Days had passed. A few in which you enjoyed your job as a waitress a lot more than before.
The sign you had given Jean-Philippe gave him a clear hint. Though there was still a lack of your desired outcome.
During the few days, Jean-Philippe and you danced around each other, catching each other's eyes and the following smiles, slight brushes against each other's bodies while passing by, but nothing more and nothing less, which, you had to say, bothered you. There was no approval nor a refusal.
Unbeknownst to you, Jean-Philippe had felt the same way. He was still unsure if it was an innocent gesture of yours. In the following days, he had felt like walking on thin ice. Trying to return the gesture you had given him.
In general, he wasn't sure of himself, but he felt like he needed to take action and finally say something to you. It felt like not doing so would result in him suffocating on his own words.
So, he wanted to, he wanted to talk to you badly and he couldn't wait any longer. But the current situation in the dining room proved he would have a difficult time getting to talk to you.
Tonight two of the chefs, one from the red and the other from the blue team, were challenged by being part of the wait staff. Jean-Philippe wanted to believe that they were trying their best at serving the guests, but the longer he observed them in the dining room, the more convinced he was that it was hopeless.
The evening had a pretty rocky start.
Starting to walk up to Jean-Philippe, you wanted to hand him your tickets from your section of the dining room. Sorting through the tickets, he looked up and gave you a shy, almost nervous smile, thanking you for the tickets.
"You know I actually wanted to talk to you about-", starting his sentence with a slight laugh but then stopped mid-sentence as he received another set of tickets from one of the server-turned-chefs.
"What is that? That is a table with six guests, why are there only four dishes written down?", having almost fully turned to the chef, he looked shortly at you and then apologized quickly before pacing away.
You were rather curious as to what he wanted to talk about - maybe the kiss? Maybe he would tell you how he felt about it? How he felt about you? Something about what he wanted to tell you, sent a slight shiver down your spine. But something told you that it could take a while, until he and you had the chance to talk.
The evening went on, you refilled the guests' glasses and went to fill the bread baskets a second, sometimes even a third time while the customers waited for their food. You tried to help the server-turned-chefs with their tickets and serving ordered dishes to their tables. Helping them so they wouldn’t confuse the table numbers and their dishes, or showing them how to place dishes and who should be served first.
Jean-Philippe, who saw you doing what would in fact be his task, smiled thoughtfully to himself, humming a low tone in the process. That’s what he liked about you. How you helped others without a second thought. How kind your smile was in the process of doing so. How high you held your head even after a tiring day at work, sometimes when Chef Ramsay would give you a cocky remark and you stood there, swallowing his words and continuing your shift like nothing had happened. He found you remarkable. Gracious even, just from seeing you in that simple white button-up and your black dress pants. The elegant way you communicated with the guests, trying to keep them at bay when they grew irritated from waiting so long until their food arrived. He found you lovely.
Jean-Philippe stood there another second admiring you, not hearing the shout of his name from his dear friend and colleague Gordon. Finally being freed from his trance, he made his way to the hot plate, getting his orders from the British chef.
In return you now watched him for a spare second, watching how he basically floated up the step to the pass. It was always a pleasure to watch him work, tending to the guests' every need and want. How carefully he chose his words with the people around him, coating them with that belgian accent of his, applying a charming smile to his face, which in return almost always applies a smile to the customer's mouth. He was just not unlikeable, at least in your eyes. Your eyes then retracted from his figure, turning back to work.
Coming up to the hot plate yourself now, waiting for any sign of another of your tables' orders being passed to you. You almost flinched when you heard Jean-Philippe's voice behind you.
"Hey..."
"Hey, are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine...", he started, looking sheepishly away, then turning his gaze to your eyes once again. "So what I wanted to talk to you about was about the other day and-", he was once again disrupted, this time by none other than the head chef himself, Gordon Ramsay, shouting at him to get back to work again, calling him a 'twat' in the process.
Now you grew agitated. You finally wanted to hear what he wanted to tell you! By now you were sure you had to wait until the next day so you could talk. But thinking could wait. Just now Chef Ramsay shouted for service.
"This goes to table ten, right, piss off yeah.", you could finally get dishes out, getting the tray and waiting for one of your fellow colleagues to follow you with another tray in hand.
When you reached the table, the guests almost broke out in a cheer, being overjoyed with finally getting their long-awaited food. Though another look to the hot plate told you, that the other tables wouldn't have such a happy reaction over the course of the evening...
Though you couldn't hear what was being said, you could've guessed, just from seeing Jean-Philippe's low-hung head and how he carried himself, from just a small order from the chef. Whatever the order was, it was sure to disappoint. And if it put Jean-Philippe in a sour mood, it would endorse a worse mood for the guests. Shortly after that, the maître d' gestured for the waiting staff to gather around him.
"The kitchen has been closed, so, please, tell the remaining tables that there will be no food served any longer", a hand on your shoulder kept you from walking away. Looking at the owner of said hand, you, once again this night, came face-to-face with Jean-Philippe. "Can we talk for a minute?", you of course, nodded in agreement.
Walking into a room out of sight of any other people, Jean-Philippe closed the door and softly leaned against it, facing you. Now the nervousness caught up to you, standing there just with him. Putting his hands in his pockets, he took a step toward you and began.
"So what I wanted to talk to you about, uhm, is-"
"Jean-Philippe, I'm sorry if I overstepped the line. I don't know what I was thinking back then, you know.", you didn't know what to do. You were starting to doubt that there was anything positive about this talk. It didn't cross your mind that he could also reject you, that you mistook all those brushes and looks, that you were too forward a few nights ago.
"Again, I'm sorry, I just-"
"Chérie, please, don't be...", it was his turn to interrupt.
"(y/n), I was quite surprised by you, you know? Quite happy actually." his features starting to relax in a light smile now. Relief washed over you. He was happy with the little peck. He took a step further toward you, a little blush rushing to his cheeks.
"So in return I wanted to ask if I could ask you out, you know, on a date?", to say you were simply happy would be an understatement. You were overwhelmed with joy.
"Really? Oh, I'm so glad! Of course!", you couldn't help the smile that spread across your cheeks. "Just tell me when and where."
"How about Sunday?"
"Sounds perfect..."
"Then I'll pick you up at six.", just like yours, his smile didn't vanish off his face. How could you make this smile last forever?
Due to his stance, his head was a bit tilted downward. You stepped nearer, one step after the other, until you stood right in front of the man. Once again, like a few nights before, you repeated the same action. Pressing your lips just above the corner of his mouth. At least you meant to reach that spot.
Jean-Philippe turned his head. You were now so close to him you could smell his cologne. You hesitated for a moment, looking at his lips. Steading your hands on his collarbone, you found the courage to press your lips against his. Taking his hands out of his pockets, they were carefully placed on your upper back. Pulling away, you looked into his chestnut brown eyes.
"Sunday at six?", you wanted to be sure you hadn't dreamt all of this.
જ⁀➴ Desc: || Kimi and you always had a crush on each other, your father, Toto Wolff knew this. After a world of heartache and a break up, Kimi is there to mend it with the support of your father. ||
ᯓ★ Kimi Antonelli x Fem! (Wolff) Reader
ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff
ᯓ★ Warning: None, really, just an angry Kimi that punches your ex
ᯓ★ Requested? No
Author Note: Thank you guys so much for showing support towards my other post. It means a lot, and I see all the support you've been giving me. Here is some Kimi. I will be working on requests as soon as I upload my original works to my draft. I do apologize if this isn't the best work of mine!!!
☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★
Toto had always been a devoted father—the kind of man who, the moment he held you for the first time, knew without question that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. From that instant on, his purpose was clear: give you a life full of wonder, safety, and choice. And for a long time, that meant spoiling you just a little—okay, a lot—because nothing made him prouder than giving you a life most kids could only dream of.
But as you grew, watching you change from the little girl who clung to his leg into a young woman carving out her own place in the world… well, that was the hardest challenge he'd ever faced. Not even Formula 1 came close. If he could, he would’ve frozen time—kept you small, safe, protected in the bubble he built. But your mother, Susie, had always been the wiser one in those moments. She’d tell him gently, "Let her live, Toto. She knows what she’s doing."
And he trusted you. Deeply. He always had. Even when every part of his protective instincts begged him to hover, to step in, to control—he held back, because Susie was right. You had a good head on your shoulders. You knew what you wanted, what you didn’t. He just had to believe in that.
Still… that belief wavered the day he met your boyfriend.
From the first handshake, Toto had to grit his teeth. There was something off—something smug, careless, cold. He tried to give the benefit of the doubt at first, tried to play civil. But dinner that night had been a disaster. The boy barely looked you in the eye, spoke with that detached tone that set off every alarm in a father’s soul. He interrupted you, ignored your opinions, tossed out passive comments that stung with disrespect.
And when Toto confronted Susie afterward, trying to reason out his frustration, the only thing he could mutter was, “He treats her like one of the guys. He doesn’t see her. Not really.”
You tried to brush it off. You always did. Maybe, deep down, you figured your dad wouldn’t approve of anyone. He had never made your love life easy. It wasn’t that he wanted to sabotage it—he just had impossibly high standards. He wanted someone who saw you the way he saw you: as someone rare, worthy, and deeply loved.
