hii, hope you're doing good.
Can you do a Kimi Antonelli fic where the reader is also from Italy but the south and the first time she hears his accent in Italian she just laughs because in the south we pronounce words differently like I remember hearing him speak Italian for the first time in an interview and just laughed for like a whole minute, I think the most notable thing is the way he pronounces his s's especially and his vowels and words in general sound kinda like my 2 year old nephew with the flu.
Could you make the reader a driver and you can choose which team in f1 or f2, so that like she first hears him maybe during a pr thing.
Whether you do it or not thanks and have a great day!😊
On Brand (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Southern Italian! Reader)
Fandom: RPF/Formula 1
Requested: Clearly (took me a minute, but we got around to it lol)
Warnings: Flirting in Italian (I'm learning Italian, so some translations may be wrong)
POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)
W.C. 1093
Summary: “Are they flirting? In Italian?” “Oh god. It’s worse than that. They’re flirting in grammar.”
~~(^Pinterest)
It all started the day you walked into your first driver’s briefing, and you heard two very different voices talking in Italian - your native language. One was a very weird accent, definitely not Italian, and he was speaking in broken sentences like he was still learning. The other was very nasally, so maybe the other one was sick. You chuckled to yourself as you sat down next to Max.
The actual briefing itself was boring. It was all common sense, in your opinion, and it was just reiterating everything you already knew. Don’t go beyond the white lines. DOn’t move more than once under breaking. You’ll have the chance to do practice starts at the end of each free practice session. If you do a practice start, don’t go until the driver ahead of you has pulled away. Yeah, common sense.
“You getting along with the other rookies?” Max asked, bumping his shoulder against yours after the briefing was wrapped up.
“Haven’t really had the time to,” You shrugged, “I know there’s quite a few this year. They all came from Formula 2, no?”
“Yeah, I can introduce you to some, if you want,” Max offered before looking around the room.
“That would be helpful,” You responded.
“That is Gabriel Bortoleto,” Max started, pointing over to the man in green. “He won the championship last year, and Isack, you’ve met him already, finished second to him.”
“Yeah, I remember Isack,” You nodded along.
“Jack Doohan over there,” Max continued, pointing over to the man in pink.
“Mick?”
“His son,” Max snapped his fingers, “Jack is racing for Alpine. Honestly, not sure how long that’ll last.”
“Don’t be mean,” You said, slapping his arm.
“Not mean, just realistic,” He chuckled, rubbing his arm. He turned to point at the two you were laughing at from earlier. “Then, there’s Ollie and Kimi.”
“One of them is Italian,” You said, matter-of-factly. “He sounds so Northern.”
“Why’d you say it like that?” Max chuckled as Kimi and Ollie walked further into the room and sat on the other side of Max. “Were you making fun of his accent?”
“Who’s accent?” Ollie asked, leaning over Kimi to be part of the conversation.
“Boys, this is my new teammate for the year, also a rookie,” Max said before telling them your name. “Your country mate, Kimi, and they were poking fun at your accent.”
“It’s just the way he says everything,” You said, tilting your head as you looked at Kimi. “It’s not a bad thing. You just say everything so precisely.”
“Ah, and you're Southern,” Kimi pointed out with a smirk.
“Oh, very,” You laughed, loud and unashamed.
“Please don’t do the regional thing,” Max groaned, already standing up.
“It’s already happening,” Ollie groaned too, and followed Max, “Can we stay within listening distance? I want to hear this.”
“You heard me say all of - what, three words?” You questioned, “And you’ve figured me out?”
“Your vowels did most of the work,” Kimi chuckled, sliding into the seat next to you.
“Oh, he’s an expert, I see,” You smirked, leaning closer to him, “Listen to yourself, sounds like you should be filing paperwork.”
“I speak clearly,” He replied, snappily as he kept the joke running.
“Exactly, every syllable is sober,” You said, mocking his accent.
“Is that a burn?” Ollie whispered to Max.
“Probably? I don’t understand Italian insults,” Max whispered back.
“You add extra sounds,” Kimi tilted his head at you as he looked you up and down.
“It’s called ‘emotion,’” You sounded it out, “You should try it sometime.”
“It’s called ‘time,’” He mocked, nodding his head in a condescending way, “The sentence needs to end eventually.”
“I am learning so much about Italy right now,” Ollie gasped, shaking his head, “Shocking, considering I’ve lived there for almost five years now.”
“Say something else,” You said quietly, leaning closer into his side.
“Why should I?” Kimi retorted with a raised eyebrow.
“Because it’s fascinating,” You admitted, “You pronounce Italian like it owes you money, or you are sick, and I’m not sure which one it is yet.”
“And you sound like you're singing to it,” Kimi huffed out a laugh despite your subtle diss.
“Alla fine, è una questione di equilibrio, no (In the end, it’s a balance, no)?” You smirked, biting your lip.
“Forse ci completiamo a vicenda (Maybe we balance each other),” Kimi continued your thought, leaning in further.
“Forse dovremmo uscire insieme allora (Maybe we should go out together then),” You said, subconsciously licking your lips as you felt Kimi’s breath ghost across them.
“Vengo a prenderti alle sette (I’ll pick you up at seven),” He replied in a soft tone as his eyes dropped to your lips momentarily before returning back to your eyes.
“Perfetto,” You whispered, gazing into Kimi’s eyes and smiling like it wasn’t the end of the conversation at all.
“Are they flirting? In Italian?” Ollie grimaced, looking between the two.
“Shhh, don’t ruin the moment,” Max chastised, slapping Ollie’s shoulder.
“È solo un esempio (It’s just one example),” Kimi whispered calmly, rolling his eyes at Ollie and leaning back slightly to look at him and Max.
“Oh god. It’s worse than that,” Ollie gasped. “They’re flirting in grammar.”
“Shush,” Max complained again, “that’s pretty on-brand for them.”
“Aspè (Wait),” You blinked as if you’d just woken up, “Did we just…”
“It was hypothetical,” Kimi said after clearing his throat, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“In the future tense,” You chuckled.
“With a time,” Max piped up.
“And a pick up,” Ollie joined in.
“Please stay out of this,” Kimi said, directing it towards Max and Ollie, who avoided eye contact with him. “Alle sette è un orario ragionevole (Seven is a reasonable time).”
“Never said it wasn’t,” You chuckled. “Does that still work for you, or do Northerners need to schedule further in advance?”
“I plan efficiently,” Kimi scoffed.
“I already regret introducing you two,” Max groaned before getting up and walking back to the Red Bull garage.
