explicit language; pirates being pirates; discussion of death at sea and pirate ship destruction; hurt/comfort; hand wounds (cuts and blisters)

Word Count: 10k+ 

Also on A03

A/N: If anyone had said that the Qatar GP cool down room would spawn this AU, I wouldn't have believed it, buuut... here we are lol. I totally blame credit this to the fic's awesome beta xsunny for the inspirational post-race chat we had. And no offense meant to Lando here, but Max and Oscar both on the floor (despite the not good reasons why) was just too good to let go. 🏎️🏴‍☠️

Water soaks him to the bone. Oscar can’t even tell his own sweat from the sea water and rain water. Not that it really matters when puddles form in his boots, his hair mats to his forehead, and thick drops fall from his chin and drenched clothing. 

The ship and rest of the deck crew look just as waterlogged now that the rain finally tapers off. Such a godsend after the last two hours of brutal torture at the helm as the ship tossed and pitched about in the unforgiving, merciless waves. Adrenaline seeps from his veins as exhaustion settles deep in his bones. His hands ache from controlling the wheel, from fighting the rudder’s resistance against the powerful sea. At least Pierre and Esteban had managed to drop the mainsail before the storm unleashed its full fury.

Biting back a grimace, he flexes his hands and tries to work some feeling back into his numb muscles. A burning blister announces itself on the junction of his left thumb, protesting the motion. He steadies himself against the wheel as the ship rocks in the calmer water, paying little mind to the rainy drizzle falling around him. 

In all his years at sea - despite his young age - he’s never encountered such a fierce storm. He’s never had to push himself so hard just to hold on, just do the job he’s trained his life to fulfill. His chest heaves with deep breaths as he closes his eyes and tries to calm the thunderous roar of his own heart that matches the thunder now fading into the distance behind them.

He opens his eyes, blinking water from his eyelashes, and his gaze lands on the captain. Verstappen’s face holds the gaunt pallor of over-exertion and exhaustion even as rainwater glistens on his skin and hair. Oscar doesn’t know where the man’s tricorn has gone, but he still wears his dark canvas coat over the white blouse and dark trousers plastered to his skin. The captain rakes a hand through his hair as he surveys the deck, unleashing a cascade of water droplets down his neck, and a tendril of unwanted, traitorous heat curls in Oscar’s gut.

Cannon fire still pounded in his ears as saltwater filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. Another wave swell overtook him as he swam against the choppy, crystal water. The heavy wool of his uniform threatened to drag him under, but his fingers found purchase against a piece of floating debris and he hauled himself up. The section of splintered decking wasn’t so large to fit his entire body, but just wide enough to keep his head out of the rolling waves.

He gasped for breath, still trying to clear his head. Smoke hung in the air as the destroyed remnants of the navy ship floated around him, and he fervently looked for any other men in the water. His heart sank to not immediately find any, instead only finding the pirate ship floating victoriously off the port side. A small tender approached out of the ship’s ominous shadow, and Oscar’s stomach lurched. He didn’t know what this pirate crew would do with a naval officer like himself, but he'd heard plenty of tales back at the barracks.  

His feet kicked in the water on instinct, trying to get away even though it was futile. He wouldn’t be able to outswim them and there was no land in sight this far out in the Caribbean. Anxiety clenched his chest as he slumped against the flotsam to catch his breath and save his strength. He would need all of it for what lay ahead.

“Doesn’t look to be much left.” A French-accented voice carried over the rolling waves. “Perhaps the captain hit them too hard, non?”

“No.” Another French – but maybe Italian? – voice piped up. “You saw it blow from within – they scuttled themselves to prevent us from taking their cargo.”

“But that’s what we’re out here for.” A wizened Spanish-accented voice said, carrying a soft authority. “Whatever they were carrying was valuable enough to not let us take it, but some of it may yet be afloat. Stay sharp.”

Oscar worked an uneasy swallow down his throat as a general chorus of ‘aye, sir’ filled the air. He tightened his grip on the wooden plank, ignoring the growing ache in his shoulders as he bobbed in the water. Would telling the pirates that the cargo hold of the king's treasury bullion now rested at the bottom of the sea spare his life or just earn him a quicker slit of the throat? Tilting his head down, he watched helplessly as the tender floated into view. He could only hope that the extensive amount of wreckage floating around him would camouflage him.

The pirate crew looked like the expected ragtag bunch of brigands – young seadogs each seeking their own fortune and following their chosen captain in hopes of attaining it. The man standing at the tiller sported uncommonly refined white streaks in his hair, his face marked with deep lines indicative of a long life at sea. He didn’t wear the obvious adornments of command, but an unspoken authority still rested on his shoulders. The ship’s bosun, then.

Oscar froze as a sailor fixed him with piercing green eyes. The man’s face curled to an intrigued smile beneath his mop of wild brown curls as he pointed at Oscar. “A survivor!”

The other sailors in the boat instantly turned towards him, and he had nowhere to hide. A chuckle broke out from another man with rakish brown curls and short facial hair. “Are you sure, Charles?” He asked with a heavy French accent. “It looks more like a drowned rat!”

A sailor with straight black hair and pointed features moved his oar in the water as the boat approached. “All navy men look like rats to me.”

Indignation stiffened Oscar’s spine as his face hardened. The man on the tiller offered a kind smile despite the dark, serious set of his eyes. “What’s your name, son?” His Spanish-accented syllables held a tone that promised reward for obedience and punishment for obstinacy.

“Lieutenant Piastri.” He called out, putting a note of steel in his voice.

“Well, Lieutenant Piastri,” the Spaniard’s grin widened with a toothy edge. “You have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m fine right here, thank you.” He adjusted his grip on the floating flotsam for emphasis.

A low chuckle rose from the tender, and the green eyed French-Italian man shook his head. “Don’t be foolish, mate – you can’t possibly hope to survive.”

He nodded, unable to deny the pirate’s words. “Death at sea is preferable to life among pirates.”

“Oh-ho!” The Spaniard chuckled and glanced down at the crew. “You hear that, mates? Refusing our hospitality even before he’s met the captain!” Another chorus of laughter rose from the pirates, and Oscar’s mouth pinched to a tight line of irritation. “Well, we can’t do that, mate,” the Spainard continued with a definitive shake of his head. “You may yet know something useful. Especially since your captain decided to sacrifice his ship, his cargo and his crew... you’re about all that we can salvage.”

“Well, unfortunately for you,” Oscar returned as he tried to kick away from the tender’s bow. “I’m unsalvagea-"

Multiple pairs of rough, strong hands grabbed him all at once. The pirates leaned over the gunwale, intent to haul him onboard, and he clung tighter to the driftwood. The French sailor with brown curls grunted in exertion as he pulled on Oscar’s arms. “Let go, mate!”

Oscar grit his teeth, tightening his grip and thrashing his feet as he tried to dislodge the hands pulling at this water-logged uniform.

“On three!” The Spaniard called out. “One, two… three!”

All three sailors in the boat tugged hard and fast in unison, and Oscar’s hands ripped away from the wooden plank. White hot pain erupted in his left hand and the saltwater instantly burned, distracting his concentration as the pirates dragged him up into the boat. 

He fell to the bottom of the tender with an undignified groan, instinctively cradling his left hand close to his chest. A nasty, jagged gash sliced across his palm, probably from some unseen nail or splinter. Blood soaked into his uniform coat as the sailors retook their seats on the tender benches and resumed rowing.

“Don’t you worry, Lt. Piastri,” the Spainard said, sounding half-distracted as he glanced out over the sea ahead. “We’ll try to forget that you insulted us so brazenly, but I suggest watching your tongue around the captain. Or he will cut it out.”

“And don’t tell him that you’re a lieutenant,” the black-haired Frenchman chuckled. “Or he will remove your stripes with your own toenails.”

Another round of laughter rang above him as Oscar bit his tongue. His opportunity to fight back may yet come, but this wasn’t it. He tossed about the bottom of the tender in a puddle of seawater until the hull knocked against the side of the pirate ship. The ship loomed impressively large overhead – larger than he had originally estimated – and his gaze caught on the flag held high in the midday wind.  

A pair of white stitched cross bones occupied the bottom of the black flag, but where a skull should reside, instead sat a white patchwork emblem of a lion’s head with its mouth open in a fierce roar. Oscar’s stomach dropped to his feet as recognition seized him. 

Only one ship in the Caribbean flew this emblem – Captain Max Verstappen's notorious Sea Lion.

A dark chuckle sounded overhead before the Spanish bosun stepped into view. “Come on, mate,” he encouraged, nudging Oscar’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. “If you recognize the flag, then you know that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Oscar's mind reeled as his body numbly moved, rolling to his feet and reaching out for the rope ladder slung over the side of the ship. The cut on his hand screamed even as he gingerly tried to adjust his grip on the rungs, but with the bosun right behind him, he had no choice but to keep climbing. More pairs of hands awaited him at the top, seizing his shoulders to drag him fully on deck, but Oscar stayed on his feet as the crew closed in.

In a show of subtle defiance, he straightened the lapels of his soggy navy coat as if that would somehow lend an air of commanding stature to his appearance. But as the wind ruffled his sopping wet hair, he recognized how painfully young he must look compared to the crew around him. 

A man with wide, soulful brown eyes stepped forward, assessing him up and down. “You’re injured, yes?” He, too, had a Spanish accent though he appeared to be many years younger than the bosun.

Oscar glanced down at his left hand, spying the small puddle of blood forming on the deck. “Obviously, yes.”

“Just your hand?” The man clarified, darting his gaze back up to Oscar’s.

“Yes.”

The young Spainard gave a curt nod before he turned and disappeared towards the ship ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. Oscar watched him go, tracking his movements until he stopped to converse with the man at the helm who could only be the ship's captain. 

The man wore a rough leather tricorn with no plumage or frivolous accessories. His coat and blouse complemented the broad set of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. With the overhead sun, Oscar couldn’t discern the captain’s facial features, but something in the man’s confident, unassuming stature made his heart leap.

