Discover Top Posts Tagged with #piastri reader

breeze — kika gomes!

smau + written blurbs

francisca ‘kika’ gomes x !fem piastri driver reader

you never really liked the spotlight, even if driving in formula 1 meant living in it. the interviews, the cameras, the noise—it all made you feel small in ways the racetrack never did. but then you met francisca gomes at a rhode beauty event, and suddenly, being seen didn’t feel so terrifying anymore. you were a mess the first time you tried to talk to her—hands shaking, voice stumbling over simple words—but somehow she only smiled at you like it was the cutest thing in the world. and maybe that’s when you realized you were in trouble.

original request here! (from my angel bby)

fc : leah halton

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yn_piastri

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, franciscagomes, haileybieber and 1,800,000 others.

yn_piastri : super fun night w @/rhode! ilysm hails💛

tagged : alexandrasaintmleux, franciscagomes, haileybieber and rhode

—

view 76,000 other comments.

rhode : 💛💐 our fave girl!

liked by yn_piastri

haileybieber : my partner in crime 💛 love you angel, you made rhode look better than ever tonight

liked by yn_piastri

username00 : so BEAUTIFUL 😌💕 look just like your mum!

liked by yn_piastri

username75 : you expect me to survive yn + kika + alexandra in one pic??????

username001 : MOTHER IS MOTHERING

franciscagomes : yellow is officially your color 🌼 stunninggg

liked by yn_piastri and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yn_piastri : it was so great to finally meet you🤍 you are so incredibly beautiful

liked by franciscagomes and alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : my favorite night 💛 (& my favorite girl)

liked by yn_piastri

nicolepiastri : that dress!! 🥹🩷 you look beautiful darling

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : miss you mum😭

hattiepiastri : ok but why didn’t you invite me??? rude 🫠

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : next time my bean 😌

redbullracing : our girl 👏🏻💛

liked by yn_piastri

lando : my hg is a lesbian and that’s okay bc we both looking for gfs!!!! hit us up

liked by franciscagomes

↳ yn_piastri : no two man. i’m about to block you

↳ lando : yn WHY DO YOU HATE ME

↳ yn_piastri : i love you but you make it extremely hard. you really do.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

maxverstappen1 : see i told you to wear the yellow and i was DOUBTED

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : listen listen. why would i take fashion advice from you????? mr. skinny jeans

liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

lilyzneimer : beautiful angel💛

liked by yn_piastri

↳ yn_piastri : love u love u love u

username005 : whole grid in the comments besides oscar

↳ yn_piastri : he really takes his time with his comments. it really kills him to try and say something nice to me

oscarpiastri : yellow!

liked by yn_piastri and lando

↳ yn_piastri : my point exactly ^^^

↳ oscarpiastri : i could’ve said nothing at all

↳ yn_piastri : atp that would’ve been preferred

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You’ve never been the kind of person who enjoys red carpets and flashing cameras. The racetrack feels natural—helmet on, engine screaming, the world narrowing into sharp corners and straights. But a beauty event in Miami? Not exactly your usual stomping ground. The only reason you even said yes was because Hailey had personally texted you—“You have to come, babe, I miss you🤍”—and she was someone you could never say no to.

You’re standing in front of the hotel mirror, smoothing the yellow gown down nervously. It catches the light perfectly, but you can’t stop fidgeting with the straps. Your hair is done, your makeup is flawless, but you still feel like the same shy girl who’d rather be in a hoodie than heels.

“Does this even look okay?” you ask, spinning toward Oscar, who’s sprawled across your bed scrolling on his phone.

He looks up, blinks once, then twice. “You look fine,” he says, in the most painfully monotone brotherly voice possible.

“Fine?” you press, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, fine. Like, good fine. Fancy fine. Whatever.” He waves a hand vaguely, already looking back down at his screen.

You groan, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, muffled under the pillow. “I’m just saying. You look good. Happy?”

“Not really,” you mutter, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile anyway. Typical Oscar. If he thought you looked bad, he’d tell you. He just wasn’t the type to gush.

By the time you arrive at the Rhode Beauty event, your nerves are through the roof. The venue is glowing—soft lights, flashes from photographers at the entrance, Miami glittering in the distance. You take a deep breath, step out of the car, and immediately spot a familiar face.

“YN!” Alexandra beams, gliding over in a chic yellow two piece that looks effortless and perfect, as always. She hugs you tightly, grounding you a little. “You look incredible. Hailey’s going to freak out when she sees you.”

You laugh nervously, murmuring a thank you. You’ve always been comfortable with Alexandra—she’s warm and genuine, a safe person to cling to at overwhelming events like this. Tonight is no exception.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” she says, linking her arm through yours. “She’s a close friend of mine—you’ll love her.”

That’s when you see her.

Francisca Gomes. Kika. She’s standing by one of the photobooth backdrops, effortlessly radiant in a silky dress, hair falling in waves, smile bright enough to knock the air out of your lungs. She’s chatting with someone, but when Alexandra calls her name, she turns—and for the first time in your career, you feel like you might actually pass out.

“Kika, this is YN,” Alexandra says warmly. “You know, Oscar’s sister. She drives too.”

Kika’s eyes light up as she takes you in. “Oh my god, hi! I’ve heard so much about you.”

And you—well, you’re a disaster. Your tongue fumbles, words tangling into one another. “H-hi, um, yeah, you’re—uh—you look—”

Kika tilts her head, amused, lips tugging into a soft smile. “I look…?” she prompts gently.

