everywhere the duke of bristol went, heartbreak trailed behind. (everywhere but here, it seems.)
ꔮ starring: duke of bristol!lando norris x childhood best friend!reader.
ꔮ word count: 3.9k.
ꔮ includes: humor, friendship, romance. alternate universe: non-f1, alternate universe: regency au. childhood best friends, fake dating lite, feelings realization.
ꔮ commentary box: ahaha. so heyyy.. i have nothing to say except that, sometimes, we have to drop the fic nobody asked for in hopes that it will get us back on track. this is a very late celebration for LN1. tumblr is finally no longer banned in my country (long story) and i’m hoping to be around a lot more often again. always & forever, every lando i write is for my darling, dearest @norrisradio. you’re the wdc of my heart, t. love ya.
You slip out of the ballroom just as the applause reaches its most unbearable pitch.
Inside, the Queen has just declared Lando Norris, Duke of Bristol, the diamond of the season.
The diamond.
You still cannot decide whether the court applauds because they are delighted or because they are too shocked to do anything else. Lando—whose reputation for scandal travels faster than most carriages—now stands crowned as the most desirable prize of the London season.
If irony were audible, the ballroom would be deafening.
The corridor outside the ballroom is mercifully quieter. Candlelight flickers along the paneled walls, carrying the faint scent of beeswax and roses from the arrangements inside. The music seeps through the doors in polite, muffled waves. You lean against the window, grateful for the cooler air drifting through the cracked glass. You are granted peace for all of four minutes.
“If you are hiding,” grumbles a voice behind you, “I must congratulate you on your excellent instincts.”
You do not have to turn to know who is speaking so frankly. You’ve heard that voice in your dreams, for better and for worse. You look anyway, and sure enough, there stands Lando—looking as though he has just survived a naval battle rather than a royal announcement.
His cravat is slightly crooked. His curls, which society ladies spend entire evenings praising, appears as though he has run a hand through it repeatedly. There is a wild, haunted look in his eyes that would be deeply concerning if it were not also extremely familiar.
“Your Grace,” you say with a polite incline of your head. “How fortunate. I was just reflecting on the Queen’s decision.”
“Were you,” he says flatly.
“Yes.”
You pause, studying him. “I wondered,” you hum, “whether Her Majesty had perhaps mistaken you for someone else entirely.”
His eyes narrow. Then, he groans and drops his head back against the wall. Gone is the man that half the ton’s mamas regarded a ‘waste’, a ‘rake’. Instead, there is the same boy who used to bitch and gripe to you about trivial, menial things, like the weather ruining his plans to play in the courtyard.
“You see?!” he huffs. “This is exactly what I feared.”
“What, honesty?”
“Betrayal,” he corrects. “From my own childhood ally, no less.”
You fold your arms, unimpressed. “Lando,” you say.
It works instantly. He stills. The dramatics drain from his posture with almost embarrassing speed. He has always been like this; capable of terrifying half of London with his reputation, yet strangely manageable the moment you say his name in that particular tone.
He exhales slowly. His endeavor to be a mature person does not last too long. “I am ruined,” he groans, entirely incapable of shutting up for even a moment.
“You are a duke,” you shoot back. “Your definition of ‘ruin’ lacks credibility.”
“No, truly.” He gestures vaguely toward the ballroom doors. “Do you know what awaits me in there?”
“Adoration,” you say.
“Ambush,” he corrects.
You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you. It startles him into smiling, just briefly.
For a moment, there it is again. The boy who used to appear at your family’s garden gate with mud on his boots and an entirely unreasonable plan for the afternoon. He had been ten the first time he tried to teach you how to climb the old oak behind your house. He fell halfway up, landed in a rose bush, and insisted with great dignity that it had been a descent fit for a king.
He had always possessed a flair for dramatics.
“You should be grateful,” you muse. “Many gentlemen spend entire seasons hoping to be noticed.”
“Yes,” Lando sighs heavily. “But most of them are not me.”
You raise a brow. Before you can call him something deserving of his demeanor—perhaps ‘self-absorbed git,’ if you could get away with it—he barrels on.
“I am not meant to be the diamond,” he says, as though this should be obvious to any reasonable person. “I am meant to be the cautionary tale.”
As if he isn’t already, you bite back from saying. Lando often existed outside the fringes of society despite his title. Some might have even dubbed him as a disgrace, considering all his dalliances. How his bed always stayed warm; how he pranced around without a care in the world.
Everywhere the Duke of Bristol went, heartbreak trailed behind. (Everywhere but here, it seems.)
“How tragic,” you murmur, if only to indulge him.
“Exactly!” He points at you as if you have proven his argument. “Someone understands.”
You study him again. Despite the theatrical despair, he looks... unsettled. Truly unsettled.
The ballroom doors open briefly behind him, spilling a wave of music and laughter into the hall. Several curious faces peer out before the doors close again. Lando watches the doors as though they might lunge for him. Then he glances back at you.
“You always did know where to hide,” he says, affection tinging the lilt of his tone.
“I am not hiding.”
“You slipped out the moment the Queen finished speaking.”
“Pure coincidence.”
“Cowardice,” he amends.
“Self-preservation,” you snap in return.
He gives you a proper laugh this time. The sound warms the corridor like sunlight; it has been years since you heard it so easily.
For a brief moment, he simply observes as you bite back a grin of your own. There is something thoughtful in his expression now, something quieter beneath the humor.
(Unbeknownst to you, he has spiraled into his own nostalgia. He remembers how many evenings ended exactly like this when you were children, both of you escaping gatherings of dull adults to sit on the garden wall and trade observations about the world.
You had always possessed the unnerving ability to see through him immediately. Everyone else saw the future duke, but you saw the boy attempting to impress people he did not particularly like.)
“You are staring,” present-you says, and Lando forces himself out of his memories to sport a grin.
“I am reflecting,” he replies.
“That is a poor excuse for staring.”
“Do you know," he says abruptly, “that you are the only person in London who has not congratulated me tonight?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Absolutely not.” He shudders. “I might expire from embarrassment.”
You smile slightly. “Very well. In that case, I shall offer my condolences instead.”
“And I would thank you for them.”
A silence falls between you then—comfortable, but not entirely simple. From the ballroom, the orchestra begins a waltz. Lando glances toward the doors again. “If I return in there,” he says, morose in a way unbefitting of a twenty-something-year-old, “I will be hunted.”
“You exaggerate, my lord.”
“I do not. I saw three mothers sharpening their smiles the moment the Queen finished speaking.”
“How horrific.”
“Precisely.”
He looks at you again. “You could help me,” he says, as if the idea has just occurred to him.
You have to force yourself not to grimace. He is looking more and more like the boy next door by the second. “That sounds dangerous,” you grunt.
“Only slightly,” he assures you.
“Which means extremely.”
He grins. “Dance with me.”
It is the world’s most foolish idea. You, who so preferred to be on the sidelines of these events, would be in tomorrow’s papers if you were to so much as box step with the season’s diamond. “That will not help you escape,” you point out.
“No. But it will delay the inevitable.” His smile grows sheepish. He adds lightly, “If I must face the entire ton as the Queen’s unfortunate jewel, I would prefer to do so with someone who remembers me falling out of trees.”
How cruel of him to pull out this card. To know that you would do nothing for the sake of capital-s Society, but you are at the beck and call of your childhood friend and his watercolor eyes.
“Your Grace,” you start.
“Lando,” he corrects immediately. “You—I will always be just Lando to you.”
“Very well,” you say benevolently, as if your heart had not done something particularly treacherous amid the abandonment of formalities. “Lando. If this ends in scandal, I shall remind everyone that it was entirely your idea.”
“Naturally.”
He extends his arm; you take it. Gloved hand in calloused one. The contact is brief, proper, and yet somehow startling all the same.
The ballroom swallows you whole the moment the doors open.
Music spills outward in a bright, lilting waltz. Candlelight multiplies across mirrors and polished floors until the room glitters like a jewelry box overturned. Silks whisper, jewels flash, and conversation rises in careful, eager waves.
And then the room sees him.
It happens almost physically. Heads turn. Fans pause mid-flutter. A murmur travels across the floor like wind across water.
The Queen’s diamond has returned.
You feel Lando stiffen beside you. “Ah,” he says quietly. “They have spotted me.”
“Shocking,” you mutter through clenched teeth. “A duke freshly declared the most desirable man in London. Who could have predicted such attention?”
“Your sarcasm is poorly timed,” he hisses.
It begins immediately.
A trio of ambitious mothers pivots in perfect formation across the ballroom. Two debutantes glance in your direction, whisper, and then begin drifting closer with the slow determination of hunting cats.
Lando exhales like a man watching enemy ships approach the harbor.
“Do not panic,” you say calmly.
“I am not panicking,” he says, panicking.
“You look as though someone has informed you of an impending duel.”
“This is worse than a duel,” he says grimly. “In a duel only one person wishes to marry you afterward.”
You laugh under your breath, but the advancing crowd grows noticeably thicker. Names begin to float toward him.
“Your Grace!”
“Duke Norris!”
“My lord, what an honor!”
Fans flutter like startled birds. Smiles settle with frightening efficiency. Lando’s hand tightens slightly around yours before he seems to remember himself and releases it with suspicious haste.
Too late. Three matrons have already noticed.
“Oh,” he says faintly.
“What?”
“They saw that.”
“Saw what?”
“The hand,” he says. “Our hands were visible.”
“Lando,” you say patiently, “holding hands does not constitute a scandal.”
“It does when you are the Queen’s freshly polished jewel,” he grumbles.
The crowd closes in another step. A young lady with very determined curls edges forward, guided by a mother whose smile resembles military strategy. Lando glances at the approaching formation. Then he looks at you.
You recognize that look immediately. It is the same expression he once wore before attempting to ride the vicar’s horse backwards during a summer fair.
“No,” you say, even though he hasn’t said anything yet.
“Yes,” he says, then he tacks on a quick “sorry!” like it might solve whatever he is about to spring on you
“Lando—”
But he has already turned to the room. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out, his voice carrying with alarming clarity.
The nearby cluster pauses. You stare at him in horror. He is smiling. It is the sort of charming, reckless smile that has caused half of London’s gossip columns to speculate whether he had illegitimate children.
“I fear,” Lando announces, “that I must beg your indulgence this evening.”
Several hopeful mothers lean forward. In contrast, you contemplate how far away you can bolt.
“You see,” he says, “I have already resolved to begin a courtship.”
The silence that follows is so complete you can hear the violins falter for half a note. You know what is coming; it does not take a scholar to guess where he is heading.
Still, like a fool, you hope he could be wise for once.
Lando gestures directly to you. No wise men here.
“I wish to court my neighbor and oldest friend,” he says cheerfully.
The ballroom explodes. Gasps ripple outward like thrown stones. Fans snap open. Heads turn. Somewhere behind you a glass is dropped with a delicate crash.
You stare at him.
“My lord,” you say through a perfectly pleasant smile.
“Yes?”
“What,” you continue sweetly, “do you think you are doing?”
“Surviving,” he whispers back, the shite-eating grin never leaving his face.
Across the room, several mamas are already recalculating their strategies with visible disappointment. Unfortunately, the rest of the ton appears even more interested now—because nothing delights society quite so much as a surprise romance.
Lando, apparently satisfied with the chaos he has created, offers you his arm once again. “Shall we,” he murmurs, “before someone asks inconvenient questions?”
You do not move. “You just announced a courtship,” you hiss.
“A temporary one,” he assures you.
“You did not say temporary!”
“Details,” he shrugs.
You should have left him for dead when he was being chased by stray dogs way back when. You’re convinced you’re about to blow a fuse when you notice the complicated way his expression has shifted.
For all the dramatics, for all the reckless charm, there is a flicker of something tender in his gaze. It is fond and hopeful all at once, and it is far from the first time you’ve fallen for it.
It is deeply inconvenient.
“You are insufferable,” you inform him.
“I am aware,” he says.
The orchestra, perhaps sensing drama worth encouraging, launches into a brighter waltz. Several onlookers have already begun whispering with gleeful enthusiasm.
Lando leans closer. “Please,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, “tell me you will not abandon me to them.”
You glance toward the watching crowd. You really ought to leave him in the lions’ den. Instead, you find yourself gingerly muttering, “You owe me.”
Lando’s shoulders relax instantly.
“But,” you add, “you will spend the rest of the evening explaining exactly how you intend to escape the consequences of your own stupidity.”
He beams. “I was hoping you would help me think of something.”
You slip your hand through his arm. The orchestra swells as though it has personally been waiting for this show. Which, given the enthusiasm of British musicians, is entirely possible.
Lando leads you onto the dance floor before you can reconsider your life choices. The movement is swift, decisive, and—most irritatingly—perfectly elegant. His hand settles at your waist with practiced ease, warm even through the layers of silk and propriety.
Around you, the ballroom watches. Not casually nor politely. No, the ton watches the way astronomers might observe a comet; certain something dramatic is about to happen and determined not to miss a moment of it.
“Smile,” Lando hums.
“I am smiling,” you reply through perfectly arranged teeth.
“You look as though you are planning my murder.”
“Give me time,” you say, saccharine as always, as the waltz begins.
He spins you smoothly into the first turn. The movement is fluid, graceful, and entirely infuriating given that he declared a courtship less than two minutes ago without consulting you.
“Plead your case,” you challenge mid-sidestep.
“I panicked,” he says simply.
“You announced a lifelong social development to the entire aristocracy.”
“Yes. A momentary lapse in judgment.”
“Momentary,” you repeat, barely resisting the urge to snort.
You glide past a cluster of whispering debutantes. Fans snap open. One lady nearly walks into a pillar while staring.
“They are writing our wedding announcement already,” you mutter.
“Talk about efficiency,” Lando cackles gleefully.
“Lando.”
“Yes, my darling, dearest?”
“You have created a disaster.”
“I prefer the term ‘solution’.”
“And you dragged me into it!”
“You were already there,” he says reasonably. “I simply made it official.”
Was it not the case for most of your lives? The only times you have run into trouble, it has been because of Lando. Before he was considered ‘bad’ for any man or woman who breathed, he was bad for you. Always drawing your parents’ ire, always dragging you into adventures that ruined your skirts and distressed your chaperones.
The dance carries you across the center of the ballroom, where observation becomes unavoidable. The Queen herself sits elevated at the far end, her stern gaze following every step.
“She is staring,” you whisper as Lando expertly twirls you.
“I know,” Lando whispers back.
“You ruined her plans.”
“I suspect I did.”
You complete another turn. His grip tightens slightly—steady, guiding, entirely too natural. The crowd murmurs approvingly.
Unfortunately, the two of you dance very well together. You always have. Another memory flickers through your mind without warning.
You, age thirteen, standing barefoot in the grass while he attempted to teach you a proper waltz before your first local assembly. You stepped on his boots repeatedly and informed him that dancing was a ridiculous social ritual invented by people with too much time.
He had laughed so hard he forgot the steps entirely.
You step neatly through a turn now. You like to think you are not the same teenager who would do anything to make Lando Norris laugh.
The dance ends. Polite applause ripples across the room. It would be flattering if it were not accompanied by intense speculation and three dozen whispered theories about your secret romance.
Before either of you can escape the floor, a royal attendant appears. “Your Grace,” the man says carefully. “Her Majesty requests your presence posthaste.”
You and Lando exchange a look.
The Queen’s private chamber is quieter than the ballroom, and also considerably more dangerous. Her Majesty stands near the window when you enter, hands folded behind her back with the posture of someone restraining significant irritation.
“Your Grace,” she says coolly.
“Your Majesty,” Lando replies with a bow.
You curtsy beside him. The Queen studies the two of you with visible skepticism.
“How convenient,” she muses, “that the diamond of my season has already selected his bride before the festivities have properly begun.”
Lando clears his throat. “Fortunate timing,” he says, his voice cracking ever so slightly in his attempt at light-heartedness.
Her Majesty does not appear amused. “You realize that I had several very thoughtful matches in mind,” she sniffles.
You remain silent, which is perhaps the most prudent thing to do. Lando does not have the same sensibilities.
“Your Majesty,” he says suddenly, “with the greatest respect—”
You glance sideways, raring to reel Lando in. No one who starts a sentence with that actually means to accord respect. You are thoroughly convinced you are about to watch your best friend put his head on a chopping block.
“I assure you this was not an act of defiance,” he continues earnestly.
The Queen arches a brow. Lando draws a breath.
Then, to your complete astonishment, he launches into what can only be described as a speech.
“Your Majesty,” he says, “I have spent years avoiding the expectations of society with every tool available to me. Scandal, poor reputation, dramatic exits—”
“We noticed,” the Queen interjects dryly.
“—but none of that was ever meant as disrespect,” he presses on. “I simply never met a circumstance that felt… right.”
His voice softens. “Until her.”
You freeze. Lando was known for his dramatics, not his honesty. As he goes on, though, a bit of the latter seems to bleed in.
“She has known me since childhood,” he continues. There is a quality to his voice that was not there before. It sounds dangerously like affection. “She has witnessed my worst ideas, my most embarrassing moments, and several ill-advised attempts to impress people I did not even like.”
The Queen watches him carefully. “And still,” Lando says, “she remained.”
He gestures slightly toward you. “Your Majesty, the idea of losing that to some calculated courtship arranged for appearances would be nothing short of agony.”
The word hangs in the air. Agony.
Lando trips over the word as if realizing the gravitas of it, and then he clings to it with the earnestness of a man who had just found what he meant to say.
“It has been agony to restrain my affection all these years,” he says, earnest in a way that makes your chest ache. “It has been agony to pretend I am anything but a helpless, hopeless man who aspires to grovel at her feet. I have agonized, and agonized, and agonized, and I only bear it because it has been for her.”
He takes in a deep, fortifying breath. “If I must be in agony,” Lando exhales, “let it be in her name.”
Silence follows. A long, twisting one. It is so quiet that you fear the chamber might hear the steady thump, thump, thump of your heart that has ticked upwards since Lando started speaking.
His eyes remain on the Queen, while your gaze never wavers from the side of his face.
Her Majesty exhales slowly. “You are either very sincere,” she says, “or very persuasive.”
“I hope for both,” Lando replies breathlessly.
Her gaze shifts to you. “And you?”
And you? You, with your disdain for society and all that it entails? You, whose pulse races every time Lando calls for you?
You, who—perhaps in some alternate universe that were not England’s conniving ton—would have loved to be the object of Lando Norris’ affections?
Alas, these are the cards you have been dealt. A ruse with a friend. Another one of the duke’s infamous pranks, albeit with higher stakes. You manage a composed smile.
“I am still recovering from the announcement, Your Majesty,” you say evenly. “And… er… the duke’s rather shocking revelation.”
For the first time, the Queen almost smiles. “Very well,” she says with a dismissive wave. “If this courtship is genuine, I will not interfere.”
Lando exhales quietly.
“However,” she adds sharply, “I will be watching.”
His shoulders stiffen again. The duke is no stranger to an audience, but to have a royal one is an entirely different tale altogether.
“If I discover this is merely a performance,” the Queen warns, “I shall personally arrange the most inconvenient marriage possible for you both.”
“Understood,” Lando says immediately.
“Best of luck,” the Queen says. She sounds like she very much means it.
The hallway outside feels significantly less threatening.
You and Lando walk in silence for several steps. You are the first to falter in your stride; Lando follows suit, looking over his shoulder before turning to face you completely.
The end of the eventful night is drawing to a close. You can feel it in your bones. Still, your heart races for reasons you dare not speak into existence.
“Well,” you say breathlessly.
Lando offers you half a smile, and says in agreement, “Well.”
You fold your arms over your chest as if it might protect you from some invisible, emotional blow. “That speech,” you say.
“Yes?”
“You were very good at pretending.”
A soft, strangled laugh breaks from the back of Lando’s throat. “Pretending?” he echoes, and oh, the genuine confusion in his tone is the thing of fairytales.
This is not supposed to be a fairytale. This is your life, and in your life, you are meant to be married off to some halfway decent marquess with whom you might live a perfectly boring life.
“The agony,” you sputter. “The childhood loyalty. The heartfelt declarations to the Queen.”
Lando looks at you for a long, long moment. The realization dawns on you both in the very same second.
It is in how his brow furrows, how your breath hitches. You have spent years running from the very truth that is just now catching up to your agonized, oblivious duke.
Solemn as a vow, Lando whispers with awe, “I do not think I was pretending at all.” ⛐
I love the way you write Lando! You bring such a gentleness and humanity to him. May I please make a request? I saw the cutest post of women saying things they're boyfriends did because they were so nervous to propose. "He was silent and increasingly anxious on the drive before randomly making sure he knew my middle name," "he wore dress shoes to go hiking," "I said we didn't have to go out because his stomach was upset and he went 'NO we HAVE to go.'" Could you just write so.e fluff about Lando being so nervous before proposing please? Obviously you don't have to include any of these examples.
What’s Your Middle Name Again?
Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Lando gets so nervous about proposing that he goes quiet, panics mid‑drive, and randomly asks your middle name just to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. At the overlook he finally blurts out a shaky, heartfelt proposal — and you say yes before he can spiral again.
Moonlight Radio: tysm! Hope u don’t mind I actually did use one of the examples 😅
It was a sunny, quiet afternoon, the kind where the world feels soft around the edges. You were heading toward the coast, Lando’s idea — “just a little day out, babe, nothing crazy.” He’d kissed your cheek when you got in the car, smiled like he always did, but something was off.
He was silent.
Not the comfortable kind of silence he sometimes fell into when he was tired or letting you pick the music. This was the tight‑shouldered, knee‑bouncing, jaw‑clenching kind. His fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was trying to send Morse code to the universe.
You watched him for a minute.
“Lan… you okay?”
He nodded too quickly. “Yep. Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine.”
Which, of course, meant he was absolutely not fine.
You reached over, resting your hand on his thigh. He jumped like you’d tasered him.
“Jesus, babe,” you laughed, “you’re twitchy.”
“I’m not twitchy,” he said, twitching.
He kept glancing at you, then back at the road, then at you again, like he was checking you were still there. Like he was checking you hadn’t somehow evaporated.
Another ten minutes passed before he blurted, out of nowhere:
“Wait—what’s your middle name again?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Your middle name. I know it. I know I know it. I just—just say it. For… for reasons.”
You stared at him. “Lando, you literally wrote it on my birthday card last month.”
“Yeah, but maybe you changed it.”
“My middle name.”
“It happens.”
“It does not happen.”
He gripped the wheel tighter. “Just tell me, please.”
You told him. He repeated it under his breath like he was memorising a password. Then he nodded, exhaled, and went silent again.
You were officially concerned.
---
The Cliffside
He parked near a quiet overlook, the sea stretching out in front of you, wind brushing your hair. It was beautiful — but he didn’t even look at the view. He just stood there, hands on his hips, breathing like he’d run a marathon.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. Okayokayokay.”
“Lando,” you said softly, stepping closer, “what’s going on.”
He turned to you, eyes wide, boyish, terrified in the sweetest way.