As the captain descended the ship ladder to the main deck, Oscar didn’t bother to hide his curiously open stare. Captain Verstappen’s exploits had been legendary for three years now, and any navy man worth his salt had dreamed about being the one to finally bring him to justice. Maybe if Oscar played his cards right, he would have that chance.

Verstappen came to a stop in front of him and fixed him with sharp blue eyes. Despite the neutral set of the captain’s face, Oscar missed none of the calculating assessment taking place in those crystalline depths. Heat gathered beneath the drenched shirt collar sticking uncomfortably to his skin, but Oscar refused to look away. If the captain meant to intimidate him, then he refused to give the man that satisfaction, even though something about Verstappen's gaze made Oscar incredibly self-conscious in his nearly transparent white trousers and shirt.

The captain suddenly blinked away to regard someone over Oscar’s shoulder. “Fernando,” he said, voice thick with a Dutch accent. “Why is this man bleeding on my deck?”

“The navy ship scuttled her cargo, captain.” Fernando's words floated over his shoulder. “This sailor was the only thing of any value to be found.”

“Are you sure about that?” Verstappen's gaze darted back to Oscar and the gold stripes on his uniform coat. “Tell me, sailor, what was your post?”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth lifted before he could stop it. “Sail Master.”

A hush fell on deck as everyone stared at him. The crew probably thought he was bluffing, but that would be their mistake. Even his commanding naval officers had marveled at his uncanny skill and innate talent for seafaring navigation – especially for one so young – but he had long proven himself capable. And if this pirate captain now truly doubted his worth, then that would also be his misfortune.

A disparaging, cackling laughter came from somewhere on Oscar's left. “Yeah, right mate.” A man with sandy-blonde curls and a British accent scoffed. “If you’re a Sail Master, then I’m the King of England.”

Laughter rang across the deck, but nothing changed in the intensity of the captain’s eyes despite the almost bored set of his face. Oscar held his gaze in silent challenge, in a silent assessment of his own – until the captain blinked and somehow looked even more bored than before. “Carlos, take him to my cabin.” He said as he abruptly turned away. “I’ll deal with him there, and for fuck’s sake, stop him bleeding everywhere. As for the rest of you, back to your stations and set sail!”

A roaring chorus of support sounded around him as Carlos stepped forward, glancing down the lines of Oscar’s coat. “Does that thing have pockets?”

Oscar scoffed before he could stop it. “Is that seriously your answer to my bleeding hand? Just shove it in a pocket?”

Carlos shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “The captain hasn’t decided yet if he’s keeping you or not. Best not to waste supplies until he does.”

“Keep me?” Oscar echoed. “What? Like I’m a fish to be thrown back into the sea?”

“If he decides you’re not worth it, then yes. Come on,” he stepped forward to wrap a strong hand around Oscar's upper-arm. “Hand in your pocket and let’s go. There’s work to do.”

Fernando’s voice filled the air around them, calling out orders as the men scrambled into action securing deck supplies, ascending the rigging ratlines, and taking up sailing positions. Oscar squared his jaw but loosely balled his hand to shove it in his coat pocket. He let Carlos lead him across the deck to disappear into the ship’s interior.

Gunners and powder monkeys scurried about, tying cannons down and securing barrels of shot after the thwarted attack on his navy ship. He tried to get a count of how many guns flanked the pirate ship’s deck, but Carlos pulled him through another doorway before he could finish.

“Don’t touch anything,” Carlos instructed curtly as they passed through the wardroom. “You can probably guess what will happen if you do, let alone if you’re caught stealing anything.” He pulled Oscar towards the door set in the far rear of the ship – the door that needed no introduction. “And don’t get blood on his floor or else you’ll answer to me.”

“If I’m still here, though. Right?” Oscar asked cheekily before he could stop himself.

Carlos blinked back, unimpressed. “Just for that, I’ll send you straight to Fernando.” He pulled open the captain’s cabin door and shoved Oscar inside. Despite the sun’s brilliance, the salt-crusted windows cast dim shadows about the space. It looked tidy enough – a hastily made bunk along the far wall, a sea chest strapped against the foot of the bunk, a closed-door cabinet adorning the other wall. At the center of the cabin resided a large square table – a desk, a dining table, a charting table all in one functional furnishing. The scuffed surface revealed that it once held a gleaming polished finish, but now it just bore the scars from life in the service of Captain Verstappen.

An unbidden shiver ran down Oscar’s spine despite the stale warmth of the captain’s personal space. The air hung heavy with an oddly pleasant musky, sweet scent, and he absently wondered if it came from some part of the captain’s toilette or if that was just his natural scent.

His hand started to throb as he held it in the warm confines of his pocket, and he debated seating himself at the table until the captain arrived. Despite being below decks, the increasing sway in the ship’s movement indicated a steady increase in speed as the sails caught the wind, carrying him away from the remains of his ship and the bodies of his fellow sailors.

The thought punched him in the gut. A ship of 122 hands – all elite sailors to defend the king’s treasury – and fate had decided that only he should be the one to bear their memories. He tried to summon a prayer for the lost souls, but the sudden scrape of the wooden door distracted him.

The captain entered without a second glance behind him and closed the door. His assessing stare landed on Oscar before darting around the room in a careful study as if to confirm no signs of tampering.

Oscar sighed softly. “I didn’t touch anything.”

The captain scoffed with a faint edge of amusement. “I already suspect you of lying, mate, so that won’t work.” His boots thudded off the deck as he stepped up the large table and dropped his tricorn atop the surface. His dark sandy-blonde hair held a curiously short style and loose strands flopped over his forehead. Even in the dim light, Oscar could see beads of sweat that clung to the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He turned back to regard Oscar. “I assume that you already know who I am?”

Oscar tilted his head in a moment of consideration before answering. “Your colors are well known, Captain Verstappen.”

He looked neither pleased nor disappointed in Oscar’s answer as he pulled out a chair to sit. “Now this is where you tell me your name.”

“Oscar Piastri, Lieutenant of –“

“Just Piastri will do.” Verstappen cut him off as he leaned back against the chair and stared back at him with a gaze to cut through bullshit. “And you claim to be a Sail Master, yes?”

“If I had my sailing log, I could prove it to you.”

Verstappen tilted his own head in contemplation. “Quite a bit young, aren’t you?”

“22, sir. Older than I look.”

“Then, tell me Piastri,” the captain continued unfazed. “Your course to reach Tortuga from here?”

Oscar blinked in a moment of surprise, thrown by the sudden question. Realization slowly dawned and his brow furrowed with curiosity. “Wait, are you… are you testing me?”

“Liars waste my time.” Verstappen simply replied. “And since your sailing log isn’t available, as you said – I’m left with limited options. Either you’re a ballsy liar or you’re a truthful idiot.”

Another wave of indignation stiffened Oscar's spine as he wet his top lip, choosing to ignore the captain’s comment and instead focus on the question. He summoned the navigation chart in his mind’ eye and recalled the last known compass bearings. “Four points off the starboard bow, east by north-east.” He said, pointing his right hand in the appointed direction for emphasis. “Tack the sails larboard and ride the headwinds until sunset.”

His words hung in the cabin’s silence for a long moment as Verstappen stared back at him, betraying nothing about his thoughts. The urge to fidget under the unwavering scrutiny tugged at Oscar, but he resisted. It was nothing more than another intimidation tactic – an admittedly effective one, but Oscar still refused to back down. 

“And from Tortuga,” the captain said suddenly. “To Nassau? What would be your recommendation?”

Oscar nibbled his bottom lip as he conjured the map in his mind. It wasn't a route that he had personally sailed, but the naval charts bore many markings of hidden reefs and sandbars along the Bahamian islands that just waited to ensnare unsuspecting ships. “I suppose it depends,” he started softly as the wheels of his mind worked. “On the tide and the draft of the ship.”

“We usually run 4 meters.”

“4 meters,” Oscar repeated with a nod. “Then, the coastal tides of the Cockburn Shoals will snag us. Best to stay on a westerly course. A bit more exposure to the open sea, but less risk to thread the shoreline.”

Verstappen arched a brow. “You know about Cockburn Shoals?”

A wicked lift came unbidden to the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m trained to hunt pirates, sir – you have fewer secrets than you think.”

The inscrutable set of Verstappen’s face hardened, and Oscar marveled at the captain’s ability to be such a sphinx when he needed to be. It was the perfect combination of unsettling and disturbing - no wonder the man had a three-year running reputation as the Caribbean's most fearsome pirate. 

Without warning, Verstappen shoved his chair back and pushed to his full height. He stood a couple of centimeters taller than Oscar and he crossed the room to the closed-up cabinet. A key materialized from his pocket, and Oscar could just see the ribbon tied to the key’s end that disappeared back into the pocket’s interior. A wise decision to sew one’s keys to one’s clothing when living on the water with known thieves.

The cabinet doors swung open to display an array of indistinguishable bottles, books, and rolled charts before its contents were blocked by the captain’s broad shoulders. “We should dress your hand,” he said matter-of-factly as he took a bottle in hand. “You’re no use to me with sepsis.”

Oscar’s ears perked. “I’m no use to you, as in… you’re keeping me onboard?”

“Perhaps you’re more valuable than you look.”

Verstappen turned back around, and Oscar fixed him with a hard look. “Respectfully, captain, I would like to request that you maroon me instead.”

“Really?” Nothing in Verstappen’s tone changed as he moved back to the table, brown bottle in one hand, a wooden bowl under one arm, and a roll of clean linen in the other hand. “Starvation and death instead of serving on a pirate ship, hmm?”

“Exactly right.” Even as Oscar spoke, Verstappen’s words settled with a lethal finality in his ears. It didn’t make his response any less true, however.

“Then, you should have kept your mouth shut, Sail Master.” Verstappen replied, dipping his head with an admonishing edge as he dropped the linen roll and bowl to the tabletop. “If you trusted that fact to keep you alive, it worked – but did you consider the ramification that it would press you into my service?”