“You look—really nice,” you blurt, cheeks blazing.

Alexandra giggles softly behind her hand, and Kika just beams at you like you’ve said the sweetest thing in the world. “Thank you,” she says, voice lilting and kind. “You’re so cute.”

The word “cute” rings in your ears for the rest of the night.

To your surprise, you spend most of the evening with Kika. She makes it easy—always asking you questions, leaning in when you speak, laughing at your shy, mumbled jokes. She’s magnetic, and you find yourself slowly loosening, drawn into her warmth. There are photobooth pictures with Hailey, selfies with Alexandra, a chaotic group mirror photo you’re barely holding it together for because Kika’s standing right beside you.

And by the time the event winds down, you’re glowing in a way that has nothing to do with color of your dress.

When you finally get back to your hotel room, you expect Oscar to be asleep in his own and Lando probably out at some club. Instead, they’re both sitting on your bed like two disapproving fathers, arms crossed.

“Where have you been?” Lando demands dramatically, though he can’t hide his grin.

“It’s literally midnight,” you point out.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “You look… happy. Suspiciously happy. You didn’t even want to go to this event.”

You drop your bag, trying—and failing—to smother the smile spreading across your face. “I just… met someone.”

Lando gasps, throwing himself backward onto the bed. “She has a crush! Finally!”

Oscar groans, dragging a hand down his face. “God help us.”

And you can’t stop grinning, heart racing at the memory of Kika’s smile. For the first time in a long time, the chaos of the spotlight doesn’t feel so overwhelming. Not when it comes with the chance to see her again.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The first thing you notice when you wake up isn’t the sunlight filtering through the curtains, or the faint sound of Miami traffic outside the hotel. It’s the way your heart jumps at the memory of last night. The laughter, the photos, the way Kika leaned in so close when you spoke, like you were the only person in the room.

You roll over, grab your phone from the nightstand—and nearly drop it when you see the notification.

good morning, gorgeous. i was wondering if you’d like to get brunch today? 🤍

Your stomach flips. You don’t even hesitate before typing back, fingers flying.

yes!! absolutely. just tell me when and where and i’ll be there

You stare at the message after sending it, horrified at your double exclamation marks. Too eager? Too much? But before you can spiral, three dots appear.

haha perfect🫶🏻 there’s a little place by the beach, i’ll send you the pin. 11?

i’ll see you there :)

You throw yourself back into the pillows with a groan, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

The excitement bubbles over, and there’s only one person you want to tell immediately. You hit FaceTime, and after a few rings, your younger sister’s face pops up on the screen.

“Why are you calling me at—” Hattie squints at the clock behind her, then back at you. “—what is it? Nine in the morning there? You never wake up this early on your own.”

You can’t even be offended. “Because something happened.”

Hattie’s eyes widen, and she sits up straighter. “Wait. Did you—oh my god. Did you meet someone?”

You cover your face with one hand, but the grin gives you away. “Maybe.”

“Who?!” she squeals. “Tell me right now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to combust. “Francisca Gomes.”

There’s a pause. Then Hattie lets out the loudest shriek you’ve ever heard. “KIKA? Like actual Kika? As in, one of the prettiest women alive??”

“Yes,” you mumble, cheeks on fire.

“Shut up. No way. And? And??”

“She asked me to brunch,” you blurt, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

Hattie gasps again, practically bouncing on her bed through the screen. “You’re going on a date.”

“It’s just brunch,” you argue weakly, tugging at the strap of your sleep tank.

“Yeah, with her.” Hattie narrows her eyes, grinning like the devil. “Oh my god, you’re in love already.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s true,” she sings. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep your little secret… for now.”

By the time you hang up, you’re in full-on panic mode, rifling through your suitcase for something brunch-appropriate. After cycling through half your wardrobe, you settle on a breezy sundress and sandals—simple, but put together. You swipe on lip gloss, check your hair three times in the mirror, and try not to overanalyze the butterflies swarming your stomach.

Finally, you grab your bag and head for the lobby.

Unfortunately, the universe clearly enjoys tormenting you, because Lando and Oscar are planted on one of the couches, coffees in hand. Both heads snap up the second they see you.

“Where are you going?” Lando asks immediately, narrowing his eyes.

“Out,” you reply vaguely, walking a little too quickly toward the doors.

Oscar leans forward. “Out where? You’re dressed up.”

Lando gasps dramatically. “You have a date, don’t you?”

Your face burns. “It’s not a date.”

“That’s exactly what someone on a date would say,” Lando mutters, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You push his shoulder as you pass. “Mind your own business, Norris.”

Oscar just sighs. “Don’t miss media, YN” he says dryly.

You stick your tongue out at both of them and escape into the Miami sunshine before they can press you any further.

The café is charming—whitewashed walls, plants hanging from the ceiling, the faint sound of waves from the beach nearby. You spot her instantly. Kika’s at an outdoor table, sunglasses perched in her hair, a linen shirt loosely tied over a crop top. She looks like she’s walked straight out of a lifestyle magazine.

“Hi!” she says brightly when she sees you, standing to pull you into a quick hug. Her perfume is warm, sweet, dizzying. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Of course,” you manage, heart pounding.

You sit across from her, trying to ignore how your knees almost brush under the small table.