“I’m trying to do something,” he said. “And I’m trying really hard not to mess it up. And I’m trying not to throw up. And I’m trying to remember your middle name because I feel like that’s important.”
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, then stopping in front of you.
“You make me nervous,” he said quietly. “Not in a bad way. In a… ‘I want to get everything right’ way. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever.”
Your breath caught.
“And I’ve been planning this for months, and I had a whole speech, and I forgot all of it the second you got in the car because you looked really pretty and now my brain is soup.”
He reached into his pocket.
Your knees nearly gave out.
He froze. “Don’t—don’t look like that, babe, I’m gonna pass out.”
You laughed, tears already forming.
He pulled out a small velvet box, holding it like it might explode.
“I love you,” he said, voice shaking. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And I want… I want to spend my whole life being stupidly in love with you. Even when I’m old and wrinkly and still asking you your middle name because I panic.”
He opened the box.
Your hand flew to your mouth.
“Will you—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?”
You didn’t even let him finish the sentence before you threw your arms around him, nearly knocking him backward.
“Yes,” you whispered against his neck. “Yes, Lando. Of course I will.”
He let out a breath that sounded like relief and disbelief and pure joy all at once. His arms wrapped around you, tight, warm, shaking.
“I thought I was gonna die,” he mumbled into your shoulder.
“You were very dramatic.”
“I was terrified.”
You pulled back, cupping his face. “You did perfect.”
He smiled — that soft, boyish, heart‑melting smile he only ever gave you.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
“Yeah.”
He kissed you, slow and trembling and full of every emotion he couldn’t put into words. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
Hello!! If it's not a problem could u write Kimi Antonelli with a reader who looks completly different from him, like reader has dyed hair, piercings and maybe tattoos?? Thank you in advance, Hope u have a lovely day!!
Ink & silver arrows
Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x Reader(y/n)
Warnings: hate from fans to yn, protective kimi, a little bit of angst
Summary: When heavily tattooed Y/N faces intense public backlash for dating F1's golden boy Kimi Antonelli, she hides away from the toxic paddock. Tired of seeing her hurt, Kimi bypasses team PR to post a fierce statement alongside intimate, candid photos of them together, demanding the world back off and respect his relationship.
Requested: Yes/Anon
Requests open
Word count: 4274
Author’s note: I really hope this is what you imagined when you sent me this, if it is not you can always send me another ask and i’ll make it better and closer to what you were expecting. Thanks for the request!! xx
Masterlist
The contrast between the two of you was something the media couldn’t have scripted better if they tried.
Andrea Kimi Antonelli was motorsport’s golden boy. At nineteen, he carried the pristine, polished weight of the Silver Arrows on his young shoulders. He was all soft curls, polite Italian-accented English, iron-clad discipline, and a media-trained smile that made sponsors swoon. He wore tailored team kit, lived in gym clothes or crisp button-downs, and moved through the paddock with the effortless, protected grace of a prodigy who had been groomed for the pinnacle of racing since he was in diapers.
Then, there was you.
You were a walking, breathing disruption to the sterile, corporate aesthetic of the Formula 1 paddock. Your skin was a canvas of dark, intricate tattoos,sleeves that crawled up your arms, a delicate piece tracing your collarbone, and a collection on your legs that peeked out whenever you wore shorts. You had a septum piercing that caught the harsh garage lights, a silver hoop in your lip, and a wardrobe consisting almost entirely of oversized vintage band tees, distressed denim, heavy combat boots, and dark eyeliner. You didn’t do corporate. You didn’t do PR-friendly. You were loud in your visual existence, entirely unapologetic, and fiercely independent.
You had met a few months ago through a mutual friend at a low-key music venue in Milan, a place Kimi had sneaked into just to breathe a little bit of normal air away from the suffocating pressure of his looming rookie F1 season. You hadn’t treated him like a future world champion. In fact, you’d jokingly told him his shoes were "painfully basic." He had fallen fast, hard, and completely out of view of the public eye.
For the first few months, your relationship existed in a beautiful, sacred bubble. It was found in late-night drives through Italy, listening to heavy basslines while he rested his hand on your knee. It was found in quiet hotel rooms where he would trace the lines of your tattoos with his fingers, completely fascinated by the art, while you ran your hands through his unruly curls. He loved your edge; you loved his softness. It worked because you balanced each other perfectly.
But bubbles in Formula 1 are built to burst.
With the European leg of the season in full swing, Kimi had gently asked if you would come to a race. He wanted you there. He wanted to look over at the engineering desk and see his favorite person. You had agreed, knowing it meant going public, but vastly underestimating what that actually meant.
The Imola paddock was a sensory overload. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber and high-octane fuel, and the sea of people dressed in identical, color-coded team gear.
You walked beside Kimi, your hand tucked firmly into his. You had tried to compromise slightly on your style, wearing a clean, vintage Mercedes jacket, but you hadn't hidden who you were. Your combat boots clattered against the asphalt, your septum ring glinted in the Italian sun, and your heavily tattooed arms were on full display.
The moment the two of you stepped past the turnstiles, the cameras found you. The clicks were deafening, a rapid-fire assault of shutters. Kimi tightened his grip on your hand, giving you a reassuring smile, pulling you close against his side.
"You okay?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din.
"Yeah. Just feels like being a zoo animal," you joked dryly, though your heart was hammering against your ribs.
He laughed, kissing the top of your head, a rare, spontaneous display of affection that the photographers caught from every conceivable angle. By the time FP1 had started and you were sitting in the back of the Mercedes garage with headphones over your ears, the internet had already exploded.
The initial wave of reactions was pure shock. The contrast was too jarring for the internet to process quietly.
@user1: KIMI ANTONELLI HAS A GIRLFRIEND?! And she looks like she listens to heavy metal and fights people in mosh pits?! We are losing our minds.
@user2: Wait... Kimi's girlfriend? She looks so... aggressive? Idk I expected him to be with a quiet Italian model, not a tattoo artist's billboard.
@user3: The contrast is insane. Kimi looks like he’s being escorted to class by his cool alt older sister (even though they’re the same age). Not sure how Toto feels about this look in the garage.
Initially, it was just memes and lighthearted shock. You and Kimi actually laughed about it in his driver room on Friday night, sitting on his physio table while he ate a bowl of plain pasta.
"Look at this one," you had laughed, showing him a TikTok edit of him looking polite next to a picture of you looking like you were about to rob a bank. "They think I'm corrupting you."
Kimi had chuckled, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, his hands resting on your waist. "Let them think it. Maybe they will be more afraid of me on the track if they think my girlfriend is dangerous."
But the internet is an unstable beast, and the lighthearted jokes didn't stay lighthearted for long.
By the next race weekend in Monaco, the narrative had shifted from amusement to downright hostility.
Formula 1 fandom can harbor a toxic underbelly of traditionalism and obsessive parasocial relationships. To a certain segment of the fanbase, Kimi was their untainted, innocent golden boy. And in their eyes, you were a stain on his carefully curated image.
The comments under every single picture of you escalated into a torrent of vitriol.
"She looks so dirty. Look at all those ugly tattoos. She’s ruining his brand."
"Why is she wearing that trashy jewelry? She doesn't belong in a prestigious paddock."
“She’s definitely using him for clout and money. Look at her, she probably does drugs. Get her away from Kimi before she ruins his career."
“She looks like a demon next to him. Disgusting. Mercedes needs to ban her from the garage."
You tried to ignore it. You really did. You told yourself that these were faceless accounts, keyboard warriors with nothing better to do. But words, when repeated thousands of times a day, begin to seep into your subconscious like slow-acting poison. You found yourself looking in the mirror, wondering if your piercings really did make you look "trashy," or if your tattoos made you look "unapproachable."
The worst part, however, wasn't the digital hate. It was when it leaped off the screens and into the physical world.
It happened during the Spanish Grand Prix weekend in Barcelona. Kimi was tied up in a lengthy engineering debrief following a frustrating FP3 session where the balance of the car was completely off. You didn't want to sit in the cramped driver room anymore, feeling restless, so you decided to walk over to the hospitality building to grab an iced coffee.
You told Kimi’s assistant you’d be right back, opting to walk alone. It was a mistake.
The paddock was crowded with VIP guests, sponsors, and media personnel. As you walked down the concrete pathway, your boots clicking rhythmically, you became acutely aware of the eyes on you. It wasn't the usual curious glances anymore. It was cold. Judgmental.
A group of content creators and influencers standing near the Ferrari hospitality turned as you passed. One of them, a girl dressed in a pristine white sundress, didn’t even bother to lower her voice.
"God, she looks so out of place," she whispered loudly to her friend, gesturing vaguely toward your tattooed legs. "I don't know what Kimi is thinking. It’s kind of embarrassing for the team."
Her friend snickered. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes fixed straight ahead, your jaw clenched so tight it ached.
As you neared the Mercedes hospitality, a small crowd of fans with paddock passes were gathered near the barriers, hoping for autographs. As you walked past them, a middle-aged woman with a camera around her neck sneered openly at you.
"Hey! Stay away from Kimi!" a voice shouted from the crowd. It was a young girl, probably no older than eighteen, looking at you with pure disgust. "You’re going to ruin his focus! He doesn't need a freak like you distracting him!"
A few people laughed. Someone else chimed in, "Go get another tattoo and leave him alone!"
A hot wave of humiliation washed over you. Your skin felt like it was on fire. You didn't look at them. You didn't snap back, though every instinct in your body screamed at you to flip them off or yell. You knew that if you reacted, there would be a video of "Kimi Antonelli's aggressive girlfriend attacking fans" on Twitter within three minutes. It would hurt him. It would hurt his career.
So, you absorbed it. You walked into the Mercedes hospitality, grabbed a coffee you no longer wanted, and practically fled back to Kimi’s driver room.
When you shut the door behind you, the silence of the small room felt heavy. Your hands were shaking. You set the coffee down, sat on the edge of the couch, and pulled your knees to your chest. For the first time since the public debut, tears spilled over your eyelashes, hot and angry, tracking down your cheeks.
You felt completely isolated. You couldn't even walk twenty yards to get a drink without being degraded. You felt like an alien in a world made of glass and corporate perfection, and your presence was shattering it.
When Kimi walked into the room twenty minutes later, his face was tight with the stress of the bad practice session. But the moment his eyes landed on you, curled into a ball, tear stains on your cheeks, the engineering data completely vanished from his brain.
"Amore?" he said, his voice dropping into a tone of immediate concern. He dropped his driver helmet onto the table and crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. "What happened? What is wrong?"
You tried to wipe your face quickly, shaking your head. "Nothing, Kimi. Just... a headache. And stressful day."
"No, do not lie to me," he said softly, taking your shaking hands in his warm, calloused ones. He looked up at you, his brown eyes filled with an intensity that belied his gentle nature. "Did someone say something to you? Outside?"
You bit your lip, trying to hold back a fresh sob, but the dam had broken. "It's just... everyone hates me, Kimi. They hate how I look. They think I'm trashy, they think I'm going to ruin your career. People out there... they were yelling at me. Telling me to stay away from you. Calling me a freak."
Kimi’s expression hardened in a way you had never seen before. The boyish, polite teenager vanished, replaced by a cold, protective fury. The muscles in his jaw rippled.
"Who said this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously quiet. "Tell me who it was."
"It doesn't matter, Kimi! It's everyone! It's the whole internet, it's people in the paddock, it's fans. I don't fit here. Look at me!" You gestured vaguely to your clothes, your tattoos, the metal in your face, the colour of your hair. "I'm the exact opposite of everything this world wants you to be with. I'm hurting your image."
Kimi let out a sharp, frustrated breath. He grabbed your face gently with both hands, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice fierce with conviction. "Look at me, Y/N. I do not care about 'the image.' I do not care about what some stupid people on the internet say, or some idiots in the paddock who have nothing to do but talk about others. I love your tattoos. I love your piercings. I love you. You are beautiful, and you are the only thing that makes me feel normal in this crazy place. You are not hurting me. They are hurting us, and I am not going to let them."
He pulled you down into his chest, burying his face in your neck, holding you so tightly it almost hurt. You cried into his shoulder, the heavy weight of the past few weeks finally lifting slightly, anchored by the absolute certainty of his grip.
But while his words comforted you in the privacy of the room, the hate didn't stop.
Over the next two weeks, it grew worse. The media started picking up on the fan narrative. Clickbait articles began appearing with headlines like: "Is Antonelli’s New Relationship a Distraction for the Rookie Prodigy?" and “Paddock Insiders Question Style Choices of Kimi Antonelli's Girlfriend."
You started staying inside the driver room exclusively during race weekends. You stopped going to the garage. You didn't want to be seen on the pit wall. You became a ghost, slipping into the track early in the morning before the gates opened and leaving late at night. You were miserable, hiding away like a secret he was ashamed of, even though you knew he wasn't.
Kimi noticed. He noticed the way you shrunk into yourself when you walked past mirrors. He noticed how you had started wearing long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of the summer races to hide your ink. He saw the light fading from your eyes, replaced by a guarded, defensive exhaustion.
He tried talking to the team's PR officer, asking if they could issue a statement or block certain accounts. But the advice he got was standard corporate protocol: “Ignore it, Kimi. If you feed the trolls, it makes it worse. Let it blow over. The news cycle moves fast.”
But it wasn't blowing over. It was eroding you.
The breaking point arrived after the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. Kimi had secured a brilliant podium finish, a hard-fought P3 that should have been a night of pure celebration. But as you were leaving the track late Sunday night, walking a few steps behind Kimi and his security guard toward the car, a group of drunk fans near the exit gates spotted you.
"Hey, look, it's the goth chick!" one yelled. "Hey, Kimi, find a girl who actually looks like she washes her hair! She looks like a mistake!"
Another threw a crumpled plastic beer cup. It didn't hit you, landing a few feet away, but the disrespect, the open hostility in the dark of the parking lot, was the final straw.
You flinched, pulling your hood further over your head. Kimi stopped dead in his tracks. He spun around, his face white with rage, and actually took a step toward the barrier before his security guard firmly caught his arm, whispering harshly in his ear to keep moving.
Kimi was practically forced into the car. The ride back to the hotel was dead silent. Kimi was vibrating with an anger so intense it felt tectonic. His fists were clenched in his lap, his knuckles white.
When you got back to the hotel room, you walked straight to the bathroom, closed the door, and looked at yourself. You looked tired. The dark eyeliner looked messy, your skin pale. You felt like you were dragging him down into the mud with you.
Outside the door, you could hear Kimi pacing.
He was done listening to PR. He was done "letting it blow over." They were destroying the person he loved, and he was going to put an end to it himself.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kimi opened his phone. He didn't call his manager. He didn't ask Mercedes for permission. He went straight into his camera roll—a private, sacred vault of the last few months of his life.
He selected photos that the world had never seen. Photos that captured the absolute truth of your relationship, far away from the sterile, judgmental eyes of the F1 paddock.
The first photo: A blurry, candid selfie taken in his kitchen in Italy at 2:00 AM. You were wearing his oversized team hoodie, your hair messy, laughing hysterically while trying to flip a pancake that had landed half off the pan. He was looking at you with pure, unfiltered adoration.
The second photo: A quiet moment on a beach in Mallorca during a rare three-day break. You were sitting on a blanket, your heavily tattooed legs stretched out in the sand. Kimi was lying down, his head resting comfortably in your lap, his eyes closed, while your hand—rings glinting in the sunset—was buried in his curls. He looked completely at peace, a stark contrast to the intense, stressed driver the public saw.
The third photo: A mirror selfie you had taken in a hotel room. Kimi had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. He was wearing his racing undershirt, and you were in a black crop top, your septum ring catching the light. The contrast between his athletic, clean look and your edgy, inked aesthetic didn't look conflicting; it looked like two puzzle pieces locking together perfectly.
The fourth photo: A close-up of your hands intertwined on the console of his car during a late-night drive. Your tattooed fingers, painted black nails, contrasted against his clean skin, holding on for dear life.
He uploaded the carousel to his Instagram account, where millions of fans followed his every move. Then, he sat down and wrote a statement. He didn't use PR language. He didn't use polite euphemisms. He wrote it straight from his heart, in clear, unyielding words.
Inside the bathroom, you were splashing cold water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. When you finally opened the door and walked back into the bedroom, Kimi was sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone resting on the mattress next to him.
The storm in his eyes had cleared, replaced by a calm, resolute stillness.
"Kimi?" you murmured, walking over to him. "What are you doing?"
He looked up, reaching out to take your hand, pulling you down to sit next to him. He picked up his phone and handed it to you. "I fixed it."
You looked down at the screen. Your breath caught in your throat. It was an Instagram post, uploaded just two minutes ago. The notification bar at the top of his phone was already scrolling so fast it was a blur of likes and comments.
You swiped through the photos first. The pancake mishap. The beach in Mallorca. The mirror selfie where he looked so incredibly safe in your arms. Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren't born of humiliation. They were born of overwhelming warmth.
Then, you read the caption.
@kimi.antonelli:
“For the past few weeks, I have watched the person I love be subjected to constant judgment, insults, and hate from people who know nothing about her, nothing about me, and nothing about our life.
I chose to share my racing career with the world, but I did not invite people to attack my personal life. The comments about Y/N’s appearance, her tattoos, her piercings, her dyed hair and her character are disgusting and unacceptable. To see this behavior follow her into the paddock, a place where she comes only to support me, is deeply shameful.
You see a contrast. You see 'opposites.' I see the person who grounds me. I see the person who holds me when the pressure is too high, who makes me laugh when I am stressed, and who loves me for who I am, not for the car I drive. Her tattoos are beautiful. Her style is hers, and I love every single part of it. She does not need to change to fit into this world; this world needs to learn respect.
If you support me, you respect the people I love. If you cannot do that, you do not support me. Mind your own business and leave her alone.
Ti amo, amore mio. Always.”
Your hands shook as you finished reading. You looked up at Kimi, completely speechless. In the highly political, corporate world of Formula 1, a driver, especially a rookie, releasing a statement like this without team approval was virtually unheard of. It was a massive risk. It was an act of absolute defiance against the PR machine.
"Kimi..." you whispered, your voice cracking. "The team... Toto... they are going to be so angry. You didn't ask them."
Kimi shrugged, a small, arrogant smile playing on his lips, the look he got right before he made a high-stakes overtaking maneuver on the track.
"Let them be angry," he said simply. "What are they going to do? Fire me because I told people to be nice to my girlfriend? If they want me to drive their car, they accept my life. My life includes you. Completely."
He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was a deep, fierce kiss, tasting of salt from your remaining tears, but filled with an undeniable certainty.
The reaction to Kimi’s post was nothing short of a cultural shift within the motorsport community.
Within an hour, the post had garnered over a million likes. The sheer boldness of a nineteen-year-old rookie drawing a hard, unyielding line in the sand stunned everyone. The media, which had been fueling the fire, instantly pivoted.
Drivers from across the grid immediately flooded the comments with support.
@lewishamilton: Standard set, kid. Proud of you for standing up for your girl. Protect your peace. Welcome to the paddock, Y/N! 🙏🏾🔥
@charles_leclerc: Well said, mate. People need to learn respect. Hope to see you both happy in the paddock next week. 👍
@mercedesamgf1: (An official comment left two hours later, after Toto Wolff realized trying to control the narrative was useless and instead chose to back his driver) Family protects family. We stand with Kimi and Y/N. 🖤
The fans who had been hateful suddenly found themselves on the defensive, heavily criticized by the broader community for their behavior. The narrative completely flipped. You weren't a "distraction" anymore; you were the edgy, cool girlfriend whom the future world champion was madly, fiercely protective of.
The real test, however, came the following weekend at the Hungarian Grand Prix.
You had told Kimi you wanted to stay home, still feeling a lingering anxiety about walking into the paddock. But he had refused, taking your hand and looking at you with those stubborn brown eyes. “If you stay home, they win,”he had said. “Come with me. Walk with your head up. Let them look.”
So, you did.
On Thursday morning in Budapest, you arrived at the track. You hadn't changed a single thing about yourself. In fact, you leaned into it. You wore a vintage cropped leather jacket, black cargo pants, and your heavy boots. Your septum ring caught the bright Hungarian sun, and your tattoos were proudly visible.
As you and Kimi walked through the turnstiles, the crowd of photographers was even larger than before. But the energy had completely changed.
The shutters clicked furiously, but as you walked down the main paddock pathway, people weren't whispering or sneering. A group of young female fans near the Alpine hospitality cheered as you passed.
"Y/N! We love your style!" one shouted, holding up a sign.
You paused, looked over, and offered a genuine, small smile, waving at them. The crowd cheered louder.
Kimi kept his arm slung tightly over your shoulder, pulling you against his side as you walked. He looked down at you, a proud, triumphant smirk on his face.
As you nared the Mercedes garage, Toto Wolff was standing outside, talking to a sponsor. He looked up as the two of you approached. You braced yourself, wondering if the team boss was going to pull Kimi aside for a lecture about his social media conduct.
Instead, Toto looked at the two of you, his sharp eyes softening slightly. He walked over, extending a hand to you first.
"Y/N," Toto said, his deep voice carrying a tone of absolute respect. "Good to see you back. I like the jacket. Very classic."
"Thank you, Toto," you said, shaking his hand, feeling a massive weight finally disintegrating from your shoulders.
Toto turned to Kimi, clapping him hard on the shoulder. "Good pace on the simulator this week, Kimi. Now go focus on the track. We take care of everything else."
As you walked into the private driver room, Kimi shut the door behind you. The chaotic, roaring world of Formula 1 was locked outside once again.
Kimi dropped his kit bag onto the floor and immediately turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, letting out a long, contented sigh.
"See?" he murmured against your skin, his hands tracing the familiar patterns of the tattoos on your lower back. "I told you. You don't have to change for them."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers twisting into his soft, unruly curls, pulling him close. The contrast between you was still there—the clean-cut athlete and the tattooed alt girl—but it wasn't a source of friction anymore. It was your strength.
"Thank you for fighting for me, Kimi," you whispered softly.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze fierce, steady, and full of a love that no PR machine could ever manufacture.
"Always, amore," he said softly, kissing your forehead right below your hairline. "Always."
Hi, i love your writing style so i wantet to ask if you could write some Kimi Antonelli x fem! secret girlfriend?
If you don’t want to thats fine too
Secrets In The Silver Arrow
Kimi Antonelli x Secretgirlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Kimi Antonelli and his secret girlfriend are tired of hiding. One leaked photo pushes them to choose each other publicly, and Kimi seals it with a Silverstone podium kiss that tells the world exactly who he loves.
You learned very early that loving a Formula 1 driver meant learning to live in the shadows.
Not because Kimi wanted to hide you — if anything, he was the one who clung to you like gravity, the one who whispered “stay” into your hair when you tried to slip out of his hotel room before sunrise. But he was young, new, under a microscope so intense it felt like it could burn through steel. Every headline, every camera flash, every stray rumor could become a storm.
So the two of you built a world behind closed doors. A world of quiet mornings, stolen touches, and the kind of love that felt too fragile and too precious to expose to the noise outside.
And for a while, that was enough.