Up close, Verstappen’s eyes glittered like the crystal sea as they reflected the dim sunlight. His scent carried hints of salt, sweat, and tarred oakum worthy of any seaman, but something about it stuck in Oscar’s gut. He didn’t realize just how close they stood, running his gaze over Verstappen’s features until he noticed the freckle on the captain’s upper lip.

He worked a swallow down his suddenly tight throat. “And you’re really going to install the man who requested death instead of your service at the helm of your ship?”

“Just because you turn the wheel doesn’t mean you know the destination,” Verstappen smoothly countered. “And since you’ll report directly to me – I’ll be the first to know if you put even just one toe out of line, and then you’ll probably lose it.” He looked down to pull the cork free from the bottle. “Give me your hand.”

The words reminded Oscar about his left hand pulsing with pain and growing uncomfortably hot inside his pocket even as he replied. “Is that the same encouraging incentive you give your crew?”

“My crew aren’t prisoners. They understand that if they follow orders and don’t try my patience, we will be successful. But I can’t speak for a navy man fresh off his ship who chooses death over my service.” He nodded down at Oscar’s arm. “Give me your hand. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Verstappen’s tone gave Oscar little room for doubt, and he swallowed his words to bide his time. Perhaps this wasn’t his moment of escape, but it may yet come. The Sea Lion will have to dock eventually, and there would be plenty of opportunities to seek freedom at that time. Deciding that he had made the captain wait just long enough, he slowly pulled his hand from his pocket.

The captain wasted no time grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling it down towards the bowl. Oscar braced himself as Verstappen tipped the bottle and a stream of brown liquid poured over the gaping wound on his palm. Fire erupted in his veins as the alcoholic grog made contact with his blood, and he hissed sharply, unable to hide a wince. It burned for a long unpleasant minute before Verstappen sloshed another wave over the oozing wound. His hand twitched in the captain’s firm grip as he bit back a groan, and Verstappen’s steadying hold tightened.

“You’re taking this well, for what it’s worth.” Verstappen commented absently as he inspected the gash.

Oscar drew a sharp breath as pain lanced up his arm. “Not my first wound. Won’t be my last.”

The captain hummed – perhaps in agreement, perhaps in consideration – before he pulled back and released Oscar’s wrist. He drew it back on protective instinct, shaking the excess grog into the wooden bowl, mindful not to throw any drops onto the floor. If he was indeed going to be stuck on this ship for the time being, then he didn’t want to risk earning Carlos’ ire too quickly.

“Keep it dry and keep it clean.” Verstappen commanded as he reached for the roll of linen and retook Oscar’s wrist. He wrapped the linen to form a crude bandage and secured the ends with a knot that rested between Oscar’s thumb and forefinger. “Report to Fernando for a hammock and another bandage. You’ll serve a 10-hour shift behind the wheel daily-”

“10 hours?”

Verstappen arched an unimpressed brow. “Do you think that’s unfair?”

It was certainly longer than any navy shift, but if he was indeed a prisoner of sorts, then he had no leg to stand on here. However much he wanted to fight and push back against Captain Verstappen, he must keep reminding himself that this was not his opportune moment. He pinched his mouth shut and curtly shook his head.

“Good. I didn’t think so.” Verstappen continued, drawing back to fix him with a hard look. “You’ll serve a 10-hour shift at the helm daily and report directly to me. Logan will be your master’s mate and minder on your off-shift hours. You will never go anywhere on this ship unaccompanied, and you will heed every order that comes from me, my quartermaster, and my bosun. Are we understood?”

The words sank like lead in Oscar’s stomach, but he vowed to find a way to turn this situation to his advantage. “Understood.”

Verstappen nodded sharply before his gaze dropped down Oscar’s body and a concerned wrinkle appeared between his eyes. “You need to remove that coat. I won’t risk those brass buttons catching the sun's gleam in someone’s spy glass.”  

Oscar nearly laughed but stopped himself. “Well, if I don't wear my navy coat, sir, then what do you suggest?”

“Your whites will do, for now. If we take on cargo that includes clothing, you can perhaps have a share if your behavior warrants it.”

Well, maybe he wouldn’t stand out as a captured navy man in his blue coat, but his cream and white ensemble would still betray him. Perhaps that was Verstappen’s intent – if he remained dressed in all-light clothing, he wouldn’t be able to easily hide in the ship’s shadows, nor would his master’s mate be able to mistake him for someone else. 

The moment drew out for another breath before Oscar sighed and shrugged out of his navy coat. The wet wool stuck to the linen of his soggy shirt as he pulled it free, suddenly self-conscious all over again.

Verstappen took the dark coat in hand, giving him another once over, and something in the air shifted as he no longer appeared to be assessing a threat. In fact, his gaze held almost a hint… some appreciative gleam in those glacial eyes that sparked heat in Oscar’s chest…

But then he abruptly turned away and Oscar finally remembered how to breathe. 

A cry from the forward ratlines drags him out of the memory, and he watches Pierre start to climb. Blinking more water out of his eyes, he glances up to see a damaged piece of rigging swaying in the gently falling rain. He hopes the breakage isn’t too severe - Alonso had already said the canvas provisions were getting low and Carlos didn’t know when the ship would next dock. 

The blister on his hand protests as he grips the wet wood, but he doesn’t dare let go. Between the thinning clouds and the hazy starlight, the horizon appears as a dark, grey smudge, but it’s enough for him to keep the ship pointed in the right direction. At least until he can relinquish the wheel long enough to use his compass.  

The salt beef and potatoes settled in his stomach with a satisfying fullness as he waited for the start of his shift. Standing by the quarterdeck railing, Oscar let the refreshing evening breeze blow over him and he glanced up at the stars. He didn’t remember anything about the skies over his home. Probably because he’d been way too young to know better, but maybe that was what he loved about the Caribbean skies. No matter where the sea took him, the stars overhead always made him feel at home.

Even if that home was still a pirate ship.

The thought hit his gut with a sour note, and the singing merriment from the main deck below suddenly sounded way too loud.

“The captain’s wife was Charlotte, born and bred a harlot. Her thighs at night were lily white, by morning they were scarlet!”

Raucous laughter rose from others in the crew as they joined the chorus, but Oscar had little desire to sing along. He still couldn’t shake the guilt of helping Captain Verstappen take down yet another merchant ship. But the day’s haul of yerba mate tea and cocoa had put everyone else on board in high spirits.

Even Captain Verstappen seemed pleased by the day’s take, but the man still proved difficult to read. Glancing away from the horizon, Oscar's gaze strayed unbidden to the man currently at the helm. Captain Verstappen draped almost lazily over the large wheel, making minor course adjustments as they rode the nightly currents. He had earlier decreed a night of rest and celebration for the crew’s successful venture with a promise to dock soon and sell their ill-gotten goods for the benefit of all – and the promise of fresh coin immediately had called for a triple rationing of grog.

“You should be down there, you know.” Verstappen’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “You did your part as a member of my crew today.”

The words nearly made Oscar cringe. “No, thank you, sir. I take no joy in what we accomplished today.”

“No? It only took one shot across the bow for them to raise the white flag. They offered no resistance, no one was hurt, and they sailed off with a significantly lighter hold – but they did sail off.” Verstappen shook his head with disbelief. “If that’s not a victory, then I don’t know what is.”

Bile rose in Oscar’s throat but he swallowed it down. “Victory is not stealing from innocent people just doing their jobs.”

“Innocent people," Verstappen scoffed. “Your naivety shows itself if you think colonization is innocent – no doubt the tea and cocoa below is rooted in blood labor and their masters are the only ones who profit from its sale.”

Perhaps the captain did have a point there. Oscar had seen enough of the slave trade ships to have some idea, but by Verstappen’s logic – if someone only stole from those who stood to profit, then why not make the whole world a target? But as he blinked over at the unassuming man commanding his ship with easy competence, perhaps that was exactly Verstappen’s plan.

Why stop now when he could be king of the world?

A rush of warm appreciation rolled through Oscar, and he shook the thought away, trying to work a swallow down his suddenly dry throat. The singing from the main deck seemed to grow in volume, affording him another moment to collect himself.

“Aboard the good ship Venus, you really should have seen us! With a figurehead, a whore in bed, and a mast of a phallic genus!”

“Well,” Oscar finally said, glancing back up at the captain. “At least the crew are in good spirits. That should make you happy, either way.”

“It does,” the taller man confirmed. “But you’re part of that crew now, too.”

Oscar scoffed softly. “I don’t think so, sir.”

“But you could have run away three weeks ago, could you not?” Verstappen suddenly turned and fixed his sharp eyes on Oscar, leaving him nowhere to hide. “We docked in Antigua, and you had every opportunity to not come back.”

“You had Logan stick to me like a flea on a dog -”

“And you could have forced a brawl in a bid to win your freedom –”

“And then be arrested for brawling in the street?!”

Something mischievous twinkled in Verstappen’s eyes. “But then you’d be free of my ship.”

“At least your prison has sails and stars,” Oscar heard himself say. “A prison on land would just…” Words escaped him as his stomach soured. Even just the idea of being locked away in a dingy stone cell unable to have the sea spray on his face or feel the deck rolling beneath his feet or see the starry sky hurt his soul.

Verstappen regarded him for a long moment before stepping away from the wheel. He approached with his long steady stride, crossing over to where Oscar stood just in the shadow of the mizzenmast. Starlight shone on the captain’s Caribbean sun-kissed skin and deck torchlight gleamed in his blue eyes as he drew up close – close enough for his perpetual scent of salt, sweat, and tarred oakum to catch in Oscar’s nose. A scent that had no right to be so appealing, no right to make Oscar want to lean in and taste it on his tongue.

Memory sparked in Verstappen’s gaze, leaning down to make himself heard over the lively celebration raging on the main deck below. “That doesn’t sound any different than being marooned, you know.”