The waiter comes by, and Kika insists you try the iced passionfruit juice, ordering it for you with a wink. When the drinks arrive, you take a sip and nearly choke when it’s genuinely delicious.

“Told you,” she says smugly, sipping hers through a straw.

She asks about your racing, about what it’s like being Oscar’s sister on the grid, about growing up in Australia. You ask about her modeling, her favorite places she’s traveled. Every answer feels like peeling back another layer, and you’re entranced.

At one point, she laughs at something you say—really laughs, throwing her head back—and you swear the entire world could stop and you wouldn’t notice.

“You’re not as shy as you think, you know,” she says at one point, smiling softly at you over the rim of her glass. “You’re just careful with who you open up to. I think that’s really lovely.”

Your throat tightens. No one’s ever put it that way before. By the time brunch is over, you’re a mess all over again. She insists on walking you out, and as you’re about to part ways, she squeezes your hand.

“See you tomorrow?” she asks, eyes glimmering.

You nod, trying not to combust. “Definitely.”

She grins, kisses your cheek so casually you nearly melt into the sidewalk, and then she’s gone, waving as she heads off toward her car.

You stand there, clutching your phone, pulse racing. This wasn’t just brunch. And if you weren’t in trouble before, you definitely are now.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The paddock is alive, the hum of engines echoing in the distance as mechanics rush about and engineers chatter into headsets. Qualifying is just minutes away, and you’re in the Red Bull garage, helmet resting on the counter beside you, tugging your gloves on and trying to keep your heart steady.

This is usually the calm before the storm for you. Focus, routine, block everything else out. But today, you’re distracted—your thoughts wandering to a certain brunette who kissed your cheek again yesterday.

“Good luck, sunshine.”

You glance up and immediately smile when you see Lily walking toward you, weaving through the bustle with her usual grace. She’s been around for years, practically family at this point. She pulls you into a warm hug, the kind that makes you feel safe even in the chaos.

“You always sneak down here before quali,” you say with a grin. “Starting to think it’s my good luck charm.”

“Maybe it is,” she teases. Then she narrows her eyes, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So. Tell me about this new crush of yours.”

Your jaw drops, cheeks heating instantly. “Oh my god. Did Oscar tell you? He cannot keep his mouth shut!”

Lily laughs, delighted, and nudges your shoulder. “He didn’t tell me everything. Just that there’s someone who’s been making you smile like an idiot lately.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Unbelievable.”

“Come on,” she coaxes gently, eyes sparkling. “You know you want to gush. Who is she?”

You peek at her through your fingers, heart thudding. It’s not hard to admit—if anything, it’s been sitting at the tip of your tongue since brunch. “It’s… Francisca. Kika.”

Lily’s eyebrows shoot up, a grin spreading across her face. “No way. The model? YN, she’s gorgeous.”

“I know,” you blurt, throwing your hands up. “She’s so gorgeous I can’t function when she looks at me. Like, I completely forget how to talk. I make a fool out of myself every time.”

“And she likes it,” Lily says knowingly, like she’s already pieced it together.

You bite your lip, unable to hide your smile. “She asked me to brunch. And it was… really nice.”

Lily squeals softly, squeezing your hands. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you feel like that.”

Before you can say anything more, Alexandra appears in the garage, her hand linked with someone else’s. “I thought we’d stop by before quali,” she announces, tugging her friend forward. “Hope you don’t mind.”

And then you see her.

Kika. Radiant as ever, even in a simple outfit—jeans, a cropped top, sunglasses tucked into her neckline. Her smile is soft, tentative, as her eyes find yours.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” she says gently, stepping closer.

The garage is loud, busy, overwhelming—but the moment narrows to just the two of you. Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks, but for once you don’t stumble over your words.

“Thank you,” you say, voice soft but steady. “I’m really glad you did.”

Her smile widens, her hand brushing against your arm for just a second—so subtle no one else would notice, but enough to make your skin tingle. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

Alexandra and Lily exchange looks behind her, both smiling like they know something you don’t.

“Alright,” Lily says finally, hugging you one last time. “Go make us proud. And maybe dedicate a lap to your new good luck charm, hm?”

You groan, but Kika just laughs, eyes glimmering as if the idea secretly pleases her.

As Lily and Alexandra start to leave, Kika lingers for a heartbeat longer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ll do amazing. Just drive the way you always do.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the sea of red uniforms, leaving you with a racing heart and a smile you can’t shake—even as your engineers call you over for final checks.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Qualifying ends in a blur of adrenaline, tire smoke, and radio chatter. By the time you roll back into the pit lane, your heart is still hammering, sweat beading under your race suit.

“P2, YN! Incredible lap,” your engineer’s voice crackles through the comms. “Max on pole, Oscar right behind you. Fantastic job.”

You can barely contain your grin as you climb out of the car, helmet tucked under your arm. Max is already there, pulling you into a quick hug, his usual smirk wider than normal.

“Good job, rookie,” he teases, though the pride in his voice is unmistakable. “Not bad for a little Piastri.”

You roll your eyes, but it feels good—familiar, warm. Oscar appears a moment later, tugging off his balaclava, cheeks flushed from the heat. He looks proud too, and before you can say anything, Lily is darting forward, throwing her arms around him.

“You were amazing!” she says, voice muffled against his chest. Then she turns, grabbing you too, pulling you both into a tangled three-way hug. “Both of you! My favorites, right here.”

You laugh, trying to steady your racing heart, but then—out of the corner of your eye—you see her.