---
1. The Night Before the Storm
The Bahrain paddock buzzed with the electricity of a new season. Mechanics rushed, engineers murmured, journalists prowled. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Kimi Antonelli — Mercedes’ golden prodigy — was pretending he wasn’t looking for you.
You watched him from the edge of the hospitality suite, hidden behind a column like you were in some ridiculous spy movie. He was in his race suit, half-zipped, curls damp from the heat, eyes scanning the room with a subtle desperation only you could recognize.
You texted him.
You: Stop looking for me. You’re being obvious.
Kimi: I’m not obvious.
You: You’re literally turning in circles.
Kimi: I’m stretching my neck.
You bit back a laugh. God, he was terrible at lying.
A moment later, his phone buzzed again.
Kimi: Come see me before quali? Just for a minute.
You hesitated. You always hesitated. Not because you didn’t want him — you wanted him in ways that scared you — but because every time you stepped closer to his world, you risked being seen.
But then he looked up. And even across the room, even surrounded by people, his eyes softened the second they found you.
You were done for.
You slipped into the hallway behind the motorhome, the one place cameras never seemed to linger. A few seconds later, Kimi appeared, walking fast, glancing over his shoulder before ducking into the narrow space with you.
“Hi,” he breathed, already smiling.
“Hi,” you whispered back.
He cupped your face with both hands, forehead pressing to yours like he needed the contact to breathe. “I missed you.”
“You saw me last night.”
“That was last night,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “This is now.”
You melted. You always melted.
He kissed you — soft, quick, but full of that quiet urgency he never showed anyone else. The kind of kiss that said I wish I could do this in the open.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again. “I hate hiding.”
“I know.”
“I want to tell people.”
“I know.”
“But I won’t,” he added quickly, voice firm. “Not until you say it’s okay.”
And that — that was why you stayed. Because he never pushed. Never demanded. Never made you feel like a secret out of shame.
He made you feel like a secret because he wanted to protect you.
“Go,” you whispered, smoothing the collar of his suit. “You have a job to do.”
He kissed your cheek, lingering. “You’re my good luck.”
“You don’t need luck.”
He grinned. “Maybe not. But I need you.”
---
2. The Breaking Point
The season rolled on. Podiums. Interviews. Pressure. And every weekend, you were there — tucked into corners, slipping into his room after midnight, leaving before dawn.
But the more successful he became, the harder it got.
The cameras followed him everywhere. Fans dissected every expression. Journalists speculated about his personal life with unnerving confidence.
And then came Monaco.
You should’ve known better than to walk through the paddock at the same time he did. You kept your distance, but someone snapped a photo — you, in the background, looking in his direction.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t proof.
But it was enough.
That night, Kimi found you sitting on the balcony of his hotel suite, staring at the glowing screen of your phone as Twitter spiraled into theories.
He sat beside you, thigh pressed to yours. “Talk to me.”
“I’m ruining things for you.”
“You’re not.”
“They’re already guessing. They’re already digging. If they find out—”
He took your phone gently, set it aside, and turned your face toward him. “If they find out, then they find out.”
Your breath caught. “Kimi—”
“I’m not ashamed of you,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you. Proud to love you.”
Your heart cracked open.
“But,” he continued, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “I won’t force you into the spotlight. If you want to keep this private, we will. If you want to tell the world, we will. If you want to disappear to a cabin in the mountains and never speak to anyone again—”
You snorted. “Tempting.”
He smiled. “Whatever you want, I want.”
You leaned into him, letting his arm wrap around you, letting the weight of his certainty anchor you.
“I just don’t want to be the reason people question you,” you whispered.
“They can question me all they want,” he murmured into your hair. “I know who I am. And I know who I love.”
You closed your eyes.
And for the first time, you wondered if maybe — just maybe — you were strong enough to be loved publicly.
---
3. The Decision
It happened in Silverstone.
Maybe it was the home crowd. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the way Kimi looked at you that morning — like he was done pretending he didn’t want the world to know.
You watched qualifying from the back of the garage, hidden behind a wall of engineers. Kimi put the car on the front row. The team erupted. And when he climbed out of the cockpit, helmet off, curls wild, eyes bright—
He looked straight at you.
Not at Toto. Not at the cameras. Not at the fans.
You.
And he didn’t look away.
Your heart hammered. Your breath caught. And suddenly, hiding felt… wrong. Like shrinking yourself for the comfort of strangers.
When he walked toward you after the session, you stepped out from behind the engineers before you could overthink it.
His eyes widened — surprise, then hope, then something warm and fierce.
“Kimi,” you whispered when he reached you, “I’m tired of hiding.”
He froze.
Then, slowly, he reached for your hand.
“Are you sure?”
You nodded. “I want to be with you. All of you. Even the public parts.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.
And then he pulled you into his arms.
Not a kiss — not yet — but a hug so full of relief and love that the entire garage went silent.
Cameras clicked. People whispered. The world shifted.
But in his arms, you felt steady.
Safe.
Seen.
---
4. The First Public Kiss
It happened after the race.
Kimi finished P2 — his first podium in Formula 1. The crowd roared. The champagne flew. And when he climbed down from the podium, trophy in hand, he didn’t go to the team first.
He went to you.
You barely had time to register the movement before he cupped your face and kissed you — full, unapologetic, joyful.
The garage erupted. The cameras exploded. The world found out.
But all you felt was him.
His hands warm on your cheeks. His smile against your lips. His breathless laugh when he pulled back.
“You’re real,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “And you’re mine.”
You laughed, tears in your eyes. “I’ve always been yours.”
He kissed you again, softer this time. “And now everyone knows.”
---
5. Aftermath
The headlines were wild. The internet lost its mind. Your phone nearly combusted.
But Kimi stayed the same.
He held your hand in public. He kissed your temple before interviews. He introduced you to the team properly. He defended you online without hesitation.
And at night, when the world quieted, he curled around you like he always had — soft, warm, safe.
“You okay?” he whispered one night, tracing circles on your back.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “Are you?”
He smiled into your shoulder. “I’m perfect.”
You turned to face him, brushing your fingers through his curls. “We did it.”
“We did,” he whispered, kissing your palm. “No more hiding.”
“No more hiding,” you echoed.
And for the first time, the world felt big enough for both of you.
Synopsis: After Kimi’s win in China, his secret girlfriend is spotted sneaking out of his room, sparking grid-wide gossip. A week later, he confirms the relationship — and in Suzuka, after another victory, he publicly thanks his girlfriend, making their romance official.
Requested - Again this request was way too long to add to the top of the post, so it’s at the bottom… but I hope you like it!
China feels electric after Kimi’s win — the paddock buzzing, the air thick with celebration, the kind of night where everything feels slightly unreal. But the only place you want to be is his room, tucked away from the chaos, where the world shrinks down to just the two of you.
He barely gets the door closed before he’s kissing you.
Not rushed.
Not messy.
Just slow, warm, and full of that quiet intensity he never shows anyone else.
You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, fingers curled in the collar of his race suit top, pulling him closer. He tastes like adrenaline and mint gum, and he smiles into the kiss like he can’t help it.
“Congratulations,” you whisper against his lips.
He kisses you again, deeper this time. “Best way to celebrate.”
His hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing your skin through your shirt, and you melt into him. It’s soft and sweet and a little breathless — the kind of making out that feels like a secret language only the two of you speak.
No one knows about you.
Not the grid.
Not the media.
Not even his engineers.
Just your families — and they’ve been sworn to silence.
Kimi likes it that way.
He likes having something that’s just his.
Just yours.
But then his phone buzzes violently on the nightstand.
He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “No. Not now.”
You peek at the screen.
Cool-down room. Media. Immediately.
You laugh, pushing him gently. “Go. Before Toto breaks down the door.”
He kisses you once more — quick, soft, reluctant — and you slip off the bed, smoothing your hair as he grabs his suit top.
You open the door quietly, checking the hallway.
Clear.
You step out—
And walk straight into George Russell.
He stops dead.
You stop dead.
His eyes widen like he’s just witnessed a crime.
“…evening,” he says slowly, gaze flicking from you to Kimi’s door behind you.
You force a polite smile. “Hi.”
And then you speed-walk away like your life depends on it.
George watches you go, eyebrows raised so high they’re practically in orbit.
And George Russell, bless him, has the subtlety of a foghorn.
By the time Kimi finishes media, the entire grid is vibrating with gossip.
Lando corners him first. “Mate. Who was the girl leaving your room?”
Kimi blinks. “What girl?”
Charles appears out of nowhere. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Oscar joins in. “Do we know her?”
Even Lewis gives him a knowing smile. “Young love, huh?”
Kimi’s ears go bright red. “No comment.”
Which, of course, is basically a confession.
The gossip spreads like wildfire.
Group chats explode.
Memes appear.
Even the commentators hint at “a mysterious girl spotted near the Mercedes garage.”
Kimi pretends not to care.
But he’s terrible at pretending.
So on Sunday — a week before Suzuka — he finally caves.
He posts a photo.
Not of your face.
Just your hand in his, your bracelets visible, his thumb brushing your knuckles.
Caption:
“For the record — yes.”
The internet combusts.
And then Suzuka arrives.
Kimi drives like a man possessed — clean, ruthless, brilliant. When he crosses the line P1 again, the team erupts. He barely hears them. He’s already scanning the crowd for you.
He finds you behind the barrier, eyes shining, hands clasped over your mouth. He grins — wide, boyish, unguarded — and taps his helmet twice in your direction.
On the podium, he’s composed.
Focused.
Professional.
Until the interviewer asks, “Anyone you want to thank?”
Kimi’s smile softens instantly.
“Yeah,” he says, voice steady but warm. “I want to thank my girlfriend for supporting me. She knows who she is.”
The crowd roars.
Your phone nearly explodes.
The grid group chat goes feral.
And Kimi?
He steps off the podium, finds you in the chaos, and pulls you into his arms like he’s been waiting all day.
“Not a secret anymore,” he murmurs against your hair.
Can you do a Kimi x reader where Kimi has a race and took reader with him who's pregnant (also with him)
For Two
Kimi Antonelli x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Kimi brings you to the race while you’re quietly pregnant, and he spends the whole weekend hovering — protective, gentle, completely focused on you. After he wins, he goes straight to you, kissing you and resting a hidden hand over your stomach, celebrating the victory for all three of you.
You’d been to plenty of races with Kimi before, but this one felt different.
Maybe because you were moving slower.
Maybe because the heat felt heavier.
Maybe because every time you so much as shifted your weight, Kimi’s eyes snapped to you like you were the only thing in the paddock worth monitoring.
Or maybe — probably — because you were pregnant.
Not very far along. Not showing yet. Not public.
But enough that Kimi hovered like you were made of glass.
He walked half a step behind you, one hand hovering at your lower back, the other carrying your bag even though you’d insisted you could do it yourself.
“You okay?” he murmured for the fourth time in ten minutes.
You smiled. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced.
He never looked convinced anymore.
The Mercedes garage was buzzing, engineers weaving around, screens flashing, the usual pre‑race chaos. But the moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted — just slightly, just enough.
People softened around you.
Mechanics smiled at you with that quiet, knowing warmth.
His race engineer offered you a chair before you even asked.
Someone brought you a bottle of cold water without a word.
You weren’t sure if they knew.
You weren’t sure if Kimi had told them.
But they treated you like you were carrying something precious.
And maybe you were.
Kimi crouched in front of you as you sat down, tying your shoelace even though it wasn’t untied.
“Kimi,” you laughed, “I can do that.”
“I know,” he said, fingers lingering on your ankle, “but I want to.”
His eyes lifted to yours — soft, young, terrified, proud.
You reached out and brushed his cheek with your thumb.
“Go focus,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”
He hesitated.
He always hesitated now.
Then he leaned in and kissed your stomach — barely a touch, hidden by the angle of your body and the noise of the garage — and whispered something only the two of you and the tiny life inside you could hear.
“For luck.”
Your breath caught.
He stood, kissed your forehead, and finally went to get ready.
---
During The Race
You watched from the back of the garage, headphones on, heart pounding harder than it ever had before.
Every overtake made your stomach twist.
Every radio message made your chest tighten.
You’d always been nervous watching him race, but now?
Now it felt like your heartbeat was tied to his.
Sometime around lap 30, Toto walked by, glanced at you, and said quietly, “He’s driving like he has something extra to protect today.”
You swallowed. “He does.”
Toto nodded like he already knew.
---
The Win
When Kimi crossed the finish line first, the garage erupted — cheers, claps, shouts, the whole place vibrating with pride.
But Kimi didn’t celebrate like he usually did.
He didn’t jump.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t even take off his helmet right away.
He looked straight into the garage — straight at you — and pointed.
Not a dramatic point.
Not a showy one.
Just a small, private gesture that said you.
You felt your eyes sting.
When he finally ran in, sweaty and breathless and glowing, he didn’t go to the team first. He didn’t go to the cameras. He didn’t go to anyone but you.
He cupped your face, kissed you — slow, grounding, full — and rested his forehead against yours.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice shaking with adrenaline.
You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Are you?”
He laughed, breathless. “I am now.”
His hand slid down, warm and gentle, resting over your stomach for just a second — hidden between your bodies, invisible to everyone else.
“For both of you,” he murmured.
Your heart cracked open.
---
Later, When The Garage Had Calmed
You sat on a stool while Kimi changed out of his suit, still buzzing from the win. He kept glancing over at you every few seconds, like he needed to confirm you were still there.
When he finally came over, hair damp, wearing his team shirt, he knelt in front of you again.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
You brushed his hair back. “Kimi, I’m fine. Really.”
He exhaled, leaning his cheek into your palm.
“I just… I want to do this right,” he said quietly. “All of it. Racing. Us. The baby. I want to be good at it.”
You smiled, pulling him closer.
“You already are.”
He kissed your stomach again — a little braver this time, a little more certain — and whispered:
Relocating to Melbourne for your job meant finding a place to stay. So when your long term crush Oscar Piastri offers a room for you. How could you refuse?
𑣲 Authors notes ᐟ this fic is a short drabble I put together last night after rewatching 'Children of the sea'. I waffled quite alot but I hope you guys like my writing style .ᐟ
Reader is a marine biologist and is close with Robert Irwin. Oscar acts like an awkward bean around you. Lots and lots of fluff involved + pining .ᐟ.ᐟ
❤️ liked by mclarenf1, robertirwin, oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe and 17,456,00 more
y/nstagram G'morning Melbourne 𓆉
read comments
oscarpiastri you've already made the kitchen your home I see 🤔 168 replies ⤵︎
y/nstagram hey! Not my fault you have no taste in good home decor
lando you two bicker like an old couple
y/nstagram you're one to talk. You and Osc pretty much act the same way as we do
oscarpiastri don't bring me into this
lando I'm not the one crushing on him
y/nstagram lando?!!
oscarpiastri 😳
username omg what am I reading right now
username y/n has a cruch on Oscar?! I mean it was kinda obvious but hello?!!
username wow. Lando let the cat out the bag with this one
username y/n is soo gonna pummel him once she gets her hands on him lol. He better hide 🤣
Studying coral reef ecosystems meant having to constantly travel. And since you were based in London, it was becoming quite tiresome. So when you were offered a job in Melbourne's Marine Conservation in Australia. You took up the offer almost immediately.
Unfortunately for you. Apartment hunting in Melbourne was harder than you thought. Oscar, overheard your conversation with Lando about struggling to find somewhere to stay. Offering a solution in a rather casual tone "I have a spare room."
You two go awfully quiet in the aquarium lobby after hearing his suggestion. Both still processing that he just offered you a place so casually.
Albeit the sounds of bubbles coming from the water tanks filled with fish nearby. Lando snorted like an idiot while you choked on your drink. Well, what other choice do you possibly have? You reluctantly accept his offer, voice cracking slightly as you spoke. "Really? Well. If you're offering then I guess it's okay."
"Way to make it obvious." Lando whispered to you as he nudged your shoulder playfully. You rolled your eyes at the brunette's suggestive comment. Lando could tell you were fighting back a grin. Failing horribly at trying to hide your excitement. "So what?"
"So what?" Lando repeats. Scoffing at your question. "You've had a crush on him since forever."
Oscar again. Happened to hear Lando. Since he was just standing a few feet away from them on the lounge chair. The Aussie looking up from his phone. Blinking a few times before glancing back and forth between you and Lando. "Who has a crush on who now?"
"Great." You groaned internally as you try to refrain yourself from choking Lando right then and there. As the poor Brit tries to change the subject. "Uhh. Should we order pizza?"
One thing was clear to Lando before you left for Melbourne. Oscar was seemingly smitten for you. While you were oblivious to the signs. He was hoping the two of you would sort it out sooner rather than later.
Flying there was easy. You got to your flight on time after getting dropped off by Lando who offered you a ride. All your suitcases weighed perfectly. No major incidents occuring on the way to Oscar's apartment. But now that you were standing infront the red bricked place in Fitzroy, you were beginning to have second thoughts.
"This is a bad idea." You mumble to Lando over the phone. Visibly distressed and distraught at the idea of spending time with Oscar in his own home.
"It'll be fine." Lando replies. Sounding pretty entertained as he let out a small laugh. "Besides. It's only temporary until you find your own place."
'Right. Just a few weeks,' you thought. Gripping the handles of your suitcases before ringing on his doorbell.
Fitzroy was everything you hoped it would be. Beautfiul cafe's tucked away in small alleyways. Parks filled with people enjoying the sun. With the Yarra river nearby for you to have relaxing walks with Oscar early in the morning. Just before work.
You somehow, converted him into a morning person. Now he'd wait for you in kitchen downstairs making breakfast, with a neatly tied apron. Where you had decorated the shelves with many Studio Ghibli ornaments and trinkets. And fridge magnets that held notes, schedules and pictures of the two of you. Oscar didn't mind. In fact, he encouraged you to collect more. Especially loving the black cat Jiji.
Also you tried to ignore how good he looked with his messy bed hair and the lazy, boyish grin he gave you while he offered you pancakes. Which you accept glady.
"If you need anything just ask." He would say. Simple, but with care.
He was annoyingly easy to live with. Keeping in mind that he is and still was your long term crush. Helping you carry your shopping or your research whenever your hands got full. Making sure you felt comfortable around him and tries to keep his distance out of respect.
To make things worse. An instagram post you had uploaded earlier that day had gotten viral thanks to your loose lipped friend, Lando. Exposing your secret in the comment section for the whole world to see. Including Oscar. Over a petty joke you made about his dynamic with the Aussie.
Even after deleting the post, the damage had been done. Oscar had seen the comment but chose not to say anything. Figuring it was best to hear it from you instead. So he waited for when the time was right to ask.
Robert Irwin in the meantime, would visit you at the conservation you worked at. Often bringing his own notes about sea life and ensuring that you settled in perfectly. Oscar knew your work revolved around coral reef restoration projects and protecting endangered sea turtles. One day, he gets an invite from to visit the Marine conservation centre. Which wasn't too far from Melbourne.
When he arrived. He spots a group of school kids surrounding you in the open ocean exhibit. Each child bombarding you with questions about what you do and how you save sea creatures. Oscar stood off to the side for a moment. Wanting to observe from afar as a smile grew on his lips when he overhears the kids argue whether a whale shark was a whale or not.
Your eyes soon met with his across the dimly lit room of the research centre. Oscar gave you a small wave. The Smile on his face not faltering as he stayed perfectly calm. Although, his own heart beating rather erratically gave him away when you walked towards him with a clipboard clasped to your chest.
"Hey! You made it." You say softly. Trying to ignore the group of kids giggling in the background as Oscar stood awkwardly infront of them all. "Yeah I mean. You invited me. So there's no reason for me to refuse."
There was no time for you to retort when a familiar voice joins into the conversation. "Oscar? Is that you?"
You turn around to see Robert jogging over to you both with his own group of kids in tow. He then stands beside you with his hands on his hips and a bright grin on his face.
"She told me you were coming." Robert referrs to you as he nods his head towards your direction. "But I had to come over to see for myself. How're you doing mate?"
"Pretty good actually." Oscar replies politely. Shaking the blonde haired man's hand firmly when Robert offers it. To make the mood a little less awkward, he makes a joke. "Looks like the two of you got a wayy cooler job than I do."
Robert laughs as his arm reached for your shoulder. Placing his hand just above it for support while he spoke. You didn't mind. But it did make Oscar shift uncomfortably on the spot. "Depends who you ask. Most of these kids would love to trade places with you for a day."
A child nearby named Lucas raised his hand almost immediately. Knowing exactly who Oscar was. "I would!"
The rest of them joining in as they soon forced you, Oscar and Robert to do a tour together and have a good time. Midway through the tour. Oscar asks Robert a question. Something that had been on his mind for a while after witnessing the coral bleaching from his visit to the great barrier reef.
"So. If someone wanted to help. What would actually make a difference?"
Robert appreciated his question. Thinking of a simple way to explain it to Oscar in the best way possible. "Conservations exist because we want people to care. Whether it's wildfires, reefs or forests. Awarness is usually the first step."
Oscar nods as he listens intently to Robert's advice. He also noticed the close proximity you had with Oscar as the pair walked side by side. Shoulders bumping against eachother.
Then an innocent comment popped up in Robert's mind. One that sends both you and Oscar into orbit. "Your girlfriend's research has helped us quite alot actually. We already have some parts of the great barrier reef restored within just 2 months thanka to her imput!"
Oscar stopped dead in his tracks, the tips of his ears turning red as he laughed nervously. "Uhm...we're not dating."
Now it was Robert's turn to become flustered. Feeling guilty that he misunderstood your relationship with Oscar as he turned to look at you. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea --"
"It's alright." You interject halfway through his apology. Seemingly calm, despite your clammed, sweaty hands that were balled into fists and cheeks flushed due to embarrasment. Soon calming yourself before finishing off your sentence. "No harm done. Right Osc?"
Oscar hesitantly nods in agreement. He also, was recovering from what he just heard. Nonethless. Both you and Oscar reassured Robert that it was alright. Soon carrying on with the tour with lots on their minds. The kids also teasing you and Oscar for the embarrassing encounter.
Months went by rather quickly. Melbourne was soon beginning to feel like home to you. And Oscar had become a part of that picture. Suggesting many places to visit all over Melbourne. Specifically in the area he grew up in.
It also became significantly hard to avoid eachother in such a big apartment. Meaning your hands would brush against his when passing by him in the narrow hall. Or when you two would have to sit together on the couch during movie nights.
Usually ending up with you in his arms. While he brings you in closer unconsciously in his sleep. Only to be totally embarrased when waking up to find you so close to him.
You noticed the small things he'd do for you that mattered. Like remembering your coffee order when you go cafè hopping. Bringing you snacks that you liked without having without mentioning it to you.
"Thought you might want these. I stocked up on them after you left for work."
Or calling you if he was coming home late and that you should lock up so that you wouldn't have to wait for him. "Don't wait for me. Just lock up like usual and don't open the door for strangers." He'd warn you over the phone. As if you were five.