Oscar’s mind replayed the first conversation he ever had with Captain Verstappen that day in his cabin, and he couldn’t look away from the older man. “But that would have been my choice, unlike imprisonment.”

“And would you make that same choice now?” Verstappen’s voice dropped to a low register that settled uneasily in Oscar’s gut.

He worked a swallow down his throat as he debated how to answer. Somehow saying anything but ‘yes’ felt like a condemnable betrayal, a precipice from which he could never return. Yet the truth of Verstappen’s words stared him in the face - he didn’t try to escape Logan’s watchful eye, he hadn’t tried to plant subversion on the ship, and he had only helped Captain Verstappen navigate the sea to take more plunder. Everything he had ever been raised to believe dictated that he should want nothing more than to abandon this ship and see it rot at the bottom of the sea... the sea that glittered at night like the light in Verstappen’s crystalline eyes…

The corner of Verstappen’s mouth ticked up, revealing the little freckle that dotted the pink, plump skin. “You know what I think?” He purred softly. “I think that you actually like being aboard my ship. You can’t admit it, of course – betrayal of duty and honor and so forth – but I look at you and I don’t see a man wanting to escape.”

Oscar’s mouth went dry as his voice turned thready. “Then what do you see?”

An inscrutable edge came to Verstappen’s face even though nothing in his expression changed. He held Oscar’s gaze for what felt like eternity before he broke away to glance down at his coat and rummage in a pocket. A flash of brass appeared in his hand, and he reached out for Oscar’s right wrist. He upturned Oscar’s hand and placed the cool metal object in his empty palm. Oscar’s eyes darted down to his hand, stunned at the object’s familiar, circular shape.

He raised his left hand and popped the brass cover to reveal a smart, functional compass. The arrow aligned in its north-south orientation with clearly marked points of sail extending in all the designated directions. Not all compasses were suitable for sailing the sea, but this one couldn’t be more perfect.

His gaze flew back up to the captain, trying to understand. It certainly wasn’t Verstappen’s usual compass. Even though Oscar had never been allowed to use it, he had seen the captain consult it plenty of times on deck. “Where on earth did you get this?”

The corner of Verstappen's mouth ticked up with playful mischief. “Another acquisition from our merchant friend today. I thought it would suit you.”

Oscar nearly went dizzy from the implication. “But I thought… well, you said that I wasn’t allowed to know the destination.”

“Then perhaps it will help you see what I already see,” he said softly as Oscar drowned under his gaze. “Someone who’s already free if he only just chooses to be.” A stunningly handsome smile lit his face before he ducked his head with striking modesty and turned away.

As he resumed his post at the helm, his mask of calm, collected command fell back into place. But it did nothing to disguise the open fondness in his gaze as he surveyed the celebrations of his crew on the deck below, and maybe… just maybe… Oscar could admit that being on board the Sea Lion wasn’t a fate worse than death.

He pats a hand against his soaked trousers, searching the clinging fabric for the familiar shape of the compass casing. It should probably bother him how such a simple object can immediately put him at ease, but it anchors him all the same. 

“Piastri?” 

He straightens up on instinct, his gaze focusing on the captain’s broad shouldered form at the base of the ship ladder. “Yes, sir?” 

“Assess our position. I want to know how far the storm threw us off course.” Verstappen’s voice sounds hoarse from shouting orders over the storm’s fury, but his sharp eyes still shine through his bone-weary exhaustion. “Let Lando have the helm. And report to me in my cabin once it’s done.”

Oscar nods numbly. “Yes, sir.” 

Verstappen turns without another word to seek out Carlos, finding his quartermaster as the man makes his rounds on the main deck. When the storm had blown up with little warning, Oscar had stumbled up from the orlop deck to report directly to Verstappen for orders, as always. Even now, Oscar can still see the captain at the helm in his mind’s eye. Silhouetted against the pounding rain and blinding lightning as he stood with imperious dominance in defiance of the sea’s raw power. But as soon as Oscar had climbed up to the quarterdeck, shouting over the thunder to make himself heard - Verstappen hadn’t hesitated to hand the wheel over to him. 

In that moment, Oscar hadn't given it another thought - but eight months ago when he first joined the crew, that never would have happened. God… eight months. The thought lands heavy in his stomach, or maybe… maybe he’s just hungry after such intense exertion? Or maybe he’s just beyond exhausted…

But he still has a job to do. He spots Charles plodding by on the wet deck, arms laden with thick cords of rope. “Charles,” he calls out, barely recognizing his own breathless voice as the sailor looks over. “Verstappen wants Lando at the helm. Pass the word along?" 

Charles looks barely able to stand but he nods before hefting a heavy line over his shoulder for better balance. In fact, as Oscar glances out over the main deck, all of the deck crew moves about in a haze of weary exhaustion. Some look far too green around the gills, others look on the verge of collapse, and others… others stagger about just trying to press on with their duties. 

Even Verstappen isn’t immune to it as he braces heavy hands on his hips while now talking with Alonso. Honestly, the bosun appears to have weathered the storm almost better than the captain, but maybe that’s the benefit of the man’s nearly forty years at sea. Oscar has every intention of being retired by then - or, rather… at least, that was his plan before being pressed into a life of piracy. 

Again, his gaze strays to Verstappen but he can’t summon any venom through his exhaustion. As much as he faults the man for ruining his life, he just can’t… can’t quite bring himself to entirely condemn Verstappen. There’s just something in the mischievous edge of his smile, in his direct approach to the world, in his ruthless determination to be the best. 

He sighs, flexing his fingers against the wheel, and the blister screams with pain. A hiss passes his lips before he can stop it as heavy thudding boots tromp up the steps. Lando looks unusually pale in the wane light, but he’s shockingly dry as he rakes his gaze up and down Oscar’s waterlogged form. “Did you fall overboard, mate?” 

Oscar works a swallow down his parched throat. “Certainly feels that way.” 

“Did Max have the helm the whole time?” 

It still strikes Oscar as odd that Lando maintains such a causal basis when speaking about the captain while the man's not around. But he pushes the thought aside and shakes his head. “No… it wasn’t too long after the storm hit that he turned the ship over to me.”

Lando’s brows climb to his unfairly dry hairline. “You? You mean - that was you steering us through that howling gale?” 

Oscar’s face pinches uneasily. “Yes, and you can give me the full critique later -” 

“No, it’s just that you… he trusted you!?” Lando’s voice rings with a heavy note of incredulity. “Despite your naval rank, you’re still a greenhorn if I’ve ever seen one, but that…? You shouldn't just be able to do that!" 

A modest blush tries to color Oscar’s cheeks, but he’s just so worn out. He shakes his head in dismissal as he loosens his fingers from the wheel and tries to relax them at his sides. “Well… Verstappen said for you to take the helm now. I need to go chart our position and report back.”

Lando steps up to the wheel, running his fingers over the dripping wheel pegs. “Ask Carlos to tie a rope around your waist if you feel like you’ll fall over the railing - or maybe not!" His words sound glib but Oscar doesn't doubt that Lando might just push him overboard if he outperforms the Brit under Verstappen's watch. 

He forces a tired lift to the corner of his mouth as he steps back to relinquish his post. “I’ll keep that in mind, mate.” Dragging his feet that feel far too away from his head, water sloshes in the confines of his boots as he trudges across the deck. His leg muscles nearly tremble from overuse and he longs to sit down, but not yet. 

Grimacing from the blister’s sting, he reaches for the lid of the navigation trunk. The sextant’s cool metal stings his overheated skin as he pulls it free and adjusts the settings. Discerning their position through hazy clouds and falling rain always involves more guess-work than actual charting, but his honed sense of direction continues to serve him well. By the time he consults the position bearing and glances at the tattered chart in the bottom of the trunk, he has enough confidence to call the task complete. Locking the trunk, he stuffs the key back into his pocket before reaching for his compass. 

As the needle orients itself north, he glances out over the ship’s deck. Carlos continues his rounds, checking on the men and glancing up at Pierre and Esteban assessing the damage. Oscar doesn’t immediately spot the captain’s familiar form, and he hates that he’s actually disappointed about it. Perhaps the man has already retired to his cabin.

After all, Verstappen had spent the storm’s duration running between the quarterdeck and the main deck, relaying orders and commands - getting everyone to pull together and heave the sails, pushing to hold his ship and crew together as the storm threatened to tear them apart. Even now, the memory of the man’s unwaveringly fierce determination stirs something warm in Oscar’s chest.

Glancing down at his compass, he confirms the ship’s orientation, pleased that they haven’t drifted too far afield. They may not arrive in time to intercept the Lusail, but the merchant ship can’t be too far away. Especially not if they also suffered a battering from the same storm. 

He snaps the compass lid closed and turns for a quick word with Lando to confirm the heading. His face wrinkles with a grimace, courtesy of his blister, as he takes the ship ladder down to the main deck and pushes through the door that leads into the ship’s interior. Fortunately, most of the ship’s supplies stay well-secured for life at sea, but some ropes and fastenings have broken. He navigates through a rolling minefield of grapeshot, hearing Yuki curse heavily as he works to retrieve and store them away. Loose scrolls and a few upended books litter the wardroom as he pushes towards the ship's stern.

Verstappen’s cabin door doesn’t announce itself with any ostentatious ornamentation, and Oscar steps up to it, knocking softly. He strains to listen for a reply, brow furrowing as another frustrated cry sounds from Yuki. His mind doesn’t engage fast enough to stop his hand from reaching for the door handle and pulling it open. 

The interior of Verstappen’s cabin is blessedly dark and it further tempts the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. It also offers an inviting reprieve from the stifling moisture in the air - perhaps it should be stale and unwelcome compared to the sea breeze filling his lungs for the past couple of hours, but the familiar musky scent of Verstappen’s personal space draws him forward. 