~
“Truly, I thought you were sick the first time I heard you,” You admitted while you were laying in bed with Kimi. You two had been together for almost a year at this point, and you never thought to clarify your initial thoughts of him. Not until it had been a little too quiet after a race weekend. ”Just thought you should know that.”
“That’s what that comment was about?” Kimi gasped, sitting up and looking down at you. “I thought I actually sounded like I was becoming sick!”
—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.
franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader
warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases
a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa
Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.
Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.
You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.
This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.
But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.
He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.
"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.
Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"
You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."
"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."
"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.
"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.
You can smell his perfume from where you stand.
"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.
"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."
Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."
"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.
You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.
"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.
The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.
That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.
Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.
So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.
And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.
"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.
"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.
You gulp. Franco smiles.
"Anything is possible this weekend."
-
"You broke the internet last night."
You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.
It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.
Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.
"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."
You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.
But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.
"Hi."
"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.
You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.
"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.
"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.
"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.
"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."
The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.
"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.
"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.
"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.
I will talk to you later.
Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.
-
Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.
P11.
Almost there.
-
"Hi. Come in."
Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.
"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.
Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.
"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.
"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.
Always straight to the point.
Like this morning.
You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.
You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.
Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉
It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.
You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.
Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?
You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.
You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀
It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.
Easy.
"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.
"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.
The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.
You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.
You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.
"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.
Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.
"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.
"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.
You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.
"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.
Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.
"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.
"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.
"Is that your camera?"
You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.
"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.
"Knock yourself out," you say.
Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.
"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.
"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.
You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.
"Just...touch yourself."
You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.
"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."
You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.
The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.
"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.
"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."
Click.
"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"
You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.
"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.
Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.
You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.
Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.
Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.
Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.
It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.
Oh, well.
Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.
Franco. Franco. Franco.
He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.
Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.
"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.
"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.
Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.
He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.
synopsis in lieu of some girlfriends of f2/3 drivers being cheated on, ollie thought it would be a good idea to remind the people (aka his followers) of his beautiful girlfriend
a/n happy new yearrrr
olliebearman
tagged ynstagram
liked by paularon_ and 6,790 others
olliebearman I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND!!!
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ynstagram i love you too ???
ynstagram ollie have u been drinking again?
olliebearman wow! I declare my love for you on the internet for thousands to see and you question me 😔 I see how it is
kimi.antonelli did she tie the bow in the last pic?
ynstagram believe it or not, he asked me to
zak.osullivan we know mate, we know...
ynstagram
tagged olliebearman
liked by olliebearman and 2,589 others
ynstagram to all the people in my dms, yes vroom vroom bear boy is still mine
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olliebearman WHY R PEOPLE DMING U ABOUT US AFTER MY POST????
ynstagram "very strange to suddenly post and display his love especially with several f2/3 wags coming out and implying they were cheated on by the drivers" – user435
olliebearman @.user435 I'D NEVER CHEAT ON MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND
user435 im sorry??? oh my god.... this is embarrassing
prema_team good to know the happy couple is still happy!
liked by author and olliebearman
olliebearman forever yours 😇😘
liked by author
kimi.antonelli could have lived my life without seeing the last pic
olliebearman
tagged ynstagram
liked by paularon_ and 8,927 others
olliebearman just to be clear, there's no silly season (wag version) here !!!
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ynstagram hey! so! caption is crazy!
olliebearman not as crazy as how crazy in love I am with youuuu
ynstagram damn...
zak.osullivan spare a thought for us single people mate
can you do a arvid lindblad fluffy smau? maybe she’s an f1 driver’s sister and they’re soft launching each other 💕
poepie
pairing: arvid lindblad x verstappen!reader
summary: in which you and arvid start soft launching your relationship
warnings: cussing, use of y/n
a/n: tysm for requesting!! i fell in love with this so i think i will have more parts to their relationship <3 also i would love some more f2, f3, f4 and f1 academy requests!
yourusername posted
yourusername im backkkk! did you miss me? bc i missed you 💋💋
liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe, user3 and others
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user1 MOTHER HAS RETURNED TO THE PADDOCKKK
lilymhe missed you bbyyy 💕
yourusername missed you moree lils 🥹🫶
maxverstappen1 good to have you back, snoepje
yourusername aww missed you maxie <3
user2 i will never get over how max calls her 'little sweet' 🥹🥹
alexandrasaintmleux mon amourrr 💗
yourusername luv youu 💗💗
user2 SHE'S BACKKKKK
user3 icon
yourusername posted
📍positano, italy
yourusername getaway :)
liked by maxverstappen1, lando, iamrebeccad and others
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maxverstappen1 WHO IS THAT?!
maxverstappen1 WHY ARE YOU ON HOLIDAY WITH A GUY??
lando FORGET THAT! WHY IS SHE IN BED WITH HIM??
charles_leclerc Y/N! GET AWAY FROM HIM!! BOYS HAVE COOTIES REMEMBER??
maxverstappen1 Y/N VERSTAPPEN DON'T FUCKING IGNORE ME
kellypiquet i hope you two are having fun 💕
yourusername we aree!! tysm kelly 🥹🫶
maxverstappen1 YOU KNEWW?! kellypiquet
user1 not max freaking out and kelly and y/n js ignoring him 😭😭 ♥︎ liked by yourusername
user2 the way charles and lando are overprotective of her too 😭
user3 you're glowing honey ✨✨ ♥︎ liked by yourusername
day 1
“arvid,” you said, gently tugging his sleeve as the two of you wandered down the narrow steps tucked between coral-colored buildings. “i think we need gelato.”
he glanced over with a smirk, one brow raised. “need?”
you gave him a very serious nod. “urgently.”
he laughed softly, his hand brushing against yours before he laced your fingers together. “you’re lucky i’m easily convinced.”
you grinned, tilting your head up at him. “you’re just whipped, poepie.”
he let out a short laugh and shook his head. “say it again.”
you nudged him with your shoulder. “you love when i say it.”
“obviously,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “especially when you say it like that.”
day 2
your villa sat high on the cliffs, with a tiny terrace that overlooked the sea. it smelled like lemons and saltwater and warm stone—something that felt like vacation in every way.
you packed a little picnic for the two of you: fresh bread, burrata, a couple of ripe figs, and that peach soda you found at the corner shop. arvid carried the basket, even though you offered.
“i’ve got it,” he said, brushing your hand away gently. “just enjoy the view.”
you hummed and linked your arm through his. “you’re such a good poepie,” you said without thinking.
he laughed, eyes crinkling. “you really never get tired of calling me that, huh?”
“nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “it fits you. soft, sweet, and a little dramatic.”
he gave you a mock-offended look, but you could see the fondness right behind it. “i’m not dramatic.”
“sure you’re not,” you teased, reaching for his hand.
when you sat down in the grove beneath a swaying lemon tree, you leaned your head on his shoulder as you shared bread and cheese. the breeze ruffled his hair, and he let you fix it, your fingers brushing across his forehead like you had all the time in the world.
“this is nice,” you murmured.
he nodded. “yeah. especially with you.”
day 3
you spent most of the day wandering through town, stopping every time something caught your eye—which was often. a mosaic tile shop, a stray cat napping on a vespa, a vine-covered café with postcards hanging on twine.
arvid didn’t complain once.
“you’re patient,” you said as you left your fifth ceramic shop.
he looked over at you, eyes soft. “you’re cute when you’re excited. i like seeing you happy.”
that made your chest feel warm in that way you could never fully explain.
you stopped at a gelateria tucked into the hillside. you got pistachio and amarena cherry; he got stracciatella. as usual, yours melted faster.
“you’ve got some on your chin,” he said, thumb reaching to wipe it away.
you leaned into his touch. “thanks, poepie.”
his smile was lopsided and a little shy. “you’re really not gonna stop, are you?”
“nope,” you said, grinning. “you secretly love it.”
he didn’t deny it.
the third night was quiet. the sky outside the window was washed in warm peach and lilac, and the sea hummed gently below. you'd both decided to stay in, limbs tired from exploring and hearts full from sun and sweets and little moments.
arvid was sprawled across the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through photos from the day.
you emerged from the bedroom wrapped in one of his t-shirts—soft and oversized, the sleeves falling past your elbows and the hem almost to your thighs.
he looked up, and you caught the way his eyes softened, how a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth without him even trying.
“what?” you asked, pretending not to notice.
“nothing,” he said, but his voice was lower, warmer. “you just look… really cute in that.”
you made a dramatic little twirl, the shirt swinging around your legs. “you mean your shirt? poepie, i’m doing you a favor. i look better in it.”
he laughed, putting his phone down and opening his arms. “can’t argue with that.”
you padded over and climbed into his lap, your fingers playing with the edge of the fabric at your thigh.
he wrapped his arms around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world and kissed your shoulder.
“i like you like this,” he murmured. “warm. close. quiet.”
you pressed your forehead to his. “you’re soft tonight.”
“you bring it out of me,” he said simply. “especially when you call me poepie.”
you were half-asleep when you felt his hand reach for yours under the blanket.
“i really like this version of us,” he murmured.
you turned slightly, still sleepy but smiling.
“what version is that?”
“you calling me poepie every five minutes and me pretending not to melt.”
you laughed, soft and quiet. “you’re not that good at pretending.”
he kissed the back of your hand. “i know.”
you shifted closer, your forehead resting against his.
“i think i like this version too,” you whispered.
his voice was a little raspy when he replied. “you’re my favorite person.”
your heart squeezed in the best way.
“and you’re my favorite poepie.”
arvid.lindblad posted
📍positano, italy
arvid.lindblad a little getaway ☀️
liked by yourusername, olliebearman, maxverstappen1 and others
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maxverstappen1 looking good!
arvid.lindblad thanks max!
lando use protection kids 😉
user1 we lost him folks 💔
user2 y'all... him and y/n are both in italy... and soft launching...
user3 OMG
user4 WHO IS THAT
user5 who's this y/n everybody is talking about??
user6 she's max verstappen's sister
f1gossip posted
f1gossip just days after soft-launching her new boyfriend on holiday, y/n verstappen was spotted at the f2 barcelona race. fans are now wondering if the mystery guy might be one of the drivers on the grid.
liked by user2, user98, kimi.antonelli and others
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user1 NO WAYY
user2 omg max is gonna freak...
user3 omg kimi in the likes??
user4 i think this confirms it
user5 omg she deserves this smm!!
user6 omg i think this confirms her and arvid...
he had no idea you were there.
you’d booked the flight three days before, quietly messaged one of the engineers you knew, and begged him not to tell arvid. it was a simple plan: show up, stay out of sight until the race was over, then surprise him.
watching from the back of the garage, headset slightly too big for your head, you held your breath as he crossed the finish line.
p1.
you barely heard the cheers erupting around you — everything blurred for a second. your chest was full of pride, of love, of pure relief. you just stared at the screen, watching the replay of his final corner, steady and perfect.
he did it.
it wasn’t until the helmet came off and the celebrations started that you stepped a little closer to the front of the garage, waiting.
arvid looked electric — flushed and beaming, hair damp, eyes wide and bright. he was mid-photo, surrounded by the team, when he saw you.
he stilled.
you smiled, gave the smallest wave.
his entire face lit up, like someone flipped a switch in his chest. he muttered something to the photographer, then practically jogged across the pit lane to you, ignoring the chaos behind him.
“you’re here?” he said, voice already cracking into a grin.
“surprise,” you said softly.
and then he hugged you — tight, like he didn’t care that people were watching, didn’t care that he was half-soaked in champagne. his hands were warm against your back, holding you like you might disappear.
“i thought you were home,” he mumbled into your shoulder.
“i was,” you said. “then i booked a ticket.”
he pulled back just far enough to look at you, hands still resting on your waist. “you should’ve told me.”
“but then i wouldn’t get this reaction,” you smiled.
he laughed, cheeks still flushed from the race — or maybe from this. from you. “you’re ridiculous.”
“and you’re a winner,” you said. “so.”
he shook his head, eyes locked on yours. “this is the best part.”
“what is?”
“you. being here.”
you went a little quiet, your fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his race suit. “i wanted to be.”
“i’m really glad you are.”
he kissed you then — soft, quick, grounding — before resting his forehead against yours. the noise of the paddock seemed to fade for a second.
“what now?” you whispered.