Then came the day he brought you with him to work.
And everything quietly began to change.
That was the day you met Kimi Antonelli—young, respectful, focused, and, unlike your boyfriend, someone who actually listened when you spoke. Toto watched the first interaction from across the paddock. It was subtle. A handshake. A smile. But there was something in Kimi’s posture—something in the way he looked at you—that caught Toto off guard.
It wasn’t long before you and Kimi started spending more time together. He wasn’t flashy or overly forward, but he showed up—every time. And every time you laughed around him, something settled in Toto’s chest. Even Susie noticed. You were lighter when Kimi was around, more yourself.
And though Toto never said it out loud, he was rooting for him.
He’d seen the signs: the way Kimi’s ears turned pink when you said his name, the way he nervously played with his hoodie strings whenever you walked into a room. The way he leaned in when you talked, fully tuned in like there was no one else in the world. Toto recognized the feeling—because it was how he used to look at Susie when they were young.
Usually, that would’ve been Toto’s cue to intervene, to draw boundaries, to be the protective dad. But with Kimi? He felt none of that need. Kimi wasn’t just respectful—he adored you. And Toto approved. Quietly, but wholeheartedly.
Just earlier that day, Toto had watched Kimi’s face drop when you casually mentioned your boyfriend was coming to pick you up. That flicker of hurt was brief, quickly buried—but Toto saw it. And though he knew it was probably wrong, he couldn’t help but wish the boyfriend would disappear altogether.
Still, Kimi had been kind. Encouraging. He smiled and told you to have fun, even though Toto could tell it cost him something to say it.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Toto leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand cradling a half-empty mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. His eyes weren’t on the cup, though—they were fixed on the clock hanging above the stove. Each tick felt louder than the last, like a slow, steady drumbeat to his anxiety. 10:15 PM. Fifteen minutes past the curfew he had set. Not a hard rule, not a command—but a boundary. A sign of care. Respect. And you weren’t home.
He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose. His mind spun. You were eighteen. Legally an adult, yes. But to him, you were still his daughter. Still, the baby he carried on his shoulders through airports. Still, the teenager who came to him crying the first time school made the world feel too big. You were his, and even if he knew he couldn’t protect you forever… he couldn’t help the fear that always crept in when you were late.
Especially tonight.
Because he knew who you were with. And if there was one thing that tightened every muscle in his chest, it was him—the boyfriend who never seemed to look Toto in the eye. The one who was all charm and zero substance. The one who never bothered to say thank you, who treated curfews like suggestions and your boundaries like inconveniences. From the start, Toto had sensed something off. A chill beneath the surface. But for your sake, he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to be the overbearing father who pushed you away by pushing too hard.
Still, it gnawed at him.
Footsteps approached from behind—soft, steady, familiar. Susie wrapped her arms loosely around him from behind, resting her chin gently against his shoulder. “She’ll be home, love,” she murmured with that even voice of hers that always grounded him. “We didn’t raise her to break all the rules.”
Toto sighed, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about the rules. It’s about respect. Time. Safety. That boy doesn’t care about any of it. I told him when he picked her up—I made it very clear. And yet…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The clock answered for him.
Susie stepped back, hands trailing down his arms as she gave him a soft look. “She has your fire and my good sense. Let her make this choice, Toto. You have to let her learn.”
He gave her a tight nod, but it didn’t soothe the worry burning under his skin. She left to check on Jack—no doubt to rescue the living room from a whirlwind of superhero toys and the soundtrack of laser sound effects—but Toto stayed rooted in place, his gaze flicking between the clock and the front door as if staring hard enough would make you walk through it.
By 10:32, he had started pacing.
By 10:36, he was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to slow the gallop of his heartbeat.
By 10:39, he'd nearly picked up his phone—just to check in, just to see—when he heard it.
The soft click of the front door opening.
His heart leapt, but the relief that flooded him turned quickly into alarm when he saw you standing there.
You were back. But you were broken.
Your face was pale, your eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears that had dried only to be replaced by fresh ones. Your lip trembled, and Toto's chest clenched so tightly it stole the breath from him. All the lectures he’d rehearsed—You’re late, He doesn’t respect you, I told you so—they vanished. Gone. There was no room for them when his daughter was standing in the doorway, looking like the world had just collapsed at her feet.
He didn’t ask. Didn’t speak.
He just opened his arms.
You crossed the room without hesitation, like a wave crashing toward the only shore that ever made you feel safe, and the moment you hit his chest, you let go. Sobs broke from you like thunder—loud, sudden, raw. And Toto held you like he had when you were five years old and scraped your knee, like he had when nightmares used to steal your sleep. His arms wrapped around you with that quiet strength only a father has, one hand gently cradling the back of your head.
"He broke up with me," you choked through tears.
Toto went still. He didn’t need to hear the details. Didn’t want them. His fury flared like a match in his chest—hot and instant—but he didn’t let it reach his face. You didn’t need anger. Not yet. Not now. Right now, you needed to fall apart in the arms of someone who loves you without condition or judgment.
So he pushed down the rage. The urge to call the boy. To drive across town. To remind him exactly who he had just hurt.
Instead, Toto held you closer.
After what felt like hours in your father’s arms—though in truth, it had only been minutes—you finally felt your body begin to release the tension it had been holding so tightly. The sobs faded into quiet sniffles, and the storm that had burst so violently inside you now softened to a low, steady ache. You pulled back just enough to look up at Toto, his steady hands still on your shoulders, his eyes full of unspoken love.
“I’m gonna head back to my room,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.
Toto gave the faintest nod, brushing a thumb gently across your tear-streaked cheek. “Alright, liebling. I’m here if you need me.”
You nodded, but you didn’t speak again. You turned and climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, the echo of your footsteps swallowed by the quiet of the house. When you finally shut the door behind you, your room felt darker than usual—like the grief had followed you in and taken a seat.
You collapsed onto your bed without even changing out of your clothes, the softness of your pillow doing nothing to ease the tight ache in your chest. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, still damp with your tears. There were texts—two from your mom, one being a photo from Jack that was sent from her phone, just a photo of a LEGO tower, and one—unsurprisingly—from your now ex-boyfriend.
You didn’t open it.
Your thumb hovered for a second, then moved to the one name that always brought a flicker of comfort. Kimi Antonelli.
You didn’t think. You just hit Call.
The phone barely rang once.
“Hey! Y/N, I was just—” Kimi’s voice lit up at the sound of your name, his energy clearly bright, distracted by something in the background—voices, laughter, maybe music—but then, in a heartbeat, it changed. “Wait... are you crying?”
You didn’t even realize you had started again until your voice cracked. “He broke up with me,” you managed, and your breath hitched painfully. The words felt raw, too sharp in your throat.
There was silence for a second. Not hesitation—just stillness. Kimi’s voice came back low, firm. “Okay. I’m coming over.”
“No, it’s—” But the line had already gone quiet.
Somewhere across town, Kimi Antonelli was standing up from a half-eaten dinner, pulling on his jacket while his friends called after him in confusion. He gave a distracted wave over his shoulder. “She needs me.”
“Who?” one of them asked, brows raised.
But Kimi didn’t answer. He was already out the door.
His footsteps were quick as he crossed the parking lot to his car, the cool night air biting at his skin. He barely noticed. His mind wasn’t on the racetrack, or the media, or even the rare night off he’d been looking forward to—it was on you. On the sound of your voice, cracking with pain. On the ache he imagined behind your silence.
Kimi had never heard you cry like that before. And God, he hated it. Hated knowing someone had made you feel that small. That disposable. That unseen.
He gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary, jaw clenched as he drove through the city streets toward your house. This wasn’t how he had imagined it—finally showing up for you, finally being the one you reached out to. He didn’t want it to be under these circumstances.
But he also didn’t care.
Because if you needed him, he’d be there.
Not for some big moment. Not to say something clever. Not to fix everything. Just to be—to hold space, to remind you that not everyone leaves, that not everyone breaks you and walks away. Some people stay. Quietly, without expectation, with nothing but steady presence and a heart full of care.
And his? Was entirely yours.
As he turned onto your street, headlights sweeping across familiar hedges and fences, he slowed the car in front of your house. Lights were still on in the kitchen. He could see the faint silhouette of Toto passing by the window. He hesitated only briefly before grabbing his hoodie off the passenger seat and stepping out into the night.
He walked up the driveway, nerves bubbling somewhere deep in his chest—not because of you, but because he knew your father was still awake. And Toto Wolff wasn’t exactly the type of man a boy arrived in front of, unannounced, after 11 PM.
But this wasn’t about pride. It wasn’t about nerves.
It was about you.
And that was enough to steady his hand as he rang the bell.
Toto glanced up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he’d been nursing a second, untouched cup of coffee. His brow furrowed. At this hour, unannounced visitors were rare. He stood slowly, his height casting a long shadow across the hallway as he approached the door. Through the frosted glass, he could see a figure—tall, lean, shifting his weight anxiously.
When he opened the door, the porch light fell across Kimi Antonelli’s face.
He looked… nervous. Not afraid, exactly, but purposeful. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes meeting Toto’s without flinching.