Oscar found himself looking forward to seeing you whenever he came home. Usually because his house was pretty empty before you came along. Now the place was filled with your things. Including your trinkets, marine biology books that had piled up around the house. He even offered to move some of your stuff to his room. "No it's okay. I don't have plenty of room."
Polaroid pictures of the two of you stuck on the fridge with your magnets. He almost choked on his coffee when he caught you wearing his hoodie that looked way to big on you. Deep down, he actually thought you looked good in it so he let you keep it.
Overall, he was just happy you were there and wondered whether what Lando had suggested to him was true. That you had a crush on him for almost a year? That he had to know.
One evening, he plucks up the courage to ask you after dinner. As the sun was setting over the waterfront of St Kilda Pier, painting the bay with washes of oranges and pink.
Oscar leaned over the wooden rails, creaking slightly as he does so. He also fiddled with the bracelet that sat rather oddly around his wrist. Fraying slightly due to the ware and tear of the strings that was barely holding it together. Shells chipping on the sides after months of wearing it. Considering it as his lucky charm before races.
It was a simple band of woven cord threaded through tiny, cream coloured and pale blue shells. Compared to the expensive watches he usually wore. It was incredibly ordinary. Yet he couldn't find the courage to take it off.
Not when you so carefully crafted it together for him. Lando even pointed it out once. Already having a hunch on who may have made it. "You're wearing that thing again?"
Oscar glanced down at it and responded quite casually. "Yeah."
"It's not from who I think it is." Lando asks suggestively. Well, he got the answer out of Oscar eventually. The truth was embarrasingly obvious. He liked you back. Like alot.
He finally realised his feelings for you during a beach outing with friends. Everyone had been gathering shells along the shoreline for a project you were incharge of. Including a mass cleanup session after some teeangers had trashed the beach after a bonfire party.
You had sat cross legged in the sand for nearly an hour. Carefully threading the delicate shells through the silver string with precision. Occasionally fumbling a few times since your hands would shake. Eventually, you finished it. Just in time for Oscar to see. As he walking towards you with a gentle smile. "What're you up to?"
He was looming over you. Blocking out the sun as his figure stood infront of it, giving you a chance to look up at him without squinting. "Made this for you." You'd say, holding up your lovely creation for him to take.
"For me? Really?" He laughed softly before taking it from your hands gratefully.
"Yeah. It sort of matches your vibes. Don't you think?" You point to his outfit. True enough, he was wearing a cream coloured shirt and light blue shorts paired with some sandals. Oscar looked down at his outfit while nodding in agreement. "Hm. I guess you have a point."
He observed the bracelet carefully. Some shells were uneven but still somehow, they looked perfect to him. Oscar thought this was perhaps one of the nicest gifts he ever recieved. "I like it". He'd say. Voice full of endearment.
And when he peers down again to see your gentle smile. Eyes full of adoration. He loses it. He truly fell for you at that moment. "I'm glad you like it."
Months later and the bracelet rarely left his wrist. Only coming off if he needed to change or take a shower.
He invites you to the same beach before race weekend. Wanting to clear the air and tell you what was on his mind. You were in a meeting back at the conservation so he waited for you. And eventually you'd arrive. Almost slipping on the mossy, wooden stairs due to excitement.
Your eyes lit up when you spot the young Aussie in the distance. Standing next to the surf hut as he stood in the shade of the small shack. Leaning against the freshly painted wood. He waved at you, ushering you to join him.
"You still have it?" You asked when you spotted the bracelet. The only reason you didn't know he wore it often was because of your busy schedule clashing with Oscar's. Not seeing him as often as you should.
"Ofcourse." He responds softly. His cheeks flushing since he thought it was pretty silly that the bracelet held so much sentimental value to him. Then something unexpected happens. He feels another pair of hands touch his wrist. It was yours.
You, without hesitation. Admire your work as your fingers brushed over the shells. Smiling to yourself since Oscar seemed to care about your little gift quite alot. Oscar swallowed nervously yet stayed composed. Wanting to see what you'd do or say next. Sure enough. You do.
"So? What's on your mind?" You mumbled. Not looking up at him just yet. Oscar exhaled while rubbing the back of his neck. 'Here we go'. "So uhh...I was wondering."
"Yes?" You urge him to carry on. Finally glancing up at him with a curious look. Oscar licks his lips as he thinks of how to ask you out without being a total dork.
"Would it be stupid of me to ask you out on a date?" He asks quietly with that shy, boyish grin that you grew to love."Or I've completely misunderstood what we have?"
Albeit your racing heart rate. A smile appears on your lips, your hands slipping into his larger ones as you held them infront of you with the utmost care. "No. I don't think you've misunderstood. And yes, I'd love to go out with you."
Oscar lets out a sigh of relief and a small laugh. The look on his face -- faltered. It was more intimate. More loving. That also reflected in his actions as he tugs you forward gently. Hands moving away from your grasp and instead, moving towards your waist. He was close now. Nose nudging yours as he tested the waters. Breathing sort or rugged due to nerves. His eyes flicker from your lips back up to your eyes. "Can I?"
"Yes," you'd answer instantly. Breathless in anticipation. Yet you found yourself reaching up to move aside the hair that fell infront of Oscar's eyes. Him appreciating the gesture with a gentle smile. "Thanks."
And soon, his lips met yours. They were slightly chapped but oh so soft. As he moved rythmetically in a slow motion. Wanting to savour the moment. Sighing into the kiss in satisfaction.
The only sounds heard was your breathing and the faint sound of seaguls in the distance. Not forgetting the waves crashing against the shores as the two of you lose yourselves in eachothers arms. One rather enthusiastic, yet respectful. While the other calm, collected but just as equally hungry.
"You're so pretty," he'd whisper against your lips. Accent heavier than usual as your mind became a haze. His lips moving lazily but with precision. You find the time to make a joke inbetween kisses. "You too." Earning a small laugh from Oscar as he breaks the kiss briefly.
He was breathing heavily while you took the chance to drink in Oscar's appearance in all his glory. Hair messier than before and his slightly tanned skin flushed, while his pupils were dark and dilated. If you squinted hard enough, you'd also see the glint of mischief. Then that same boyish grin came back once again. " I wonder why I fell for you in the first place."
"Could say the same about you too." You mused. Voice barely making it past your lips. He leans in once more to press a gentle, loving kiss on your reddened lips. The rough pads of thumb swiping across, he was here to take care of you. To show you how much you meant to him. His love. His lucky charm. "Too bad. You're stuck with me."
now playing: intertwined — dodie
► •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:40
↻ ◁ || ▷
“oh, i'm afraid of the things in my brain, but we can stay here and laugh away the fear”
wc: 3.5k
summary: after the crash during fp3, all kimi wants is to find you — something real to hold onto when everything else still feels a little unsteady.
contains: post-accident scene, emotional hurt/comfort, fear and reassurance, vulnerability, physical comfort.
request: Hii! I wasn’t sure if u still do request but I wanted to request a kimi antonelli x reader fic! okk it’s like super angsty when he got into his crash at fp3 , and reader gets like really scared and stuff and then he comes back to the garage looking for reader and he is very vulnerable with her about the crash it’s just really angsty with reassurance💗thank youu🥹
━━━━━━━━━★
there’s a specific kind of silence that only exists at circuits.
it’s not an absence of noise — because the metallic roar of the other engines and the frenzied buzz of the garage never truly stop — but an odd, almost unnatural pause that surfaces when something goes terribly wrong. it’s as if the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room, leaving only a cold, dense vacuum behind.
you’re standing right behind the engineers, eyes fixed, barely blinking, on Kimi’s telemetry monitor. the coloured lines there — throttle, brake, speed — are like the heartbeat of your very soul. you’ve learned to read every oscillation as if it were his own breath.
and then, the signal just goes flat.
the graph stops moving. Kimi’s digital pulse simply vanishes from the screen.
"red flag. heavy shunt at turn nine", an engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. it’s a cold, clinical, cutting voice, devoid of any humanity, which makes everything even more terrifying.
it isn’t Kimi’s engineer, or anyone from your team, but likely someone from another crew who, as if it were nothing at all, sounds merely annoyed that such a nasty crash is getting in the way of the other drivers.
the screens switch to the replay and your world falls apart in pixels. his car, the number 12 Mercedes you know every detail of, every aerodynamic curve, loses the rear at over two hundred kilometres per hour. four to six lateral g’s. the impact against the tyre barrier is blunt, a sledgehammer blow you feel vibrating in your own sternum, as if your bone had cracked along with the chassis.
the car ricochets, turned into an obscene heap of shredded carbon and dust. the suspension hangs like a broken limb.
you forget how to breathe.
your hands, braced against the metal bench, turn white, knuckles popping as you anchor yourself so you don't fall. your ears start to ring — a sharp, constant whistle that drowns out the chaos of voices, footsteps, and tools dropping around you. the garage, once massive, now feels like a metal coffin.
"did he speak on the radio? has anyone heard Kimi? please, has anyone heard him?" your voice comes out strained, a desperate tone lost in the noise, but no one meets your eyes. they’re too busy, faces glued to the data, trying to understand the scale of the disaster and trying to make contact with him.
every second of static on the radio is a stab to the chest.
his engineer is already on his feet, headphones pressed tight by his hands as he raises his voice, pleading for a response. Bono barks commands at the team and moves closer, trying to reach Kimi just the same while signalling for the support crew to hurry.
you start to imagine things you shouldn't. you imagine his body suffering the whip of deceleration, his helmet thumping against the HANS device, the darkness taking over his vision.
the fear isn't just about a broken leg or a dislocated shoulder; it’s the fear that the boy who smiled at you and kissed your forehead before getting into the car will never be the same person again. that something essential broke there, against that wall.
"he’s okay", someone says behind you. a quick, rushed voice, thrown to the wind as if trying to convince themselves more than you. "he has to be okay."
you nod mechanically. but your gut doesn't believe it. your heart, racing, doesn't believe it.
because until you hear his voice — that young but focused cadence — and until you see the glint in his eyes beneath the visor, there is no certainty. the world is just one cruel maybe. and that’s the worst part of this sport. the hardest part. the most painful.
time becomes a strange, elastic substance after that.
you walk in circles in the small space.
stop.
stare at the monitors looking for a sign of movement in the cockpit.
watch the garage entrance, waiting to see the medical team.
waiting is a physical torture.
every tick of the clock weighs a tonne. every minute feels too long, an eternity stretched to the very limit of your sanity.
and even with the updates coming over the radio — “he’s out of the car”, “he’s conscious”, “he’s being taken to the medical centre” — nothing truly stills the tremor that started at the base of your spine and now dominates your hands. nothing in the world will calm you. not until he appears.
彡★
it was the longest twenty minutes of your life until the medical car finally appeared in the pit lane.
when the garage door opens and he walks in, escorted by two paramedics and the physio, the noise of the paddock seems to rush back all at once — but in a wrong, distorted, deafening way.
the voices of the strategists, the sound of the neighbouring teams' wheel guns, the camera flashes trying to capture every millimetre of your suffering... it all becomes an unbearable white noise.
Kimi is pale.
a grey pallor that is frightening, visible even in the small gap the helmet leaves for his eyes. his race suit, once pristine, is stained with dust and fluids, and he walks with a rigidity that betrays how his body is trying to protect the parts that were hit. he moves as if he were made of glass, fearing that any false step might shatter him right then and there.
but what hurts you most is his gaze.
he isn’t looking at the interviewers trying to talk to him about the damage to the car, nor at the press officers worried about what to say to the journalists.
he’s lost.
he’s looking for something — for someone. he’s looking for a safe haven in the middle of the shipwreck.
and you notice it the instant his eyes meet yours.
the fog of shock in those brown irises seems to dissipate for a second. everything you were holding onto — every ounce of control, every attempt to be the ‘rational person’ — simply breaks.
you don’t think. you don’t calculate the consequences. you don’t care if the photographers turn this into tomorrow’s headline. you just go.
you cross the space between you, cutting through the mechanics and ignoring the arm of a Mercedes official who tries to hold you back for ‘protocol’. to hell with that shit. to hell with protocol.
"Kimi", his name comes out as a sigh of relief and pain.
and then you’re in front of him. very close.
close enough to smell the metallic scent of adrenaline and sweat emanating from him. close enough to see how his breathing still hasn’t stabilised; his chest rises and falls in short spasms, almost as if he’s forgetting how to draw air.
what destroys you most is noticing the slight tremor in his hands. he’s still holding his gloves, but his hands don’t know where to rest or what to do. they just vibrate, a physical reaction to the violence of the impact that his mind is still trying to process.
"are you okay?" it’s a simple question. ridiculous, considering what you saw on the screen.
your voice fails halfway through, cut off by the sob you’re fighting to keep in.
he stares at you for a long second, motionless. it’s as if he’s... coming back to earth. anchoring himself in your presence so as not to float back into that moment of darkness inside the cockpit.
"yes", he answers, his voice muffled by the helmet, but the tone is hollow, as if he’s speaking from a rehearsed script.
you don’t believe it. not for a second.
"are you sure, Kimi? look at me."
silence. short, but heavy as lead. he looks away for a split second and then turns back to you, honesty finally winning over the driver persona.
"i hit it hard", he admits, so low that only you can hear in the middle of the garage chaos. "it was... very hard."
it’s the first time he’s let vulnerability slip in front of anyone on the team. and that alone says everything about the level of emotional toll that wall caused.
you swallow hard, the bitter taste of fear still in your throat.
"i saw, love. i saw everything."
"i know."
another silence settles, even denser. around you, the garage continues to function at a frantic pace — people coming and going, the spare chassis being prepared, orders being barked. but there, in that small space of a few inches between your bodies, time has stopped.
"you scared me", you say, the confession escaping before you can stop it. your heart still aches in a way you didn’t know was possible.
he looks up, and something in his expression changes. the rigidity in his shoulders gives way just a millimetre.
"i know", his voice is softer this time. more... present. "sorry. i didn't mean to..."
you shake your head immediately.
"no. don't apologise. never."
it’s not his fault. it never would be. motorsport is a sport of glory, but the price is paid in nerves and raw fear. and fear is something you can’t just switch off, no matter how hard you try.
there’s a moment where neither of you says a word. words are useless now. what he needs isn’t technical explanations, but a place where he can stop pretending to be indestructible.
you step a little closer, cautious, as if asking for permission without speaking. Kimi doesn’t pull away; on the contrary, he seems to lean his body into yours, seeking your warmth like a shipwreck survivor seeking dry land.
then, you take his hand. carefully, your fingertips barely brushing his dirty gloves, as if he were made of something precious that might shatter at the slightest touch.
he exhales slowly. and this time, the air truly seems to leave his lungs, taking a bit of that terrifying rigidity with it.
"i looked for you", he murmurs, his voice vibrating inside the helmet.
your heart tightens so much it physically hurts.
"i know."
"i just…" he stops, furrowing his brows behind the visor, his forehead creased with pain and confusion. "i needed to see you. to know the world outside was still real. that i was still here."
it’s simple. direct. devastatingly real. you squeeze his hand gently, a silent reminder that he’s no longer alone in that dark cockpit.
"i’m here. i’m not going anywhere."
he nods, closing his eyes for a long second, as if that single sentence were the oxygen he needed to keep from fainting.
around you, the chaos begins to close in. more engineers arrive with tablets, press officers are already prepping microphones, and the buzz about the ‘mistake from the season’s golden boy’ starts to grow. you notice Kimi’s discomfort immediately; his shoulders begin to tense, his eyes darting from side to side, cornered.
"come with me. let’s go somewhere else."
you lead him gently by the shoulders. one of the press officers tries to intervene, clipboard in hand, mentioning something about ‘quick interviews’ and ‘clarifications for the FIA’.
you don’t even stop walking; you just throw a look so icy and protective that the man recoils, the words dying in his throat.
when Toto finally appears in the corridor, his face a mix of desperation and paternal worry, he sees the way you’re shielding Kimi. he gives a small nod, a silent command for you to get him out of there immediately while he turns to disperse the crowd and the curious onlookers. you thank him with a quick nod and obey.
you guide Kimi through the paddock, acting as a human shield against the camera lenses, until you reach the door of the Mercedes motorhome.
as soon as the door to the private room closes and the sound of the latch clicking shut echoes in the small space, the weight of the world seems to finally collapse onto him.
Kimi drops his gloves onto the table with a dull thud and sits on the edge of the sofa, shoulders slumped, staring at nothing. he looks suddenly exhausted, as if he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.
"can you… help me take this off? i can’t... i can’t work the latches", he asks, his voice faltering.
you notice his hands are shaking uncontrollably. it’s not just the leftover adrenaline; it’s the shock. he doesn’t have the coordination even to open the HANS clips.
you kneel between his legs, taking up the space he gives you. with fingers that also tremble, but fight to be steady for him, you begin to release the carbon fibre tethers at his neck. when you finally pull the helmet and balaclava up, what you find destroys you: his face is flushed, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, and his eyes are swimming with pure, liquid anguish.
he winces in pain as he tries to shift his torso slightly to get comfortable.
"where does it hurt most, Kimi?"
"my neck. and my left shoulder. the harness... it yanked so hard on impact. i felt the jolt right at the base of my skull."
you help him out of the heavy race suit, peeling back the layers of protection until he’s just in his black nomex base layer. you guide him to sit with his back to you. your hands, warmed by the previous contact, reach for some numbing gel.
when your fingers pull back the suit and touch the warm skin of his nape, you feel the sheer tension. the muscles are hard as rock, vibrating under your touch. his heart is still racing so fast that you can feel the pulse at the base of his neck.
Kimi lets out a low groan. it’s not just the pain in his neck or shoulder protesting against the impact; it’s a sound of pure relief, the sound of someone who has finally stopped fighting their own exhaustion.
"it’s not just the physical pain, you know?" he suddenly blurts out after a few minutes of silent massage, his voice rising, heavy with a hurt he couldn't hide under his helmet. "the moment i hit... the impact was so sharp i blacked out for a second. it was a total black-out. pitch black."
your thumbs pause for a fraction of a second before going back to work on his tension.
"and when i opened my eyes..." he continues, his breath turning shallow again. "i couldn't feel my legs. for five, six seconds, everything below my waist was just... nothing. i thought it was over right then. that i’d never be able to get out of that car on my own again. i thought i’d spend the rest of my life watching a race track from a wheelchair."
"but you felt them afterwards, Kimi. you got out. on your own. you’re here", you try to keep your voice steady, even though you want to cry right along with him.
"what if next time i don’t?" he turns abruptly to face you, and now the tears finally spill over, heavy, down his cheeks. "i saw the steering wheel coming at me, i saw the tyre wall... and all i could think was that i’d ruined everything. that the team will hate me for destroying the car, that Toto will regret choosing me, that i’m not good enough. i’m only nineteen and i... i felt like my life was going to end at that wall, against a pile of rubber and metal."
you keep massaging the area, feeling your heart ache more and more with every word he utters.
"you’re not a machine, Kimi", you say, your voice low but filled with absolute certainty. "fear is part of what makes you great. if you weren't scared after a 6g shunt, you wouldn't be human. and no one here wants a robot. we fix the car, we discuss the contract... but you are irreplaceable. and Toto would never regret choosing you."
your hands move slowly up to his head. with infinite gentleness, you bury your fingers in Kimi’s messy curls, still damp with sweat and flattened by the balaclava. it’s an instinctive touch, a need to reach him to make sure he’s really there, whole.
at the feel of your fingers on his scalp, Kimi lets out a choked sob. his body, which had been as tense as a coiled spring, finally seems to give up the fight. he turns to you, buries his face against your waist, and cries.
it’s not a restrained cry, the kind a driver puts on to keep up appearances. it’s the cry of a nineteen-year-old boy who looked into the abyss and survived. it’s the sound of pure terror being expelled from his lungs.
you don't try to say anything. you don't try to give technical explanations for the crash or say ‘it was just a mistake.’ you just stay there.
while he cries against your stomach, soaking your t-shirt with warm tears, you keep stroking his curls. calmly. a slow, steady rhythm, as if your fingers could knit peace back into his mind. you lose yourself in the rebellious strands, feeling the soft texture, tracing gentle paths with your fingertips.
slowly, his breathing begins to settle. the sobs lessen in intensity, turning into deep, shaky breaths. he grips your waist tighter, anchoring himself to your presence as if you were the only solid thing in a world that just spun at two hundred kilometres per hour.
you stay there, with him. in the silence of the motorhome, with only the sound of his breathing returning to normal and the touch of your fingers in his curls. it’s a sacred moment, where formula 1 doesn't exist.
after what feels like an eternity, he leans back, looking at you again. your thumbs carefully wipe away the tears that insist on falling.
"i was so scared you’d look at me with pity", he confesses. his voice is muffled, almost a secret he was ashamed to keep. "or that you’d realise i’m not as strong as i seem in interviews. that i’m a coward. i wanted to be the hero who wins the race and dedicates the trophy to you on the podium, not the boy who comes back broken and terrified to the garage, needing help just to take his helmet off."
you stop your ministrations for a second. your fingers slide to his face, massaging his temples and cleaning a stubborn smudge of soot and rubber that still marked his cheek. you look at him with a tenderness that no broadcast camera would ever be able to capture.
"i don't want a hero made of carbon fibre and expectations, love. i want you. whole. with your fears, your pains, and your victories", your voice is firm, a necessary counterpoint to the chaos still reigning outside. "if you need to cry on my shoulder every time an FP3 goes wrong, i’ll be here. the world out there might demand you be perfect and indestructible, but in here... in here you’re no one’s successor, not a promise of success, not the athlete everyone is betting on. in here, you can just be Kimi. and the fact that you feel fear after a crash like that just like everyone else does, and yet you let your passion be bigger than your fear, that doesn’t make you a coward. it makes you a victor. brave. and i am so, so proud of you."
your words seem to hit him harder than the impact against the wall itself.
he gestures for you to sit beside him and he turns into your arms, hiding his face in your neck with sheer urgency as you draw near. Kimi breathes in your perfume deeply, filling his lungs as if your scent were the only pure oxygen available in the entire circuit, the only thing capable of clearing the taste of dust and panic from his throat.
"thank you", he murmurs against your skin, his arms wrapping around you again and squeezing you as if you were the only thing stopping him from floating away. "promise you won't leave? even if i crash again? even if i lose the contract? even if i never win a race again?"
"i promise. i'm not here for the driver, Kimi. i didn't fall in love with a race car. i'm here for you."
he lets out a long sigh, his body finally giving in completely. the defensive rigidity disappears.
"thank you for not leaving me alone here", he whispers, taking your hand with a gentleness that contrasts with a driver's strength and bringing it to his lips. the kiss he leaves on your knuckles is long, heavy with silent gratitude.
you stay there for a long time. the motorhome is an island of silence surrounded by an ocean of external pressures. the ice of the fright, that cold and paralysing sensation that set in the moment the red flag went up, finally begins to melt under the warmth of your affection and each other's presence.
he knows that, in a few minutes, the doors will open. he will have to face the doctors for final check-ups, the engineers to explain the mistake, and Toto to discuss the wrecked car.
but there, wrapped in your embrace and the silence of that room, he knows that, no matter how hard he hits the wall, he will always have somewhere to come back to.