Kika.

She’s weaving her way through the crowd, Alexandra just a step behind her. She looks impossibly beautiful in the afternoon sun, her hair shining, her smile soft and proud. And she’s walking straight toward you.

Your breath catches, and you almost fumble your helmet. Lily notices immediately, pulling back with a knowing look before conveniently turning to Oscar, giving you space.

“Congratulations,” Kika says when she reaches you, her voice gentle but clear over the chaos. Her eyes shine, taking you in. “That was incredible, YN.”

You swallow hard, cheeks warming. “Thank you. I, uh… I didn’t expect P2.”

“Well, I did,” she replies easily, and the sincerity in her voice makes your chest ache. She reaches out, brushing a speck of dust from your suit, fingers lingering just a moment too long. “You looked so focused out there. I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit you harder than the checkered flag ever could.

Around you, the garage is buzzing—mechanics cheering, cameras flashing, Max joking with Laurent, Oscar debriefing with a member of the press. But none of it registers. It’s just her, standing here, making you feel like qualifying P2 is the biggest win of your life.

“I’m really glad you are here,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile softens, almost shy now. “I told you I’d be cheering.”

And for a fleeting moment, it’s like the world shrinks down to just the two of you—the shy driver and the radiant model, caught in a bubble of quiet sweetness amid the chaos of Formula 1.

You don’t even notice Alexandra smirking knowingly from a few feet away, or Lily whispering something to Oscar with a mischievous grin. All you can think about is how close Kika is, and how you never want her to stop looking at you the way she is right now.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The restaurant is quiet, tucked away on a side street where the four of you can eat without flashing cameras or fans sneaking photos through the window. You’re seated at a round table, dim candles flickering between plates of pasta and wine glasses, the low hum of conversation filling the background.

Lando’s already halfway through his bowl of gnocchi, gesturing wildly with his fork as he retells some exaggerated story about Carlos and a golf cart incident in Spain. Lily is laughing so hard she’s nearly crying, while Oscar just shakes his head in his usual unimpressed way.

You’re smiling, but your mind drifts. You haven’t stopped thinking about Kika since qualifying. Her words, her hand brushing your arm, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the garage. The memory makes your stomach twist and your chest ache.

“Alright, you’re quiet,” Lando says suddenly, pointing his fork at you. “That means you’re either plotting something, or you’re thinking about her.”

You blink, caught. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Oscar interrupts flatly, sipping his water. “You’ve had that same stupid look on your face since yesterday.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am thinking about her. But I don’t know what to do. Like… at all.”

There’s a pause. Then Lando slams his fork down with mock seriousness. “Kiss her.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “It’s not that simple!”

“Yeah, it is,” Lando insists, leaning forward. “Step one: lean in. Step two: lips. Step three: magic.”

Oscar shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I just say… you’re gay if you don’t kiss her.”

You peek at him through your fingers, deadpan. “I’m gay if I do or don’t, nothing changes that, twat.”

Lily bursts into laughter, covering her mouth, while Lando nearly chokes on his wine. Oscar just raises his eyebrows, as if he’s proven some kind of point.

“Seriously though,” you say, lowering your hands. “She’s… she’s Kika. She’s gorgeous, and confident, and so put-together. And I’m… me. Shy, awkward, I barely know how to talk when she’s around. What if I mess it up?”

Lily reaches across the table, squeezing your hand warmly. “Sweetheart, the way she looks at you? You couldn’t mess it up if you tried. She clearly likes you exactly as you are. That’s the whole point.”

“Exactly,” Lando chimes in. “Girls love when you’re awkward. Trust me, it’s charming.”

“You’ve literally never been charming in your life,” Oscar mutters.

“Oi!” Lando scowls, throwing a breadstick at him.

You giggle despite yourself, the tension in your chest easing. Lily smiles at you knowingly. “Just… trust yourself, YN. She already knows you’re shy. She likes it. So stop overthinking, and just let it happen when it feels right.”

You nod slowly, her words sinking in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated.

The rest of the dinner carries on in its usual chaotic rhythm—Lando cracking jokes, Oscar making dry remarks, Lily keeping the peace. But underneath it all, you feel lighter. Hopeful. Because for the first time, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you won’t mess this up.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You wake that morning with impossibly loud butterflies in your stomach. The sky outside is clear, promising sun and speed. It’s race day. All the buildup, all the nerves—all of it comes down to this. You dress in your Red Bull jacket and a pair of jeans—every inch of you feels alive, electric, and spinning with possibility.

You head to the grid with Oscar and Lando by your side. Oscar gives you a nod, tight smile. Lando shouts something encouraging—something about making them eat their hats if you win. Lily is already in the stands, a wave and a grin reserved just for you, and you catch a glimpse of Kika near the pit wall, relaxed but watching, eyes locked every time you’re in sight.

The race launches in a roar. Tires grip. Heart pounds. You fight for position, work with the car, pull every ounce of focus, every drop of courage. Max stays just ahead, pushing you. Oscar is close behind. The laps fly by, sweat, grit, engine roar, strategy calls. When there’s a chance—when Max gives you an opening—you take it. It’s perfect and trembling. You pass him, then hold him off as the laps wind down.

And then… you cross the line first.

The moment the checkered flag flutters, you’re hyperaware of everything: the roar of the crowd, the crackle of your radio, the vibration under your hands. You slow the car, heart threatening to burst.