Toto didn’t speak at first. He simply raised an eyebrow.
Kimi cleared his throat. “Hi, Mr. Wolff. I—I know it’s late. I wouldn’t normally just show up like this, but Y/N called me and…” He paused. “She sounded really upset.”
There was something in Kimi’s voice—earnest, raw, respectful—that eased the tension just slightly from Toto’s shoulders. Still, the father in him remained protective. Measured. Guarded.
“She is,” Toto said evenly. “It’s been a rough night.”
Kimi nodded once, shifting his weight again, but he didn’t ask to come in. He didn’t push. “I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone. If she wants me to leave, I will. But I promised I’d show up if she ever needed me.”
Toto studied him.
He saw the signs again—the open posture, the sincerity, the quiet strength of a boy who didn’t come with rehearsed charm or performative pity. Just presence. Toto felt something in his chest relent, just a little.
“You’re not like him,” Toto said quietly.
Kimi’s brows drew in, unsure if it was a challenge or a statement.
Toto held his gaze. “And for what it’s worth… that’s a good thing.”
Then he stepped aside.
“You know the way.”
Kimi blinked, surprised for a split second by the gesture. “Thank you,” he murmured, slipping off his shoes before making his way upstairs with soft, deliberate steps.
Your room was dark, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You lay curled under your blanket, hoodie on, face still blotchy from crying but eyes dry now—empty in a way that was almost worse.
You didn’t expect the knock. It was soft, a gentle triple tap that made your heart skip.
You sat up. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and there he was—Kimi, still in his hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy from running a hand through it too many times. His eyes found yours immediately, and whatever breath you had left in your lungs caught.
“Kimi…”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door quietly behind him and crossed the room in a few strides, lowering himself to the edge of your bed like he’d done it a hundred times before.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice warm and steady. “I’m here.”
That simple phrase unraveled something inside you all over again.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” you admitted, voice cracking.
Kimi smiled, a little sad, a little tender. “You called the right person.”
You looked down, ashamed. “I feel stupid. Like I should’ve seen it coming. He was never—he never really…” You trailed off, your throat closing again.
Kimi leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Not tonight. You don’t owe anyone that—not even yourself.”
Your chin trembled, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out for him—fingers brushing his sleeve like an anchor. He took your hand gently, threading his fingers through yours without hesitation.
“I just… I feel so used,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “Like I was never enough. Or maybe too much. I don’t know anymore.”
Kimi’s grip tightened slightly, reassuring. “No. No, don’t do that.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was fierce. Protective. “You were always more than enough. He was just too small to see it.”
That broke you.
You let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. And he shifted instantly, wrapping one arm around you, pulling you gently into his chest. His hoodie smelled faintly like clean linen and his cologne, and his heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek.
He didn’t move. Didn’t fidget. He just held you—with patience, with silence, with that kind of safety only someone who really sees you can offer.
You closed your eyes.
Kimi spoke again after a moment, voice barely above the hush of your breath.
“I’ve watched you try so hard to be seen by someone who never deserved you,” he said. “I wanted to say something a hundred times, but it wasn’t my place. I just… I hoped you’d see it on your own. And you did. Even if it hurts.”
“It hurts so much,” you whispered.
“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly across the back of your hand. “But it won’t forever.”
You let the silence fall again, but this time it wasn’t hollow. It was warm. Healing.
Kimi stayed.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The silence in your room had grown softer. No longer heavy or thick, but something else—like quiet after a storm. The ache in your chest was still there, raw and pulsing, but it had settled into something manageable. Something you could breathe through.
Kimi hadn’t moved much. He still sat beside you on the bed, legs stretched out, back against your headboard now. You were curled under the blanket beside him, wrapped in one of his hoodies now—he’d taken it off the moment you demanded it, discarding yours to the floor with no care.
He glanced over at you, catching the way your eyes had dulled again.
“You’re thinking about him,” he said gently—not accusatory, just perceptive.
You gave a tired little nod. “Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”
“It’s not stupid,” Kimi said instantly. “It’s grief. That’s real.”
You smiled, humorless. “I don’t even know what I’m grieving. He barely treated me like I mattered half the time. I guess I just thought… if I tried harder, he’d see me.”
Kimi was quiet for a beat. Then: “You know what that sounds like?”
You tilted your head. “What?”
He turned toward you slightly, eyes twinkling. “The plot of every bad teen drama ever made.”
You snorted. “Wow, thank you. That really helps.”
“I’m serious!” he grinned now, leaning into the moment. “You’ve got the tragic breakup arc, the mascara running down your face—sorry, you wiped it off, but I saw it earlier. You’re in oversized clothing that doesn’t belong to you—mine, by the way—next thing you know, there’s gonna be a moody montage of you staring out a rainy window while sad indie music plays.”
You laughed, really laughed—sudden and unexpected. It cracked something open.
“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in the hoodie sleeve. “You’re the worst.”
“I prefer ‘underrated comedic genius,’ but I’ll take what I can get.”
You looked at him then, really looked—at the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, at the softness in his expression that didn’t ask anything of you, only gave. He wasn’t here to fix you. He was here to sit with you in it, in the mess, in the sadness—and somehow still bring light.
“I missed this,” you said quietly.
He blinked. “Missed what?”
“You. Laughing with you. Feeling… normal.”
Kimi’s smile faded into something gentler. “You don’t have to be normal tonight. You don’t have to pretend, or laugh, or bounce back.” He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with more care than anyone had touched you all week. “But if I can make you smile once in a while… I’ll do that. Every time.”
Your throat tightened again, but this time not from grief.
“You’re kind of amazing,” you whispered.
Kimi’s ears turned pink. “Don’t say that. I’ll get cocky.”
You gave him a look. “You already are cocky.”
“Okay, true, but usually it’s because I drive cars very fast, not because the prettiest girl I’ve ever known said something nice to me.”
Your heart did a somersault—and for the first time that night, it didn’t hurt.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The laughter had faded. The tears, too.
You’d fallen asleep not long after, head resting on Kimi’s shoulder, your breathing soft and steady. The weight of the night had finally won, and your body gave in—exhausted by emotion, lulled by comfort, by presence, by the quiet safety of him beside you.
Kimi hadn’t moved for a long while. He just sat there, still, eyes tracing the curve of your features in the dim light spilling through your bedroom curtains. You looked peaceful again. Not whole—but healing. And something in him bloomed with fierce protectiveness.
Carefully, he shifted. Slid down just enough to tuck the blanket more securely around you. His hoodie was still around your frame, sleeves falling past your hands like a cocoon.
He bent down, his lips brushing your forehead in the softest whisper of a kiss.
“Buonanotte, mia stella,” he murmured, barely audible. Goodnight, my star.
His words hung in the air for a moment, warm and sacred, before he stood and turned toward the door—taking one last glance at you, asleep and safe.
But as he gently cracked the door open, he was met with a shadow leaning quietly in the hallway.
Toto.
Kimi froze mid-step, guilt flickering in his eyes as if he'd been caught sneaking out. But Toto didn’t speak right away. He simply nodded, stepping aside to let Kimi pull the door closed behind him.
“Did she fall asleep?” Toto asked, voice low and even.
Kimi nodded. “Yeah. She cried a lot. But I think she… I think she’s okay now. Just tired.”
Toto gave a slow, thoughtful nod. He studied the boy in front of him for a moment—not as a driver, not as a prodigy or a teammate—but as someone who, without being asked, had shown up for his daughter in her most vulnerable hour.
“I watched you with her earlier,” Toto said quietly. “You didn’t say much. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… stayed.”
Kimi shifted slightly, unsure if it was a compliment or a critique. “I didn’t want her to feel like she had to be okay. I just wanted to be there.”
“That’s exactly what she needed.”
A pause. A beat of silence that held a hundred unspoken things.
Toto crossed his arms, not out of sternness—but comfort. Familiarity.
“She’s always been… emotionally sharp,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Feels things deeply. Even when she pretends she doesn’t. When she was seven, she rescued a bird with a broken wing and cried for two days when it didn’t make it. She buried it in the garden. Gave it a name and everything.”
Kimi smiled faintly. “That sounds like her.”
“And when she was thirteen, she got into a fight with a teacher over another kid being bullied. Came home with detention and a bloody lip. Said she didn’t regret it.”
Kimi’s smile widened.
Toto looked at him now, not as a father assessing a threat—but as one recognizing a quiet truth.
“You’re the first boy she’s brought around who actually listens to her,” he said softly. “Not just waits to talk. Not just talks over her. You see her. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Kimi’s throat bobbed. “I care about her. A lot.”
“I can see that.”
Toto let a long breath pass, then reached into his pocket and handed Kimi something small—an old, worn keychain. It was shaped like a little silver compass.
“She used to carry this everywhere,” Toto said. “I gave it to her when she started secondary school. Told her it would always help her find her way back home, even if she got lost.”
Kimi took it carefully, reverently.
“She stopped carrying it when she started dating him,” Toto added with a tinge of bitterness. “I don’t think she even noticed. But… if you ever see her doubting herself again, remind her. She’s never really lost.”
The silence between them now wasn’t awkward. It was full. Like something had settled.