“you come with me,” he said. “and don’t leave my side the rest of the day.”
you smiled. “deal.”
yourusername updated their story!
caption: mwah ❤️
arvid.lindblad updated their story!
arvid.lindblad gorgeous ❤️
f1gossip posted
f1gossip arvid lindblad and y/n verstappen spotted having dinner together. is arvid the one y/n was soft launching?
the two were spotted dining at a quiet restaurant near the paddock following the f2 weekend, and while nothing has been confirmed, sources say they looked very comfortable together.
fans were already buzzing after y/n posted her and a mystery man in matching yellow fits, a carefully cropped shot of two people under bedsheets, and a close-up of identical flower bouquets posted on both accounts — faces hidden, but clues not subtle.
so… soft launch confirmed? or just close friends catching up after a race weekend?
liked by arvid.lindblad, yourusername, user2 and others
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yourusername posted
yourusername ik hou van jou, poepie <33 arvid.lindblad
liked by arvid.lindblad, kikagomes, user6 and others
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arvid.lindblad i love you, my pretty girl ❤️
yourusername i love you so so muchh ❤️
maxverstappen1 WHAT?!
maxverstappen1 i would like to state that the only reason i approve is because he's a red bull driver
lando i dunno...
olliebearman genuine question... poepie??
yourusername it kinda means cutie in dutch 😭😭 idk how to explain it
kellypiquet finally... i was tired of max trying to figure out who it was
maxverstappen1 YOU KNEW???
yourusername 😭😭
victoriaverstappen awww baby sis is growing upp
yourusername love youuu vic <333
kimi.antonelli mate finally! 😭😭
maxverstappen1 HOW MANY PEOPLE KNEW?!
yourusername only his family, mama, vic, ollie, kimi, kelly, alexandra, lily, kika and charles...
maxverstappen1 CHARLES?!
charlesleclerc ...
charles leclerc in my defence... i was forced to hide it. i found out
when me and alex saw them on a date
lando AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME??
user1 omg i knew it!!
user2 they're so cuteee
arvid.lindblad posted
arvid.lindblad i love you too, pretty ❤️❤️ yourusername
liked by yourusername, lando, maxverstappen1 and others
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yourusername I LOVE YOUUU
arvid.lindblad I LOVE YOU BABY
yourusername MWAH MWAH
arvid.lindblad ❤️❤️
lando omg how long has this been going on?? you're blonde in one pic and you started dying your hair like years ago??
yourusername its been a year and a half 🤭
lando WHAT!!
olliebearman you two are so cute it makes me sick ♥︎ liked by yourusername, arvid.lindblad
user1 y/n is literally adorable ♥︎ liked by arvid.lindblad
user2 thank you arvid for giving us more y/n photos 🤭 ♥︎ liked by arvid.lindblad
user3 they're sooo cuteee ahhh
user4 grid couple goals ✨✨
max was halfway through a post-race espresso when he opened instagram.
he blinked.
stared.
then frowned.
“what the hell,” he muttered.
lando, sitting across from him in the hospitality tent with his phone in hand, raised a brow. “what?”
max didn’t respond. he just turned his phone around slowly — like he needed a second opinion.
lando’s jaw dropped.
“nooooo.”
max’s eye twitched. “she said she came to barcelona for me.”
lando looked physically pained. “she lied. to both of us.”
“and wore his hoodie.” max muttered like it was a personal betrayal.
there was a long, stunned silence.
then max said, “when did this even start?”
lando leaned back in his chair, still scrolling through the comments. “people are calling them ‘grid couple goals’ already. oh my god. this has been going on a while.”
“how did we not notice?”
“because she’s smarter than us?” lando offered.
max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “i told her no drivers.”
lando blinked. “uh, you’re a driver.”
“that’s different. i’m her brother.”
lando threw his hands up. “i’m her brother too!”
max looked at him. “not biologically.”
lando scowled. “still counts.”
they stared at the phone again.
a new comment popped up:
@/arvid.lindblad i love you, my pretty girl
lando gagged dramatically. “okay. we need to have a talk with him.”
“a calm one,” max said tightly.
“a firm one,” lando corrected.
“we’re not scaring him.”
lando looked up. “you’re not scaring him. i might.”
“lando—”
“i’m just gonna chat with him,” lando said, already standing up. “maybe walk him into a quiet garage and lock the door behind us.”
max sighed. “we can’t actually threaten him. he’s… fine.”
lando paused. “wait. are you okay with this?”
max looked back at the post, at your bright smile, the way arvid looked at you like you were the only person in the world.
he sighed again, quieter this time. “he makes her happy.”
liked by yourusername, arvid.lindblad, user4 and others
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yourusername love youu admin 💕
redbullracing back off 🤺🤺 she's ours redbulljuniorteam
redbulljuniorteam neverrrr!
user1 they're fucking adorable!!
user2 i love them your honour
user3 max and lando the entire race: 😐
user4 BUT THE WAY THEY BOTH SMILED WHEN THEY SAW HOW HAPPY Y/N WAS WHEN ARVID WON
user5 fuckk im too single for this
user6 the way he looks at her 🥹🥹
user7 she's so cutee, she literally looked at him with the biggest grin on her face
he saw the orange smoke first.
then the flags.
then you — standing on the pit wall, in max’s hoodie (because yours was soaked from the rain earlier), eyes wide, both hands covering your mouth.
when he crossed the line at zandvoort — p1 — he didn’t scream. didn’t cry. didn’t say anything at first.
he just looked for you.
and when he found you, everything else disappeared.
“he’s gonna do it,” lando said, half-standing on his tiptoes next to max in the garage.
max didn’t say a word — just leaned forward with his arms crossed, watching arvid fly through the final sector with razor-clean lines.
the crowd was wild. orange flares and pounding drums, dutch flags snapping in the wind.
max exhaled slowly as arvid crossed the line.
p1.
the whole garage went up in cheers — but max didn’t look at the timing screen. he looked at you.
you weren’t cheering. not yet. you looked stunned. hands shaking a little. like you couldn’t quite believe it.
lando bumped max’s shoulder. “she’s gonna cry.”
max gave a quiet smile. “yeah. she always does when it’s someone she really loves.”
arvid’s car rolled into parc fermé, hands still on the wheel for a second longer than usual. the team ran to him, but his eyes were only on the pit wall.
you were there before he could even pull off his gloves, laughing through the tears that finally spilled out, arms wide open.
he dropped everything — helmet, gloves, maybe even reason — and ran straight into you.
the hug was instant. grounding. arms tight around your waist, face buried in your shoulder as the noise roared around you.
“you did it,” you whispered.
he pulled back just enough to look at you — eyes glassy, cheeks pink from the wind and everything else. “i wanted to win here. for you.”
you smiled so hard it hurt.
“you’re ridiculous,” you said, wiping the rain off his cheek with your sleeve.
“i love you,” he blurted, like it had been waiting behind his teeth all day.
you blinked. then laughed, then kissed him right there — quick and warm and real.
“he’s definitely in love,” lando said, arms crossed next to max as they watched from the other side of the barrier.
max didn’t argue.