“THAT’S POLE YN!” your engineers shout.

You pull into the pit lane. Mechanics are cheering. You climb out, helmet off, chest heaving. Oscar comes running up, scuffed suit, face breaking into a grin. Lando is bounding out of the pits, clapping, whooping. Lily is down by the fence, tears glinting in her eyes, waving frantically, jumping with joy. You lock eyes with her, and she mouths, you did it.

Your legs feel weak as you walk toward the barrier, every step heavy with disbelief and joy. Cameras flashing, microphones shoved forward, but you hardly register them. All you see is Kika.

She’s ahead of the crowd, closer than you expected, she’s moved forward somehow, stepping through the scramble. Her hair falls in curls; her smile is wide, proud. Her eyes shine brighter than the sun. She steps up to the barrier just as you reach it.

You can’t help the relief, the delight, the way your chest is so full it might shatter.

“Kika,” you breathe, reaching out.

She lifts her hand, touching your cheek, fingertips warm. “YN, you were incredible,” she says, voice gentle but firm, like she means every word. She leans in, closer—just an inch—and then:

You kiss her.

Not carefully, not timidly, but full of everything: adrenaline, gratitude, something like dreaming. The world around you fades: cars, cameras, cheers, everything except you and her. You taste champagne on her breath, hear the gasps and cheers behind her, but for a second it’s just breathing together, heartbeats synced.

She kisses you back, laughs softly into it, wraps an arm around your neck. Your hands go to her waist, holding close. Then she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours.

“You deserve this,” she whispers.

You can hardly speak. “I—thank you. For… for being my good luck.”

She smiles, brushing hair off your face. “Always.”

After the kiss, people erupt around you—cheers, congratulations from your team, your family. Oscar’s shouting your name, Lily’s crying, Lando’s back-slapping you so hard your ribs ache. You’re glowing, shining. Kika stays by your side, walking with you toward the podium zone, leaning in close, words whispered just for you: “I was so proud,” “you killed it out there,” “look at you.”

You climb the podium—first place feels surreal. The Australian national anthem plays. You hold the trophy up. For a moment, you close your eyes and think of every step that got you here: starting kart races, shy interviews, dressing unsure, stealing glances whenever Kika entered the room.

When the photographers swarm, Lily is in the crowd, waving, and you spot Kika again, front row, no barrier now. After the photos, she joins you on the podium stairs, and wraps you in a hug. The press crowd parts, snapping pictures of the two of you—her cheek pressed to yours.

Kika leans over from behind, whispering jokes: “You owe me a kiss for every second you didn’t think you’d do this.”

You laugh, pressing lips to cheek. Then another kiss—this one more confident, more certain. The world watches. And somewhere in your chest, something soft gives way: this, right here, is more than you ever dared hope.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yn_piastri

liked by franciscagomes, lilyzneimer, lando and 2,570,000 others.

yn_piastri : i love miami and @/franciscagomes

tagged : lando, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer and franciscagomes

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The night after your win feels like a blur. Champagne, podium interviews, the sea of team members hugging you, Oscar spinning you around like you were five years old again, Lando somehow getting ahold of his own Red Bull and spraying you to no end. You should be exhausted—but there’s only one thing on your mind: Kika.

When you finally check your phone in the hotel room, there’s a text waiting.

dinner? just us. no cameras, no noise. i will make the reservation. you deserve to celebrate properly!

You read it three times, heart racing. Just us.

You reply immediately:

yes. a thousand times yes!

By the time you’re standing outside the small, candlelit restaurant tucked away in Miami, nerves tangle with excitement. You’ve faced down Max Verstappen wheel-to-wheel at 200 miles per hour, but somehow this—waiting for Kika—makes your palms sweat more.

She arrives minutes later, wearing a soft, flowing dress the color of champagne bubbles. When she sees you, her whole face lights up, and she loops her arm through yours without hesitation.

“You’re glowing,” she teases as the host leads you to your table. “Race win suits you.”

“You’re stunning,” you fire back, then instantly cringe.

She giggles, squeezing your hand. “We’re off to a good start.”

The restaurant is warm and quiet, soft piano playing under the chatter of a few other diners. Your table is tucked in a corner, lit by one flickering candle. Kika takes the seat across from you, chin resting on her hand as she watches you with that unreadable, amused smile.

You open the menu mostly to avoid combusting under her gaze.

“Everything looks good,” you murmur.

“I already know what I want,” she says.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you nearly knock your water glass over. “You can’t just—say things like that.”

“Why not?” she says, laughing softly. “You’re adorable when you blush.”

Dinner is easy. Conversation flows between giggles and soft admissions: she talks about her modeling work, the whirlwind travel, how exhausting it can be to never really stop. You talk about racing, about your nerves, about how Oscar is half big brother, half nagging coach.

At one point, Kika tilts her head and says, “I thought you’d be more intimidating. You’re so fearless on track.”

“I’m fearless because there are no beautiful women on track distracting me,” you shoot back, and then slap your hand over your mouth like you didn’t mean to say it.

She laughs so hard she almost spills her wine. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Halfway through dessert—a shared crème brûlée—you feel the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Kika notices too, glancing past your shoulder. Her lips twitch.

You turn, and there’s Lando. Outside. Nose practically pressed against the glass like a kid at a candy shop.

He waves enthusiastically. You bury your face in your hands.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “He followed me.”