“I’ll protect her,” Kimi said, voice quiet but certain. “I promise.”
“I know,” Toto replied, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I’m letting you stay in her life.”
And with that, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the front of the house with a faint smile. “Go get some sleep, Kimi. You’ve done enough tonight.”
Kimi gave a grateful nod. “Goodnight, sir.”
“Call me Toto,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”
As Kimi stepped out into the cool night air, that little compass keychain tucked in his jacket pocket, he felt something shift inside him—not just relief, not just affection.
Hope.
And maybe… something dangerously close to love.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
It had taken Kimi three whole weeks to work up the nerve to ask you to the amusement park. Not because he didn’t want to—he really did—but because every time he imagined asking, his brain short-circuited into a flurry of “what if she says no” and “am I being weird?”
He’d ended up at your house again that morning, as usual, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie while sitting at the kitchen counter. Your dad, Toto, was making coffee—classic black, no nonsense—and giving Kimi the kind of look dads give when they know exactly what’s going on, but enjoy watching you squirm anyway.
“Amusement park, huh?” Toto asked, taking a slow sip. “Kind of cheesy.”
Kimi’s ears turned crimson. “Is it too cheesy?” he asked, his voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. “I mean… do you think she’d want to go?”
Toto gave him a smirk that was half-tease, half-approval. “You’ve got a better chance if you actually ask.”
Before Kimi could respond, you came shuffling down the stairs in your pajamas—hair messy, one sock on, yawning like the world wasn’t waiting on you. Both of them looked up. You blinked at them, still half-asleep.
Kimi stared for a second too long, then smiled to himself. You looked chaotic in the morning, sure—but to him, it was cute. Soft. Familiar in a way he couldn’t explain.
And then—panic. The words in his head scrambled, suddenly impossible to get out. Toto nudged him discreetly in the ribs.
Kimi cleared his throat, nearly choking on it. “Uh—I bought passes,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “Do you… want to go to the amusement park with me?”
The silence that followed was louder than it needed to be.
He felt his pulse spike, every second stretching unbearably long. It wasn’t even a date—not technically—but still, the idea of you saying no had his stomach in knots. He stared at you, waiting for some kind of expression, some clue.
Then you shrugged, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Sure,” you said, casually. “I’ve got no plans.”
Kimi let out a breath so heavy it could’ve knocked over a chair.
“Cool! Yeah—cool,” he said too quickly, nodding way too much. “Take your time! I’ll, uh, I’ll just hang here.”
You padded back upstairs to shower, leaving him alone with your dad, who gave him a nod of approval that made Kimi sit a little taller.
Meanwhile, the water washed over you, bringing clarity you didn’t know you needed. It had been a while since you’d done anything just for fun—since your last relationship ended, your world had felt like it was stuck in grayscale. But now, as the scent of your favorite shampoo filled the air, something small and good started to stir inside you again.
Picking an outfit felt like a challenge at first—should it be simple? Overthought? What was the vibe? But you settled on something that made you feel like yourself. Clean. Light makeup. Hair styled with minimal effort. No pressure, just… something new.
Finally ready, you headed downstairs, each step tapping like quiet punctuation on a page you didn’t realize you were writing.
"I'm ready," you called out, stepping into the hallway where Kimi was already waiting. He turned to look at you—and though he didn’t say anything right away, the smile that spread across his face said more than words.
Toto looked up from the living room and gave Kimi a firm pat on the back. “Be safe,” he said, with a playful tone wrapped in a layer of dad-seriousness. “And home before eleven.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Got it, Dad.”
You hugged him quickly, the kind of warm, familiar squeeze that said thanks for having my back even when you’re annoying. Then you turned toward the kitchen.
“Bye, Mom! Love you!” you called.
She poked her head out from behind a cupboard, smiling at the sight of you. “Have fun!”
And then Jack, your little brother, peeked around the corner, already grinning. “Don’t throw up on a rollercoaster!”
“Bye, Jack!” you laughed, tossing him an exaggerated wave that made him cackle.
You stepped outside with Kimi by your side, the sun already rising high in the sky, bathing everything in that soft golden glow that only seems to show up on good days. The breeze was warm against your skin. The door clicked shut behind you.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like something good was about to begin.
The highway stretched out ahead of you, painted in fading streaks of gold and blue. The windows were halfway down, letting in a warm breeze that made your hair dance, and Kimi’s playlist filled the car—an eclectic mix of chill indie, chaotic throwbacks, and a few songs you’d never admit to liking if anyone else were around.
Kimi was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against the center console in time with the beat. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, and he was focused on the road, jaw set in that half-serious, half-goofy expression he got when trying not to miss an exit.
You leaned your head against the seat and looked over at him. “This playlist is kind of unhinged.”
Kimi grinned. “It’s called ‘Road Trip But Make It Existential’.”
“That explains the emotional whiplash.”
“You’re welcome.”
The two of you had already hit three drive-thrus for snacks and argued over who had better taste in gas station candy, and now the conversation had settled into a comfortable quiet. The kind that only really happens with someone you don’t have to fill space with.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
After the initial excitement at the gate faded, the two of you found a rhythm—slow, easy, no pressure. The kind of wandering where the destination didn’t matter. The kind where the conversation meandered as much as your path through the park.
The first stop had been an old-fashioned photo booth, tucked near the carousel. Kimi dragged you inside, half-joking that you needed proof you were outside the house again. The machine blinked to life, the countdown starting before you were even ready. The first picture was blurry, your hand still adjusting your hair. The second caught Kimi mid-laugh, you smirking at him with one eyebrow arched. By the third and fourth, you were both laughing for real. It felt ridiculous. And perfect.
“Frame-worthy,” Kimi said, holding the strip up to the light with a mock-serious face.
“Frame-worthy if we frame it in irony,” you teased, taking the photo and tucking it into your pocket.
Next came a snack run. You both settled on soft pretzels and sodas, sitting on a shaded bench while a jazz cover of a Taylor Swift song floated from a nearby speaker. Kimi tore his pretzel into perfectly even halves and handed you the bigger piece without saying a word. You noticed. You didn’t say anything either. But your chest ached in the softest way.
As the afternoon wore on, he made a point to pull you toward games—mostly the silly, winnable kind. You tried the ring toss and failed spectacularly. Kimi tried and failed slightly less, which he acted like was Olympic-level achievement. He won you a plush penguin from a knock-over-the-cans game and immediately named it Sir Waddlesworth. The name stuck.
You wandered past a duck pond with swan boats lazily circling, and he offered to row one with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Only if you want to see what happens when I try to row us in a straight line and fail miserably,” he said.
You passed. But the image made you laugh harder than anything had in days.
Later, you shared a strawberry snow cone under the shade of a pink-and-white umbrella. He let you eat the top half, pretending it was “too cold” for him but smiling every time you looked happy. Your fingers brushed a few times when he held the cup steady for you, and though neither of you commented, neither of you pulled away, either.
The laughter was constant—but never forced.
He let you be quiet when you needed to be. Gave you space when you stopped walking to people-watch or stare too long at the spinning swings in the distance. When your thoughts slipped into darker places, you found him beside you again, nudging your arm, pointing out some ridiculous park character mascot in a massive frog costume breakdancing to pop music.
You giggled. He grinned. And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel weighed down by the breakup. You felt… human again.
Kimi glanced at you then, watching your eyes follow the lights of the park. “You’re different today,” he said gently, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.
You turned to him, tilting your head. “Different how?”
“I dunno. Like… a little more you. Less like you’re trying to carry a hundred things alone.”
Your smile faltered, just slightly, but it didn’t disappear. “That obvious, huh?”
“To me? Yeah.” His tone wasn’t teasing. It was honest. Simple.
You both stopped walking near the edge of the park, where the Ferris wheel stood tall in the distance, a soft hum of lights circling its frame. The sun had started its descent, the gold of late afternoon bleeding into a rose-pink sky.
Kimi followed your gaze. “We doing it?”
You glanced at him, and for once, you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I think we are.”
The sun was bleeding into the skyline, casting the amusement park in that honeyed gold light that made everything feel softer than it really was. You and Kimi stepped into the Ferris wheel bucket together, the world slowly shrinking below you as the ride creaked into motion.
You'd spent the day wandering the park—sugary churros, shared jokes, quiet looks that lingered too long. It had been fun. Real fun. But now, with the noise below fading and the world pausing as your bucket crested higher, your chest felt heavier.
You leaned into Kimi, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. It felt natural—too natural. His body relaxed under your touch like it had been waiting for that moment all day. A quiet sigh escaped you, but it wasn’t relief. It was confusion.
The ride paused near the top, swaying gently.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you murmured, eyes on the horizon.
Kimi shifted, just slightly, to look at you. “You don’t have to deserve me. I want to be here.”
You didn’t answer right away. The wind teased your hair, and you blinked slowly, heart beating faster for a reason you didn’t want to name. You felt Kimi’s fingers brush against yours, just barely, testing a line.
“I think I forgot how it felt to be seen,” you admitted.
He turned more fully toward you, his voice lower now, soft but sure. “Then let me remind you.”
