F1 Oneshots

Lando x Oscar

⚠️Just a warning, there is descriptions of abuse in this⚠️

“PLEASE. NO!” Oscar sobbed.

“Don't do this to me,” he whimpered, curling up even tighter into a ball.

A hand came down and violently slapped him. Oscar let out a scream of pain, sobbing even louder. Nobody could hear him. No-one was going to help him. Who would help someone as pathetic as he was? Another hit. Another whimper. By this point, Oscar had stuffed his fist into his mouth to try and muffle his cries of pain. From experience, he knew that it would only get him more hits. A scuffle. Another hit. Low voices in the background. Whipped. A slam of the door. Stamped on. It went on. And on. And on. Hit after hit after kick after whip. The pain was unimaginable. After what seemed like days, he left. He left and left Oscar alone. Alone but tied up. Tied up but free. Free but trapped. Trapped in this never ending eternal hell. No matter how well Oscar does. No matter how hard Oscar tries. It'll never be enough. Not for him.

Eventually, someone came and untied Oscar. They did it quickly before leaving the room, leaving Oscar. The door stayed open. Weakly, Oscar moved himself into a position where he could sit. There was not enough strength left in his body to stand up. Instead, he crawled, his arms wobbling as they supported his weight, about to collapse any second. He crawled out of the godforsaken room. The room where he endured what felt like never ending torture. When he got a safe distance away, to what he called his safe place, Oscar rested. Rested and waited. Waited until he was strong enough to walk and get a taxi with no-one questioning why he was crawling. The same routine would happen again and again and again. Never ending. Always the same.

This latest bout of ‘punishment’ came after Oscar signed for Mclaren without permission. It was like when he announced that he wouldn't be driving for Alpine. Punishment. When he couldn't get a drive for 2022. Punishment. It was fine. He would endure it. Endure it for as long as he had to. Oscar called a taxi. Endure it as long as he can race. Bruises were blooming on his skin like flowers in the spring. The taxi came. Oscar got in. Time to go back to his flat. The drive took a long time in Oscar's opinion. That could be because the bruises were now well on their way to form, making it difficult for Oscar to sit down. It could be because the taxi driver kept eyeing Oscar, and not in a nice way. He looked like he wanted to maul Oscar, like a predator mauling its prey. The taxi driver was the predator. Oscar was the prey. As always, Oscar was the prey. Nothing new there. After some time, the taxi slowed down and stopped a couple of streets away from Oscar's address. Oscar wasn't stupid, he wasn't just going to tell a random, creepy dude his actual address, no matter how much pain he was in. Wincing, Oscar got out of the taxi, paid the taxi driver and then started to walk once the taxi had pulled away. Fumbling his keys slightly, he eventually got the door to his flat open and went inside. It was dark. Someone was there. However, Oscar didn't panic, he turned on the light and let the person come over to him.

“Sit.”

It was his mother. Oscar sat. It was always his mother. Helping him, but not. Being there for him, but not. Supporting him, but not. After a bout of ‘punishment’, she was there. There to roughly patch up Oscar. To patch him up enough so that he could still race. She never tried to stop the ‘punishment’ even though she had enough authority to do so. No, she let it carry on, only helping Oscar when it was over. It wasn't even helping really, it was more of a case of protecting herself so less questions were asked about why Oscar had so many bruises.

His mother, Nicole, got the ointment out of the cupboard in the kitchen where there was always a constant supply of it.

“Strip.”

Oscar stripped down to his underwear and lay down on the couch, on his belly. He prepared himself to feel the coolness of the ointment against his burning skin, that was still stinging from earlier. It came. With a lot more force than necessary, Nicole dabbed the ointment onto the bruises, pressing down hard onto where they were forming. Oscar didn't make a sound. She wanted him to make a noise. Any noise. Then she'd feel victorious. She didn't deserve to feel victorious. Oscar didn't give her the satisfaction. After she had tried her hardest to get Oscar to break, without success, she put the ointment away and left. The door slammed shut behind her. Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. Another ‘punishment’ endured.