After all, Verstappen had told him to report to his cabin once he finished charting. And if he happened to beat the captain here, that’s hardly his fault. He closes the door behind him and indulges a long, slow breath. His eyelids grow heavy in the dim darkness, and maybe Verstappen will reward his initiative for lighting a candle. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable squelch of water in his boots, he doesn’t think about how he’s been in Verstappen’s cabin enough to know where the man stores his flint. Reaching for his knife, he steps up to the glass lantern that swings from the ceiling and strikes steel to flint. Sparks catch on the wick and a soft golden glow suffuses the room. It’s not bright enough to read by, but it might just be bright enough to keep Oscar on his feet. 

Or maybe not. Darkness eats at the edge of his vision and maybe if he… maybe if he just rests on the floor for a few minutes, that will be enough. At least until Verstappen arrives. With a soft groan, he lowers himself down to sit on the wooden decking and rocks onto his back. A blissful moment of relief overtakes him and he brings his hands to his face, scrubbing them up over his eyes and through his wet hair as he stretches his legs out. 

His shoulders and back sing with sweet relief as he relaxes against the hard surface, unwinding from the storm’s demanding intensity. With another sigh, he unfolds his arms out at his sides against the floor, paying no mind to the wet stick of his shirt-sleeves. No doubt his drenched clothing clings to him like a second skin, but it’s of little consequence. 

Especially now that reality hits him.

He hasn’t crashed the ship. He hasn’t pitched anyone overboard. He hasn’t rolled them completely off-course. 

He has done everything that training and instinct compelled him to do and… maybe Lando has a point. 

"You shouldn't just be able to do that!"

The door’s dull scrape slices through his thoughts, but his mind moves too slow for his body to catch up. He hears the crisp thud of Verstappen’s boots and the wet slap of his discarded canvas coat against the wood floor before his eyes fly open. Turning his head against the wooden planks, he watches in disbelief as Captain Max Verstappen folds himself in half and lowers down to the floor. He settles his back against the cabin wall, stretching his long legs out to give Oscar a prime view of his boot soles. Verstappen sighs, running a hand through his dripping hair as his eyes close in a moment of... relief? Relaxation? Respite? 

Oscar can’t place it, but it’s a shockingly vulnerable look on his commanding officer. And yet… Verstappen has proved so different from any naval commander that it just… 

Something twists in Oscar’s gut as he continues to glance up at Verstappen, watching the candle’s glow catch in the water dripping from his hair like golden jewels. But as Verstappen opens his eyes, and those glacial pools connect with his gaze, Oscar’s throat begins to tighten. “I-I apologize, sir. If this…” He trails off as a dull ache lodges in the back of his skull. “I just needed a minute.” 

“Clearly.” Verstappen deadpans but there’s no displeasure behind it. “I think everyone who was on deck does. That storm…” He pauses with a heavy sigh. “One of the top five worst I’ve ever seen, I think.” 

“That was definitely the hardest fight of my life.” Oscar doesn’t hesitate to say. “It just never let up… a constant attack, a constant struggle to hold steady and keep the course.” 

The corner of Verstappen’s mouth lifts with heavy exhaustion but also… is it pride? “But infinitely worth the reward.” 

Oscar’s brow furrows gently. “The reward?” 

Verstappen hums low in his throat. “Or perhaps satisfaction is the better word. That… man versus nature, the freedom of life at sea, braving the elements… whatever it is that compels you to a life at sea.” He shakes his head slowly as he tilts it back against the wall. “There’s little else more satisfying than a contest fought and won.” 

Oscar turns away from the captain to blink up at the long shadows playing on the ceiling. “There’s just… nothing else that I wanted to do with my life. The sea is all I’ve ever wanted.” 

The words hang in the cabin’s silence for the space of several breaths before movement shuffles over Oscar’s shoulder. He turns his head as Verstappen sits forward, folding his legs underneath him. Sitting so close, he nearly looms over Oscar in his wet trousers and clinging drenched shirt, and the firelight casts a mesmerizing glow in his clear blue eyes. “Me, too,” he says softly. “It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I like to do. If someone took away my ability to sail… I guess I don’t know what I would do.”

“I think you’d surprise yourself, sir.” Oscar offers a small smile as he rallies his strength to sit up. Bracing his hands against the floor, the painful pressure on his blister draws a hiss between his clenched teeth. He also isn’t quick enough to hide his grimace from the captain’s concerned gaze as he meets the older man at eye level, close enough to breathe in the scent of rain on Verstappen's skin.

“Are you hurt?” Verstappen’s tone comes softly but there’s no mistaking the command on his words. 

“Not really,” Oscar answers with a slow shake of his head. “Just a blister. From the wheel, I guess. I thought after all these years my skin would be tough enough, but… still not enough, it seems.” 

Verstappen’s gaze roams over his face as if looking for something before he drops down to study Oscar’s hands. It takes nothing for him to reach out for Oscar's blistered hand. He holds it up in the faint candle light, studying the inflamed welt with a strange look of reverence and care. It makes him look so young… much younger than the 26 years that Oscar knows him to be. Loose strands of wet hair hang over his forehead, casting dark shadows that contrast to the exhausted pallor of his skin, and the sight of him tears through Oscar’s heart. 

Verstappen wets his top lip thoughtfully. “When I first met you, you had also injured this hand.” He strokes a long finger along the dark pink scar crossing Oscar’s palm. “But you survived that, and you’ll survive this. You… you’re a lot tougher than you think, you know.” 

Oscar’s heart lodges in his heart and he tries to swallow around it. “I-I guess so. I mean - well, we didn’t lose anyone today. The ship’s still in one piece. So, I guess that’s the reward I most care about.” 

Despite his weariness, a spark of mischief catches in Verstappen’s gaze. “Even though we’re just a ship of pirates?” 

Oscar takes a long minute to look at him and the air thickens. “Even though.” He confirms as his voice drops to a low, soft tone. “It’s like you said… it’s what I’m good at.”

Another heavy silence falls as Verstappen regards him in equal measure, still holding his left hand. Heat grows along his skin from the shared point of contact and an unspeakable urge itches under his skin. The captain looks at him with such… awe and satisfaction and longing and - 

Oscar’s heart stops when he finally recognizes it.

Desire. 

His breathing quickens as his mouth goes dry. He has no defense left to offer, and he doesn’t know what Verstappen can read on his own face in return and he’s too tired to care. But it shouldn’t matter - all that matters is that they achieved their goal, they persevered in the face of intensity, and they’re both still alive and still here. 

Beneath the scent of rain, Verstappen's natural scent of salt, sweat and tarred oakum still permeates the air, intoxicating him as it reaches  deep into his lungs, urging him closer. He doesn’t know who falls into who, but as their mouths slot together, some long lost part of Oscar snaps into place. For the longest moment, they just hold the kiss together, breathing each other in, basking in the solid, reassuring contact. The slow pace of the embrace takes Oscar’s breath away as his exhaustion amplifies each sensation. 

The captain’s broad hand raises to cup Oscar’s cheek, holding him closer in the slow, lingering, exploratory kiss. A sigh falls from Oscar’s lips as he leans into Verstappen’s strong hand, and the heat from the sensual kiss spreads through his tired muscles. The edge of Verstappen’s tongue prods at the seam of his mouth, and he relaxes his jaw to deepen their embrace. 

A moan rumbles low in Verstappen’s chest as they learn each other’s taste, curling Oscar’s toes in his soggy boots. He chases the velvety heat of Verstappen’s mouth as an answering moan crawls up his throat, and the hunger of their kiss grows. Oscar nearly goes dizzy as Verstappen’s strong fingers tighten around his jaw, dragging his mouth down to lick and nibble at Oscar’s throat. 

His heart threatens to beat out of his chest as he tries to catch his breath. “C-captain…?” 

“Max,” the other man murmurs with a pleading edge against his skin. “I just want to be Max right now…” 

The vulnerability in Max’s voice swallows Oscar whole, and both hands surge up to cup Max’s face. He doesn’t feel the blister’s sting as he crushes their mouths together in a searing, endless, breathless kiss. The heavy weight of Max’s hand grips his shoulder in fierce encouragement as their tongues tangle and get lost in each other. Everything about it sets Oscar’s body aflame, blood rushing to fill out his cock despite the weary state of his body. But somehow… this feels like the perfect answer after such a harrowing experience. 

Max’s hand drifts down the plane of his chest, settling over a nipple. The plastered fit of Oscar’s drenched shirt adds a delicious friction as Max rolls the hardening nub between his fingers. Pleasure arcs down Oscar’s spine and he whimpers into Max’s mouth. A pleased growl sounds in Max’s throat as he licks into the heat of Oscar’s mouth while his fingers continue their sweet torture against the shirt's wet fabric.

His cock aches with need, growing impossibly harder with each twisting pinch of Max’s fingers, and, God… what would it be to have Max’s fingers on his skin without his shirt or trousers in the way? He goes blind with delirious desire as Max works the sensitive nub, scraping a blunt nail across for added effect. 

The groan that punches from Oscar’s chest sounds way too loud in the deafeningly silent cabin, not helped when Max’s other hand cups his right hand and guides it down the expanse of his broad chest. His finger skim over the drenched fabric of Max’s shirt, feeling the sea-toughened muscles beneath before Max guides him over the waist of his trousers to settle on his straining erection. 

“Oh, fuck… Max.” The words spill from Oscar with abandon as he gives a gentle squeeze, swallowing Max’s answering groan. The delicious sound settles in Oscar’s chest and it’s everything that he wants to hear as Max’s fingers deliver one last teasing caress before dropping down the length of Oscar’s torso.

Anticipation burns as Max’s fingers skim lower and finally cup his own aching erection. He doesn’t care if Max can taste his desperation as kisses turn messy and frantic. With Max’s calloused fingers tracing the hardened shape of him and Max’s erection in the palm of his hand, there’s no turning back from what they both want.