You looked up just as he leaned in—slow, tentative, eyes flicking to your lips. Your heart surged and stalled all at once. Panic gripped your chest. And before you could think it through, you flinched back.
“No—wait, I…” you said quickly, breath catching. “I can’t.”
The words came sharper than you meant.
Kimi froze.
His expression faltered, confusion giving way to hurt in the space of a heartbeat. He pulled back, his hand dropping to his lap. The air shifted between you—suddenly colder, thinner, like the altitude had finally caught up with you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… I’m not ready. It’s not you, I swear—”
He nodded once, quickly. “It’s okay.”
But it didn’t sound okay.
Silence draped over the two of you as the Ferris wheel began to descend again, the world creeping closer while your hearts pulled apart. Kimi stared ahead, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. You sat stiffly beside him, hands in your lap, wondering how such a perfect day had just cracked.
The ride ended with the soft lurch of the bucket returning to the ground. Kimi was the first to step out, offering his hand still—but it didn’t have the same warmth.
You took it anyway.
The walk back through the park was quieter than before. No more teasing comments. No more shared laughs. Just the distant hum of carnival music and the growing thud of regret in your chest.
You kept glancing at him, wishing he’d say something—anything—but his lips stayed pressed in a line. He didn’t look mad. Just… disappointed. Distant.
You wanted to explain, to make it better, but every version of the truth felt tangled in your throat. That your heart still ached from the breakup. That kissing someone new, even someone like Kimi, felt like stepping into something you couldn’t undo. "Thank you for today," you muttered, getting a silent head nod in return.
The air on the ride home was thick and uncomfortable and even more uncertain for both of you.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Things shifted after the almost-kiss.
Not suddenly. Not with explosions or slamming doors. But slowly—like a cold draft slipping through a window you didn’t realize was open. The air between you and Kimi, once filled with warmth and quiet laughter, had turned still. Hesitant. And it hurt more than you’d ever expected it to.
The first week was silence laced with half-hearted smiles and ghosted texts. You’d type something, only to delete it. Wait for a response that never came. Kimi wasn’t ignoring you, but he wasn’t reaching for you either. The rhythm of your friendship—the easiness, the comfort—it all hung in the balance, stretched too thin between unspoken apologies and feelings neither of you quite knew how to name anymore.
The second week wasn’t any better. Kimi poured himself into Formula 1 like a man trying to forget. Practice, strategy meetings, simulator runs—he was sharper, faster, and more focused than ever. Everyone noticed it, even Toto. Especially Toto.
He noticed your hollow expression when you glanced at your phone and saw nothing. He noticed the way Kimi’s name hovered at the top of your most recent contacts, untouched. And he noticed the ache you carried like armor, silent and too heavy for someone your age.
It was that ache that brought him to your bedroom one quiet afternoon.
You sat by your window, legs curled under you, your phone resting useless in your hand. The light outside was soft, golden. But it did nothing to warm the cold fog in your chest.
Toto knocked softly before stepping in, voice gentle. “I’m heading out soon for the upcoming Grand Prix. I’ll be gone for a while.”
You gave a faint nod, your eyes never leaving the view outside.
He hesitated, then added, “Kimi’s been looking strong. Mercedes has a real shot this weekend. I know how much you like Lewis—I’ll tell him you said hi.”
You forced a smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.
“I know you’ve always been hesitant letting me come to the races,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You were scared when I was little… but this time, I want to go. I need to go.”
That got his attention. He turned to face you fully. “Why?”
Your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Because I have to see Kimi. I have to make things right.”
Toto didn’t speak right away. He just watched you, eyes softening with understanding. So you kept going—pouring out the words you’d been holding back for days.
“That day on the ferris wheel… I should’ve let him kiss me,” you admitted, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Because I wanted him to. God, I wanted him to. And I pushed him away—not because I didn’t feel something, but because I did. And it terrified me.”
You blinked fast, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I was afraid of what it would mean, of how real it would get. I just got out of something that wrecked me, and then there he was—so kind, so constant. And I hurt him, Dad. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
Toto let the silence stretch for a moment, letting your confession breathe in the space between you. Then he crossed the room, sitting beside you and placing a warm, grounding hand on your shoulder.
“I always approved of Kimi,” he said quietly. “Your mother did too. He’s a good kid, and he cares for you more than I think you realize.”
You sniffled, nodding.
“I don’t want to lose what we had,” you whispered. “Even if it’s just friendship, I don’t want the distance to win.”
He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Then don’t let it. Come with me to the Grand Prix.”
Your head snapped toward him in disbelief.
“But…” you began.
He held up a finger with a wry smile. “Avoid the media. Your mother will have my head if you end up in the tabloids for sneaking kisses in the paddock.”
That earned your first real laugh in days—a watery, grateful sound as you threw your arms around him in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you, Dad.”
He held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The air around the paddock buzzed with anticipation—reporters rushing past, team members running checklists, and engines screaming in the distance like thunder caught in metal. Monaco always carried an energy unlike any other race, and yet, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason.
You were searching.
Dodging between camera crews and mechanics, you weaved through the sea of people with one thought: Find Kimi. Your chest was tight, your palms clammy. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t felt his presence. And now that you were here, you needed him to see you—to know.
You passed the Mercedes garage, glanced toward the hospitality suite, even peeked into the briefing room, your nerves mounting with every step. The sounds of Formula 1 echoed all around, but it was the silence between you and Kimi that screamed the loudest.
Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of timing, you turned a corner—and froze.
He was standing there.
Not Kimi.
Him.
Your ex.
The one who had left your heart in pieces weeks ago. Dressed casually, lanyard swinging from his neck, as if he belonged here, as if he deserved to stand on the same ground you were trying to rebuild yourself on. And the moment he saw you, his eyes lit up with a flicker of false charm you used to fall for.
“Y/n,” he said, stepping forward like you hadn’t spent two weeks crying over him. “God, I’ve been trying to reach you. I just want to talk.”
Your stomach twisted. “No,” you said firmly, trying to walk past him.
But he grabbed your wrist.
Not hard, not aggressive—but enough.
Enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to freeze your heart.
“Just listen—please,” he insisted, voice desperate. “I made a mistake, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I miss you. I miss us.”
“No,” you repeated, yanking your arm back. “You don’t get to do this. Not here, not now.”
But he didn’t let go.
His grip tightened slightly, voice rising with desperation. “I know I messed up, but you still love me, right? You’re not really over me. That guy—Kimi—he’s just a rebound. I know you.”
You felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs. Your pulse pounded in your ears.
And then everything happened fast.
A blur of movement behind you.
A fist connecting with a jaw.
A sickening crack.
Your ex staggered back, holding his face in shock. You turned just in time to see Kimi standing there, chest heaving, eyes wild with a fury you’d never seen in him before. His hand was clenched, knuckles already reddening, and for a moment, he didn’t move.
Just stared your ex down like he was daring him to speak again.
“Don’t ever touch her again,” Kimi growled, voice low, sharp, and foreign in its anger.
Your ex didn’t respond—only muttered something and stumbled away, holding his jaw and casting one final look over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
And then silence.
Not around you—the paddock was still alive with noise—but between you and Kimi.
His gaze shifted from your ex to you, his shoulders still tense. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize maybe—but you cut him off before he could.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the words tumbling out fast and unfiltered. “That day at the amusement park—I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you. But I was scared. And I didn’t mean to hurt you, Kimi. I just… I didn’t know how to feel anything again after him, and then you came along and made everything feel real again, and it terrified me.”
Tears filled your eyes, not from fear or sadness—but from relief. Relief that he was here. That you were still here.
“And when you stopped calling,” you said, voice cracking, “when you stopped being there—I missed you so much it hurt.”
Kimi stepped forward, still silent, still breathless.
You looked up at him, voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t want to be scared anymore. Not with you.”
His brows softened, the anger completely gone, replaced with something tender and aching.
He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering.
“I would’ve waited forever,” he said, voice hoarse. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
“I do,” you said.
No hesitation this time.
And for a long moment, you simply stood there, the chaos of the world fading around you, replaced by the quiet certainty between two people finally letting their hearts be known.
No more fear.
No more running.
"A date, after the race, we're going on a date," you said, causing Kimi to smile softly at you, agreeing with your words. "A date, we're going on a date," he agreed as he went to walk away, your hands clasp his race suit, quickly pulling him back into place, your hands moving with a quickness to cup his cheeks. "What are you-" Kimi was caught off guard by the kiss, a bold move from you, but something he didn't complain about.
"Just...giving you some good luck out there..."
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The waves of the Mediterranean lapped gently against the sides of the boat, each one reflecting the city lights of Monaco like spilled stardust on water. The air was warm with a salt-sweet breeze, carrying with it the soft echoes of distant music and late-night laughter from the shore.
You sat at the bow, legs stretched out, the hem of your sundress fluttering around your ankles. Behind you, Kimi poured two glasses of sparkling water—he had insisted on something simple and sweet, no pressure, no pretense. Just the two of you and the quiet rhythm of the sea.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep sapphire streaked with silver. You glanced back at him, watching the way his expression had softened—his eyes no longer clouded with doubt or fear, but lit up by something warmer. Something steady.
Love.
Kimi walked over and passed you a glass, sitting beside you, his knee brushing yours.