Kika giggles, lifting her phone and snapping a picture of him before he scurries off down the sidewalk. “He’s very protective. It’s cute.”

“He’s insufferable,” you mumble, but you can’t help laughing too.

After dinner, you walk together along the quiet street, the humid night air soft against your skin. You’re both full and happy, hand brushing against hers until she laces your fingers together.

“This was perfect,” you whisper.

She stops walking, turns to you with that same glowing smile. “Not over yet.”

And then she leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss against your lips, sweet and unhurried. You melt instantly, heart skipping, hands tightening around hers. When she pulls back, she looks so fond it nearly undoes you.

“I like you, YN,” she says simply.

Your grin feels unstoppable. “I like you too. A lot.”

When you finally part ways at the hotel doors, Kika squeezes your hand one last time and kisses your cheek, promising, “More dates after more wins.”

You head upstairs, giddy, only to find Lando and Oscar waiting in the hallway like the world’s worst bodyguards.

“Did you admit you loveeeee her?” Lando demands immediately.

You shove past him, still smiling like an idiot.

Oscar just mutters, “Finally,” and follows you inside.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

several weeks later…

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 1,554,000 others.

f1gossipgirls : i think it is officially safe to say the paddock has another wag! francisca gomes was seen back in the paddock today after her kiss with yn piastri after her first win in miami. the two were also seen after media day, touring around the city!

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The Red Bull motorhome is buzzing with energy. Staff members come and go with coffees, engineers whisper over data sheets, TV screens flicker with practice highlights. And in the middle of it all sits Kika, cross-legged in one of the sleek blue chairs, completely at ease with a cup of tea in her hands.

She’s been here before, in the paddock, but this is the first time she’s here for you. Everyone knows it. She has that unmistakable glow of someone both proud and smitten, eyes flicking to the doors every few seconds as if she’s waiting for you to walk in.

Instead, Max arrives first.

“Ah,” he says, spotting her immediately. “The famous Kika.” He drops into the seat opposite like he owns the place, mischievous grin already forming.

Seconds later, Oscar joins in, sliding in beside Max with the air of someone who has been waiting for this opportunity. “Finally,” he mutters, pretending to check his watch. “Been wondering when I’d get the chance to interrogate—uh, I mean, meet you properly.”

Kika blinks once, then smiles like she’s just been given the best entertainment of the weekend. “Is this the part where you two scare me off?”

“Yes,” Max deadpans. “Exactly this part.”

Oscar leans forward, folding his hands like a disapproving father. “So. What are your intentions with my sister?”

Kika actually laughs, head tipping back. “Oh, you’re doing that bit. Adorable.”

Max squints. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’re very serious.”

“You’re very dramatic,” she counters, raising a brow.

Oscar points at Max. “He is. I’m just cautious.” Then, to Kika: “Do you realize she’s never liked anyone enough to even ask them out?”

Kika softens at that, fingers brushing the rim of her cup. “I do realize. And I don’t take it lightly.”

That earns her a quick pause from both. Max shifts, almost like he wasn’t expecting sincerity. Oscar clears his throat.

“…That’s actually a good answer,” he mutters.

Max waves it off. “Doesn’t matter. I still need to know if you’re distracting her before qualifying.”

“Oh, she’s plenty focused,” Kika says sweetly, sipping her tea. “She beat you in practice, didn’t she?”

Max sputters. Oscar slaps the table and laughs so loud a couple mechanics turn to look.

“Oh, I like you,” Oscar says, wiping tears from his eyes.

Max narrows his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s fighting a smile.

That’s the scene you walk into: Kika looking entirely too pleased, Oscar giggling, Max pretending to be cross.

“Really?” you say, hands on hips. “I leave you two alone with her for ten minutes and you’re already playing twenty questions?”

“They started it,” Kika says innocently, batting her lashes.

Oscar immediately defends himself. “It’s brotherly duty! We had to test her.”

“She passed,” Max admits reluctantly, leaning back in his chair. “But only because she’s annoyingly quick with comebacks.”

You groan, stepping over to plant a kiss on Kika’s hair before glaring at both men. “You’re supposed to be focusing on the race, not my love life.”

“Your love life is the race,” Oscar shoots back, grinning. “High stakes. Big drama. Very entertaining.”

Max shrugs. “I just want to make sure she’s not stealing your pace.”

Kika meets your eyes over the rim of her tea, lips twitching. “Don’t worry. If anything, I plan on being her lucky charm.”

That makes your heart skip. You lean down to whisper, “You already are.”

Oscar groans. Max makes gagging noises.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, dragging Kika out of her chair and toward the exit. “You two are banned from speaking to her without supervision.”

As the door closes behind you, you hear Oscar call, “We’re just saying—we approve!” and Max adding, “Don’t let it get to your head!”

Kika is giggling so hard she can barely walk straight. She squeezes your hand and murmurs, “They’re ridiculous. I adore them.”

You sigh, but you’re smiling too. “God help me if you actually become friends with them.”

“I think I already have,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You walk into the suite—the one with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lit track, city lights shimmering, the hum of night still echoing after the roar of the race. The adrenaline’s finally coming down; exhaustion settles in your bones, but your heart is still racing in the best way. The suite smells of fresh sheets, lavender from the diffuser, and something faintly of victory.

Kika is already there, sitting cross-legged on the plush rug in front of the low couch, barefoot, her race bag tossed to the side. She looks up when you enter, eyes soft, proud, and like she’s been waiting for you. She pats the spot beside her.