؎ ka12 x reader ՞՞ ̆ non f1 au but ollie and kimi still race ̆◟𓏵ྀིྀ◞ smau وৎ ᴗ ᴗ) 𓎟
ㅤㅤㅤᱽৎ take this mini series as a sorry for me not continuing my other kimi smau... heh. also yes your friends are kpop idols because that's all i know
part 1 part 2
(gn reader / fluff / 2k words) taking kimi on a motorcycle ride leads to an unexpected confession
♫⋆｡♪₊˚ pierce the veil - song for isabelle
KIMI ANTONELLI SCRUNCHES HIS FACE AGAINST THE PADDING OF HIS HELMET AS HE SLOWLY ADJUSTS TO THE UNCOMFORTABLE FEELING. the fit is much tighter than his usual crash helmets. it presses into his cheeks, squishing the skin upwards and slightly obscuring his vision in the process.
kimi whips his head around when you stifle a soft chuckle beside him. the thick plastic coating blocks most of his peripheral vision, leaving him forced to stare at you head on. he scowls at you through the opened visor gap though you can’t make out much beyond his eyes. “what?” he asks, voice muffled.
you shake your head, still smiling to yourself as you take a half step closer. “nothing.” you raise a hand to playfully drag your fingers against the helmet’s thick plastic coating. your fingertips trace against the edge where kimi’s jawline would be, a small habit you had maintained through the years of knowing and loving him. “it looks good on you.”
for once, kimi is glad most of his face is obscured. still, he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears. he’s sure you notice, too, but you have enough grace to save your comments for now.
he glances away from your gaze to instead linger on your motorcycle. it’s admittedly very sleek in design — a black body decorated with a few streaks of red. he had teased you about getting the next one in teal. “to match mercedes colors,” kimi said. “i have a brand to maintain.”
“sure,” you had laughed. “maybe i’ll put a big 12 sticker on the front, too. really make sure i get the point across.”
“everything looks good on me,” kimi finally says. he shrugs like he means it as he lifts his head to meet your gaze once again. “took you long enough to notice.”
you roll your eyes but it lacks any heat. kimi smiles softly in response. it’s hard not to when he’s looking at you. it’s his one major fault, kimi thinks. he’s always looking at you: in crowded rooms, in the quiet lull in conversation at family dinners, even on the paddock when you wander off to gossip with the social media admins or other drivers.
“come here, then,” you say, gesturing to your motorcycle. your voice breaks kimi out of his own head as he stumbles to follow after you. “remember: lean with me. don’t try to fight the turns. try not to move too much behind me, it gets distracting sometimes. hold on as tighter in higher speeds. it helps with balance. and if it gets too much for you, hit my thigh three times and i’ll find somewhere safe to pull over.”
“don’t cause a crash. got it.”
you stifle another laugh. “yeah, pretty much.”
kimi pauses, watching as you finally reach to put your own helmet on. the movement is much smoother than his own had been. it feels practiced — like something you had done a million times. and you had. riding came as easy to you as riding did him. it was something that drew the two of you so close together in the first place.
with one final glance at kimi, you reach up to push the tinted visor over his eyes. he flinches in surprise for a second before smiling softly to himself. the world looks more orange through the filter. still, he can just barely make out the way your eyes crinkle at the corners with a small smile of your own.
you slide your right leg over the side, officially mounting the bike. kimi follows after you. he hesitantly rests his gloved hands against your waist. he grips tightly onto the thick padding of your jacket, leaning his helmet over your shoulder for just long enough to slide his shoes over the footrests at the back of the motorcycle.
in one smooth movement, you reach down to switch the motorcycle on. the engine roars to life beneath you. kimi’s grip unintentionally tightens around your sides. he jumps ever so slightly, still not quite used to the rumble of the vehicle against his inner thighs. you glance backwards just enough to meet his gaze, flashing him a thumbs up. ready?
kimi nods before giving you a thumbs up in return as well. ready.
you start slow. the motorcycle moves slowly as you maneuver through the city streets. landscapes blur in your peripheral vision. slowly, the buildings disappear, replaced by the countryside as you retrace a familiar route onto an empty highway.
kimi gasps as he wraps his arms tighter around your waist, leaning in even closer until his chest is pressed against your back. the wind rushes past you both violently. he’s almost sure he can feel it slipping beneath the helmet and whispering against his cheeks.
he laughs against your ear, clinging as tightly to you as your gear will allow. you steal a glance at him from over your shoulder. kimi’s hands have settled at your hips, now, holding you steady as much as he’s holding onto your motorcycle. below him, the bike hums when you switch the gear once again.
the speed is exhilarating. it’s like the air has been stolen from kimi’s lungs. he leans his helmet against your shoulder as he turns, watching the countryside pass by. the trees and grass look so much more real without the barrier of a car door in the way. they’re so close it feels like he can reach over and touch them.
you ride for hours; you ride until the sun begins to dip below the horizon and the engine begins to whine at you from a lack of gas. kimi’s hands never slip from their position wrapped tightly around you. it feels right, he thinks: his chest pressed against your back, head resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist.
the rest of the world fades away. the heat of the sun on kimi’s back keeps him grounded. the rumble of the machine against his thighs and the curve of your body against his own blocks out the pressure that had dragged him down far too much. he had to admit you were right. this was a nice way to escape for a little while.
kimi follows your body line when you finally slip onto an exit, shifting into a lower gear as you slow the bike. golden light filters across the evening. he doesn’t let go of you. not until you pull into some run-down gas station on the side of the highway, leaning to the side to switch the motorcycle off and lean it on its kickstand.
he leans back slightly, giving you enough space to slide off of the back before he follows. his legs feel a little sore the way they do after a rough workout or that time he did a practice session without stretching first — a good ache, but an ache nonetheless. you slip your hand beneath your helmet and tug it off, exposing your face for the first time in hours.
“good?”
kimi laughs. he nods, raising his hands to take his own helmet off. “really good!” he’s almost bouncing with energy. “that was incredible!”
your smile mirrors his own. you fall into an almost mundane routine. kimi circles around your motorcycle like a shark as you remove the gas pump from the machine and insert it into the tank.
“i told you it would be fun.”
kimi pauses, then. there’s an almost fond glint in his eyes as he pauses as if to take in a majestic view. your hair is slightly disheveled from where your helmet had ruffled it in the process of taking it on and removing it. the sun dips further below the horizon, slowly stealing the warmth from the sky as it does so. the gas station is admittedly run down. graffiti lines the outside walls and the only patrons seem to be the employees themselves. but it looks perfect all the same.
“hey,” you say, taking a tentative step closer. you’ve replaced the gas pump, shoving it back into its place at the machine and rescrewing the gas cap in your motorcycle. your eyebrows furrow slightly as your gaze scans over kimi. his face flushes. heat rushes to the apples of his cheeks and tints the tips of his ears so deeply he can feel them burning beneath his skin. “you alright?”
“yeah,” kimi breathes. for once, he doesn’t force himself to look away. he doesn’t step back or hide his face or make a snarky joke that wasn’t that funny until you laugh at it with your entire chest. instead he lets the moment linger. “more than alright.”
you offer a small smile in response. for a second your gaze falls to your feet and kimi thinks you might take a step away from him again.
but you don’t.
instead, you close the distance even more. “you know…” you begin, voice quiet. your eyes flicker back to meet kimi’s once again, now carrying a vulnerability that makes his breath catch in his throat. “i had fun today. like… i really enjoyed it. being with you.”
kimi swallows. “me too.”
for a few seconds, nothing else exists. it’s just you and kimi, standing in the middle of an empty gas station sharing shy smiles and nervous glances. you anxiously roll the fabric of your jacket between your fingers. it’s a nervous habit that had ruined the ends of plenty of your clothes and a few of kimi’s as well. he reaches out before he can stop himself, taking your hand into his own.
“i mean it,” he says quietly. kimi takes a half step closer until the tips of your shoes nearly touch. close enough to cross the line but far enough to let you pull away. your eyes are slightly wide when they meet his own once again. “there’s no one else i would rather be with.”
slowly, almost hesitantly, you lean in to close the distance between you even more. kimi’s lips part slightly almost on instinct. your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second. the action sends butterflies swarming throughout his stomach. “can i…”
kimi doesn’t respond verbally. instead he leans in until his lips gingerly meet your own. your eyes flutter shut on instinct. you reach up, tangling your hand into the fabric of his jacket to pull him even closer. his hands fall to your waist in response, stumbling even closer to you. you laugh into his mouth, earning a sheepish smile from kimi in return. “sorry,” he mumbles.
you pull away just enough to shake your head. “don’t be.” you reach up, then, carefully brushing a few stray curls out of his eyes. “you’re sweet, kimi.”
he smiles even brighter, letting out a soft groan as he hides his head into the crook of your neck. “you can’t just say stuff like that!” he whines.
“can’t i?” you laugh, reaching around him to rub his back. kimi stays like that for a few seconds. his breath ghosts against the crook of your neck and his hands slip to rest comfortably against your hips. eventually, you coax him to look at you once again. “i like you, kimi. will you be mine?”
kimi’s eyes widen. his beath catches in his throat as he stares at you for a few agonizing seconds. time seems to freeze around you. all that exists are you and him. all that matters is the way he’s looking at you.
and then, just as quickly, he’s all but jumping into your arms. you startle for a second, doing your best to catch his body and keep your balance at the same time. “yes! yes! a thousand times, yes!”
he leans in, catching your lips in yet another chaste kiss. this time it’s your turn to be flustered at the contact. you bite back a bright smile but a few giggles still manage to escape you when he begins to pepper kisses across your cheeks and the side of your neck.
“i like you, too,” he says quietly. “and i would love to be yours. officially.”
“good.” you smile brightly, pulling him back into a final chaste kiss. “now, put your helmet back on. we still have the ride home.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 inspired by my love of motogp and riding motorcycles and kimi attending the mugello race!!! also loosely inspired by this fic by @lxndonorris :)
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlists here and here <3
they went to school together. they spent years competing over absolutely everything. then they meet again in the formula 1 paddock: she's mercedes' new marketing director, he's mercedes' newest driver, and they're forced to confront one very inconvenient fact: they've liked each other for far longer than either of them is willing to admit.
genre: romance, something to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, childhood rivals, idiots in love.
warnings: kimi antonelli is bad at feelings, reader is somehow worse, shared birthday shenanigans, catastrophic lack of communication, croissant-induced near death experience, brief periods of sadness and soooooooooooo much fluff.
word count: 12.1k
a/n: answering yet another request that completely got out of hand. the original idea was just two people who liked each other reconnecting in the paddock years later, but unfortunately i like words far too much. a couple of notes before you start: frida is an original character created for this story and does not exist in real life, and the story takes place in 2025 because that's the year kimi joined formula 1 and i wanted to build from there. anyway, that's all! i adore this reader, truly. there are pieces of me all over her, and she means a lot to me. i hope you have fun following these two idiots through all the yearning, fluff, and emotional nonsense 🧡
Iconic rivalries had always existed. Everybody knew that almost as if they were destined to happen, as though the world wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining without them. After all, who doesn’t love a good piece of gossip?
Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost, Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, Marvel and DC, Pepsi and Coca-Cola — so many rivalries that became the foundation of global entertainment itself. Some ended in nothing, others in absolute melancholy, some still exist to this day, but every single one of them is remembered.
But there was one nobody talked about.
It all began on August twenty-fifth, two thousand and five, in a maternity ward. Same hallway. Two babies and a story your mother would never grow tired of telling.
You were an absurdly loud baby. Even the doctors were surprised by the strength of your lungs when you let out your first scream in protest against the great injustice that was leaving the comfort of the womb for this cruel world. But you weren’t the only reason that entire hallway wasn’t going to sleep that night. Two minutes later, in the room next door, a scream just as loud as yours echoed through every corner, almost as if it were trying to overpower the sound of your own. And since you had never been the type to take a challenge quietly, you screamed right back.
Okay, maybe it hadn’t actually started that night, with your tiny brains still far too underdeveloped to understand anything resembling rivalry. Many people liked to say it began when you were four years old, during your shared fourth birthday party held in the backyard of his house, when Kimi stole your knitted unicorn because he hadn’t gotten one himself.
But no — you knew the truth.
And the truth was actually much simpler: there had never been a proper beginning.
You were never best friends. Never archenemies. But somehow, you had always been inseparable. You and Andrea Kimi Antonelli, who had never existed without knowing of each other’s existence. You and Andrea Kimi Antonelli, who didn’t know a version of life where the other wasn’t somehow part of it. You and Andrea Kimi Antonelli, who were always trying to outdo one another.
For every achievement Kimi had, you came back with one of your own.
He joined karting; you entered the most prestigious writing and computer institution in the city. He won his first kart race; you had your work published in the local newspaper alongside a note of amazement from the town itself. He won his second race; you won the regional public speaking tournament.
It had always been like that, one achievement after another, an endless competition that fueled every kind of comment from every possible direction, even if you weren’t in the same field, even if the two of you weren’t trying to reach the same destination. It was always about trying to be the best. Always about seeing who would get there first.
Kimi, unfortunately, had always found this dynamic far too entertaining.
You remember that afternoon perfectly.
You had arrived at his house after your extracurricular activities at school and immediately ran up the stairs to his bedroom, barging in without even warning him first. He was sitting on the floor with headphones far too big for his head, a game controller in his hands, and he didn’t even look surprised to see you.
You tossed your backpack onto his bed, unzipped it, pulled out the newspaper and shoved it proudly in front of him.
Kimi blinked slowly once, then again, before setting the controller down on the desk and pulling off his headphones to properly take the paper from your hands.
“They published my article in the Child Geniuses section,” you announced proudly, arms crossed and a triumphant little smile sitting on your lips.
Kimi didn’t look impressed at all.
In fact, he simply lifted the newspaper a little higher and pointed toward the corner of the page.
Andrea Kimi Antonelli, age eight, wins his first kart race, promising to become a future motorsport star.
Now you were the unimpressed one.
“That’s not the Child Geniuses section,” you said with a shrug.
“I don’t care about that Child Geniuses thing,” he shot back, getting up from the floor.
You looked at him slightly from above.
“And I’m taller than you,” you declared, your final move.
Kimi always fell for that one.
He narrowed his eyes immediately.
“Not for long,” he promised, fists tightening dramatically at his sides.
But before either of you could continue, a voice called from downstairs.
“Kids! Lunch!”
And instantly, both of your faces lit up.
Kimi started poking at your back the second you both turned toward the bedroom door, bothering you all the way to the staircase until your laughter echoed through the entire house.
At school, the two of you were no better than that.
You were the best at everything, every single subject. Your portfolio was enviable, your grades impeccable, your applications impressive. But there was one thing you were completely incapable of being good at: physical education.
And although Kimi wasn’t the best student in the school, and even though all his grades were just enough to pass, he had something you didn’t have, and neither did the other students, for that matter: he was effortlessly exceptional at every sport they were given.
That was why, every Monday morning, you put on your gym uniform, tied your hair back tightly enough to hurt, and walked toward the court already irritated.
Kimi was always there before you.
And the second his eyes found yours, all it took was that stupid smile appearing on his face and that damn eyebrow raising slightly for you to feel instant hatred flooding your entire body.
Needless to say, it always ended in disaster.
You truly were terrible at physical activities. Balls either flew far away from you, far too close to you, or, whenever one came directly in your direction, you dodged it as though you were escaping a missile strike. Everyone on your team grew increasingly irritated every single class. At some point, you probably should have accepted your complete lack of athletic ability. But admitting defeat had never really been your thing.
Between wars and truces, you and Kimi grew up.
It wasn’t only the competitions. There were ice cream runs, afternoons spent in each other’s bedrooms doing homework, the times you managed to show up at Kimi’s races without warning him beforehand and, in the heat of the moment after a victory, he would run straight toward you to pull you into a tight hug only to realize what he had done a second later and immediately run off in the opposite direction.
There was also the apparently important detail that Kimi was becoming attractive and somehow you were the only person incapable of noticing it.
“So… do you think I should ask Kimi to come with me to the school festival?” Marcella asked, resting her face against her hand while watching him jog across the courtyard with the other boys.
Stupid boys. Ridiculous boys.
You simply wrinkled your nose and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, pretending to be deeply focused on the book spread open in front of you. You had planned on studying for the exam, thank you very much, and you would really appreciate not being interrupted. It was important. Were you the only person in this school who cared about grades?
“Honestly, I think you should,” Viviana chimed in. “I thought about asking him too, but apparently he told Luca he already had someone in mind…” That caught your attention. “I think he was looking at you when he said it.”
And then the two of them burst into loud giggles. You just wanted to go back to studying and stop talking about—
“Someone at this table could probably confirm that for us, no?” Marcella added suddenly, and just like that, both pairs of eyes landed directly on you.
You slowly lifted your head to stare back at them.
“I’m not asking Kimi anything like that. Finals are coming up and he needs to focus or they’re going to pull him out of racing to make him focus on his grades,” you replied annoyed. “And we have exams too. Study.”
The girls pouted dramatically and flipped through their notebooks with loud, disappointed sighs.
“Oh, come on… You’re always with him. Just promise you’ll tell me if Kimi says anything,” Marcella insisted.
You looked at her again, then down at your notebook, thinking quietly for a moment. You thought about Kimi. About him showing up to the festival with Marcella. About the two of them dancing together and all the things that came with it. Your throat tightened unexpectedly. Still… maybe a distraction would be good for him. You gave a small nod.
“Fine,” you said at last, and that answer alone seemed enough to leave them satisfied, happily returning to their studying with bright smiles on their faces.
Later that afternoon, for the first time in a long while, you couldn’t focus on your homework.
You sat at your desk with your notebook open in front of you and your pen loosely held between your fingers. Kimi was supposed to arrive soon; the two of you had plans to study together. And if you kept performing this terribly on your assignments, he could absolutely overtake your grades at this point and honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised.
Your mind refused to think.
Actually, no. That was the problem.
It was thinking far too much.
About the festival. About not going to the festival. Because you would need a partner and apparently every boy in school was terrified of you. Although, from what you had heard, Vittorio might ask you eventually once he gathered enough courage.
And you didn’t even understand why any of this mattered.
Things like that had never been important to your ambitions or your plans for professional success. You were already taking your sixth course in marketing and photography, with the doors to a junior program that could place you inside major companies practically wide open in front of you. Not having a date for some stupid teenage festival should not have bothered you nearly this much. But Kimi had someone in mind. And he had probably already asked her to go with him by now. And Marcella was a really nice girl, so Kimi would probably have a lot of fun with her. And Kimi… Well, Kimi was nice too. In his own way. And apparently girls liked him and—
The door to your bedroom suddenly flew open.
Kimi appeared as though he had been summoned directly from your thoughts and, honestly, what exactly had happened to him? He was smiling brightly, looking far too pleased with life, wearing that white tank top that immediately told you he had just come back from the gym. His bag hit the floor the second he stepped inside and your eyes instinctively followed the movement of his arm— Kimi was strong. Had he always been this strong?
“Hi,” he said simply before throwing himself onto your bed.
You blinked once before frowning.
“You’re sweaty and lying on my bed?”
He looked at you with that impossibly flat expression of his.
“I showered before coming here. I wasn’t going to make you deal with my post-gym smell.”
“Why not? I already know what you smell like after the gym. It wouldn’t exactly be new information.”
“A-Ah, well… I…” he started awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as the skin there slowly turned pink.
A small laugh escaped you before you turned back toward the book on your desk.
“It’s fine if you want to shower, Kimi. I actually prefer it when you smell nice.”
“You do?” he asked, his attention shifting more fully toward you in that way that was supposed to feel casual but never really was, as though he were genuinely interested in the answer.
Your entire body froze for a moment. Your eyes widened slightly before you quickly reached for your pencil case and started shuffling through your supplies as though any of them might somehow save you.
“Well, yes, obviously. Nobody wants to be near someone who smells bad, especially not inside their own room. And I know you like lying on my bed, so it’s fine if you shower and wear the clothes you like and actuallythatwhitetanktopisreallynicewow… Haha…” And suddenly the words completely abandoned you. Your throat felt strange, your palms cold with panic, and in a moment of absolute desperation, you did something terrible. “Oh! Are you going to ask Marcella to the festival?!”
Kimi’s shoulders immediately dropped, his body even leaning back slightly.
“What?” he asked, blinking in confusion.
With one hand gripping the other, you started cracking your fingers one by one, a small forced smile appearing on your lips.
“Oh. Right. Well, Marcella said you had someone in mind for the festival and Viviana said that when you mentioned it, you were looking at Marcella, so now they’re both convinced you’re going to ask her to go with you. And then Marcella asked me to confirm it with you because she doesn’t want to look stupid.”
At that point, you got up and walked toward your wardrobe, turning your back to him. Kimi, still visibly confused, pushed himself off the bed and followed after you. Your panic immediately worsened because no, he really should not have been getting closer. Absolutely not.
“But I—”
He barely got the words out before you interrupted him with the endless stream of nervous talking you always fell into when things became too overwhelming.
“And they said Vittorio was thinking about asking me, so I might end up going too if he actually does it, and then we’ll probably see each other there and—”
“Vittorio is going to ask you?” Kimi interrupted this time, stopping halfway across the room with both hands hanging stiffly at his sides.
The easy expression he had walked into your bedroom with disappeared almost instantly.
You turned toward him, leaning back against the wardrobe door. Your eyes dropped briefly to the floor as you shrugged slightly, suddenly unable to hold his gaze for too long.
You wanted to say something else. Something smarter. Less disappointing.
“Maybe.”
Kimi stared at you for a second too long.
“And you’d say yes?”
His voice sounded strange now. Quieter. Tighter.
You frowned slightly.
“Well, I don’t think anyone else is going to ask me to the festival, are they?”
Kimi’s eyebrows pulled together immediately.
“Why would you even say that?!” he suddenly snapped, his voice rising enough to force your head back up.
You blinked at him, startled.
“Well, because apparently every guy in school is terrified of me and Vittorio isn’t even bad-looking, and he’s nice and—”
“So that’s it? You’re going with him?”
Okay, what kind of reaction even was that?
The irritation in his voice made something defensive immediately flare inside your chest.
You clenched your fists at your sides and raised your voice right back at him.
“I think I am, Kimi! What’s the problem? You can go with Marcella, you can go with whoever you want and I can’t?!”
Kimi opened his mouth immediately, like he already had an answer prepared, but nothing actually came out.
Which only irritated you more.
“Do you think somehow this is me trying to win?” you continued. “Because I thought we stopped doing that ridiculous thing where we compete over everything! I thought we were older than that by now.”
Kimi stared at you for a moment. His hands slowly moved behind his back and he just… dropped his shoulders. You noticed the way the tension between his eyebrows softened.
“I think…” he started quietly. “I think we are.”
But you didn’t want him to say that. No… no! Everything was wrong. You wanted him to get angry again, to raise his voice, you wanted… wanted anything. And when you almost stepped toward him, Kimi took a step back.