“You ever think we’d end up here?” he asked with a small grin.
You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Honestly? No. But I hoped. Somewhere deep down, I always hoped.”
He looked down at you, his gaze lingering. “Even after the ferris wheel?”
You went still for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Even then. Especially then. I was just scared. Of what it meant… of what it would feel like to be happy again. But tonight, with you… I’m not scared.”
Kimi smiled, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out something small—delicate—a charm on a simple bracelet. A tiny silver heart, engraved with your initials and his.
“I wanted to wait until after the race,” he said, voice a little shy. “But… I thought this might be something you’d like.”
You blinked, touched beyond words, as he gently fastened it around your wrist.
“I love it,” you whispered. “And I love you.”
The words fell out of you so effortlessly it surprised even you—but Kimi’s expression didn’t falter. His eyes glistened slightly, and the grin that curved his lips was something out of your dreams.
“I love you too,” he said, cupping your face gently in his hands.
The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t needy or desperate.
It was soft.
Full.
Healing.
He kissed you like he meant to erase every doubt you ever carried, and when he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“You’re safe with me. Always,” he murmured.
You nodded, your fingers lacing with his as you sat in that peaceful moment together, the boat swaying gently beneath the stars.
By the time you stepped through the front door of your home, shoes in hand, hair tousled by the wind and cheeks sore from smiling, the house was mostly quiet.
Except for the soft clink of glass from the kitchen.
Toto stood at the counter with a late-night espresso, raising an eyebrow as you walked in. He took one look at your glowing face and the bracelet glinting on your wrist… and smirked.
“So… I take it the night went well?”
You squinted at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
Toto gave an innocent shrug. “I may have offered him some guidance. Encouragement. Advice from a man who knows a thing or two.”
You crossed your arms. “You coached him.”
“I may have used the words if you break her heart, I’ll break your front wing,” he admitted with a dry chuckle.
You groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. In fact, you smiled.
“Thanks, Dad,” you said softly, walking over to wrap your arms around him.
He returned the hug warmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, cara mia. I’ve seen the way you look at him. It was always going to be him—you just needed time.”
You pulled back and nodded. “I think I finally got it right.”
He smiled. “Good. Now go to sleep. You’ve got a boyfriend who’s going to win the next Grand Prix, and a very nosy father who will absolutely take credit for it.”
You laughed all the way to your room.
And as you lay down that night, the sea still rocking in your bones and the feel of Kimi’s kiss lingering on your lips, you realized something:
You weren’t just in love.
You were home.
And one more thing, your dad really knows what's best.
Summary: Lando and Oscar love each other, so therefore, it’s everyone’s problem.
Masterlist
⸻
McLaren hospitality is quiet. Not empty—never empty on race weekends—but quiet in the way only a post-race Sunday evening can be. The sharp edges of adrenaline have worn down into something soft and languid, a gentle hum beneath the surface instead of a roar.
Oscar sits on one end of the sleek white leather couch tucked near the far wall, where the lighting is warmer and the air feels less sharp. His legs are stretched out in front of him, race boots long since peeled off. Next to him, curled up with his head in Oscar’s lap and half a fleece draped over his torso, is Lando. Dead to the world.
His curls are a mess—flattened on one side, fluffed on the other, caught somewhere between race sweat and shower damp. His mouth is parted slightly, cheeks flushed with the warmth of sleep and the Miami air. He looks peaceful, more boy than driver.
Oscar’s hand moves idly through Lando’s hair, gentle, absent-minded. Fingers curl and uncurl, threading through strands, brushing lightly against his scalp. It’s not deliberate, not for show. It’s just what he does—what he’s always done, when Lando lets himself rest like this.
A voice whispers, barely above a breath.
“Could frame that and call it modern art.”
Oscar glances up.
Ava, McLaren’s social media manager, stands a few steps away with her camera half-raised, one brow arched. She’s ditched her team vest for a soft hoodie, takeaway cup of iced tea on the table next to her, phone in hand.
Oscar gives her a look—half amused, half resigned. “Please don’t.”
She holds up her free hand. “I swear, I won’t post anything recognisable. Just… that.”
She nods toward his hand in Lando’s hair.
Oscar blinks, then glances down. His fingers are still tangled gently in the brown curls, thumb brushing slow arcs across Lando’s temple. It does look… strangely tender. Almost cinematic.
Ava lifts the camera again, quietly. No full-body shot, no faces. Just the cropped-in frame: Oscar’s hand, Lando’s curls, the texture of the fleece and the soft white leather beneath them. Intimacy without context.
Click.
She looks at the preview, then at Oscar again. “It’s not even romantic unless someone already knows.” She says as she shows the phone to the driver.
“People know,” Oscar murmurs, rubbing his thumb once more across Lando’s scalp.
Ava smirks. “Then consider this a soft confirmation.”
“You’re lucky he’s asleep.”
“Oh, I know. He’s the feisty one,” she teases, already walking off, camera swinging against her side.
Oscar huffs a soft laugh and goes back to combing gently through the curls in his lap.
⸻
In the media team’s group chat:
[Ava – Social]:
got a banger
promise it’s subtle
just… look at this
[Image attached: Oscar’s hand resting in Lando’s hair. Soft lighting. No faces. Just quiet, unmistakable affection.]
[Graphic Design]:
i’m crying and they’re not even my boyfriends
[PR]:
hard launch or soft? 👀
[Ava]:
stealth mode no names, no faces just vibes
[Comms Lead]:
run it at midnight with “Miami cooldown.” trust me.
⸻
Later, after the sun’s gone down and most of the crew has left for dinner, Lando stirs. He blinks sleepily, frowning at the soft lighting and the quiet buzz of far-off conversations. He doesn’t lift his head yet—just hums and tilts it further into the warmth beneath him, nosing Oscar’s clothed stomach.
“You’re awake,” Oscar says softly.
“Kind of,” Lando mumbles. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Did I miss debrief?”
“You did.”
“…Oops?”
Oscar smiles faintly, fingertips brushing through his curls again, slower now. “You looked like you needed it.”
Lando shifts slightly and, with a groggy groan, slides his hand over to rest on Oscar’s knee. “You always do that. With my hair.”
“Don’t like it?”
“Didn’t say that,” Lando murmurs, mouth twitching up at the corners. “Feels nice.”
Oscar doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to.
After a moment, Lando cracks one eye open. “Did you let Ava take a picture?”
Oscar snorts. “She didn’t get your face.”
“Still.”
“You were asleep. What was I supposed to do? Swat her away with one hand while the other played stylist?”
Lando mutters something unintelligible and presses his face deeper into Oscar’s thigh, clearly not planning to move anytime soon.
“I’ll take that as a ‘forgiven’,” Oscar says dryly.
“I want final approval next time,” Lando grumbles.
Oscar smirks. “Sure. I’ll run it by you before I touch your hair again.”
“You better.”
Oscar leans his head back against the couch, fingers still moving in lazy loops through Lando’s curls. “You’re so high-maintenance.”
“You love it,” Lando says, eyes closed, voice nearly inaudible.
Oscar doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. He just presses a smile to Lando’s lips. They don’t mention the way the door opened and slammed shut in a second or the fact that Lando came out of the room wearing his team tee backwards, they simply don’t need to.
⸻
@/mclaren
Slide 1: Gloved hands on a steering wheel.
Slide 2: A mechanic wiping sweat from his brow.
Slide 3: A close-up photo. Oscar’s hand in a mop of soft, brown curls. A scrap of McLaren fleece. The white couch in the background.
Caption: “Miami cooldown 🧡”
⸻
Tumblr, 12:04 AM:
OH. OH THIS??? THIS IS A WAR CRIME
do you see the way his hand is just there in the HAIR??
they didn’t even show their faces but I KNOW
Lando’s curls and Oscar’s calm-ass fingers. I’m going to cry
idc what anyone says this is a SOFT LAUNCH and I’m eating it UP
⸻
Lando scrolls through his phone while nursing a protein shake. Across from him, Oscar smirks into his cereal.
“You’ve been quiet,” Oscar says, not looking up.
Lando flashes his screen. “We’re trending in… Brazil. Again.”
Oscar shrugs. “I blame Ava.”
“She just posted your hand.”
“It’s a nice hand,” Oscar deadpans.
Lando stares, then laughs, surprised by the honesty of it. “Okay, calm down, Instagram model.”
Oscar leans forward slightly. “You really mad?”
“No,” Lando admits. He tucks one leg beneath him, leaning in until their knees touch. “I just… wasn’t expecting it.”
Oscar’s hand brushes his knee again—gentle, grounding. “I didn’t expect to care this much either.”
There’s a beat. Lando’s eyes soften.
“You like playing with my hair?”
Oscar nods. “Almost as much as you like pretending you don’t fall asleep on me on purpose.”
Lando smirks. “I don’t.”
Oscar just hums while nodding, unconvinced.
From the corner, Ava lifts her coffee and pretends not to watch them with the expression of someone already plotting the next “completely accidental” social media masterpiece.
⸻
Media Day is a special kind of punishment.