His tongue chases the water drops on Max’s neck as he fumbles with the laces of the man’s trousers. His blister only announces itself one time, drowned by the rush of eager need as Max’s fingers tug at his own laces. The first touch of Max’s bare skin in his hand takes his breath away, but it’s all he can do to hold on to his sanity as Max’s hand wraps around his own naked cock.

The raw touch borders on uncomfortable as their wet skin chafes but it couldn’t be more perfect. Their mouths reconnect in a sloppy kiss as they pant their pleasure into each other’s mouth. Max’s salty, sweet musky scent surrounds him as he works his hand over Max’s cock, drowning in the pleasured gasps and moans that fall from the older man’s lips. It fuels his own building pleasure as Max’s hand twists and squeezes in return, driving him closer to the brink of sweet, maddening release.

He’s far too keyed up and far too gone far too soon, and he spills over Max’s hand with a choked off cry as Max’s teeth scrape against his neck. It’s only two strokes later that Max’s own release coats his hand, and a new scent permeates the air as they slump together in post-orgasmic bliss. Oscar drops his head to Max’s shoulder, chest heaving as he tries to calm the thundering of his heart. His eyes grow heavy as the wonderful high rolls through him, relaxing his tense muscles, and God… he just wants to sleep for days. 

Max groans in relief as his head rests similarly on Oscar’s other shoulder, his lips pressing a hard kiss to the side of Oscar’s neck. A pleasant aftershock courses through him and he gives Max’s softening cock one last gentle squeeze. 

Max grunts. “You tease.” 

Oscar hums low in his throat. “I do believe that you encouraged me.” He gasps in oversensitized pleasure as Max imparts a farewell squeeze to his own spent cock. It sparks another aftershock in his blood, but every muscle in his body is far too overworked to respond. Max’s release turns tacky on his hand and he probably has a mess in own trousers to deal with before it dries too much further. Max seems to have the same idea as he pulls back and reaches for his discarded wet coat. 

He tugs an inside flap free and wipes down his hand before attempting to clean himself up. The wordless invitation extends to Oscar, and he hesitates for a brief moment before Max sighs. “It’s alright,” he says as Oscar finally reaches for the coat. “It’s on the inside so I can carry it out without anyone seeing. Easier to wash that way, too.” 

With their hands mostly clean and their trousers mostly presentable, Oscar finds himself at a loss. Just what does he say to his captain now? Now that he knows how the man sounds when licking into Oscar’s mouth, when spilling into his hand? The memory curls a bolt of latent heat down his spine as he glances over at Max in the flickering, swaying candlelight. Fortunately for him, Max looks just equally lost for words as if… as if this is the first time he’s ever encountered a situation like this. 

And maybe it is. 

Something about that thought warms Oscar’s chest, and he desperately hopes that he is the first person aboard that Max has taken in his cabin like this. At length, he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, breathing in the remnants of Max on his skin. “Two points south-southwest.” He suddenly says, drawing Max’s confused, piqued gaze. “That’s how far off course we are… I told Lando to hold a steady southerly course and we should be closer by morning. Though, we can’t know how the Lusail fared in the storm, either. She could be even further off course.” 

Max takes a moment to respond, nodding gently. “Then, we’ll just have to keep on her shadow. Until the opportunity presents itself, we keep to what we know and see what the dawn brings.” His gaze drops to his feet in an uncharacteristically hesitant moment. “Oscar, I don’t…” He starts and stops just as quickly before raising his eyes. They shine with a painfully raw determination and something unspeakably intimate. “The dawn already brings about one change for me… but whatever we have shared - or may yet share - behind that closed door must never escape that closed door.”

Oscar immediately nods as his heart leaps. “Of course, Max. Yes, I understand.” Even as he responds, he suddenly doubts his hearing. Maybe it’s just his exhausted mind playing tricks on him, but did Max really just imply that this could happen again? It’s more than Oscar could have ever hoped for, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a hopeful edge as he meets Max’s gaze in the candlelight.

Despite the desperation and need with which they had clung to each other on the floor, the moment now isn’t right to kiss Max again and so he doesn’t. In fact, he watches as Max starts to replace his armor, transforming from the young man who shook apart in his hand back into Captain Verstappen, legendary pirate of the Caribbean Sea.   

He nods again, this time in farewell. “Good night, captain.” He turns without another word, reaching for the door handle just as Verstappen’s voice sounds over his shoulder. 

“Good to have you aboard, Piastri.” 

Fin

—the mark of athena

—the chalice of the gods

Fallen || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!devil!reader Summary: When a young driver wants to make a deal with the devil to get his greatest desire you find yourself forgetting what side of Heaven and Hell you are on. Warnings: supernatural themes, mention of deaths (Jules, Hervé & Hubert), angst, fluff WC: 5k

F1 Masterlist || Bonus Scene

16th October 2013 The kid had no business standing at the crossroads. What could a boy need so desperately that he was willing to part with his soul for it? But it wasn’t your place to question, merely to answer. 

The boy murmured to himself as he knelt on the gravel and started to dig with a pink trowel he had borrowed from his mothers gardening tools. The quiet mutterings brought you amusement as you thought of the surprise he would get when his doubt was proven wrong and you appeared.

He carefully followed the instructions inked on the page that had been torn from a very old book. He reached up to his dark hair with a small pocket knife and cut away a small patch before laying it in the hole he had made. Turning the knife on himself, he whined as he pricked the tip of his finger and squeezed it until three thick blood drops fell onto the strands of his hair.

You would usually laugh at the poor attempt of the incantation to call upon you but instead you sighed as you grew tired of the theatrics. 

“What do you want, kid?”

A small shriek filled the night as he fell back on his ass. “But…but…you…but…”

“Shit, you’re not even old enough to talk properly,” you said as you knelt down to his height. “Go home.”

His mouth snapped closed before scrambling to his feet and wiping the dust that covered his jeans. “Sorry, you gave me a fright. I was expecting…” he looked around and frowned, “never mind. Do you need help?”

“No, do you?” 

He looked genuinely concerned as he searched the dark road and you tipped your head to the side before you remembered that to a human you looked like a 21 year old. It didn’t matter that you had roamed the world for a thousand years, your physical form remained the same.

“I guess not,” he sighed as his shoulders slumped and he kicked his vans at the loose stones as he whispered, “it didn’t work anyway.”

“It was your pronunciation, Latin is a tough language. I’ll let you in on a secret, you can say the incantation in any language and it will work.” You leaned in closer and chuckled darkly. “The devil just enjoys torturing people.” 

“But…but…”

“Great, we’re back to that, are we?” You rolled your eyes and opened your palm, a ball of fire erupting into the night and the scent of sulphur lingering after the flame burned out. “What did you expect when you called me?”

“You…you’re the…dev…”

“Devil,” you offered as his face paled and he stumbled backwards. “Say it with me. De-vil.”

“You’re the devil? But you look like an angel.”

“More or less, there’s actually a lot of us.” You clapped him on the back and grinned when he jumped. “So what can I do for you, kid?”

“I heard you could grant wishes.”

“I’m not a genie, I’m a dealer,” you said with a shake of your head. “You tell me your dream and I make it happen, for a price.”

He chewed on his lip, his conscience trying to warn him it was a bad idea. “What price?”

You flicked your hand out and the piece of paper on the ground flew into your fingers. “You know the price. How old are you anyway, kid?”

“I’m sixteen, today actually.” 

“Congratulations!” You frowned as it didn’t sound quite right and he did the same. “Wait, it’s happy birthday, isn’t it? We don’t exactly have them since we are fallen, not born.”

“That's really sad.”

“Hell help me, you are an emotional one.” You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the waves of empathy rolling off the teenager. “Listen, I’m all up for taking souls, it’s my job and I’m pretty good at it, but you seem like a nice guy so I’ll help you out pro bono as long as you don’t cry.”

“Really?” His excitement was almost as infectious as his smile as he grinned at your offer and you could tell that with a few more years of growth and maturity he would be as handsome as those goody-good angels.

“Really. So what’s your dream? And don’t go all ‘Disneyland’ and that shit, make it big.”

“I want to be a Formula One World Champion.”

“Fuck, okay, I said big not gigantic,” you said as you cracked your neck and then your knuckles before rolling your shoulders. “That will take some time to pull off, but we got this, kid.”

“Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc,” he said as he held his hand out. “Do devils have names?”

“Of course we have names, but names have power and I don’t know you well enough to share mine with you.” You shook his hand and he jumped a little at the heat difference since the hellfire made you run hotter than humans. That same heat flickered up your spine as you felt another calling at a crossroad half a world away and so you stepped away. “I’ll check in once a year to see your progress.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

You laughed darkly as thick smoke began to gather at your feet where the earth was opening to your home realm. The teen yelped as a lick of flame encircled his wrist but the scar that appeared just as quickly healed so no one would know he had been marked by the devil.  “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2014 “I wasn’t sure you would actually come, I thought you were a figment of my imagination.”

You stepped out of the shadows and looked around the modest home that should have been full of his friends celebrating his 17th birthday. The air was thick with grief and it made your back ache from the weight of it bearing down on you as you watched the teenager stand with his back to you at a bookcase.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured as you walked over to him and saw his eyes fixated on a photo. 

Placing the photo back carefully on the shelf he turned and you saw the difference a year had made. “I want to make a deal. My soul, take it.”

“Woah, slow down, Birthday Boy, you don’t know what you are offering.”

“I don’t care, I just need him to be alright.” Tears were swimming in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and squeezed tightly. “Fix Jules, please.”

Unable to resist, you reached out and touched the tear that ran down his cheek. Pain obliterated your chest, crushing your insides as waves of memories flooded your senses until you knew Jules just as well as he did.

For the first time since your fall a thousand years ago, you were envious of the angel you had been. You wanted to be the cause of his hope, but that wasn’t something you could give and you tugged your hand from his hold before they could blister his skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Bullshit! You are a dealer, you said so yourself.”