And, God. If he had slapped you, it probably would’ve hurt less.
“My dad's doing something today and I need to help him before… before traveling,” Kimi said, lifting his face toward you with a small, forced smile. He tugged lightly at his ear, cleared his throat, and made his way back toward the door, where his bag was waiting.
He slung the backpack over his shoulders and you really, really wanted to say something. But you only stood there staring at Kimi, your hands twisting behind your back with growing anxiety.
“Have… have a good trip,” you said uncertainly, stammering slightly.
Kimi looked at you and let a smaller smile appear on his lips. Then he nodded once and said:
“Bye.” Before finally leaving.
Kimi never asked Marcella to the festival. In fact, he never even went to the event because the Mercedes Academy — where he had just begun the explosive rise of his career — had announced an important meeting. You suspected it probably wasn’t even on the same day as the festival, but chose not to say anything when his mother mentioned it to you.
He disappeared for four entire weeks. And suddenly, Kimi no longer had time for anything.
He was competing now. Really competing. Traveling more often than he stayed home. And whenever he was home, the two of you fought.
It felt like going all the way back to first grade.
Your mother and his mother had planned a family dinner. It would be the first time Kimi had been back home after a considerably long time away, and you only listened to their excited phone conversations while pretending not to care in the slightest. Because, well, why would you care about any of that nonsense? They were going to throw Kimi a welcome-home dinner, blah, blah, blah. Right. You would go. It might even be nice. Veronica cooked really well. Your mother cooked really well. Whatever.
But when he arrived, you suddenly had no idea what to do with your own body anymore.
Your words got stuck somewhere in your throat in the middle of explaining that you had been accepted into the Junior Program for future leaders in audiovisual marketing, and you were only saved by his mother interrupting the conversation as she rushed forward to pull her son into a tight hug after missing him so, so much.
You stayed there, staring down at your own lap with breathing far too heavy to be considered normal, only lifting your head long enough to give him a brief little wave.
Everything was fine.
Kimi sat at the table, laughed with your parents, laughed with his parents, ruffled Maggie’s hair. Everything was fine. Your shoulders slowly relaxed.
“Your birthday is coming up!” your mother said, looking from you to Kimi. “Have you two thought about how you’re going to celebrate this year?”
Oh, right. Because the two of you had been born on the exact same day. And because you had never once celebrated a birthday apart before, even when Kimi had needed to travel from wherever he was and—
“It’s during FRECA race week. I won’t be here,” he said casually, scooping himself some mashed potatoes.
What?!
“You’re not going to be here for our birthday?!” you blurted out, stopping halfway through taking a bite.
Everyone lifted their heads because that was the first time you had spoken the entire night. And it was the first time Kimi looked directly at you, and you were looking right back at him.
His jaw tightened. He blinked once. Then shook his head before looking back down at his plate.
“I won’t,” he answered simply.
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
Fucking traitor.
“You won’t.” You repeated it slowly, staring at him with eyes blinking far too carefully.
Everyone noticed the shift immediately.
Your parents exchanged quick glances. Your mother looked ready to change the subject at any second, even clearing her throat softly, but you weren’t finished yet.
“It’s not on the actual race day, Kimi,” you said, your voice sharper now. “You could be here if you wanted to.”
Kimi’s head lifted immediately.
“How do you even know when the race is?” he shot back.
“Because this is what you do now!” you snapped before he could look away again. “You hide behind your schedule and your responsibilities instead of actually talking—”
“Oh, I’m hiding?” Kimi interrupted sharply, pushing his chair back hard enough for it to scrape loudly against the floor as he stood up.
Immediately, his father stood too.
“Hey, maybe this isn’t the moment—”
But Kimi was already looking directly at you now, jaw tight, chest rising too quickly.
“You’ve been hiding behind your own stuff since the day you were born,” he fired back. “You—”
“Guys, now really isn’t the time for this,” your mother tried again, getting to her feet as well.
You didn’t care.
You shoved your chair back and stormed toward where Kimi was standing.
“I really hope you’re happy, Kimi,” you said, your voice trembling now despite how hard you were trying to keep it steady. “I really do. Go celebrate your birthday with your new little friends. Be happy. Really, really happy.”
Then you turned your back on him and started walking toward the door.
“New friends?” Kimi repeated suddenly.
Your hand froze against the doorframe.
“And we’re friends now?”
That stopped you completely. The entire room fell silent. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Your shoulders lifted in the smallest shrug before you finally walked away. Because you genuinely didn’t know the answer.
And you, who had never really been the type to cry, had the worst crying fit of your entire life that night. You curled up in bed, hugged the stuffed bear that had slept beside you since you were four years old, and cried in complete silence until your body grew too exhausted to produce tears anymore.
You fell asleep like that. Dreamed of messy curls, stupid laughter, and jokes that made absolutely no sense. Your parents checked on you twice that night and you never even noticed.
When you woke up, you felt empty. Like someone had reached inside your chest and simply ripped your heart out.
Things were never the same again. And you had never felt so alone.
After the awful fight at Kimi’s house, he texted you. Apologized. Genuinely. He even called you. You answered, he said he was sorry and made a few jokes, and you laughed. But he was already on the other side of the world when that happened.
You kept talking after that. Kimi kept texting. He still showed up at school every now and then and kept winning championships, while you kept growing in your career, no longer just a note in the “child geniuses” section but someone genuinely promising, with published ideas. A lot of published ideas. Because now you had far too much space in your mind to read, write, read, write, repeat.
Vittorio asked you out. You went.
You didn’t really like it that much.
He was funny, but not your kind of funny. Handsome, but not your kind of handsome. Interesting, certainly, but you weren’t interested. It wasn’t that nice.
You never went out with him again.
Someone told you Kimi had met a very beautiful girl in England and that there was apparently something going on between them — though nobody really seemed to know what it was. Whatever it was, though, it sounded intense.
You hated hearing that.
So when Kimi texted you asking how school was going, you didn’t answer. You just went back to writing your articles. Studying. Writing. Studying. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Eventually, you graduated before everyone else. Your grades were good enough to make that possible. You earned a scholarship in England. The Junior Program became the Senior Program, and you were their first choice to be sent to some of the biggest universities in Europe.
There was enormous expectation surrounding your future.
Far away from school, you were now an apprentice behind the scenes at Mercedes. Formula 1. You almost laughed at the thought alone.
When the email appeared in your notifications bar and you opened it with wide eyes — not only because of the opportunity itself, but because of the salary attached to it despite you being nothing more than an intern taking her very first steps — the first person you thought about calling was… him.
Because, in a deeply ironic way, you had made it to Formula 1 first.
September, 2024.
You were at the office. The rest of the team was there too, conversations overlapping into a constant buzz across the massive computer-filled room because Toto had said there would be a major announcement that day — and your department would be responsible for publishing it.
Which meant the visuals needed to look perfect.
As if all of you didn’t already have dozens of pre-approved layouts ready to be edited depending on whatever announcement he decided to make.
Frida, the marketing director, walked into the room and everyone immediately fell silent. The sound of her heels echoed against the floor and, the second she flashed a provoking little smile, nervous laughter spread across the room.
It was going to be a big day.
“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a lot of announcements to deal with today,” she began, taking a deep breath. “First of all… as you already know, Lewis Hamilton will be leaving the team for Ferrari.”
The murmuring immediately returned, softer this time. Sad. Everyone already knew. Still, hearing it out loud made it real.
Frida sighed dramatically.
“I know, I know. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do except wish him a great future and a successful new chapter.” Then she pointed toward you without hesitation, already knowing you were writing notes before she had even finished speaking. “We’ll need a full legacy campaign. Victory panels, career highlights, emotional pieces. What do you think we should do?”
She always did that. At this point, you were used to it.
“We should alternate the posts over the course of the next few months,” you answered almost immediately, already thinking three steps ahead. “The design team can start preparing layouts for every major announcement, including Lewis’ departure — statistics, legacy, achievements, farewell messaging, future wishes. But we shouldn’t dump everything online at once.”
A few people around the room nodded.
You kept going.
“Until Lewis officially joins Ferrari during pre-season, we rotate the content strategically. Nostalgia-based posts, career appreciation, transition messaging. We control the emotional pacing instead of exhausting it in a single week.”
Frida’s smile widened.
“And I’m assuming the replacement driver has already been chosen?” you asked at last.
That smile on her face suddenly became almost dangerous.
“Yes,” she replied. “And very well.”
The room instantly grew louder again.
Before anyone could start guessing, Frida lifted a hand.
“Before I announce Lewis’ replacement, there’s another announcement I need to make.”
Silence again.
“Starting next year, the marketing department will have new leadership.”
Immediate shock spread across the room. People turned toward each other, confused whispers breaking out everywhere.
Frida laughed softly.
“Oh, relax. I’ll still be here assisting during the transition period. My official departure has been scheduled for the following year so I can stay on as a mentor.”
Then her eyes lowered directly to you.
And suddenly, the entire room looked at you too.
“You,” she said simply.
Your pen stopped moving.
“You were the choice unanimously approved by the Senior Program board and the Mercedes executive team.” Frida crossed her arms lightly, looking almost proud. “There isn’t a better person for the role. You have every qualification we were looking for.”
And for a second, you forgot how to breathe.
“So…” Frida said, extending the envelope toward you with a grin. “Would our future official Marketing Director like to open the announcement letter for the new driver?”
Everyone was looking at you.
Not with irritation. Not with discomfort. Not with the quiet distance you had grown used to your entire life whenever people realized you were smarter than them.
With admiration.
It still felt weird.
Back then, being the smartest person in the room had only pushed people away from you. Now, it was the reason they respected you. Your abilities mattered here. They were recognized here.
Your eyes burned slightly.
Still, you stood up.
“Okay…” you said softly, taking a deep breath as you reached for the envelope.
You glanced once at Frida and she winked at you encouragingly. Your cheeks felt warm. Your heart was beating much too fast. Slowly, you pulled the paper out.
And your smile disappeared.
“Andrea… Kimi Antonelli,” you read quietly, still staring down at the paper.
A few confused murmurs immediately spread across the room.
“Him?” someone whispered. “Replacing Lewis Hamilton?”
Frida frowned slightly and leaned closer, reaching for the letter as though checking whether you had read the right name yourself.
“Hm,” she hummed. “Isn’t he a little… young?”
“He’s good,” you replied simply.
The answer came out far too quickly. Frida looked at you again, this time with visible curiosity.
“You know him?”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the paper before you gave the smallest shrug.
“Something like that.”
During pre-season, you worked remotely. Not because you wanted to, but because it was standard procedure for your position. Frida had asked you to focus on getting organized for the travels ahead. After all, you wouldn’t be staying in Brackley anymore.
It was time to see the world.
So you stayed.
The team sent over videos to be approved, Frida gave you enough autonomy to approve certain emails and respond to forms sent in by sponsors, and every now and then the two of you would jump on video calls to clear up questions and get certain things organized.
That night, she was teaching you how to manage the team’s Slack channels — the internal communication app used by everyone at Mercedes. Quick messages. Approvals. Complete chaos during race weekends. Specific channels for every department and every possible emergency.
She needed you attentive. Focused.
It was the most important app of all.
You listened carefully between spoonfuls of cereal, asking questions every now and then. But something felt off.
Frida noticed immediately.
“What’s going on, cupcake?” she asked.
Your eyebrows pulled together slightly as you looked back toward the screen.
“Hm? Nothing. I just couldn’t figure out the channel creation button for a second, but I got it now.”
“I’ve never seen that expression on your face before.”
“What expression?”
“I don’t really know how to explain it.” Frida leaned back slightly in her chair, studying you through the screen. “You look melancholic. Uncomfortable.”
You frowned a little.
“And how exactly can you tell?”
She shrugged, though a soft smile still appeared on her lips. You lowered your gaze toward your cereal bowl.
“I think I’m just a little tired.”
“Are you?”
You nodded once.
“Alright. We can stop here and let you rest,” she decided, already lowering her pen onto the desk. Then, after a brief pause, she added, “But I think it’s something else.”
When you didn’t answer, she continued anyway.
“You still haven’t opened the videos waiting for approval. Only the photo folders.” Her head tilted slightly to the side. “And ever since the announcement, you’ve been… distant. Quiet.” She narrowed her eyes just a little. “You don’t like the new driver? You said you know him. Did he do something to you?”
“What? No— no, it’s not that.”
Frida stayed silent, waiting.
You swallowed.
“He… Kimi…” Your fingers tightened slightly around the spoon. “We kind of grew up together. And it’s complicated. We got along even though we were constantly fighting over everything.” A humorless little laugh escaped you. “But eventually it just became… unbearable.”
For a moment, Frida simply looked at you.
“I didn’t realize you two were that close,” she admitted softly. “What a coincidence.”
“Yeah,” you muttered. “Crazy.”
Frida’s expression softened almost immediately.
“Listen,” she said carefully, “if this job feels too heavy because of that, tell me. I’ll understand. I can talk to Toto.”
Your head lifted immediately.
“No. No, this is my dream. I can do it. It’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” You hesitated for half a second before adding more quietly, “I don’t… hate Kimi. Or anything like that. It’s fine.”
For a second that lasted a little too long, Frida simply looked at you.
Your gaze dropped almost immediately. You couldn’t maintain eye contact with her right now, so instead you occupied your hands with the edge of a wrapper sitting beside your computer.
The silence stretched gently between the two of you until, very softly, Frida finally spoke.
“I trust you, sweetheart. I know you’ll do the best job possible.” Her voice remained calm, certain. “I believed in your dedication and your knowledge from the moment they sent me your résumé. I know I made the right decision choosing you to replace me, even this young.”
Your cheeks burned instantly.
If possible, your eyes lowered even further.
Frida smiled a little.
“That’s why I know you won’t let anything interfere with the quality of this team.” She tilted her head slightly. “But you’re still allowed to be sad. And if you need someone to talk to, you can call me. Alright?”
You nodded once.
You didn’t really know what to say.
Frida was just so… good.
Your throat tightened slightly.
“Alright. Goodnight. Think about it, okay?” she said gently, her tone still soft and welcoming.
“Okay. Goodnight, Frida…” you replied quietly.
The screen went dark. You let out a long breath and stretched your back slightly against the chair.
Wow. Okay. Frida believed in you. In your potential. In your abilities. You had responsibilities now. Real responsibilities. You needed to act like it.
Videos couldn’t scare you.
Your eyes still slightly watery, you finally opened the email and clicked on the folder. There they were. The videos. How were you supposed to approve this?
You inhaled deeply. Your finger hovered over the mouse for a moment before, finally, you clicked.
Laughter filled the speakers immediately. People talking over one another. Someone behind the camera laughing too. Toto appeared briefly before opening a door.
And then—
Kimi.
Mercedes cap. Mercedes shirt. That exact expression of a child who had just received the coolest Christmas present in the world. Someone said something off-camera and he laughed. Easy. Bright. Boyish.
A quiet breath escaped through your nose — so close to a laugh it barely counted. You didn’t want to approve this video. You… You wanted to keep it. But keep it for what?
Slowly, you clicked approve.
At least this way, whenever you wanted to watch it again, it would already be there on the official page. And you would never have to explain to anyone why you kept opening the same video over and over and over again.
When you finally arrived at the paddock, it was early January.
Car testing was already in full swing, and for the first time, you were officially being treated as the Marketing Director — even if Frida still remained constantly by your side during the transition period.
Your senses felt slightly on edge, making you glance around far more often than necessary to check whether a certain driver was heading in your direction, even though you knew perfectly well he was out on track doing his job. Maybe you wouldn't even run into him that day. Which was good. You had a plan. An order.
You knew you would eventually see him during a meeting, and he would probably be around the motorhome hospitality area at some point. You were also supposed to be present for a few of his video shoots. But you could always send a representative instead and take care of George's content sessions yourself. Easy. Everything was under control.
You were sitting in the dining area during an informal meeting, laughing at someone's joke. Your laptop sat open in front of you while members of the marketing and media teams chatted around the table about nothing in particular as you worked your way through a handful of emails. Those were your favorite moments of working there.
Still smiling, you reached for your croissant. You took a crispy bite and immediately grimaced when a few flakes of buttery pastry tumbled onto your lap. Worth it. Croissants had always been one of your favorites.
But then your eyes lifted. And there was Toto walking into the dining area. Not alone. Andrea Kimi Antonelli.
You didn't even have time to react.
Your throat did something incredibly traitorous. Your body simply gave up on following logic, and within seconds, the piece of croissant lodged itself somewhere it absolutely should not have. It hurt. And worse, it blocked your breathing.
It was the most desperate moment of your life.
A humiliating, completely involuntary sound escaped you as you tried to force air back into your lungs. Both of your hands flew to your throat instinctively. Help. Help. Help.
Someone beside you noticed immediately and shouted for assistance. Suddenly there were hands around you. You wanted to pull away from them. Every instinct told you to. But that would be unbelievably stupid, so instead you let them help you to your feet.
You couldn't think. Not really. Only that you couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. And very soon, you probably wouldn't even be able to think for good.
The walk was a blur.
All you could do was produce those awful, embarrassing sounds of someone whose throat had completely betrayed them.
So much for having a plan.
There you were a few minutes later, dressed in a hospital gown, sitting partially upright on the examination bed with your arms crossed and a completely blank expression fixed on the wall. You hadn't died because of a piece of croissant.
Thank God.
What a pathetic way that would have been to go.
A knock sounded at the door. You looked up. The nurse.
"Hey," he said gently. "There's someone who wants to see you. He asked me to check if you're okay with him coming in.”
Your jaw tightened slightly because you were pretty sure you knew exactly who the nurse was talking about. I mean, really. Who else would ask someone else to ask permission before entering the room? Oh, for God's sake. You nodded.
The nurse nodded back and stepped out.
A second later, his silhouette was replaced by a much more cautious one. Only half a body at first. A head. One arm. One leg. You immediately shook your head and let out a long breath.
"I already gave you permission to come in," you said, without looking up at him.
Even then, he hesitated before slowly stepping the rest of the way into the room.
"Are you feeling better?"
"I am," you replied, nodding slowly as you fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket.
His head tilted slightly to the side.
"I was..."
"No." You shook your head.
"...worried—"
"No." This time, you shook it more emphatically.
"...about you."
“No!” The second the word left your mouth, you immediately lay back down on the examination bed and turned your back to him.
Kimi let out a quiet breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Do you want me to leave?”
...
“...No,” you answered quietly.
Slowly, he walked over to the armchair and sat down. You were still turned away from him, so Kimi simply stared at your back. You knew he was staring because wherever Kimi chose to look always seemed to burn a little.
“You shouldn't have seen that,” you said, your voice just as quiet as when you'd told him not to leave.
Kimi clasped his hands together and raised an eyebrow.
“I don't think anyone planned for what happened out there,” he replied.
You shook your head.
“No. I had planned something else.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I...” You cleared your throat and curled in on yourself slightly. “I thought we'd only see each other tonight. At the meeting.” A pause. “I was prepared for that.”
Kimi stayed silent. You stared at the wall.
“I'd already... thought about it.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket. “If it went well, okay. If it went badly, okay too.”
A few milliseconds later, Kimi spoke.
"I'm sorry.”
A confused expression crossed your face.
"What are you apologizing for?"
You thought he was talking about the dining area. About everything that had happened that day. You never would have expected him to say what came next.
"For not coming back for our birthday."
Your breath caught. Your head lowered even further.
"It's been two years, Kimi. It doesn't matter. You apologized in your texts." you murmured.
In the armchair beside you, he shifted slightly. You heard the soft friction of fabric.
"Yeah. I'm sorry anyway," Kimi repeated.
Slowly, you turned toward him. Your eyes lifted just as slowly… Until they finally found his. You wanted to cry. Your bottom lip trembled slightly.
"It's okay," you said, your voice breaking.
"I wanted to apologize in person for that a long time ago, but..." He hesitated. "I could never find you."
Your shoulders curled inward slightly.
"Things got weird," you said.
"They did."
"It was a long time ago."
He nodded.
"I don't even remember when it started anymore." He lowered his gaze to the open palm resting in his lap. His voice was low. "Feels like a century."
He didn't remember. But you did. You knew. Without hesitation, without even thinking about it, you said:
"Marcella."
Kimi frowned. His eyes returned to you.
"Marcella?"
You lowered your head and stared down at the fabric of the hospital gown.
"Yeah." A pause. "Because you were going to ask her to the festival."
The boy blinked. His shoulders dropped. His lips parted slightly, as though the answer was struggling to find its way out. Then—
"But... I wasn't going to ask her to the festival."
Your head lifted immediately. Once again, your eyes found his. You didn't say anything. You didn't have to. Kimi could see the question written all over your face.
"No," he said. His voice was soft and desperate all at once, like he was trying to close his hand around something that kept slipping away. "I went to your house that day to ask you."
"No... You said you had someone in mind and—"
But he cut you off. Kimi didn't even give you the chance to finish.
"I showered at the gym before I came to your house."
You blinked. Right...
"I wore that white tank top because I'd already noticed the way you looked at me when I wore it."
Wait. What was he talking about?
"I was sure it was going to work." He swallowed hard, still gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “And then you started talking about Marcella and Vittorio, and I couldn't get you to stop because when you get stuck in those thought spirals, there's nothing in the world that can pull you out of them and—”
A knock sounded at the door.
"Hey, it's time to go. She's been discharged."
The nurse's voice cut through the room.
"We'll be right there. I'll take her back to the paddock. Thanks," Kimi replied, still slightly breathless.
Your chest was rising and falling so hard beneath the weight of everything you'd just learned that you barely noticed Kimi stepping closer to help you off the examination bed. A little disoriented, you grabbed his arm and slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Kimi didn't bring the subject up again while you gathered your clothes from the corner of the room and disappeared into the bathroom.
Not when you came back, either.
He was still there.
Waiting.
Because he'd said he would walk you back.
Standing there in front of him — after nearly choking to death because you'd spotted him from a hundred meters away, and after the most awkward conversation either of you had ever had — something felt weird.
Not bad weird. Just... weird.
Your eyes drifted over his hair. Then his face. Then his neck.
"Your neck is bigger."
One of Kimi's eyebrows lifted. He glanced down, as though he might somehow be able to see his own neck. And when he looked back up at you with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, you suddenly wanted very badly to look away.
You didn't.
"I think it is," he admitted. "I train a lot. The helmet is pretty heavy, you know."
You shook your head.
"No. I didn't know that."
His hand moved to his own neck, and your eyes followed the motion automatically.
"One day I'll let you hold it. You'll see what I mean," he said.
And it wasn't an offer.
Your stomach tightened. Because that meant you were going to see each other again and… And you nodded. A small smile appeared on your lips too.
Kimi seemed to relax at the sight of it.
"Okay," you said.
Maybe you stared at each other for a full minute. Nobody would've been able to tell. But you decided someone had to leave first, and it certainly wasn't going to be him, so you looked away and took a step toward the exit.
Kimi followed immediately. He didn't even question it.