She stands, walks over, and catches your face in her hands—careful, loving.

“You’re shining,” she says quietly. “Still.”

You try not to laugh, still in that post-race high. “I’m exhausted,” you admit, leaning into her touch. “Feels unreal.”

She brushes a thumb over your cheek. “You earned this. You’ve earned all of it.”

You settle beside her. For a moment, you just drink in her presence—the shape of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, the fragrance of her skin.

Then she rises, pulling you gently by hand. “Come on,” she says. “I ordered something.”

You follow her to the small balcony. There’s a table set up with two glasses of champagne, a petite cheese board, strawberries, dark chocolate, and a soft throw blanket over one chair. The glow from inside spills out, mingling with moonlight.

She pours you a glass, hands steady. “To you,” she says, raising hers. “To your win. To more nights like this.”

You clink glasses, sip. The champagne’s cold, crisp; your throat burns a little.

She hands you a strawberry. You taste it—sweet, juicy—and lean forward, catching her lips in a soft kiss.

“This is perfect,” you whisper, when you pull away just enough to see her face.

She grins, teeth a little chocolate-smudged. “Not done yet.”

You wrap the blanket around both of you and sit side by side. Your shoulder rests against hers. She tells you about the photographers coming over after the race, about how she saw your team glowing about you. You tell her how you could barely remember what you said in the interview because all you could think about was seeing her smile in the crowd.

Laughter comes easy. You make jokes about how Lando will definitely tease you mercilessly tomorrow. She says she wants to meet Lando again—“on more equal footing,” as she puts it.

After awhile, she reaches for your hand. Fingers entwined.

“Promise me,” she says, voice low. “On the nights when you’re tired, when you doubt—you’ll remember tonight. Remember this feeling.”

You squeeze her hand in return. “I promise.”

She leans in and kisses you again—slow, soft, a kiss that tastes like relief and happiness and everything you fought for.

When it gets late, you retreat inside. The lights dim. She pulls you down on the bed beside her. She wraps her arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. You lie like that for a while in silence; the world outside forgotten.

You drift off, the last thing you feel is her hand in yours, that steady pulse, the warmth of her breath against your skin, and the quiet full certainty that this—right here—is everything you want.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

skip to summer break…

yn_piastri

liked by franciscagomes, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and 3,740,000 others.

yn_piastri : summer break 🤍🫶🏻☀️

tagged : lilyzneimer, franciscagomes, oscarpiastri and nicolepiastri

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The heat hits you the moment you step off the plane in Melbourne, sunlight bouncing off the tarmac, the humid warmth wrapping around you like a hug. You’ve been waiting weeks for this: the F1 summer break, your family, and—most importantly—Kika arriving in Australia to meet everyone properly for the first time.

Oscar is already waiting at the arrivals gate, looking effortlessly casual in shorts and a t-shirt, Lily at his side, hair still damp from a morning swim. The moment Kika steps through the sliding doors, your chest tightens in that familiar way. She looks radiant even after a long flight, hair tousled, sunglasses perched atop her head, a small bag slung over one shoulder.

“YN!” she calls, waving. You sprint forward, almost colliding into her in your hug, laughing when she nearly topples backward. “You look amazing!”

“You flew like… hours,” you gasp, holding her at arm’s length, studying her face. “How are you not exhausted?”

“I have adrenaline,” she says with a grin. “And the thought of meeting your entire family in one go. Terrifying and exciting.”

Oscar laughs behind you. “You’ll survive. Mostly.”

Lily smirks. “They are easy to handle. Mostly.”

Before Kika can answer, your sisters appear—Mae first, practically bouncing in excitement. “You’re finally here!” she squeals, dragging Kika into a hug. “YN talks about you nonstop. I already love you.”

Edie and Hattie follow, both grinning wide. Edie gives a more composed hug, but Hattie, true to form, launches herself at Kika like she’s known her forever.

“Brace yourself,” you whisper in Kika’s ear. “This is basically a family welcome assault.”

Kika laughs, a little breathless, but completely enchanted. “I’ve got this,” she whispers back, squeezing your hand.

The drive to the house is filled with chatter. Kika is already answering questions about her modeling, life on the road, even joking with your sisters about how she survives airports and media scrutiny. You’re riding shotgun, hand tucked in hers, watching her laugh at one of Hattie’s jokes and feeling your chest swell.

By the time you pull into the driveway of your family’s sunlit home, the smell of the ocean on the breeze, the excitement is nearly unbearable. The backyard is perfect: a pool glistening in the sunlight, a barbecue ready to go, and your parents waving from the porch. Nicole greets Kika with a warm hug and a twinkle in her eye.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says. “YN has said the nicest things.”

Kika blushes. “All true, I promise.”

Lunch is a chaotic but perfect affair. Your sisters hover, peppering Kika with questions about her favorite foods, music, and whether she’s good at beach volleyball. Kika laughs, dodging Hattie’s overly competitive challenges, and your mom watches with soft amusement.

Oscar and Lily sit back, quietly observing the madness, while you hover beside Kika, passing her drinks and occasionally whispering jokes. She leans into you during a particularly ridiculous story about your family’s holiday tradition—hurling water balloons at unsuspecting neighbors—and you can’t stop yourself from kissing the side of her head.

“See?” you murmur. “They’re actually normal. Mostly.”