“he raced like someone who had something to prove,” lando added.
“no,” max said, a little softer now. “like someone who had someone to race for.”
lando looked sideways at him. “you’re not gonna kill him anymore?”
max shrugged. “we’ll see how long he keeps making her smile like that.”
later, during the cooldown lap, arvid’s radio crackled.
“nice win, mate,” came max’s voice, unexpected. calm.
arvid blinked in surprise. “thanks,” he said, trying not to sound like he was holding his breath.
“take care of her,” max added, before signing off.
arvid smiled to himself.
“always.”
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, lmk if you want to be added or removed!
Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.
It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.
Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!
Notes — Are you ready? Because I'm not ready.
Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist
Harper regretted everything the minute they hit the incline.
"This was your idea," Oscar said, not even out of breath.
"I hate that you're actually good at this," she wheezed.
He grinned and reached for her wrist mid-stride. "We can stop."
"No." She panted. "If I stop now, I'll never start again. They'll have to airlift me out."
They were deep in the woods behind the school, the quiet part where no one really went except Oscar when he was doing his trainer-mandated endurance runs three times a week. It smelled like wet moss and pine needles and early autumn.
He slowed to a walk, just enough for her to match pace, then slung an arm lazily around her shoulders. She leaned into it, grateful and exhausted and warm in a way that had nothing to do with her temperature.
They didn't say anything for a while. Just breathed. Let the trees hush them.
Then, softly, "This is where I come when I need to think," he said.
Harper glanced up at him. "Or avoid people?"
"Same thing."
She smiled and nudged him. "You've been doing that more lately."
He shrugged. "It's been... a lot. Winning the British championship. Leading the WSK. Talking to teams. My dad's getting anxious about sponsors."
"And Mark?"
"Always calm. But I can tell he's pushing a bit harder now. It's all getting a bit more serious."
She nodded, quietly. "Yeah."
They walked until they hit a small clearing; soft grass, dappled light, the faint hum of wind through the trees.
Oscar dropped to the ground first, tugging her with him, and Harper let herself fall beside him. Their fingers tangled without thought. Her heartbeat still hadn't slowed.
"You really hate running, huh?" He teased.
She turned her head toward him. "I don't hate it."
He raised a brow.
"Okay, fine. I hate it. But I like being with you," she said, eyes soft.
Oscar looked at her for a long moment. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. "That's a good enough reason to torture yourself?"
She nodded.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against herself and she giggled breathily against him, shifting to her knees and pressing close to him.
And when she whispered, "Can we... just stay here a while?" He nodded, no questions, no pressure, just a gentle hand on the curve of her back.
They didn't... plan it.
They didn't even really speak about it as it happened.
They moved the way they always did — with instinct and quiet understanding, with laughter in the middle and too many nerves and awkward fumbling that quickly gave way to something softer.
They were teenagers, yes. But more than that — in that pretty little clearing, they became each other's firsts. And it wasn't perfect. It was fumbled and awkward and probably a bit out of order — but it felt right.
It felt like theirs.
Afterwards, they lay tangled in the grass and the quiet, Oscar drawing invisible lines on her shoulder, Harper tucked into his side like she belonged there and nowhere else.
"I don't think anything has ever felt that perfect," she whispered.
He kissed her again. But her lip. Made her giggle as he said, "You made it perfect."
—
Harper tiptoed into their bedroom just past curfew, hair messy, hoodie zipped up to her chin, and a dazed sort of softness clinging to her features like afterglow.
Jane was already in bed, face masked, glasses on, reading some dystopian paperback with a wildly dramatic title. She didn't look up.
"I know what you did," she sung.
Harper froze halfway across the room. "What?"
Jane turned a page. "Please. You've got pine needles in your hair and your skirt is on backwards.'"
Harper flushed. "Oh my God."
Jane finally looked at her. "Was it good?"
"...Yeah," Harper whispered, and then suddenly grinned, wide and a little overwhelmed. "Yeah, it was."
Jane set her book down and patted the edge of her bed. "Come here and tell me everything, you naughty, terrible girl."
Harper crossed the room in two steps, crawled under Jane's blanket like they were twelve again, and for the first time in a long time, let herself glow.
—
Monday morning, Harper's phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced down to see the sender: Viard Admissions.
Opening it felt like swallowing a stone.
The email was clinical, polite — an official acceptance letter to the elite boarding school in Switzerland her mother had threatened. Lines about curriculum, dates, and fees, but beneath every word, Harper could feel the cold weight of control.
She stared at the screen, heart sinking.
The rest of the day was a blur. Her smiles felt forced. Her laughs, hollow.
At lunch, she barely touched her food. During math tutoring, her mind floated, distracted by the looming exile.
Oscar noticed.
He cornered her between classes, hands stuffed in his pockets, brows furrowed.
"Hey," he said gently, "you've been off all day. What's wrong?"
Harper shook her head, trying to hide the tightness in her throat.
Oscar stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You can tell me."
She hesitated, then finally exhaled. "My mum." she admitted, voice cracking. "She emailed my mu acceptance letter. To that school in Switzerland she was threatening me with the other week."
Oscar's jaw tightened. "That's shit," he said.
"Yeah," Harper whispered. "I feel like I've found somewhere I belong, and now she's trying to take it away."
Oscar reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You do belong," he said firmly. "Here. With me. And with our friends. People who care about you."
Harper blinked back tears, the knot inside her loosening just a little. "Thanks, Osc," she said softly.
He smiled, squeezing her hand. "We'll figure it out, yeah? Together."
—
Saturday evening, their bedroom was buzzing with whispered giggles and the fresh scent of cucumber.
Harper and Jane lounged on the floor, wrapped in fluffy blankets, their faces slick with a honey-avocado facemask as they binge-watched Mean Girls for the third time that week on Jane's laptop.
"Oi, we're coming in!" Matt's voice boomed from outside their door.
The door swung open to reveal Matt, Sam, and Alfie — each armed with their own packets of face masks and towels, looking both sheepish and excited.
"Um, what the hell are you guys doing here?" Jane asked, raising an eyebrow at them.
"We're your new beauty consultants," Sam grinned, holding up a jar of what looked like expensive aloe mask (which he'd definitely stolen from whichever girl he was currently dating).
Alfie was already spreading a pink goo over his cheeks, looking hilariously out of place in the girls' soft dorm lighting.
Harper laughed despite herself.
"Fine. Whatever. But only if you promise not to mess up the blankets," Jane bargained.