The walk back to the paddock passed in a strangely comfortable silence. Whatever needed to be said had already been said. It was okay. By the time you got back, your team was still there.
So was Toto. Waiting for him.
You hadn't even thought about it, that he'd probably stepped away from his responsibilities just to come see you in the medical unit. That was so… Wow.
"Kimi?" You called his name, stopping and turning back toward him.
"What?" he asked, both hands tucked into his pockets.
You crossed your arms over your chest. One eyebrow lifted, and a small, familiar smile slowly spread across your face — the kind he knew all too well.
"I made it to Formula 1 before you."
Kimi's expression stayed completely flat. Then he rolled his eyes. From where he stood, he looked down at you, not that far down, really. Maybe there were five centimeters between you at most. Still, he said:
"I'm taller than you."
Your smile widened. A quiet laugh escaped him as he nudged a small pebble across the ground with the tip of his shoe.
Toto called his name. Kimi shot you a wink. Then, finally, he turned and headed back toward the work waiting for him.
The day went well enough. You went back to work, handled everything you needed to handle, attended meetings, approved content, answered emails. But the team noticed you were a little more absent-minded than usual. Not less competent. Just... pausing more often than you normally did.
I wore that white tank top because I'd already noticed the way you looked at me when I wore it. What was that supposed to mean? What exactly had you been doing? What had you let slip without even realizing it?
And… I went to your house that day to ask you. Your cheeks turned red just remembering it. Red. Red. One of your coworkers walked past your desk and, instinctively, you covered part of your face with both hands.
"Hey? I, uh..." he started, scrolling through something on his tablet. Then he looked up. His eyes flicked briefly to either side before settling on you. "Hey. Are you okay?" His eyebrows pulled together slightly. "Bad time?"
Instantly, you cleared your throat. Straightened your posture. Reached out and took the tablet from his hands.
"No, no. It's fine." And went right back to work.
That evening, back at the hotel, you thought about it some more. You could always ask him. Right? Asking questions gets you answers. That's what you'd always said. So...
You picked up your phone.
Your thumb slid across the screen, moved to your contacts list, and hovered over Kimi's name.
You took a deep breath. Tapped it. And called.
It rang once. Twice.
You hung up immediately, shoved the phone under your pillow, and buried your face in the pillow right after, as though hiding from your own terrible decisions.
One minute passed. Your phone vibrated. You blindly shoved a hand under the pillow to grab it. Without even looking at the screen, you answered.
"Hello."
"Hi. You called me?”
"No..." you replied immediately. "You're the one calling me."
Silence. Then Kimi laughed.
"Oh, right. There was a missed call here." A pause. "From a girl. She has your name."
Your hand moved up to cover your eyes.
"That's weird..."
"Very weird." You could hear the smile in his voice now. "Especially because that name hasn't shown up here in a while."
"Yeah..." You swallowed. "I think... she wasn't doing very well."
"She wasn't?" Despite the lightness of the conversation, there was still a faint note of concern in his voice. "What happened?”
Silence. Silence. More silence.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."
You swallowed hard and stared up at the ceiling.
"When you said today that..." Your voice came out smaller than you intended. "That you'd noticed the way I looked at you when... when you were wearing that shirt." A beat. "What did you mean by that?"
Something clattered on the other end of the call.
"Ow, shit."
The startled curse pulled the smallest smile from you. A moment later, he was back.
"Uh— well. I..." he started, immediately stumbling over his own words. "I don't think... talking about this over the phone is the best idea."
A brief pause.
"Could we meet instead?”
"Oh, no..." You sat up straighter against the headboard. "But, Kimi... I wanted to know..."
A beat passed. Then Kimi let out a quiet breath.
"I know. If we meet now, I mean."
You blinked. Wait. You glanced at the clock and raised both eyebrows, immediately sitting up in bed and pressing the phone tighter against your ear.
"Now?!"
On the other end of the line, you could practically picture Kimi getting out of bed and crossing to the other side of the room. His footsteps were audible, just as they always had been.
"Well... is now a bad time?" he asked, sounding slightly distracted.
Your free hand came to rest on top of your head as you thought about it for a moment.
"It's late. Isn't it?" you said, curling in on yourself slightly.
"A little." A pause. "But we're not sleeping. Were you going to sleep?"
"It's my bedtime and… And you spent the entire day running around in circles wearing that ridiculously hot racing gear, Kimi..."
He finally gave up.
"I want to see you before I go to sleep."
A pause.
"Can I come see you?"
His voice softened slightly.
"The answer to your question is important. And it's not something I can explain over text or over the phone."
…
He could hear your breathing through the phone. You glanced at the clock again, then down at your feet, covered by your socks.
"You can come," you replied, slightly breathless.
...
"Okay. Cool."
A small laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" you asked, pulling the blanket up over your legs.
"This conversation."
You rolled your eyes.
"I'll come there." He says
"... Okay."
And then he hung up.
It takes Kimi exactly fifteen minutes to show up at your door. And throughout every second of that time, your foot bounces restlessly as you think about what is about to happen. You stay sprawled across the bed. Every now and then, you absentmindedly run a hand through your hair. A few times, you pick up your phone to check something, only to put it back down a second later and let your head fall against the pillow again.
By the time the doorbell rings, however, you're not thinking about anything anymore. It takes you ten seconds to open the door.
He doesn't even seem surprised.
"Hi," Kimi says, a small smile appearing on his lips.
"Hello," you replied, stepping aside to let him in.
You hadn't been joking when you'd said it was bedtime. You were wearing a pajama set covered in pandas eating bamboo, along with matching non-slip socks. Kimi laughed. Again.
"You're awfully smiley lately," you pointed out.
He shrugged.
"I'm happy," he said. Just like that. Then he pointed at you with his index finger. "I like your pajamas."
Your eyes immediately dropped to your shirt. You blinked and raised an eyebrow.
"It's old, but... thank you," you replied. Then you looked back at him. "Why are you happy, anyway?”
A beat passed. Then his smile softened into something almost helpless.
"You're asking a lot of questions," he said.
Before you could respond, he stepped past you, walked into the room, and simply threw himself onto the bed, his feet still hanging off the edge.
Oh.
You stopped mid-step.
Your head tilted ever so slightly to the side and—
Oh.
"What?" he asked, eyes already closed. "Are you just going to stand there?"
With some hesitation, you shifted your weight slightly, thinking. In the end, the decision came easily enough. Slowly, you walked over. Unlike Kimi, you didn't throw yourself onto the bed. Instead, you laid down carefully, adjusting yourself until you were at the same height as him, your legs hanging off the edge too.
He shifted a little to get comfortable, and while he did, you simply said:
"The white tank top.”
A quiet laugh escaped through Kimi's nose, little more than a breath. He opened his eyes slowly, and you were already looking at him::wide-eyed, curious, full of questions about absolutely everything.
"Straight to the point, huh?" he said. "Yeah. The white tank top."
You waited. A smile immediately spread across Kimi's face.
"Ah, well..." he began. "It's a little difficult to explain... I think it started around seventh grade. Before the white tank top."
Your eyebrows lifted in surprise.
Kimi nodded.
"Yeah, it did. I..." He let out another small laugh. "I noticed that every time we had a little argument and I ended up touching you somehow, you'd go completely red and stop talking."
His smile widened slightly.
"Which was kind of weird, because you used to stop talking around everyone. But with me, you always talked a lot."
Your breathing had gone a little uneven now.
"That was your clue?" you asked quietly, biting the inside of your cheek.
Kimi rocked his hand from side to side.
"Eeeeh..."
A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Kind of… But not exactly. It was a start."
A grin appeared on Kimi's face.
"You wrote a piano piece called Kimi Has the Most Beautiful Hair in the World." He pointed at you. "I think that was probably the biggest clue.”
Your eyes widened instantly. Your hand flew to your mouth.
"Oh my God..."
Kimi laughed. And then—
"Kimi's hair is pretty. It's long and silky. I wonder if it'd turn curly if he cut it. Kimi's hair. Kimi has the most beautiful hair in the world!"
He sang every line dramatically.
With each verse, your eyes grew wider. And wider. And your face turned a deeper shade of red until you finally turned your head away and buried it in the crook of your own arm.
"No, no... Oh my God..." you groaned into your own skin. "Don't ever do that again. Promise me you'll never sing that again."
His smile only grew.
"Okay..." he said. "I promise."
His head tilted slightly as he tried to catch a glimpse of your face.
"You can come out of your shell now, little turtle."
A beat passed.
"But by then..." he continued, a laugh still lingering in his voice. "The field was kind of clear." Slowly, you lowered your arm. "So I showed up wearing the white tank top, and you got a little startled."
His eyebrows pulled together slightly as though he were remembering the moment.
"I didn't really understand what happened. And then you said, 'Nice shirt,' stared at me for a few more seconds..." He pointed at you. "...and immediately turned around and walked away."
Your hands immediately flew back to your face. Again. Jesus Christ. How embarrassing. How much nonsense. You... You'd actually done all that. And the worst part was that you couldn't even deny it because you remembered every second of it.
But Kimi just laughed again. Amused. Giving you all the time in the world to emerge from your embarrassment while patiently waiting for you to do it.
"I think you had a crush on me," he said. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "What do you think?”
Your hands slowly dropped away from your face, but your eyes still refused to meet his.
Your cheeks were burning.
"I think you need to be quiet."
It was the closest thing to a response you could manage. Kimi tilted his head slightly, searching for your eyes again.
"Is that a yes?" he asked.
"No." You narrowed your eyes at him, finally looking his way. "That's an I think you need to be quiet."
A small pout immediately appeared on Kimi's face.
"But I like talking."
This time, a laugh escaped you. Of course he did.
"Oh, I know you do."
And somehow, that only made him smile wider. A laugh escaped him. And another one escaped you. Kimi's smile softened. Then, little by little, he grew more serious. The shift was subtle, but you noticed it immediately.
"I think… there's one more thing we need to talk about."
You waited. Kimi held your gaze for a moment.
"The fight.”
You blinked. Kimi kept talking, and this time, he was the one who looked away.
"I canceled our birthdays."
Your feet swayed slightly where they hung off the edge of the bed. You rested both hands over your stomach.
"Yeah. I..." You swallowed. "I remember.”
The mattress shifted slightly on Kimi's side of the bed. The sheets rustled softly as he lifted an arm and rested it behind his head, running a hand through his hair while he tried to figure out where to begin.
"I..." He hesitated. "I thought maybe you didn't want anything to do with me anymore." For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling. "And I thought you were going to get a boyfriend. Or maybe you already had one."
A pause.
"There was that..." He cleared his throat and gave up on the thought entirely. "Ah, anyway."
He waved a hand vaguely through the air, as though trying to shoo the thought away and continued:
"The point is, I wasn't going to be able to spend the rest of my life pretending I was happy watching you with someone else every year on our birthday.”
The room fell quiet. You absorbed the information. So… So that was it… You blinked, lowered your gaze to your hands resting over your stomach, and swallowed hard.
"But it hurt me," you murmured, your voice so small. Because you understood what he was trying to say.
But that didn't make certain things hurt any less. Kimi visibly shrank. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment.
"I know," he whispered.
Your thumb and index finger began tapping lightly against each other as you thought about what to say next, trying to sort through years' worth of feelings all at once.
"I cried a lot that night."
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Kimi's head turned toward you immediately. The expression on his face was surprised. Almost frightened.
"You cried?" he asked.
"Yes." You nodded once. "Hugging Mr. Peanuts... until I fell asleep."
The look that crossed Kimi's face was immediate. Devastation.
"Oh my God..."
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
"I'm so sorry… I'm so, so, so sorry…”
And then he turned fully onto his side. His expression was almost unbearable to look at. Like the thought of it physically hurt him.
You turned toward him too, because you wanted to see him better. Slowly, one of his hands lifted. It hovered beside your face. Not Touching.
Waiting.
"Can I touch you?" he asked, his voice fragile.
You looked at his hand. Then back at him. And nodded. His palm settled gently against your cheek, and your eyes closed. This wasn't the touch of a stranger. It was Kimi's.
Your own hand lifted and wrapped around his wrist, keeping him there. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
"I'm sorry for hurting you while thinking I was doing the right thing," he murmured.
"It's okay." Your thumb brushed lightly against his skin. "It's over now."
A small silence settled between you.
"And Kimi?"
"What?"
Your eyes opened. You looked at him for a second. Then another.
"I think you have a crush on me."
A quiet laugh escaped him. Broken around the edges. Almost a sob.
"You think?"
You nodded. Then your eyes slowly closed. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.
"I think I have a crush on you too," you admitted softly.
Kimi swallowed hard.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice trembling.
For the first time all evening, there was no uncertainty in your voice when you answered.
"Yeah.”
Now, the uncertainty seemed to belong to him. Kimi's thumb slowly traced across your cheek.
"And..." Kimi swallowed. "Do you want to do something about that?"
"I..." Your voice came out softer than before. "I do."
Kimi's heart was beating fast. Far too fast. You opened your eyes and looked at him. He was staring back at you with that disbelieving expression that did something very weird to your stomach.
Your gaze wandered across every feature of his face.
Kimi was so beautiful.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up onto one elbow. Then a little higher. Hovering over him. Your heart was racing now too.
You closed your eyes and your lips met his.
It was uncertain. Hesitant. Inexperienced. Nothing more than a quick kiss. A peck.
You pulled away almost immediately.
Your eyes remained closed, sparing you from seeing Kimi's expression. You missed the wonder on his face. Missed the slight tremble of his bottom lip. What you didn't miss was the feeling of his hand finding the back of your neck. His fingers slipping gently into your hair. And the way he guided you back toward him, careful but unwavering.
When his lips met yours again, you nearly melted.
Kimi knew what he was doing, so you let him guide you. You allowed yourself to learn from the way he moved because you wanted to do it the way he did. Then, almost instinctively, you parted your lips slightly.
From that moment on, your brain was reduced to a puddle. Your body became entirely useless.
A small sound escaped against his mouth, and Kimi, who had begun letting his tongue brush against yours, shifted your positions effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing at all. Without ever pulling away. Your toes curled.
You liked this. You liked this a lot.
Kimi caught your bottom lip gently between his teeth, and your hands immediately tightened in the fabric stretched across his back. Then his lips began tracing a path away from yours. To your jaw. Then lower. Your neck. Your shoulder. Your throat. So many kisses. So, so many kisses.
You missed him so much. God. Your heart tightened painfully inside your chest as Kimi pressed another kiss against your skin, this one landing on your cheek and drawing a small smile from you. But in the middle of it all, he felt your body shake. And then a tear slipped down your face.
Kimi stopped immediately. Not frozen. Not startled. Just stopped.
Both of his arms were braced on either side of your head against the mattress as he looked down at you from up close.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked softly.
One of his hands rose to your cheek, catching the tear before it could fall any further.
"Did I do something wrong?"
You shook your head.
"It's just..." Your voice broke slightly. "It's a lot. Everything is a lot." Another shaky breath escaped you. "I missed you so much. I really like this. I really like you."
For a second, Kimi simply looked at you. Then he let out a quiet breath, sounding almost relieved. He rolled onto his side and pulled you against his chest. You closed your eyes again.
You clung to him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his chest. Breathing him in. And it was the same scent it had always been.
The scent of Kimi.
"I like you too. A lot," he said, brushing his nose gently against the top of your head.
Your lips curled into the smallest smile, and you snuggled closer, searching for him instinctively.
Kimi. Kimi. Kimi. More Kimi.
"It's way past your bedtime now," he said quietly. "Sorry for keeping you awake like this and messing up your schedule for tomorrow."
"It was worth it. I wanted to talk to you," you replied, your eyes still closed.
"And do you want to sleep now?" he asked.
You took a little too long to answer. Kimi understood immediately. A quiet laugh escaped him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"We'll see each other again tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere," he said. "You can get some rest. After all..." His smile softened. "You're the Marketing Director. Wow."
Your smile widened at the mention of your new position, and you lifted your head to look at him.
"That's true! I'm a Marketing Director in the same year you're a Formula 1 driver. Isn't that cool?"
Kimi looked at you. And the small smile on his lips made your stomach flip. That was what used to happen. Back then. At the very beginning. When he wore certain clothes. Or listened to you talk. Or did pretty much anything at all...
"Yeah..." he replied softly. "Yeah, it's really cool.”
The laugh you were about to let out was interrupted by a yawn, and Kimi ended up laughing for you. He sat up on the bed, gently leaving you where you were and pulling the blanket up to your shoulder.
"I'm going to let you sleep now," he said, brushing the hair away from your forehead. "And one day we'll sleep together, and you'll wake up next to me. It can be soon. Whenever you want. But I'll need my clothes." The corner of his mouth twitched. "And my toothbrush."
Finally, the little laugh that had been trapped inside you escaped. Your head nodded in agreement. Then your hand lifted, fingers wiggling in a silent come here.
Kimi went immediately. Slowly. Lowering himself until his lips met yours in a chaste kiss. Careful. Gentle. And very sleepy on your end.
"Goodnight," he said quietly.
"Goodnight..." you murmured back.
And not long after, you were already asleep.
When morning came, you were one of the first people to arrive at the administrative area. But Frida was already there, sitting at the desk in the office you would soon be sharing, waiting for her computer to finish booting up.
"Morning!" you greeted, slipping the strap of your bag off your shoulder and setting it down on the desk.
"Morning, cupcake," she replied distractedly, her eyes drifting from her phone to you. Slowly. "I heard you choked yester—"
She cut herself off. Her eyebrows lifted. Then lifted a little higher. You were wearing a light touch of makeup, a silver star-shaped hair clip holding part of your loose hair back, and a black sweater over your team uniform.
"Oh." A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Frida's mouth. "Well, don't you look pretty today.”
You cleared your throat, pulled your laptop out of your bag, and set it down on the desk. At the same time, you tucked a strand of your bangs behind your ear.
"Thank you very much," you said. "I like this sweater."
And immediately after — before Frida even had the chance to respond — a certain cheerful boy appeared, hanging from the doorframe.
"Good morning, ladies!" Kimi announced, complete with a grin.
"Oh, Kimi! I was just telling her about the sweater." Frida pointed at you. "Don't you think she looks cute today?”
His gaze immediately dropped to you the second the invitation was offered. Not that he needed an excuse. He would've looked at you anyway. But there was no way he was going to pass up an opportunity when one was handed to him.
His smile widened.
"I do," he said. "I like the little star in her hair."
"Could you both please stop paying attention to me?" you asked, already red in the face as you tried to get your laptop to turn on.
Kimi glanced at Frida, raised an eyebrow, and flashed that familiar crooked smile before pushing himself away from the doorframe and heading off with the same spring in his step he'd arrived with.
"He likes you," Frida said, turning her attention back to her computer.
A small smile immediately appeared on your face, hidden behind your hand as you moved the mouse with the other. Because, yes. He really did like you. She had absolutely no idea.
August 25th, 2025. Bologna. Kimi Antonelli's childhood bedroom.
Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted the front of your dress while trying to decide whether it looked nice enough for the party. You had bought it the month before, during a race week, and at the time you had been completely sure it was perfect. Now, looking at it more closely, you weren't so sure anymore.
Your hands smoothed over your waist as you studied your reflection. Your eyes narrowed slightly and a thoughtful hum escaped you.
"Hmmm."
"I think I can read minds." Kimi's voice came from behind you, approaching through the half-open door.
"Oh, yeah?" you asked, meeting his gaze through the mirror.
"Yeah." He nodded once. "I think you're standing here thinking and thinking and thinking about whether that dress looks good enough. Or whether your hair looks nice." A grin appeared on his face. "And I, Andrea Kimi Antonelli, have arrived to save you from all this nonsense.”
You turned toward him, and he stepped a little closer. Kimi didn't touch you. He simply moved near enough that your faces were only a short distance apart. But your hands lifted on their own, settling on his shoulders. He was wearing one of those light-colored t-shirts you loved. Soft. Comfortable. Nice to lean against.
"Okay." You blinked up at him. "And how exactly are you planning to save me from all this nonsense?”
Encouraged by your hands resting on his shoulders, his own found your waist.
Then he pulled you a little closer.
"First of all," he began, "I'm going to tell you happy birthday..."
A smile immediately spread across your face.
"Happy birthday to you too," you replied, tilting your head slightly.
He nodded.
"And secondly..." His hands tightened just a little at your waist. “I'm going to tell you how beautiful you look.”
That familiar blush immediately spread across your cheeks.
"Okay..." you said.
"You're the prettiest girl in the world. And that's the prettiest dress there is."
"You're exaggerating..."
"No." He shook his head once. "I'm right."
"But—"
His index finger immediately found your lips, gently cutting you off.
"No arguments."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Prettiest girl in the world.”
Looking directly into his eyes, you clicked your tongue. What a stubborn boy.
"Oh, alright," you said at last, surrendering. "Because it's your birthday. I'm not arguing."
"Yeah. That's right." He nodded, pretending to be completely convinced.
His hand found yours, weaving your fingers together.
"Come on." He gave your hand a gentle tug toward the door. "They're waiting for us."
A grin appeared on his face.
"It's the grand reopening of our shared birthday, remember?"
Yes. You hadn't forgotten. Not for a second.
A quiet laugh escaped you.
"Let's go," you said.
Kimi's smile widened immediately. Still holding your hand, he led you toward the door. The hallway looked exactly the same as it always had. The stairs too. The framed family photos. The familiar sounds coming from downstairs. Laughter. Voices. Life.
For a moment, you found yourself looking at the back of Kimi's head. At the hand holding yours. At the boy who had somehow been there for almost every important chapter of your life.
Kimi glanced back at you.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
A small smile appeared on your face.
"No reason."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. You laughed. And together, you headed downstairs to celebrate your birthday.
you thought you were happy with your boyfriend but when things start falling apart, lando and oscar give you a soft place to land.
note: this one is a monster, i hope you guys enjoy it! i had to restart it like three times before getting it right. obligatory i don't speak spanish disclaimer lol
warnings : established relationship landoscar, lando and reader are lowkey exes, reader's bf is an asshole, gaslighting, swearing, implied/referenced sex
fc: begoña vargas
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
yn.sainz just posted
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yn.sainz: go williams 💙🏁
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lando: What about mclaren?
⤷yn.sainz: eh, orange isn’t really my color
⤷lando: Its papaya!!
carlossainz55: Why do I look so scared
⤷lando: Mate thats just your face
victorreyes: ❤️
yn.sainz just posted
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yn.sainz: monaco baby 🇲🇨 thank you @.oscarpiastri for showing me around
view all comments:
carlossainz55: You come to the country I live in and do not even visit me. Do you not love your big brother?