The Imola paddock is a humid blur of cameras, crew, and caffeine, and McLaren’s corner is already swarming with light rigs and branded backdrops. Lando fidgets in place, tugging at the collar of his team tee. Oscar is seated beside him, posture suspiciously relaxed, one ankle resting casually on his opposite knee.
“Stop squirming,” Oscar says without looking.
“I’m not squirming.”
“You’re vibrating like a phone on silent.”
Lando shoots him a glare. “Sorry, I don’t have your zen monk media face.”
Oscar glances sideways, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I don’t have a media face.”
“You absolutely do. It’s like… controlled serenity. You should teach a class.”
Oscar smirks. “Jealous?”
Lando snorts. “In your dreams.”
They don’t notice the boom mic being lowered toward them.
⸻
Ava, holding a clipboard and wearing the unmistakable look of someone trying to stop a forest fire with a bottle of Evian, mutters into her headset.
“Can someone tell audio NOT to go live until they’re officially rolling?”
“Already told them twice,” replies the sound tech. “They said it’s just background feed. Not even patched to press.”
“That’s what you said last time, and we almost had to delete a whole post because someone said ‘arse’ three times in thirty seconds.”
“That was Lando.”
“Exactly.”
⸻
Back on the couch, the mics clipped to the drivers’ shirts are technically muted. But the room isn’t soundproof, and boom mics are unforgiving.
Oscar leans closer.
“You nervous?” he murmurs, voice low and casual.
Lando shrugs, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Nah. Just… itchy. Uncomfortable chair. Bad lighting.”
Oscar raises a brow. “Sure.”
Lando glances around. “It’s not like that.”
Oscar doesn’t push. Just smiles, small and amused. And then he says, like it’s nothing:
“You always get like this when you want to kiss me but can’t.”
Lando chokes.
“What—what the hell, Oscar?”
Oscar leans back in his chair, entirely composed. “What?”
“You can’t just say that!”
“I just did.”
Lando looks around frantically. “Mic check? Boom? Ava?? Hello?? One Two Three??”
Oscar taps his own mic with one knuckle. “Muted. Chill.”
Lando groans and buries his face in his hands. “You are going to be the death of me.”
Oscar leans in again, lowering his voice. “You love it.”
“I hate you.”
“Do you?”
Lando peeks through his fingers. “Not even a little. That’s the problem.”
⸻
In the control room a junior editor stares at the audio waveforms on the monitor.
“Uh…”
“What?”
“Did we just… catch something?”
A pause. Then static.
Ava appears behind them like a ghost. “Catch what?”
They rewind. Oscar’s voice comes through, crystal clear:
“You always get like this when you want to kiss me but can’t.”
Then Lando’s scandalized, “What the hell, Oscar?”
Ava pinches the bridge of her nose. “Oh, for fucks—”
⸻
The interview starts ten minutes later. The boys have regained their polished, McLaren-approved composure. They talk about tyre degradation and strategy confidence and team morale. Lando says the car feels “lively.” Oscar says “positive trajectory.”
But behind the scenes, a silent war wages.
Ava corners them the second the camera cuts.
“Don’t ever flirt on a hot mic again.”
Lando flushes. “We didn’t know it was hot!”
Oscar shrugs. “Technically, it wasn’t live.”
Ava glares. “Do you want to hand-deliver PR nightmares to the McLaren comms team? Because that’s how you hand-deliver PR nightmares to the McLaren comms team.”
Lando opens his mouth. Oscar cuts in smoothly: “It won’t happen again.”
Lando shoots him a look. “It might.”
Oscar smirks. “You’re right. It might.”
Ava groans, walks away muttering something about “subtlety” and “celibacy.”
⸻
Later, back in the drivers’ room, Lando sits on the couch, visibly still buzzing from the adrenaline spike. Oscar walks in, two waters in hand, tosses one over.
“Caught it,” Lando says, surprised.
“You always do,” Oscar replies, like that’s some kind of metaphor.
They sit in silence for a beat. Lando pulls his curls into a loose puff and stretches. Oscar watches.
“What?” Lando asks.
Oscar hesitates, then says quietly, “You looked scared for a second. When you thought the mic caught us.”
Lando looks away. “I wasn’t scared. I was… surprised.”
Oscar nods, slow and thoughtful. “We don’t have to hide forever, you know.”
“I know,” Lando says. He leans in, until their shoulders touch. “Just… a little longer.”
Oscar smiles. “As long as you want.”
Lando reaches over and tangles his hand in Oscar’s. “Thanks.”
Oscar squeezes once. “Still wanna kiss me?”
Lando groans. “God, shut up.”
Oscar only laughs.
(They do kiss.)
⸻
TikTok, uploaded two days later by a fan account:
🎥 “McLaren boys during mic test”
[Video clip from behind the scenes. No audio, but Oscar leans over and says something that makes Lando nearly fall off his chair.]
🎶 Kiss Me Thru The Phone – Soulja Boy
Caption: What did he SAY 😭😭😭
Comments:
i swear to god these two are about to accidentally come out mid-season
lando’s blush is visible this far 😭
oscar said ✨bold✨
⸻
By the time breakfast rolls around the next morning, Lando’s phone is blowing up. Group chats. Instagram DMs. A text from Charles that simply says: 🫢
⸻
Twitter, 17 minutes later:
@/f1softlaunches
📸: McLaren admin, you are NOT slick.
[Image: Oscar’s hand in Lando’s curls]
📝: Let us not forget what happened last week.
⸻
@/formulanando: NO BECAUSE THIS IS A COUCH FROM THE MCLAREN HOSPITALITY LOUNGE I KNOW THAT COUCH
@/oscarpiastritea: the hand placement. the trust. the intimacy. the silence. THE CURLS.
@/hotmicgate: the way oscar looked at him earlier this week. it’s happening. the era is upon us.
⸻
Oscar slides into the hospitality lounge wearing the most innocent expression on earth.
Lando’s got his head in his arms, face buried in a McLaren hoodie.
“I hate you,” he mutters.
Oscar sits next to him.
Lando peeks out. “You’re enjoying this.”
Oscar leans in. “A little.”
Lando glares. “I will smother you with a throw pillow.”
Oscar smiles sweetly. “But not before you let me keep doing this.”
And before Lando can protest, Oscar’s hand is back in his hair, pushing his head towards his, lips meeting — soft, grounding, and just the tiniest bit smug.
⸻
@/oscarpiastri
📷 Carousel
1. Lando laughing in the garage.
2. A blurry night skyline.
3. A close-up of Lando’s helmet.
4. The back of Lando’s head on a white couch — same photo Ava posted, but less cropped. Same hand. Same touch.]
📝: “all good things take time.”
⸻
Top Comment:
@/landonorris: 🧡
⸻
@/landonorris
📷 Carousel
1. Oscar on the motorhome balcony, hoodie up, eyes closed, head tipped into the breeze.
2. A candid of their matching sneakers lined up outside the trailer door.
3. Oscar fast asleep on the McLaren couch, one hand curled over a Monster can, the other tucked under his cheek.
4. A blurry mirror selfie — two shadows. One in a hoodie, one in socks, both unidentifiable.
5. Close-up: Oscar’s wrist and a tangle of Lando’s curls. Mid-play. Gentle. Deliberate. (Ava’s second photo, this time definitely not cropped.)
📝: “you posted yours. mine now.”
⸻
It goes up at 1:23 p.m. local time — not that anyone’s watching the clock. Or at least, not until they refresh their feed and see that last photo.
Within minutes, the F1 corner of the internet is in collective cardiac arrest.
⸻
Twitter, naturally:
@/landoscar#1truther: I definitely won’t look too much into the caption ahaha definitely not ! I’m not THAT crazy yet
@/girlsontrack: me: i wonder what it would be like to be loved gently
lando & oscar: this
@/mclarensocials: hi yes this is ava. yes i signed off on this. yes i’m fine. yes i’m crying.
@/landoscarupdates: the symmetry. the mutual posting. the fingers in curls.
we are so back.
@/fernandoalonso44: this is why i don’t go online anymore
⸻
In the motorhome lounge, Oscar walks in to find Lando sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, barely suppressing a grin.
“You posted it?” Oscar asks, suspicious.
Lando doesn’t look up. “Maybe.”
“Which one?”
Lando just holds up the screen. “The one with your hand.”
Oscar sighs — fondly, not annoyed. “You really just… posted it.”
“You posted first.”
“I didn’t think you’d retaliate with a gallery.”
“You started it.”
“You picked the one where my thumb is literally in your hair.”
“Exactly.” Lando tosses his phone aside. “You’ve been soft-launching me with your fingers all season. I figured it was time I fought back.”
Oscar sits down beside him, deadpan. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You love it.”
Oscar doesn’t argue. He just leans in, gently rests his hand back on Lando’s head — fingers sliding through familiar curls, almost out of habit now. Comfortable. Casual. Like breathing.
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I do.”
⸻
Top Comment:
@/oscarpiastri: 😐
@/landonorris (replying): 😜
⸻
Second Top Comment:
@/danielricciardo: finally
⸻
Scene: Post-Race Press Conference, Round 16 – Monza Grand Prix 2025
The McLaren boys have just finished P2 and P3. Lando’s still got his race suit half-zipped, curls damp from the cooldown room. Oscar’s sipping from a Monster bottle, clearly trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who isn’t Lando, Charles or his PR rep.