Matt plopped down on the floor, slapping a bit of mask on his nose and grinning. "Deal."
The night unfolded with half-serious skincare advice, sarcastic commentary on Mean Girls, and a lot of laughter.
At one point, Alfie tried to reenact the "You can't sit with us" line — but with a face mask so thick it practically obscured his words.
Harper messages Oscar a sneaky picture she'd taken of them.
Oscar: I asked them to keep an eye on you. Sry if they were annoying lol. Wish I was there x
Harper stared at the message and pulled her knees up to her chest with a hitched smile.
Harper: Thank you. Love you
She held her breath as he typed.
Oscar: Love you too.
And it was that easy.
—
Jane's birthday was always celebrated in style.
The music thrummed through the room, warm and electric. Harper spotted Oscar across the room, his eyes locking onto hers with something intense — a mix of nerves and something more.
He moved toward her, hand reaching out gently to take hers. She didn't hesitate.
They stepped onto the dance floor, bodies close but careful, hearts pounding louder than the beat.
Oscar's hand found her waist, steady and reassuring. Harper's fingers curled lightly around his neck, breath catching in her throat.
They swayed together, the world narrowing to just the two of them — the noise, the lights, the rest all fading away.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and Harper's pulse quickened. When their lips met, it was soft at first — tentative, like testing the water.
But the kiss deepened, filled with all the restless energy and longing they'd been holding back.
They pulled apart slowly, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.
Oscar grinned, his fingers brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Best party ever."
—
The door clicked softly behind them as Oscar guided Harper inside his bedroom, a quiet grin tugging at his lips.
She pointedly ignored the insane amount of mess.
"If you get caught here, we're both fucked," he whispered, pulling her close.
"I won't get caught," Harper replied, snuggling into his side as they settled onto the rumpled bed.
Oscar wrapped an arm around her and tugged her flush against him.
Then Harper shifted, her voice soft but animated. "I started this new coding camp online. It's... complicated, but kind of awesome."
Oscar tilted his head, interested. "Yeah? What's it teaching you?"
"How to build games. It's a bit elementary, but I'm learning how to work with CSS more efficiently."
Oscar smiled, fingers tracing slow circles on her arm. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. "That's pretty cool."
Harper hummed. "I know. I'll show you the video game when it's done. Won't be anything special, but it'll still be cool."
Oscar pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "I'm glad you're here."
Harper nodded, resting her head against his chest. "Me too."
—
Harper's stomach churned as she made her way through the quiet halls toward the headmaster's office. Her mind raced with possibilities — had her mum found out about the late-night escapades? Had somebody seen her sneaking out of the boys dorm? Was she in trouble?
She knocked lightly, then stepped inside.
The headmaster looked up, a warm smile on his face. "Harper, come in. Have a seat."
Her heart pounded, but she took the chair offered.
"I wanted to talk to you because I've been hearing some very good things," he said. "Your math level has improved significantly over the course of the term — and I understand that with dyscalculia, this is something to be very proud of."
Harper blinked, surprised.
"I understand that there's been some study sessions with a few of your classmates during your free time in the common rooms. A few teachers found the pinned-up schedules amusing. But that kind of initiative is impressive."
She let out a relieved breath, a smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, sir."
"It really is a fantastic turn around, Harper. Keep it up."
As she left the office, the tension eased from her shoulders.
Maybe things were looking up after all.
—
Oscar sat on the sofa in the common room, phone balanced on his knee, his parents' faces bright on the screen.
"It's been great to hear from you, mate," his dad said, smiling.
Oscar grinned. "Yeah. You too."
The door opened softly, and Harper stepped inside, still catching her breath from P.E., cheeks flushed.
She paused, then eased herself down next to Oscar, curling up against his side.
Oscar glanced at the screen and said, "Harper's here."
"Hi," Harper murmured, closing her eyes and resting her head on Oscar's shoulder.
Oscar slipped an arm around her, fingers gently brushing her hair.
The conversation continued quietly, but Harper drifted off, the soft rhythm of Oscar's voice and the warmth of the room lulling her into a calm nap.
—
The cafeteria was quiet, soft morning light filtering through the windows. Harper sat at their small table, pushing her usual bowl of Weetabix aside.
"I'm not really feeling up for that," she said softly. "Just some toast, yeah?"
Oscar looked up from his cereal, eyebrows knitting together in quiet concern but not pressing. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said, sliding a plate across to her. "Whatever you want."
Harper nibbled at the edges, her stomach twisting uncomfortably, but she shrugged it off.
"Just feel a bit gross, probably nothing," she muttered, a bit frustrated. "Maybe it was that chilli we had last night. It tasted weird."
Oscar reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "If you want, I can find you some ginger tea? My mum always made me drink it when I got sick."
She smiled faintly, grateful for the thought. "I'll be fine. Thanks, though."
She shuffled closer to him throughout breakfast, until she was practically on his lap as the ready of the sleepy students came pouring in.
Jane slammed her tray down on the table and said, "Can you believe that the prom theme is going to be 'Pirates'. I mean — who the hell came up with that?"
Harper giggled against Oscar's shoulder.
—
The bell had just rung, and students spilled into the hallway. Harper was making her way slowly toward the common room when she spotted Oscar waiting near the door.
He caught her eye immediately and fell into step beside her.
"You feeling okay?" He asked quietly, voice low enough that no one else could hear.
Harper shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Better. Still a bit off, but it's nothing."
Oscar studied her for a moment, concern softening his features. "Want me to walk you back to your dorm? Or maybe grab some fresh air?"
She nodded, grateful for the offer. "Yeah, that'd be good."
They walked together, the afternoon sun warm on their backs, and Harper leaned just a little closer to him.
—
The last weeks of the school year felt heavier somehow — classes wrapped up, corridors buzzing with end-of-year chatter, but Harper's thoughts kept drifting.
She sat beside Oscar on the astroturf, the chill in the air making them both pull their jackets tighter.
"Four weeks," she murmured, voice soft. "That's how long you'll be gone."
Oscar nodded, eyes tracing the frost on the pitch. "I know. It'll feel like forever."
Harper looked down at her hands, twisting the little rope bracelet Oscar had given her. It was black and white; the colours of a chequered flag. The finish line.
"I'm going to miss you," she admitted, the words tasting strange but true.
Oscar reached over, fingers brushing hers. "I'll miss you too. But it's not forever. We've got FaceTime, texts..."
She smiled faintly, though the lump in her throat didn't go away. "Promise you won't forget about me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. It was ridiculous, but she was feeling just a tiny bit delicate.