“That’s not how it works, Charles, I’m a devil. Don’t you see? The deals I make are selfish, the things people want for themselves. You want a miracle,” you sighed and felt the familiar ache where your wings once were, “I can’t do those anymore.”

“You got me into Formula Renault.”

“You got yourself there, kid,” you said as you stepped away. “I just whispered a few suggestions to people I knew would listen.”

It was a little more threatening involved but you weren’t going to let him know that. You hadn’t needed to do anything other than get someone to give him a chance since he had the talent to win all on his own.

“There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his green eyes swimming with tears.

You sighed as you stepped away, rubbing your temple as if you could actually get a migraine like a human could. “I can’t make any promises, but…let me see what I can do.”

You faded from the room before you could see the hope that filled his face and followed the memory of his visit to Jules, finding yourself in the shadows of a hospital room. The room was empty except for the young man laying on the bed, wires and tubes keeping his breathing steady. You were struck by the pain you felt and knew it wasn’t real but the lingering effects of sharing Charles’ memory of him, but that knowledge still didn’t ease the ache.

“Azrael, come down here.”

It only took a second for the angel to appear and she didn’t look pleased at being called away from her duties.

“You’re not an archangel anymore, you can’t just snap your fingers at me.”

“Obviously I can since you showed,” you pointed out. “I need a favour.”

“You don’t do favours,” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

“I do now. I need you to leave him alone.”

Azrael looked at the comatose man before reaching forward and touching his forehead and shaking her head. “He’s one of ours, he has to come with me soon.”

“You have no sense of time, whatsoever. Soon could be 50 years from now.” You crossed your arms and stared the death angel down. “I’ll deny three souls in exchange for his life.”

“You’d turn down three deals for Jules? Who is he to you?”

“No one, but he means everything to someone else. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal, he has until I next come back down, no more.”

You nodded in agreement hoping her sporadic trips to earth erred on a lengthier time away this round. Unfurling her wings, you felt a pang of jealousy arise as you watched her fade away only to hear the strong beats of her wings carry her higher.

You aparated back to Charles and found him slumped in a leather reading chair, an album of photos open on his lap. Droplets splattered on plastic sleeves, only to smear into streaks as he wiped them away at your arrival.

“I bought him some time,” you said softly as you fell into the seat opposite him. “I can’t say how long because I don’t know but for now he will live.”

Charles dropped the book as he fell to his knees and clutched your hand tightly, the gesture making you uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he choked as his tears hit your knee through the rip in your skinny jeans and turned to steam. He didn’t seem to be affected by the heat radiating off you, he didn’t seem to feel it at all as he closed his eyes and rested his head on your joined hands. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” you said ruefully, pulling your hand back from the touch. “Healing was never my gift. He will have to do that on his own.”

“He will, I know he will,” Charles said with certainty as he rose to his feet. “He’s the strongest man that I know.”

You stood up with a nod and realised this year he was the same height as you, seeing eye to eye after his latest growth spurt.

“I hope you are right,” you said, feeling the floor start to give way beneath you as you willed yourself home. “Until next year, Birthday Boy.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled at the smell of sulphur filling the room and he stepped back at the sight of the black plume swirling around your boots. “You don’t have to wait a year, you can visit anytime.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” you laughed as the smoke climbed higher.

“Just because you’re the devil, it doesn’t make you bad,” he said with a shy shrug. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

He was right in the fact you had been kind, something no one else would say about you. You couldn’t explain why you were different with him, why you couldn’t treat him like any other advantageous young man wanting to get ahead. There would surely be hell to pay if word ever got out about it.

The smoke reached your throat and pulled you down. “Maybe I made a mistake.”

16th October 2015 Charles would never know it but you had visited him throughout the year. You had kept to the shadows, watching from afar as he graduated to Formula 3 and came one step closer to reaching his dream. You were there by his side when he received the phone call that had devastated him, you had felt Azrael’s presence on the mortal plane and immediately went to him. You didn’t reveal yourself, not when the gut wrenching sound he made had you hate having fallen. You could offer him nothing so you remained hidden, torturing yourself with the knowledge of what could have been.

It was a little before midnight when you arrived at the busy nightclub. You should have just apparated into a bathroom stall but instead you had to produce a fake ID so the bouncer would let you in.

“Guess I can’t call you kid anymore,” you said as you found Charles in the VIP area and took a seat beside him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Who’s this angel, Charles?” his friend asked with a confident grin.

You tipped your head back with a laugh before you recovered enough to say, “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, but you call me D.”

Charles nearly choked on his drink at the snort he gave. “What are you doing here, D? I don’t remember inviting you.”

You leaned closer to see his cheeks flushed pink with the alcohol he was now legally allowed to imbibe in and whispered, “There’s only one place I need an invitation, and despite the name on the door outside - this isn’t Heaven.”

With a huff of annoyance he stood up and made his way out of the VIP area to the packed dance floor. Knowing everyone was completely inebriated you didn’t bother to follow him, instead you suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Leave me alone,” Charles growled as he turned his back, but everywhere he went you were in front of him.

Finally he gave up escaping and you shoved a hand on your hip as you asked, “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem? You lied to me, that’s what!” The drink in his hand spilled over the rim of the glass with the angry shaking overtaking his body. “Jules died…and you weren’t even there. You never visited me and…I needed you. I needed to know why!”

You took the glass from him and tipped the liquid back, relishing the burn of the alcohol down your throat as he stared daggers at you. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, mortal.”

“Well, we never made a deal, so there’s no need for you to be here, devil.”

The words hurt more than you cared to admit and the glass shattered in your hand, ichor flowing from the wounds before they could heal as quickly as they came. Charles' eyes widened at the dark liquid coating your palm and he almost looked worried for you but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on your heels, the shoes uncomfortable compared to the boots you normally wore but you had wanted to fit in. For him.

“You’re right,” you muttered as you freed your hair from the constricting hair tie and kicked the shoes off. There was nothing to be done about the tight red dress until you were home, but you would be there soon enough. “Goodbye, Charles.”

16th October 2016 Try as you might, you couldn’t stay away. Unbeknownst to Charles, you regularly checked in to see what his latest accomplishments were. As it was, he was leading the Formula 3 Championship and was a sure graduate to Formula 2. He raced like he had the devil breathing down his neck, pushing the boundaries to the brink of disaster.

Maybe he knew you hadn’t abandoned him, or maybe he just didn’t care. You knew you definitely shouldn’t have cared but still you watched him grow into a man and mature as his career evolved.

16th October 2017 You had nearly started another war the day Azrael came for Charles’ father. For three days you stood ready to fight the angel of death for Charles’ biggest supporter while he visited the hospital to say his goodbyes. He had lied to his father, telling Hervé that he had signed to a Formula 1 team for the next year and you promised to make it happen - with or without a soul to bargain.

It wasn’t a difficult task to achieve, a small incident with Pascal Wehrlein making a seat available in Sauber. All Charles had to do was keep his head in the game and go fast like he always did.

When you watched him celebrate his birthday his eyes had glanced around the room and you wondered if it was you he was looking for. It was only when those green eyes landed on a family photo you pushed the silly thought away, he was just missing his father.

16th October 2018 “How long have you been there?” Charles asked the empty room.

How he sensed your presence, you didn’t know, but since you no longer needed to hide it you let the shadows fall away. Turning away from where he had been styling his hair in the mirror, he leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

His room hadn’t changed all that much, Ferrari posters still covered the majority of the walls but they were also joined by some models posing on hoods of cars. The twin bed had been upgraded to a double and was covered in a red and yellow bedspread that clashed with your trademark black outfit as you lay across it.

“How often do you do that?”

“Do what?” you asked innocently as you stared at his ceiling and not his narrowed eyes.

He waved a hand over your leisurely state. “This.”

You got off the bed and stalked across the room to the Formula 1 racer and found you had to look up at him even with the heels on your boots. “Don’t mortals leave home by now? I thought the 21st birthday was some big right of passage.”

You reached for the tub of hair product and sniffed at the vanilla scent before it was swiped from your hand. It smelled edible and there was another scent that was just as good but you weren’t sure what it was or where it was coming from until you leaned closer to him and inhaled.

“I just bought an apartment but it’s not ready for me to move into for a few more weeks. Will you stop that?”

“What is that smell?” Your head was swimming as if you were high but that wasn’t possible. “My head…”

You could barely stand upright as you felt drunk all of a sudden and Charles caught you as you stumbled back. “Sit down,” he said softly as he guided you to the edge of his bed. “Why did you come back?”

Your head lolled onto his shoulder and the room spun as the truth tumbled from your lips. “I never left you,” you admitted, your words slurring as the intoxicating smell left you dazed. “Not when Jules died…or your father, never…”

Charles frowned as your eyes closed and you fell back on his bed. He had spent so long blaming you, being angry at you, believing you had abandoned him when he needed you most but as you murmured in your strange state he realised he had it all wrong. 

“D?” he called out as he shook your shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy and you curled into a ball as your stomach churned. “Because I shouldn’t care. You’re just a human.”

“But you do care,” he surmised as he grabbed the blanket and draped it over your shivering body. 

“Devils don’t care.” You could hardly talk through your chattering teeth, the blanket doing nothing to warm the ice that had seeped into your being.

Charles curled himself up against your back and tightened his arms around the blanket as he tried to warm you. Nothing seemed to work until his voice spoke softly in your ear, “Then maybe you’re not like the others.” 

The silence grew and he thought you had passed out when you muttered, “I had nowhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a war…couldn’t choose a side…threw me out.” A yawn silenced your words and you snuggled into his arms, your nose finding that delicious scent strongest on his neck where you nuzzled deeper.

“My cologne,” Charles whispered and you realised you had asked aloud what it was. “You’re like a cat high on catnip.”

“Haven’t been high since I had wings.” You giggled, a sound so unlike you, but it turned to a sad sigh. “I miss my wings.”

Charles brushed your hair back from your face but you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes. “What colour were they?”

“There isn’t a colour to describe them. But you can see it at dawn…look to the east…the last star in the morning sky.”