They’ve been seated beside each other, flanked by Charles Leclerc (P1, ferrari please let me have this), and there’s a definite shift in the room.
The social media posts had dropped hours ago — and while neither driver has confirmed anything, it doesn’t take a detective to put two and two together. Not when Lando keeps looking at Oscar like that, and Oscar keeps subtly shifting his hand behind Lando’s seat like he forgot there are cameras.
A reporter clears her throat. “This one’s for Lando and Oscar—”
Both drivers tense, visibly.
“—Congratulations on the double podium. How’s the atmosphere in the team right now? There’s been… a lot of chemistry, especially between you two. Fans are definitely noticing.”
Oscar coughs. Lando smiles, entirely too knowingly.
“It’s good,” Oscar says quickly. “Positive. Productive. We’re working well together.”
Lando leans forward, elbow on the mic. “He means to say, I carry the vibes. He just brings the data.”
Oscar elbows him. The table mic catches it — the dull thud of playful contact — followed by a muttered “Shut up, Norris.”
Which, unfortunately, also gets caught on the hot mic.
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
Charles is hiding a grin behind his bottle. The PR manager, sitting just off-camera, audibly exhales. Ava, from McLaren’s media team, is openly texting under the desk. She’s probably already drafting captions.
Lando doesn’t recover gracefully. “Anyway,” he says, face flushed, “we’re good. Best atmosphere I’ve had in a long time, honestly. Everyone’s working flat out and—”
Oscar interrupts, voice low. “You’re rambling.”
“You elbowed me!”
“It was justified.”
Another beat. Reporters are trying to stay professional. They’re failing.
A hand goes up from the back row.
“Yes, Jon?”
Jon — a veteran motorsport reporter and known agent of chaos — adjusts his glasses. “Lando, about your Instagram post—”
Oscar’s head immediately drops into his hand. Lando looks like he’s fighting a smile with every muscle in his face.
“—Was that a strategic PR move? Or something more… personal?”
There’s a pause. A long one. Oscar peeks out from behind his hand, like maybe if he looks pitiful enough, Jon will retract the question. He doesn’t.
Lando shrugs. “I thought it was a nice photo.”
“That’s all?”
“Can’t a guy post a cute photo of his teammate touching his hair?”
Charles chokes on his drink, laughing.
Oscar, still pink, mutters, “You’re the worst.”
“I’m honest,” Lando says brightly. “And I like your hands.”
There’s a collective gasp — or maybe that’s just everyone realizing the hot mic is definitely still on.
Oscar turns toward him, eyes wide. “Lando.”
“What? It’s true.”
The moderator’s voice finally cuts through the chaos. “Okay! Let’s… keep the questions racing-related.”
The room sighs — a mixture of amusement, secondhand embarrassment, and collective psychic fatigue.
The rest of the press conference limps on. Lando avoids eye contact with anyone but Oscar. Oscar fidgets with the label on his bottle like it owes him money. By the time it wraps up, Charles is texting someone furiously, probably already sharing a quote in the Ferrari group chat.
⸻
Back in the hallway—
“You said you like my hands,” Oscar says, as they head toward the paddock.
“You started it. With the curl post.”
“You didn’t have to announce it to international media.”
Lando stops walking. “Didn’t I, though?”
Oscar sighs again — that soft, frustrated kind of sigh that Lando’s started filing under affection. And then Oscar reaches up and, without a word, pushes his fingers through Lando’s curls again.
I hate having such a complicated relationship with my mother.
She used me as her therapist as a child, unloading her burdons about her issues with her mom on me, and then she tried to make up for it but that came for years to late.
Thanks to her I never felt good enough and now I am stuck in this endless cycle of yelling, accusing and saying she's sorry.
A lovely anon (hey, Anon!) recently messaged me about a post I made years ago reccing fics for Rysposito (Kevin Ryan x Javier Esposito from Castle), asking me if I had any new fic recs for the pairing. I’m currently working on a new list, but I decided to tidy up the old one a little while I was at it. So here it is.😊
A Thought to Live By by qalets(Qalets) (AO3, 2/2, 13602 words, rated Mature)
When Ryan and Espo are abducted and held captive by unknown assailants they try to work out what their jailers want from them, as well as what they want from each other. I love this one.
A Cold and Broken Hallelujah by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 1779 words, rated Teen and Up)
Ryan and Esposito fall into a secret relationship. They don’t talk to anyone about it, not even each other. Then Kevin gets shot and they don’t talk about it even more. Angst, but it hurts so good.
Domesticity by joyfulfeather (AO3, 1/1, 6007 words, rated Teen and Up)
When Espo’s apartment goes up in smoke, Ryan offers to let him stay at his place for a while and it doesn’t take long for the close proximity to fan the flames of their mutual desire. Mutual pining, bed sharing, and a little light angst before the happy ending.
Observe and Detect by shrift (AO3, 1/1, 3178 words, rated Teen and Up)
In which Ryan is a little slow on the uptake, but he gets there in the end.
Kevin Ryan Is a Better Detective than His Personal Life Implies by celli (AO3, 1/1, 2457 words, rated Teen and Up)
In which Ryan is a little slow on the uptake (again), but he gets there in the end (again).
Of Borrowed Shirts and Bad Chinese Food by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 2118, rated Teen and Up)
Ryan and Esposito are given food for thought when a witness mistakes them for a couple. First kiss, getting together.
the beginning of fairies by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 3273 words, rated Teen and Up)
When tragedy strikes, Kevin is left to bring up his daughter alone. But, then, with Javi by his side, he’s never really alone, is he? Sad and sweet and ultimately hopeful.
It Was Only Pretend by TheSacredFandomTexts (AO3, 1/1, 4000 words, rated General Audiences)
Thanks to Castle, Ryan and Espo have to go undercover as a gay couple for a case. But will either of them have the guts to admit they wish it was more than just pretend? Undercover as gay, first kiss.
Hold Nothing Back (From You) by carolinecrane (AO3, 1/1, 7786 words, rated Explicit)
Espo gets jealous when Ryan gets a new girlfriend and things become a little strained between them. But all’s well that ends well when they find a interesting use for Ryan’s ugly new tie after Poker Night at Castle’s place... Jealousy, first kiss, first time.
There! So much neater than the original post! I’m hoping to get the new list up in the next few days so keep an eye out for it if you’re interested in reading more for this ship. ❤️
A lovely anon (hey, Anon!) recently messaged me about a post I made years ago reccing fics for Rysposito (Kevin Ryan x Javier Esposito from Castle), asking me if I had any new fic recs for the pairing. I’m currently working on a new list, but I decided to tidy up the old one a little while I was at it. So here it is.😊
A Thought to Live By by qalets(Qalets) (AO3, 2/2, 13602 words, rated Mature)
When Ryan and Espo are abducted and held captive by unknown assailants they try to work out what their jailers want from them, as well as what they want from each other. I love this one.
A Cold and Broken Hallelujah by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 1779 words, rated Teen and Up)
Ryan and Esposito fall into a secret relationship. They don’t talk to anyone about it, not even each other. Then Kevin gets shot and they don’t talk about it even more. Angst, but it hurts so good.
Domesticity by joyfulfeather (AO3, 1/1, 6007 words, rated Teen and Up)
When Espo’s apartment goes up in smoke, Ryan offers to let him stay at his place for a while and it doesn’t take long for the close proximity to fan the flames of their mutual desire. Mutual pining, bed sharing, and a little light angst before the happy ending.
Observe and Detect by shrift (AO3, 1/1, 3178 words, rated Teen and Up)
In which Ryan is a little slow on the uptake, but he gets there in the end.
Kevin Ryan Is a Better Detective than His Personal Life Implies by celli (AO3, 1/1, 2457 words, rated Teen and Up)
In which Ryan is a little slow on the uptake (again), but he gets there in the end (again).
Of Borrowed Shirts and Bad Chinese Food by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 2118, rated Teen and Up)
Ryan and Esposito are given food for thought when a witness mistakes them for a couple. First kiss, getting together.
the beginning of fairies by coffeebuddha (AO3, 1/1, 3273 words, rated Teen and Up)
When tragedy strikes, Kevin is left to bring up his daughter alone. But, then, with Javi by his side, he’s never really alone, is he? Sad and sweet and ultimately hopeful.
It Was Only Pretend by TheSacredFandomTexts (AO3, 1/1, 4000 words, rated General Audiences)
Thanks to Castle, Ryan and Espo have to go undercover as a gay couple for a case. But will either of them have the guts to admit they wish it was more than just pretend? Undercover as gay, first kiss.
Hold Nothing Back (From You) by carolinecrane (AO3, 1/1, 7786 words, rated Explicit)
Espo gets jealous when Ryan gets a new girlfriend and things become a little strained between them. But all’s well that ends well when they find a interesting use for Ryan’s ugly new tie after Poker Night at Castle’s place... Jealousy, first kiss, first time.
There! So much neater than the original post! I’m hoping to get the new list up in the next few days so keep an eye out for it if you’re interested in reading more for this ship. ❤️
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