"I promise, babe," Oscar said, squeezing her hand.
She took a deep breath and let his words settle something in her chest.
—
The snow had started falling just before dusk, blanketing the city in soft white as Harper and her mother walked briskly up Fifth Avenue. The holiday lights sparkled across shop windows, casting golden reflections against the ice-slicked pavement. It should have felt magical — it usually did — but this year, everything felt off.
Her mother was walking a few steps ahead, as always. Perfect posture, sleek gloves, eyes forward like she was leading a press conference instead of walking to her parents' townhouse.
"Straighten your scarf," she said without looking back. "You're not ten."
Harper didn't answer. She just adjusted the scarf, more out of habit than compliance.
Her grandparents' house was beautiful in that cold, museum-like way — all polished marble and antique chandeliers. They were kind enough, but Harper always felt like a stranger to them.
Dinner was stiff. Conversation danced around neutral topics — school, future plans, the weather in London — but never quite landed. Harper could feel her mother's eyes on her every time she spoke, like she was a sentence away from saying something inappropriate.
When dessert was served, Harper quietly excused herself and climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom, her phone already in hand.
She laid across the bedspread, scrolling through old photos of her and Oscar — blurry selfies after he'd climbed out of his kart, the one where he'd fallen asleep during a maths session, the video of him trying orange marmalade for the first time and gagging like it was poison.
Her chest ached.
There was a message waiting for her.
Oscar: Made it to the beach before Mum could shove a Santa hat on me. Send help.
Miss you.
She smiled, blinking hard.
Harper: You'd better FaceTime me tomorrow. Or I swear I'll swim to Australia just to see you.
—
Harper sat cross-legged on the guest bed, the soft hum of New York traffic muffled by snow and distance. Laughter floated up faintly from the living room downstairs — the clink of glasses, her grandfather's booming voice, her mother's delicate laugh, like porcelain.
She stared at her phone until it buzzed, the screen lighting up with one name.
FaceTime Incoming: Oscar
She answered immediately.
Oscar's face appeared, backlit by sunshine. He was sitting outside, shirtless and tanned, with the ocean glinting behind him.
"Merry Christmas," he said, grinning.
Harper smiled, the tightness in her chest easing a little just at the sound of his voice. "Merry Christmas, beach boy."
"Snow yet?"
"Everything's white. Including the tablecloth. And every single guest."
He huffed out a dry laugh. "You okay?"
Harper nodded, though it wasn't entirely true. "Better now."
He looked at her through the screen, really looked. "It's been weird not seeing you almost every day."
"It's horrible," she admitted, flopping back on the bed and bringing the phone with her. "She made me wear this velvet dress that itches like hell. I would sell my soul for a hoodie and one of your perfect plates of breakfast toast."
Oscar chuckled, lying back on a sun chair, mirroring her position. "We had a barbecue. Dad burned the sausages. Classic."
There was a pause — not awkward, but full.
"I miss you," Harper said softly, picking at a fraying thread on the sleeve of her dress.
"I miss you too," Oscar replied, quieter this time.
Neither of them said it, but it hung in the space between them: I love you — unspoken, but understood.
"We'll be back home soon," she said, more to herself than to him.
"Ten days."
"Not like I'm counting."
Oscar smiled. "I'll call you tonight. Properly. When the house is quiet."
"Okay."
"Go be elegant and miserable," he teased.
"And you go burn in the sun."
"I'm wearing SPF."
She smiled again, softer now, the ache still there, but bearable.
"Bye, Osc."
"Bye, Harps."
—
The train ride had been long. The platform cold. And Harper's suitcase wheel had started squeaking halfway across campus.
But none of that mattered the second she saw him.
He was already there — leaning against the gate near the common room, hoodie half-zipped, hair sun-lightened from two weeks under the Australian sky. He looked taller. Or maybe she just missed him that much.
Oscar straightened the second their eyes met.
Neither of them said anything at first. He just stepped forward and took her suitcase handle from her hand like it was second nature, like she hadn't been gone for 28 days, 16 FaceTimes, and countless messages.
Harper looked up at him, trying to smile but it wobbled. "Hey."
"Hi," he said, and his voice caught on it.
She opened her arms before she could think better of it, and he pulled her into him like he'd been holding his breath since December.
His nose tucked against her temple. "You're freezing," he murmured.
"You're warm," she whispered back.
They stood there for a while, unmoving, while students bustled past with post-holiday energy and distant laughter filled the air. None of it touched them.
Finally, Harper leaned back just enough to look up at him. "You got taller."
"You got sadder," he said gently. "But you're back now."
She nodded, eyes stinging. "I missed this."
"I missed you."
They didn't kiss — not here, not in-front of everyone — but his hand found hers and didn't let go as they walked the familiar path toward the dorms.
Back to routine. Back to toast and maths study and Astro nights and quiet, stolen moments.
Back to where they belonged.
—
Harper was half-draped across Jane's bed, a leftover Quality Street melting on her tongue, while Jane rooted through her suitcase with dramatic flair.
"I forgot how depressing the lighting is in this room," Jane muttered. "It's like they want us to slowly wilt."
"You're very tan though," Harper said through a yawn. "So it looks fine."
Jane straightened up triumphantly, holding up a pink silk scrunchie like it was a crown jewel. "There it is."
Harper blinked. "That's what you were hunting for?"
"Excuse you — this scrunchie survived the Atlantic Ocean." Jane dropped it on her desk and flopped beside Harper. "I swam on Christmas Day. It was freezing. I highly recommend getting your period before beach season. It was the first year I didn't have to stress about leaking in the Mediterranean and attracting sharks."
Harper smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
A beat.
And then another.
And then—
Her face drained of colour.
"Oh."
Jane tilted her head. "What?"
Harper sat up, very suddenly, like the air had gone too tight. "I haven't... I haven't had mine."
Jane blinked. "Like—"
"I didn't think about it, I just—" Harper's voice trailed off as she stared at the wall. "I've felt sick. Tired. I haven't wanted my Weetabix."
Jane was still for a beat, then reached out and put a steadying hand on Harper's knee. "Okay. Breathe. It could be stress. Travel. Life."
Harper nodded slowly, but her brain was moving a million miles an hour. "Yeah. Yeah. Totally. Stress."
But Jane could see it in her eyes.
That switch had flipped.
Something inside Harper knew — whether or not she was ready to say it out loud.
—
She didn't knock.
She didn't even hesitate.