“The Morningstar?” Charles looked down to see your lips parted with a soft snore and reached into his pocket for his phone. There was no way he was going to leave you in the state you were in, not even for his own birthday party.

16th October 2019 You had thought Azrael had forgotten the deal you made but she made sure to remind you of it when she crossed paths with you at the Belgium GP. Charles’ head had snapped your way the moment he heard the crash and you shook your head sadly. The only reassurance you could give him was that the young driver’s soul was at peace. 

Before leaving with her precious cargo, Azrael had given you two months to keep your end of the bargain and you didn’t want to test her patience. The crossroads had been quiet and it took nearly the whole time to find three souls worthy of denying a deal, most people who offered their souls for their greatest desires deserved the eternal damnation in return.

As soon as your task was fulfilled you returned to Charles, to the only place you felt at home. After waking in his arms a year ago you had struggled with the duties expected of you, finding more and more excuses for the downturn in deals. After waking in his arms, you wanted to be more than what you were. You wanted to believe you could be more, like he believed in you. 

“D,” Pierre greeted as he joined you at the bar. “Still looking as lovely as ever.”

“Still the charmer.” 

His attempt to shift closer to your side was blocked by the heat radiating from you and he pulled back with a frown, brushing the oddity off in his tipsy state. “Where have you been?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” you answered absentmindedly as you felt Charles’ presence before you spotted him. “I travel for work.”

“Let me guess - modelling?”

“Dealing.”

“No way!” His eyebrow shot up and he leaned in to whisper, “Drugs?”

“Not quite,” you said with a laugh. “Something far more lucrative.”

Charles’ hand came to rest on the small of your back and his lips brushed your cheek. “Sorry I’m late, ma diablesse. What are you drinking?”

“I could do with a-” your voice trailed off as a fissure ran through the air and you turned to see what had just walked in the door. “Hold that thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked but you were already weaving your way through the crowd. 

Waves of power rolled off the beast but no one would see the tusks spearing out of its face or the black soulless eyes, they would merely see a mountain of a man and a vibe that warned them to move aside. 

“This is a bit out of your territory, Fowler. What are you doing topside?”

The demon looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Heard some interesting rumours.”

“And what rumours were those?”

“That some darling angel was caught up with a mortal, helping out for free. You know the rules. No soul, no deal.” Fowler’s hand snapped out and caught your throat, his claws threatening to tear it out. “Don’t forget who took you in when your family threw you out.”

“Fuck you, I’ve more than paid my debt,” you spat as you grabbed his wrist and seared his skin with the lick of your flames. “Don’t come and threaten me.”

“I don’t have to threaten you,” he chuckled as he cradled his hand to his chest and looked past you to where Charles was pushing his way to your side. “Mortals are so weak, a little accident is all it takes.”

There was no way you could let Fowler return to Hell with the information he had, your weakness, so you did the only thing you could to protect Charles. You rushed the demon as the ground opened, disappearing into the pit with him before Charles could follow. You called all of your power and funnelled it into your fire, pouring it down the demon's throat until he was smothered by the flames and a smoking husk that turned to ash as you crashed to the ground. 

“Morningstar, what is the meaning of this?” 

You bowed to Beelzebub before kicking away the ash that had settled on your boot and painted a dark smile onto your face. “He interrupted a deal, I couldn’t let that grievance go unpunished. Or did you want me to forgive him?” You challenged him with an arch of your brow until he huffed a sigh and waved the question away with the whip of his tail. 

“So where is the contract for the soul?”

“Did you miss the part where I said he interrupted the deal?”

“I’m not sure if I liked you less as an angel or not,” he uttered from his throne of skulls. 

“I have that effect.” You started to leave the way you came but a chain snared around your ankle and locked into place before you could escape. 

“Not so fast.” You were thrown onto your ass as he yanked the chain and dragged you to the foot of his throne. “I find myself short of an enforcer,” he said as he looked pointedly at the pile of ash you had created.

“So find another,” you growled as you tried to melt the chain but it merely absorbed the heat you poured onto it, “there’s no shortage of brainless fools ready to serve you.”

“But look how that ended,” he laughed. “How about a deal? Ten years as my enforcer for your freedom.”

Freedom. Ten years was nothing, just a blip to an immortal, but you weren’t thinking of yourself. You were thinking what ten years would be for Charles. Would he have a wife and kids? Would he have won his world championship? Would he remember you?

“Two,” you countered.

“Five.”

“Deal, but on one condition.” You stopped fighting the chain and rose to your knees. “I want a soul.”

16th October 2024 You were beyond exhausted when you stumbled into the bedroom, using the last of your strength to find your way back to him. The last five years had been brutal and it was a miracle that you had survived to complete your end of the deal, much to Beelzebub’s chagrin. The bastard had thrown every impossible task your way but you had something he could never understand, hope. And it kept you fighting to the bitter end. 

You crashed onto the bed as your legs gave out and he leapt up at the intrusion, the bedside lamp lighting up and illuminating his silhouette as he stared at you wide eyed. “Ma diablesse? You came back…”

“Always, Birthday Boy.” You reached for him, needing to feel him with your own two hands after missing him for five years. It was his face that had kept you alive and you cupped his jaw to pull him closer only to freeze at what you felt. “Charles?”

“What? What is it?” he asked with panic as he placed his hands over yours, holding them tight to his cheeks.

“You have a beard,” you whispered, turning his face to the side to see the styled hair on his jaw. “When did that happen?”

Charles laughed and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck as he crushed you against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I would have been back sooner but I made a deal with the devil.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out an unassuming medallion. “A soul, my soul.”

Charles frowned in confusion as he trailed a finger over the symbols of an ancient language long forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“No more devil deals, if you’ll have me, I would be human.”

Shock rippled through his features. “You would give up immortality for me?”

“Hell is an eternity without you,” you said before you pressed your forehead to his, sharing his breath of life. “And if I never make it back to Heaven at least I will have had a moment of it here with you.”

Bonus scene here.

Oh ! For the Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP, would you be willing to write about number 2 Royal AU, with number 98 curses for lestappen please 🙏

listen i was thinking about different curse ideas and then i suddenly remembered charles's monac curse and well... then i couldn't not write that. so!!!! driver!charles/prince!max au it is :)

prompt taken from this list, feel free to send me one!

royal au + curses

When you ask a driver what the best race to win is, they will give one of two answers; either their home Grand Prix, or Monaco. For Charles, these have always been one and the same.

And yet, he has never won.

A curse, they call it. Just dumb luck, Charles like to say.

But it still weighs on him, every year he DNF’s, every year he crashes into the barriers instead of crossing the finish line. At least he’s managed to do at least that, last year, in 2022. But this year, this year he’s determined.

He’s going to break the curse. He’s going to win.

He’s so laser focused, so all in, that he misses all the whispers around the paddock about important visitors until he slams head first into one of those visitors outside of the Ferrari motor home.

“I am so sorry,” says none other than Max Emilian, crown prince of the Netherlands.

“Oh,” Charles says, because well. He’s seen pictures of the man before, but it turns out they really don’t do him justice. Prince Max is gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders and a very, very kissable mouth. “I mean, uh, I’m sorry. Your, uh, highness?”

Max laughs, the hand he used to steady Charles still on his shoulder, burning into Charles’s skin. “Please. Call me Max.”

“Right,” Charles says, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “Right, yeah Max. I can do that.”

Max sends him an amused look. “So, are you looking forward to the race?” He asks, and his hand slips off Charles’s shoulder. Charles immediately misses its warmth.

He pulls a face. “Sort of? I’ve not had the best luck in Monaco.”

“Ah, yes,” Max says, thoughtful look on his face. “The curse.” When Charles doesn’t say anything, just pulls a face, Max continues. “But you shouldn’t be worried. You’ve been driving well all season. Plus, you have pole. That’s already half the race.”

“You follow F1?” Charles asks, a little surprised. There something about Max, beyond the pretty eyes and the nice body, that is almost regal. Ethereal. It feels weird to picture him sitting on a couch in his sweatpants and a sweatshirt on Sunday’s, watching a race.

“Obsessed with it,” Max admits, almost a bit sheepish. “Begged my dad to let me drive kart when I was a kid. But apparently that wasn’t very appropriate, so,” He rubs the back of his neck, and gives Charles a ‘what can you do’ look. “Anyway, I like watching races a lot. The fast cars, the pretty boys,” He leans forward a little, and there’s suddenly an almost mischievous smile on his face, like he’s challenging Charles.

Charles blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. If he knew better, he’d say the crown prince of the Netherlands is currently flirting with him. But he knows better so that can’t be it. Right? Still. Can’t hurt to try. “Pretty boys, huh?” Charles says leaning back against the wall of the motorhome. “And do you have a favorite?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Max eyes are twinkling, and he’s leaning forward, his arm suddenly right next to Charles’s head, his face inching closer and closer.

Charles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then suddenly there’s a pair of lips on his, hands on his waist gently pressing him into the wall, and he forgets how to breath for a second.

His hands shoot up to land on Max’s arm, his bicep, and for a moment he lets himself be kissed, loses himself in the moment. But then Max is pulling away, smiling softly at him.

“What was that for?” Charles asks, eyes wide and mouth kiss swollen.

Max shrugs. “Good luck charm, I guess.”

“Oh,” Charles says. Wants to say more. Wants to do it again. But then a harried Ferrari employee is rounding the corner and spots them, and starts yelling at Charles in rapid Italian about how he was supposed to be in the garage like ten minutes ago, and Max is being pulled in another direction by his security detail, and the moment is broken.

(It’s not until later, much later, when he’s on the top step of the podium, hoisting the trophy in the air, that he remembers.

The thing about curses, is that they can be broken. And the most common way, the best way, is true love’s first kiss.

Charles is feeling very excited about the Zandvoort Grand Prix, all of a sudden.)

sexy barbed wire stitching on the collar of my new (old) battle jacket