6 Works by Parallel_Mirrors
Listing Works
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“If you’re kissing all your girls like that,” Oscar starts, his voice is slower, drawn out, “Then its no wonder they aren’t moaning.”
It’s almost goading, the way he says it—the words undercut with a challenge. Oscar knows him too well to assume he’s going to back down.
”Yeah?” Lando tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “Big talk, Piastri. You think you’re a better kisser than me?”
Oscar rolls his eyes at his tone, there really isn’t a reason for them to be doing this. ‘Just because’ isn’t a good enough reason to make out with your best friend, no matter how drunk or high you are, and Oscar knows that. But it sticks in his chest like nicotine tar, aches with every shuddering breath he sucks in.
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Lando leaned in again—closer now, impossibly close—her focus sharp, tongue caught slightly between her teeth as she carefully traced the colour along the curve of Oscar’s mouth. The brush of the gloss was feather-light, but Lando’s knuckles brushed Oscar’s chin, steadying her.
“Don’t move,” she murmured.
Oscar didn’t. Couldn’t. She felt pinned there, heart beating too loud, mouth tingling under Lando’s touch.
When Lando pulled back, slowly, she looked almost dazed herself — like she’d forgotten where she was. She stepped back then — too fast, too casual, wiping her thumb unnecessarily across the edge of Oscar’s jaw.
“There,” she said softly, “Perfect.”
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“You’re kidding, right?” Oscar laughs, the sound sharp and bitter, “Lando, you’re fucking joking. You can’t expect me to—”
He cuts himself off with a disbelieving scoff. Oscar’s suit was half-unzipped, fireproofs visible through the gap and clinging to him with the sweat of the race, darkening at the chest and the curve of his throat. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, flattened where the helmet had pressed down, the rest of it mussed in that careless way it always was.
His cheeks were still flushed from the heat, from the adrenaline, maybe from anger — Lando couldn’t tell which. His stomach twisted, a slow, pleasant ache.
Lando leaned back slightly, just enough to feign ease. His voice came out low, smooth.
“S’my choice, innit?” he said, shrugging one shoulder, carefully casual, “You could’ve said no.”
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Oscar had looked at him sideways, eyes molten honey and cheeks still flushed from the heat, hand moving almost automatically as he signed the caps. His leg was still pressed against Lando’s
”Reckon you should hurry up,” he said, casually, “Your girlfriend’s waiting for you.”
Lando had scoffed a laugh, and said, “Not my girlfriend, mate,” watching as Oscar’s eyes lingered slightly, before turning away with a shrug— jaw moving like he was biting down on his tongue.
Now, in the dark, with his sheets bunched around his hips and sweat beading at his temple as he fucks up into his hand, it feels a little cruel in hindsight. The way he said it—too quickly, too dismissively. But they hadn’t made anything official and he hadn’t asked her to wait for him.
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you know that had it once (you know that you want it back) by Parallel_Mirrors
Fandoms: Formula 1 RPF
08 Jul 2025
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“Max offered me a seat on his plane,” Oscar shrugs, tone level, almost casual. “Said we might as well fly out together.”
Lando stiffens. Something catches in his throat.
“Max?” The name shoots out of him too sharply, too quickly—like it cuts on the way out, jagged and instinctive. His lips curl slightly before he can stop them, the disbelief flashing across his face unfiltered, “You’re leaving with Max?”
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”Me and Lando were gonna— head to the bathroom,” she fluttered her lashes, reaching across the table to draw tiny circles on Oscar’s wrist. It takes a while due to the alcohol, but suddenly he knows what she’s going to ask before she does. “You’re free to join, if you want”
For a moment, the world seems to tilt sideways.
The music feels like it’s underwater. The lights blur together, and the inside of Oscar’s head feels just fuzzy enough to make everything seem unreal—like this isn’t actually happening. Like this isn’t the end of a long, brutal year. Like he hasn’t been pushed aside for the man sitting in front of him—time and time again—for months.
Lando’s flushed. Even under the club lighting, it’s obvious. The way his skin glows, hot and embarrassed, betrays him completely.
Oscar wills himself to act normal— like getting offered a threesome in a club bathroom with your coworker and a stranger is normal— and laughs slightly breathlessly, nodding towards Lando, “I reckon you’ll have your hands full with that one.”