Harper shoved open the door to the boys' dorm common room, heart in her throat, fingers trembling, her mind screaming in spirals. Oscar was on the floor with Alfie and Matt, half-focused on a Mario Kart match, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, looking so calm it almost made her dizzy.
He looked up immediately.
And stood up faster than she'd ever seen him move.
"Hey— Harps?"
She just stared at him for a second, trying to speak, trying to make the words form. She couldn't do this with anyone else. Only him.
"I—" Her voice broke. "Can we talk? Please?"
"Yeah. Of course." He was already crossing the room, grabbing her hand, guiding her down the hallway toward his room without another word. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Oscar turned to her, brows knit with concern. "What happened? What's wrong?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then forced the words out before she could second guess them.
"I think I might be pregnant."
Silence.
Not judgment, not panic — just... stillness. The way Oscar always went quiet before a race, centring himself.
Harper blinked fast. "I haven't had my period. I've been nauseous, tired, my brain's a mess. And I didn't notice— I didn't think—" Her voice cracked. "I'm not saying I am. But I might be. And I don't know what to do."
Oscar stepped forward and gently took her hands in his, grounding her.
"Okay," he said simply, his voice steady. "Fuck. Okay. We'll figure this out."
Harper let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "I didn't know what to do. I just panicked."
Oscar's eyes softened. "Yeah but you did the right thing. You came to me."
She nodded, chest tight, and leaned into him. His arms wrapped around her without hesitation, warm and sure.
"Whatever happens," he murmured, "we'll handle it."
Harper sniffled. "I'm fifteen, Oscar. Fifteen."
He closer his eyes. "Shit, yeah. I know. Me too." He laughed.
Nothing about this situation was funny.
She couldn't help but laugh too, a warped, wet kind of sound.
—
The chemist in the village was almost empty. Harper kept her head down, winter hat pulled low, scarf wrapped high. Oscar stood beside her, tall and quiet, his hoodie sleeves tugged nervously over his hands. He didn't say much — didn't need to — just waited beside her.
They didn't look at the packaging too long. Just grabbed the one that looked familiar, Oscar paid in cash, and they left without a word.
—
Back at school, they slipped into the small student toilet block behind the science building — the one Oscar had jimmied the lock on once during a thunderstorm. It was quiet. Private. The only place that didn't feel like it had ears and eyes everywhere.
Harper set the box down on the sink with trembling hands.
"You don't have to stay," she whispered.
Oscar shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."
She nodded. "Okay."
She went in, closed the door, and a moment later, came back out holding the test in shaking fingers. He didn't look at it. He just held her free hand and guided her to sit on the windowsill.
They set it down on the ledge between them.
A timer on Oscar's phone started counting down.
Two minutes.
Neither of them spoke.
Oscar's thumb stroked the inside of her palm, rhythmic and slow.
Harper stared at the test, as if watching it would make it kinder.
Her voice was barely a breath. "I'm scared."
"I know," Oscar said. "Me too."
Thirty seconds left.
The world outside the window was silver-grey, students scattered across the grass in the distance, oblivious. Everything felt fragile.
Fifteen seconds.
Ten.
Five.
Harper's grip tightened.
"Do we look?" She asked.
Oscar nodded once. "Together."
She reached for the test with trembling fingers.
—
The rain had started again. A soft pattering against the windows that filled the silence like a lullaby.
Oscar lay behind her on her narrow dorm bed, one arm around her waist, the other tucked beneath his head. Harper was curled into herself, facing the wall, her fingers gripping the edge of the duvet like it might keep her from floating away.
He hadn't said much when she showed him the test. Just took one look at her face, reached out, and pulled her into him.
Now he was just holding her.
Breathing with her.
Letting her be silent.
Her cheek was damp against the pillow, but she wasn't crying anymore. She felt wrung out, like all the air had been squeezed from her lungs, like her bones were vibrating with too many thoughts that had nowhere to go.
Oscar pressed his nose into the back of her shoulder. His voice was a whisper. "It's going to be okay."
She didn't answer. Just nodded once.
He didn't say it to convince her. He said it because it was the only thing he could offer — his calm. His presence. His belief in her, in them, in the idea that they'd somehow survive this.
His hand slid down to rest gently over hers.
She swallowed hard. "I don't know how far along I am."
"We'll figure it out."
She turned in his arms then, finally facing him, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. "I don't feel like a real person right now."
Oscar blinked slowly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "Yeah. I feel a bit out of it too."
She let out a small, watery laugh.
And then she tucked her head into his chest, and he held her tighter, as if he could anchor her to something solid.
What happens when friendship isn’t enough? Childhood best friends Aila Räikkönen and Oscar Piastri thought they knew each other — until a crash, a year apart, and the return to racing changes everything.
▶ TRACKLIST
1: Echo
2: Currents
3: Throttle
4: Redemption
5: Birthday Lap
6: Gridlocked
7: Window Seat
8: Sweet
9: Best Friend
10: Twinge
11: Unread
12: Watching
13: Unsaid
14: Tipping Point
15: Home
16: Distracted
17: Elea
18: Korvapuusti
19: Restrain
20: Tethered
21: Reckoning
22: the Climb
23: Between Lines
24: Scary good
25: Almost
26: Blonde Pancake
27: Edge of Control
28: Breaking Point
29: Always
30: Aave
31: Obvious
32: Is it True?
33: Twenty Candles
34: Headlines
35: Awkward
36: Frostbite
37: Finally
38: Pole, Pit, and Pride
39: Headlines and Records
40: Mestari
41: Silly
42: Prove it
43: Hunger
44: Between Flashes
45: I Love You
46: Homey
47: Supposed to be
48: Goodbye
yourusername so so excited to finally see this film out in theatres! this has been such a wonderful journey and one of the best sets i've had the pleasure to work on! let's go barbie, let's go party!
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user1 aahhh this film is going to be THE film of 2023
user2 i need to watch this asap!
⤷ user3 had the chance to watch it already and i cann tell you it's so good
olliebearman man, i wish i had someone to watch the movie with...
⤷ yourusername that could be arranged
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♡ liked by arthur_leclerc, yourusername, dennis_hauger and 57,394 others
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olliebearman tough weekend here in budapest... but we'll bounce back stronger in spa!
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user6 keep your head up, your time to shine will come soon!
user7 let's just get them at spa!!
yourusername maybe you just need a lucky charm by your side?
⤷ olliebearman maybe i do ;)
user8 did i just see y/n in the comments
⤷ user9 their flirting is not very subtle
user10 still proud of you!
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