⤷yn.sainz: you’re so annoying 😭
oscarpiastri: Happy to be your tour guide
liked by author
victorreyes: Seriously?
comment deleted by author
yn.sainz just posted
liked by lando, oscarpiastri, and others
yn.sainz: feliz cumpleaños a mí 🥳
view all comments:
lando: Happy birthday pretty girl
oscarpiastri: Happy birthday Yn ❤️
user: not oscar and lando being invited to her family birthday dinner but her actual bf is nowhere to be found lmao
user: MY CARLANDOOOO
user: hbd!!!
victorreyes: You didn’t tell me he was going to be there 🙄
comment deleted by author
yn.sainz just posted
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, and others
yn.sainz: 🍜🍤🍚
view all comments:
oscarpiastri: I didn’t know Lando could open his mouth that wide 🤣
⤷user: you know damn well…
lando: ❤️❤️
user: shes been spending so much time with lando and oscar lately 🤔
⤷user: with her bf mia 😒😒
⤷user: She better not be trying to steal lando from oscar, she already had her chance!!
⤷user: bro relax they’re probably just friends. none of our business anyway!
view story replies:
user: posting your boyfriend and your girlfriend LOL i see you lando
user: CUTE i love this friendship
user: ugh can she go away??
view story replies:
victorreyes: Why didnt you tell me Lando would be coming
↳yn.sainz: why does it matter victor? my parents invited him
↳victorreyes: You know I dont like how much time you two spend together!
↳yn.sainz: i’m not doing this right now, i’m going to enjoy my family vacation.
↳victorreyes: We’ll talk about this later.
yn.sainz just posted
liked by carlossainz55, rebeccadonaldson, and others
yn.sainz: thank god i had someone else who hates golf with me on this trip 😭
view all comments:
user: Now landoscar are being invited to sainz family vacations? what is going on??
⤷user: idk but i’m obsessed with it
user: imagine getting to be the filling in a landoscar sandwich
⤷user: dude why do you have to say it like that 😭😭 like you’re not wrong but…
⤷user: let me speak my truth!
view story replies:
yn.sainz: it’s so pretty here!
oscarpiastri: Yeah I was definitely talking about the scenery
yn.sainz: ?
oscarpiastri: Don’t worry about it lol
view story replies:
lando: No one is stopping you from joining in 😏
yn.sainz: you’re ridiculous
yn.sainz: i’m sure both of our boyfriends wouldn’t be happy lol
lando: You never know 🤷♂️
view story replies:
↳lando: Wtf where was my invite?
↳yn.sainz: aren't you busy golfing?
↳carlossainzofficial: Cuídate, hija.
↳yn.sainz: yes papá ❤️
yn.sainz just posted
liked by rebeccadonaldson, lando, and others
yn.sainz: getting away from it all 🐟
view all comments:
rebeccadonaldson: lovely little weekend with you 🤍
yn.sainz: thank you for keeping me distracted <3
user: anyone else notice yn hasn’t posted or mentioned her boyfriend in a while?
⤷user: i noticed she unfollowed him a few weeks ago, i’m guessing they broke up 🤷♀️
lando: Pretty
liked by author
oscarpiastri: Beautiful
liked by author
user: was gonna ask if lando and oscar are looking for a third but i think they’ve found one 😂😂
view story replies:
yn.sainz: i’m not going to take him from you lando, don’t worry
lando: Im okay with sharing if its with you
yn.sainz: funny.
lando: You dont think im serious?
lando: Because i am
yn.sainz: sure you are
yn.sainz just posted
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, and others
yn.sainz: happy happy happy
view all comments:
user: is this a relationship confirmation???
liked by author
lando: What happens in Vegas…
⤷yn.sainz: stays between US 🙄
oscarpiastri: 💕
⤷yn.sainz: 🥰
carlossainz55: I am always right
⤷yn.sainz: shut up old man
⤷carlossainz55: Blocked.
oscar has his hands full, being in a relationship with you and lando.
note: i'm so landoscar pilled lately
warnings : swearing, implied/referenced sex
fc: beabadoobee
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
ynpriv just posted
liked by ln4priv and others
ynpriv: $200 for the little gay one
view all comments:
oscaaaah: Baby why are you trying to sell us
⤷ynpriv: need tha money
⤷ln4priv: We are millionaires?
ln4priv: Second pic is wildly accurate
⤷ynpriv: idk how he deals with us
⤷oscaaaah: Its really hard work
albono23: would you do $100 for the little gay one
⤷ln4priv: Alex you cant buy me
⤷ynpriv: stop trying to lowball me albono. i know his worth!
ynpriv just posted
liked by ln4priv, oscaaaah, and others
ynpriv: my favorite pov
view all comments:
ln4priv: Wait who is who?
⤷ynpriv: well oscar has brown eyes and i just refilled my lexapro prescription so come to your own conclusions
⤷oscaaah: As if that should even be a question lol
albono23: did they finally let you adopt a cat
⤷ynpriv: i make my own decisions!
⤷ln4priv: Yes we did
lilympriv: i’m omw over to pet that baby
oscaaaah: That’s my favorite pov too.
⤷ynpriv: you dog
summary: when your brother’s teammate, oscar, decides to rage bait him by hitting on you, it actually turns into something else entirely (or maybe that was his plan all along) but he may or may not (he definitely) fucks it up
face claim: ruby lyn & random pinterest baddies
author’s note: shoutout to my fav @piastreline for hyping me up while making this!!! hope it lives up to your expectations loool
ynnorris
♡ liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and others
ynnorris trench coat buttoned to the TOP
view all comments
piastreline and these ballerina ass slippers. what’s going on?
lando why are you so performative
⤷ ynnorris why are you so bitchless
oscarpiastri cute cat 👍🏻
⤷ ynnorris thanks 👍🏻
⤷ lando delete this
oliviarodrigo only brit i like
⤷ louispartridge_ ???
user67 im sensing oscar has a little crush…
⤷ user5 how did you even reach that conclusion
⤷ user67 trust me on this guys
⤷ user14 you’re DELUSIONAL
oscarpiastri
♡ liked by lando, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri mega weekend 👊 big thanks to the papaya team and a special someone who was there to support me today
view all comments
lando what. who?
⤷ ynnorris why? scared someone will steal your boyfriend?
charles_leclerc great job son
⤷ ynnorris why would you not censor j*b 😕
user67 wait… yn was at the gp today…
⤷ user9 ohmygod be serious rn she was there for her brother
⤷ user67 no HEAR ME OUT
ynnorris do you have a mirror in your pocket? because i can see myself in your pants
♡ liked by oscarpiastri
⤷ lando ????????????????????
oscarpiastri
♫ · you might be sleeping - jakob, clairo
♡ liked by oscarfan5, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri very much needed break
view all comments
mclaren recharging
lando is that my sister you PEDO
⤷ oscarpiastri she’s a year younger than me…
⤷ lando damn right PEDO
user8 ohmygod? aesthetically pleasing post? clairo? he’s in DEEP
ynfan1 IS THAT YN IN SLIDE THREE HELLO???
⤷ ynosctruther right like is this a soft launch???
⤷ partypooper maybe they’re just friends lol
oscarslefttoe i’m shaking this is too couple coded
ynnorris these shorts don’t look good on you… they’d look better on my bedroom floor looooool 🫦
⤷ oscarpiastri fair
⤷ lando WHAT THE FUCK
⤷ norrisfan7 oh i just know the pr team hates her
⤷ ynnorris THEY CANT STOP ME HEHE
user67 need them to kiss rn
ynnorris
♡ liked by oscarpiastri, iheartynosc, user67 and others
ynnorris guys chill im just doing charity work (teaching him how to dress)
view all comments
oscarpiastri i dress fine actually
⤷ ynnorris no you don’t
⤷ oscarpiastri no i don’t…
user67 TEACHING HIM HOW TO DRESS IS GF BEHAVIOR SORRY
piastriluv the last slide … she’s leaning into him??? guys hello.
lando im blocking you both
⤷ ynnorris love you too big bro
ynlover you two look like the couple that argues in ikea and then kiss in the parking lot
⤷ ynnorris …maybe
oscarfan89 they are either deeply in love or deeply unserious no inbetween
user14 oscar loves women who bully him confirmed
iloveop81 oscar blink twice if she’s holding you hostage in a thrift store
f1gossip
♡ liked by user19, ihateynnorris, oscarfumbleastri and others
f1gossip “GOD NO”? 👀🔥
Oscar Piastri shuts rumors down hard when asked if he and Y/N Norris are dating and fans are LOSING it. In a new paddock interview, Piastri responded to a question about his rumored relationship with Y/N with a quick: “God, no… me and Y/N? No. I don’t see her like that at all.” No clarification. No “we’re just close friends”. Just straight rejection or was it?? Clips are going viral, with some fans calling his response cold, while others argue he was simply trying to shut down speculation. What do you think? Was this: A) just poor wording, B) a public rejection, or C) something he’ll regret later?
view all comments
user81 bro could’ve said ANYTHING else
user7 imagine hearing the guy you like react like that… yikes
norrishearts 🚨🚨 fumble of the century
oscarmidasstri that was unnecessarily harsh wtf
user2 did he just call her undateable?
user56 he didn’t mean it like that
⤷ user65 then he shouldn’t have said it like that
iluvyn wtf? y/n is literally an angel
landonorizz i just know lando is going to bury him alive
user67 oh
⤷ user99 it’s so bad we’re even losing user67
unfollow oscarpiastri | cancel
ynnorris
♫ · all i wanted - paramore
♡ liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, 18lovers and others
ynnorris reconnecting with nature after whatever the frick that was…
ynnorris has turned comments off on this post
f1gossip
♡ liked by ynosc4ever, user67, ilovecillianmurphysobad and others
f1gossip Well… that escalated quickly. 👀 After THAT interview, Oscar Piastri and Y/N Norris were spotted meeting last night — first seen talking quietly while walking, then caught kissing on the street shortly after. No statements have been made by either party yet, but we’re pretty sure actions speak louder than podcasts, interviews, and PR teams. Enemies to lovers?Miscommunication to makeout? What chapter are we in??? 🫣🔥
view all comments
user70 I WAS JUST RECOVERING FROM THE INTERVIEW WHAT
random3 i bet lando is somewhere punching a wall rn
⤷ user67 he’s quitting to start his very own matchmaking business actually
loveyn if he apologized like that i’d forgive too tbf
user69 imagine going to make up and then that happens on the street im screaming
ynoscfan3 i love communication
⤷ oscarsimpastri that wasn’t communication that was desperation in 4K
georgerussell63 fav romcom
user67 WE ARE SOOOOO BACK
ynnorris
♫ · crush - ethel cain
♡ liked by oscarpiastri, lando, mothercain and others
ynnorris make up… make out… same thing…
view all comments
oscarpiastri i prefer the latter
⤷ ynnorris who?
⤷ oscarpiastri me
⤷ ynnorris asked 🤣🤣
lando FINALLY
⤷ lando wait wrong acc
⤷ user67 FINALLY
ethelcainlover22 ethelcainlover22
⤷ ynnorris marry me
⤷ oscarpiastri ?????
user7 he is down bad
papayagirl everybody act surprised
oscarfan8 yk oscar is a dog person.. are you gonna get a dog too?
⤷ ynnorris my cat is like oh no no no we’re not getting a dog don’t even thing about it girl
oscar piastri has somehow become part of the leclerc family, just… not for the reason everyone assumes.
pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!fem reader
requested: yes!! hope this delivers
warnings: use of y/n, slightly inaccurate timeline for plot purposes, oscar piastri leclerc propaganda, mentions of alexandra and other members in charles’ family. also this is just for fun and obviously fiction, i'm not trying to reflect any person in real life ‹3
a/n: helloooo i promise i didn’t die. i’m slowly restarting requests <3 also brace yourselves because the next request i'm posting is pure angst...
MY MASTERLIST
oscarpiastri
Monaco
liked by ynleclerc and 424.325 others
oscarpiastri Another Monaco podium. On to Barca
view all comments
username1 i love you so much 🥲
username2 so nice to see oscar with his dad on the podium
ynleclerc 👏 ❤︎ liked by the author
⤷ username3 omg i didn’t know y/n and oscar were even friends
⤷ username4 the leclercs fully adopted him this weekend i fear
username5 1681 podium we cheered!!!
username6 father and son celebrating on the podium together
f1 The Piastri-Leclerc genes are strong 💪
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ynleclerc
Monte-Carlo, Monaco
liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 193.264 others
ynleclerc weekends at home 🤍
view all comments
username1 i missed you in the paddock pls don’t disappear again
alexandrasaintmleux ❤️❤️❤️❤️
⤷ username2 the most gorgeous girls
⤷ username3 i love their friendship
username4 my favorite leclerc, no competition ❤︎ liked by the author
arthur_leclerc Where did you get the cap?
⤷ ynleclerc some small brand
⤷ arthur_leclerc That's my cap
⤷ ynleclerc prove it
yourbff FORZA FERRARI
username5 i spot the same bracelet from charles’ post
⤷ charles_leclerc She stole it
⤷ ynleclerc borrowing isn't stealing
⤷ charles_leclerc It's been 3 months
⤷ username6 NOT THREE MONTHS 💀
username7 oscar likedddd
⤷ username8 they're probably just friends through charles and arthur
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc updated their story
❤︎ liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff and others
view all replies
oscarpiastri
Hope they made you smile 😊
⤷ ynleclerc
maybe he just has good taste?? idk sounds possible
charles_leclerc
Did he send the giant bouquet on purpose to earn points or is this just his style?
⤷ ynleclerc
you literally know him
⤷ arthur_leclerc
That’s why I’m shocked
He used to be a dork who laughed at everything I said
Now he’s sending coordinated bouquets from Barcelona like some kind of professional romantic
arthur_leclerc
I can’t believe Oscar Piastri is sending my sister flowers
⤷ ynleclerc
i’ll let him know the approval committee said yes
lorenzotl
He has good taste
──── ୨ৎ ────
alexandrasaintmleux
I love you 🫶🏻
oscarpiastri
Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya
liked by leclerc_pascale, ynleclerc and 1.011.608 others
oscarpiastri Enjoyable one that
view all comments
username1 p1 baby let’s gooooo
username2 you did it amazing im so so so so proud of you
username3 awwww charles’ mum liked this
⤷ username4 he’s fully integrated into that family it’s so sweet
username4 did i see…. ABS 🤯
ynleclerc well deserved 🥹🧡
⤷ oscarpiastri Thank you!
username5 that’s my world champion right there
charles_leclerc 👏👏👏 ❤︎ liked by the author
⤷ username6 charles supporting his adopted son
⤷ username7 this will never not be funny
username8 finally a smile 🙂↕️
arthur_leclerc Congrats 👏 ❤︎ liked by the author
username9 the entire leclerc family is in these likes i love it
⤷ username10 he’s one of them now
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op81updates
liked by username1, username2 and 187.44 others
op81updates oscar in a recent interview revealing that his french is actually quite good because charles' mum cuts his hair and doesn't speak english so they communicate in french 😭 #CanadianGP
Interviewer: "Last time we spoke, your French was a work in progress. How's it coming along?"
Oscar: laughs "I think my French is actually quite good now! Well, better than it was."
Interviewer: "Have you been practicing?"
Oscar: "Yeah, I've had some help and I've been putting it to use."
Interviewer: "Oh? How so?"
Oscar: "Well, I get my haircuts from Charles' mum, and she doesn't speak a single word of English."
Interviewer: surprised "And she understands you?"
Oscar: smiles "She does now! Took a bit at first."
Interviewer: "The Leclerc family must really like you."
Oscar: "I hope so."
view all comments
username1 mr worldwide (0.000000001% french)
username2 okay so the thread about yn and oscar is making more sense now
username3 hope he's getting a family discount at least
⤷ username4 FAMILY DISCOUNT I'M SCREAMING
⤷ username5 if he's dating yn he better be getting it for free
username6 they really get along well and that makes me soooo happy
username7 THAT'S SO FUCKING CUTEEEE
username8 well he IS a leclerc so that makes sense to me
username9 oscar piastri leclerccccc
username10 i really need to hear oscar speaking french
username11 omg pascale still cuts his hair I MOVED
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc
So Easy (To Fall In Love) - Olivia Dean
liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and 127.849 others
ynleclerc this n that
view all comment
username1 the third pic 👀
username2 soft launching is an art form and she’s mastered it
alexandrasaintmleux 😍😍😍😍 ❤︎ liked by the author
username3 who’s the mystery man in pic 3
charlotte2304 Très belle 😍 ❤︎ liked by the author
yourbff he’s getting better at taking pics finally
⤷ ynleclerc yes i’m training him well
username4 WAIT OSCAR’S SISTER LIKED THIS
username5 i’m connecting dots 🕵️🕵️🕵️
──── ୨ৎ ────
oscarpiastri
liked by ynleclerc and 881.626 others
oscarpiastri Prep week 💪
view all comments
username1 IS THIS WHAT WERE DOING NOW
username2 i hate when they know.
ynleclerc WJD+}.sS..DKFKR
this comment has been deleted
username3 learning the art of thirst traps you’re doing great keep it up
username4 oh my god did anyone saw y/n’s comment before she deleted it
⤷ username5 YES IT WAS JUST KEYSMASH I HAVE THE SCREENSHOT
⤷ username6 she really said sjdkfksk and then DELETED
⤷ username7 can’t blame her 😭😭
⤷ username8 i’m starting a new rumor as we speak
⤷ username9 y/n girl... come back... we’re not judging...
⤷ username10 proof she’s just as down bad as the rest of us
⤷ username11 she’s one of us fr
username12 never let your hair see a pair of scissors again!!
username13 i understand the product placement but ain’t nobody looking at that damn water bottle
⤷ username14 REAL
⤷ username15 what water bottle
username16 oscar you didn’t even TRY to pretend this was about training
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc updates their close friends story
❤︎ liked by yourbff and others
──── ୨ৎ ────
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc and alexandrasaintmleux updated their story
❤︎ liked by hattiepiastri and others
username1
are you going to spa??
⤷ ynleclerc
can’t wait!!
kikagomes
see you soon😍
──── ୨ৎ ────
username2
spa weekend?
oscarpiastri
liked by ynleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 687.254 others
oscarpiastri Tough opponent on the way to Spa charles_leclerc
view all comments
username1 LEOOOOO omg cutie
username2 wait does this mean y/n and alex were with them??
⤷ username3 i think so, alex posted charles with leo on a plane and y/n posted clouds from a plane
⤷ username4 THEY WERE ALL TOGETHER
lando you lost to a dog ❤︎ liked by the author
username5 so we’re all just ignoring that oscar charles y/n and alex flew together
ynleclerc he won every round
⤷ oscarpiastri Can confirm
username6 Y/N WAS THERE I’M UNWELL
username7 sidequests??
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc updated their story
❤︎ liked by arthur_leclerc and others
username1
best track on the calendar
──── ୨ৎ ────
username2
girl we KNOW you’re not only there for ferrari don’t play with us
oscarpiastri
Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps
liked by ynleclerc, nicolepiastri and 1.273.830 others
oscarpiastri Did I mention I like Spa?
view all comments
username1 oscplaining was done
ausgp This win ATE ❤︎ liked by the author
username2 goat doing goat things
nicolepiastri So proud!!
⤷ oscarpiastri ❤️
username3 the way y/n was supporting charles but also probably dying to celebrate with oscar
ynleclerc you may have mentioned it
⤷ oscarpiastri Once or twice
⤷ username3 at this point you two just need to confirm it
──── ୨ৎ ────
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc and oscarpiastri updated their story
❤︎ liked by charlotte2304 and others
⤷ ynleclerc
you literally exposed us to 50 million people so no
charles_leclerc
Where's my invitation to this dinner?
yourbff
why is he holding you like you're about to LEAVE he's got a grip
friend1
relax bro aint nobody takin her from u
username1
IS THAT OSCAR'S HAND
──── ୨ৎ ────
username2
OSCAR AND Y/N POSTING AT THE SAME TIME THIS IS NOT A DRILL
oscarpiastri
liked by ynleclerc, lando and 2.847.936 others
oscarpiastri Summer break so far ☀️
tagged user: ynleclerc
view all comments
username1 OSCAR PIASTRI HARD LAUNCH
username2 HE REALLY JUST DID THAT
username3 oscar really said I’M MARRIED 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️
ynleclerc 🤍☀️
username4 i thought he was becoming a bonus leclerc brother not… this????
⤷ username5 we were NOT expecting this from him but we will adapt
username6 can oscar fight??? 😮💨
──── ୨ৎ ────
ynleclerc
liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 325.793 others
ynleclerc my family approves 😋
tagged user: oscarpiastri
view all comments
username1 i’m pretending not to scream at the last pic thanks
charles_leclerc ✅
⤷ arthur_leclerc ✅
⤷ lorenzotl ✅
username2 remember when she keysmashed on his gym post and we all knew
oscarpiastri They do?
⤷ ynleclerc you passed the test months ago
⤷ oscarpiastri Could've told me that
⤷ ynleclerc where's the fun in that
username3 "my family approves" girl they ADOPTED him
Summary: Ferrari-era Ollie was basically “Charles’ kid” and although he got really close with his sister, dating her = off limits, but now that he is in Haas? It is also a PR nightmare.
ynleclerc
Tagged: charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux
Liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and others
ynleclerc winter trip with my favs !
view all comments
alexandrasaintmleux love you bby
ynleclerc mwahh
scuderiaferrari our favourite couple and third wheel
yourbff miss u queen
ynleclerc ughh missu too love
user1 aww alex and charles are so cute
user2 she’s only famous bc of her brothers 😂
olliebearman you look cold
ynleclerc come warm me up then ?
olliebearman whatever you want beautiful
charles_leclerc ?
user3 OLLIE’S COMMENT HELLO????!!
user4 and charles’ response LMAO
user5 need… ynollie… now…
olliebearman
Liked by charles_leclerc, ynleclerc, oscarpiastri, kimi.antonelli and others
view all comments
ynleclerc my fyp when im hungry.. 🫦
olliebearman 👀
charles_leclerc I am talking your phone.
kimi.antonelli 🔥🔥🔥
user6 YNOLLIE!!!!!!
charles_leclerc what the hell is that.
user6 IM GONNA DIE
user7 this y/n girl needs to back off she’s so weird
user8 he won’t notice you don’t worry
user9 can y/n fight
user10 they’re not together lmao they’re just joking around… they’ve been like this forever
olliebearman posted a story !
replies
user11 noooooooo ynollie is over 💔💔
kimi.antonelli is that who i think it is 😏
olliebearman maybe…
charles_leclerc Good. Now you’ll stop being gross with my sister
user12 that should be me holding your hand… that should be me making you laugh
ynleclerc
Liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, alexandrasaintmleux and others
view all comments
alexandrasaintmleux cute 🩷🤍
ynleclerc je t’ adore
yourbff GIRL
user13 SOFT LAUNCHHHH
user14 ynollie nation… i fear we are screwed
user15 it’s THEIR lives you dont know these people
user16 it’s official.. no more ynollie
charles_leclerc WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN
charles_leclerc i guess im glad it’s not ollie since you are both taken now
charles_leclerc wait a damn minute…
olliebearman
Tagged: ynleclerc
Liked by ynleclerc, kimi.antonelli, babickovaeli, estebanocon and others
olliebearman well well… i am going to be murdered by my PR team and her brothers #worthit #amanwhoyearnsisamanwhoearns