Kika laughs, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can tell. And I like them already.”

The afternoon drifts lazily. Some of you swim, some lounge, some play cards at the outdoor table. Kika ends up joining Mae and Hattie in the pool, laughing hysterically as Hattie tries to push her under. Edie sits on the edge, towel over her shoulders, watching with a smile. You stay close by the lounge chairs, sharing quiet kisses in the shade.

Oscar, ever the big brother, keeps one eye on everything, and Lily teases you about how protective he is. “Watch him,” she whispers. “He’s lowkey testing her already.”

Kika meets your gaze, eyes sparkling. “I’ll survive him. Or at least I’ll make him laugh.”

You grin. “I think he’ll like you even more when you do.”

Dinner is a barbecue, everyone gathered around a grill lit with bright flames, music playing softly. Nicole hands Kika a plate piled high with prawns and corn, Mae and Edie pass side dishes, and Hattie keeps making jokes about how she’s officially one of the family now.

At one point, you sneak away to the balcony overlooking the pool with Kika. She leans against you, head on your shoulder, the warm night air brushing against your skin.

“This is… perfect,” she murmurs. “Your family, your home… you.”

You nuzzle her hair. “I wanted you to see all of it. You fit in already, Kika. I know it.”

She smiles, kissing your cheek softly. “I hope so. I want to.”

You squeeze her hand, and for the first time in weeks, you feel completely at ease. Surrounded by your family, laughter echoing from inside, stars overhead and the soft glow of the backyard lights… this is happiness.

And Kika, your hand in hers, is right at the center of it.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

bonus scene : the girls force oscar to go shopping!

The morning sun streams into the apartment in Melbourne, and Oscar groans as he stretches, clearly aware that today is not going to be “just another relaxing summer day.”

“Why am I awake so early?” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re awake because you’re coming shopping with us,” Nicole announces from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand and that gleam in her eye that Oscar knows all too well.

“Us?” He peers around. Lily, Kika, and you are all standing there, perfectly coordinated in cheerful summer outfits, grinning at him.

“Yes, us,” Lily says sweetly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrays the mischief brewing. “You’re coming whether you like it or not. We have plans for you.”

“Plans?” Oscar echoes, frowning.

“Fashion plans,” Kika says, tilting her head. “We’re going to make you look… spectacular.”

He sits down on the couch as if that could make the idea go away, arms crossed, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement in your eyes.

“You do trust us, right?” Nicole adds, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto her face. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

Oscar sighs, giving in with a resigned, “Fine, but I’m not buying anything ridiculous.”

The streets of Melbourne are buzzing as the five of you enter a chic boutique. The store immediately smells of leather and perfume, a soft playlist humming in the background. The sales assistant greets you warmly, eyes flicking at Kika and you, clearly aware of who you are.

Kika hands Oscar a crisp white button-down shirt. “Try this on. It’s classic. Clean. Very you… except, better.”

He holds it up, peering at it suspiciously. “Better?”

“Yes,” Kika insists, smiling as she tilts her head. “You’ll see.”

Nicole and Lily grab a few more items, some bold, some more playful. Oscar groans but dutifully heads to the changing room.

When he emerges wearing the white shirt, perfectly tucked into tailored navy trousers, Lily and Nicole immediately start clapping.

“Not bad,” Lily teases. “See? Shopping can be fun.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but a faint blush creeps across his cheeks. Lily approaches and adjusts the collar slightly, brushing her fingers along his neck. “Honestly… you look amazing. Way better than I imagined.”

He freezes for a second, then mutters, “Stop… stop looking at me.”

You nudge him gently. “Just admit it—you like the outfit.”

He groans dramatically, but the twitch of his mouth betrays a smile.

Next up: bold options. Nicole holds up a bright patterned shirt.

“Try this,” she commands, holding it up against him. “Just for fun.”

“I am not a walking disco ball,” he protests.

“You’ll survive,” Kika assures him. “And I’ll make sure you look half way decent while you do.”

Oscar disappears into the changing room again, and when he steps out wearing the shirt, everyone bursts into laughter. You laugh so hard you have to lean against a shelf, clutching your stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” Oscar says, spinning in a circle. “I look like a fruit salad!”

“And yet…” Nicole leans in with a wink. “…you look handsome.”

Kika grins, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “I told you. You’re my favorite fashion experiment and brother in law.”

He mutters something under his breath, but you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of laughter, teasing, and surprisingly adorable photo ops. Kika insists on helping him pick accessories—hats, scarves, even a soft cashmere sweater. Lily and Nicole take turns suggesting shoes and bags, all the while pretending they’re doing it under “serious fashion research.”

At one point, Oscar is wearing a light blazer, patterned shirt, and shoes he’d never consider on his own. He’s standing in front of the mirror, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed—but Lily sidles up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

“You look really good,” she whispers, and you hear the soft grin he can’t hide.

“I—whatever,” he mutters. “You all are insufferable.”

“Insufferable, yes,” Nicole agrees, patting his arm. “But we love you and we are tired of you dressing like a bum.”

You lean over, grinning. “We all approve. Very cute.”

By the time the shopping trip winds down, Oscar is carrying a modest stack of purchases—mostly stuff Kika insisted on—and he’s somehow smiling more than he expected to. You, Kika, Nicole, and Lily walk alongside him, teasing him the whole way back to the car, snapping photos, and laughing at his mock protests.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

#piastri reader

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#piastri reader